Olgolzkreh loomed over Fynn like a mountain given breath. His vast form shifted, and a new tension settled over the cavern, one that hadn’t been there moments before. His eye flashed a pure light, then turned to Scarlett.

Scarlett met its gaze, and something within her churned. Not the Anomalous power, but a different, primal instinct that roused at this ancient existence now studying her fully and deliberately in a way she couldn’t quite place.

“You believe that one worthy of slaying one such as I?” The dragon’s deep, resonant voice rolled out as his gaze returned to Fynn.

“She’s more worthy than me,” Fynn said.

“She is not.”

“Why not? What makes one worthy?”

“Provenance.”

“What does that mean?”

Olgolzkreh exhaled slowly, stirring the cavern. “You disrespect your ancestors, young Grehalyr. This is your revenge to claim.”

Fynn fell silent. Winds stirred around his legs, and those winds seemed to carry murmuring voices and whispers, rising as if in violent agreement with the dragon’s words.

“Your ancestors speak. Heed them. If you do not wish to commit the act yourself, I will accept their judgement as well.”

“Fynn,” Scarlett said, and he looked at her. “Are you that opposed to killing Olgolzkreh?”

She didn’t think he would be. She had come here fully expecting them to put the ancient dragon down, and that he would be the one to do it. Had her words been part of why he now hesitated?

If so, should she try to convince him? She’d intended to leave the decision to him, yet allowing Olgolzkreh to live was far from optimal. It undermined several of her plans, and the dragon remained a threat regardless of his current state. In the game, he had all but admitted that if he didn’t die here, he would cast aside what remained of his reason and drag the mortal lands into conflict like never before.

Overrun by Anomalous power, Scarlett had no idea how much devastation he could cause if that happened. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

It would be best if—

“I’m in my rebellious phase,” Fynn said.

Scarlett went still.

Her attention stayed fixed on him as she parsed the words. “You are in your…what, precisely?”

“Rebellious phase,” he repeated. “I don’t think I want to do what he or the ancestors tell me to do.”

Scarlett’s gaze shifted pointedly to Rosa.

The bard held both hands up defensively. “Don’t look at me. I might’ve tossed the phrase his way once or twice, but I never meant for him to unsheathe it in front of us all and an ancient dragon.”

Scarlett returned her focus to Fynn.

“I’ve thought about it,” he continued. “While you were sleeping. About what you said. I don’t think I was angry at Olgolzkreh. I think I was angry at myself.”

The wind tightening around him swelled in force and sound. The voices rose with it, but he ignored them.

“I didn’t realise you could be angry at yourself. When I did, I thought it meant I was weak. If I’d been strong, my tribe would still be alive. So I told myself that was the reason.” His jaw set. “That was stupid. What was worse was not questioning it.”

The circling winds condensed into spectral wolves, their forms half-shaped. They snapped and tore as if to rend him apart.

Deep cuts opened across his skin.

“Fynn—!” Allyssa’s voice broke, and Shin and Kat moved in the same instant, hands flying to their weapons.

But Fynn raised a hand to stop them.

Blood streamed down his arms and chest, yet he didn’t flinch. He met the wolves’ eyes as they lunged through him. “You told me I needed to be angry. That I needed to avenge my tribe. That Grehalyr demanded it.”

A sharp gash split across his eye, red spilling over the bright gold of his iris.

“I took the first trial because you were right. I pushed myself because you were right. But in the end, I was just following your will. You turned my family’s deaths into a road and told me to walk it.”

A larger wolf formed before him, wrought of viridescent wind and streaks of pale light. Its yellow eyes were dangerously cold.

“I wasn’t angry because I was weak,” he said, voice tightening over the shriek of the wind. “I was angry because I never questioned the path you handed me.”

The wolf threw back its head and loosed a single, piercing howl, answered by a chorus of growls.

Fynn lifted his hand to the bone-white ring set upon his finger. The [Mark of the Gale].

“I don’t blame you for expecting things of me. You taught me your secrets. Lent me your power. I’ll honour that. But I’ll choose what anger I carry.”

The wolf lunged.

Fynn removed the ring.

With a raw shout, he drove his arm forward. The wolf’s jaws closed around his forearm. Muscles tensing, he seized its form with his free hand, heaved it overhead, and smashed it into the cavern floor. A violent rush of air burst outward. The wolf’s body shattered into spiralling strands of light.

He stamped once. The raging currents around him collapsed immediately.

Drawing a long breath, he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, they flashed bright, and the remaining wolves unravelled, their shapes thinning into drifting air. The voices faded with them.

Fynn stood unmoving for several seconds. Then he lowered his gaze to the ring resting in his palm.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” he said quietly.

After a moment, he looked up at Scarlett. “I’m sorry to you as well.”

Scarlett frowned. “To me?”

“Because I’m a little angry at you too.” His fingers closed around the ring. “You always knew what the ancestors wanted when you gave me the mark.”

“…I did.” She lowered her head once, gaze dropping. “If you believe I wronged you, then that judgement is yours. I will not contest it.”

She’d always treated him as though his path were predetermined, doing little more than steer him along it. In fact, when he had started straying in Beld Thylelion, her instinct had been suspicion and concern that his deviation would complicate matters.

For all her objections to Fate and its old claim over the lives in this world, she hadn’t truly considered that Fynn might eventually want to reject the path of trials his ancestors demanded — the one that she had knowingly placed him upon.

Even when she’d stood beside him against those ancestors, she had expected him to continue along a path fundamentally set to the tune of anger and vengeance.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

That he had seldom shown much of either beyond the battlefield didn’t necessarily absolve her on that front.

Perhaps that was unconsciously part of why she’d been so intent on letting him decide how this ended. Unlike Rosa, she had never offered him as many alternatives or truths. Maybe this was her attempt at making up for that.

He was always so subdued and steady that she often fooled herself into thinking there could never be anything beneath the surface to settle.

“I forgive you,” Fynn said. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, pushing it back from his blood-streaked eye and smearing red through the strands. “You’re still the one who’s helped me more than anyone.”

“Fynn,” Allyssa said, worry showing on her face. “Before we unravel the rest of that, shouldn’t we focus on stopping you from bleeding out?”

Fynn glanced down at himself, as if only now noticing the extent of his injuries, then turned to Rosa.

Rosa offered an awkward smile. “I may have been a touch optimistic about how much I’d recovered earlier. If you’re hoping I can charm all that blood back into its proper place, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a bit longer.”

Allyssa shot her a look. “What? Then Kat — what about you?”

Kat shook her head. “Only useful spell I know is Earth Pulse, and it can’t heal wounds like that.”

“Then…” Allyssa started rummaging through the pockets in her bandolier, only to curse under her breath. “All the healing potions are ruined.”

Scarlett watched Allyssa for a second, then checked her own [Pouch of Holding]. The healing potions inside had gone bad as well. The only ones that looked usable were the mana potions—which actually glowed brighter than before—and a few stamina draughts.

“I’m fine,” Fynn said. He pressed the hem of his shirt to his eye and wiped away the blood. It didn’t do much for how he looked.

“You’re not,” Allyssa replied without looking. “If you don’t treat those soon, they’ll be harder to heal. They could scar.”

“That’s okay.”

“It’s not!”

Fynn blinked at her while she kept digging through her bandolier. When she came up empty, she dropped to one knee and began laying out alchemical ingredients on the stone, as if she meant to brew something from scratch right there.

Scarlett’s gaze shifted to Shin, who had stepped up beside Allyssa and was now watching her with quiet helplessness. He carried a scar across his eye, similar to the wound Fynn had just suffered. Scarlett had heard he earned it from protecting Allyssa when they had first started out as Shielders.

It seemed she didn’t like the idea of Fynn walking away with the same.

Scarlett considered mentioning that finalising the third trial would grant him a rather potent healing ability, but let the girl busy herself for now.

She turned back to Olgolzkreh. The dragon hadn’t moved, simply observing Fynn closely. She could see something new behind that gaze that hadn’t been there before. A measured interest.

Right then, mana drifted through the cavern like cold mist, catching along the overhang and pooling around their feet.

Sensing the shift, Fynn looked back at the dragon.

“You are finished?” Olgolzkreh asked.

Fynn nodded. “Mm.”

There was a brief pause before the dragon spoke again. “You are more equanimous than your progenitor.”

Fynn frowned slightly. “I don’t know what that means.”

“You are tempered.” Olgolzkreh’s nostrils flared, and a thin stream of vapour rolled over Fynn. “It is unfortunate. Once, I might have permitted one such as you to stand beneath my wing. Had you been of my brood rather than Grehalyr’s, you would have risen far.”

“You have brood?”

“No longer. Not for millennia.”

“Is that why you’re so set on dying here?”

The dragon gave no answer.

Fynn studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod. “I get it.”

“You presume to understand?” Olgolzkreh’s voice lowered.

“Not everything,” Fynn said. “But there was a time I thought I was fine with leaving everything behind. If I didn’t have my brothers and sisters, maybe I would’ve. It feels better to choose how it ends yourself, doesn’t it?”

The dragon’s eye narrowed by a fraction.

“I’ll respect your wish,” Fynn continued, gaze steady. “And my ancestors’ wishes too. They taught me a lot. They should have their peace.”

The wind stirred faintly again, but softer now. The mist around him thinned.

“But it won’t be revenge for me. Or for my tribe.” He nodded towards Scarlett. “She already handled that when she killed your Will.”

Olgolzkreh rumbled. “If that is how you choose to frame it, then very well. But do you still expect me to permit that woman to carry out your charge?”

Fynn shifted his footing, and he seemed to genuinely think it over.

“Yes.”

“She remains unworthy.”

“She lacks provenance?”

“There is no claim. No inheritance. She stands outside the line.”

“She’s tied to what injured you,” Fynn said. “The thing in your wing.”

The dragon’s eye sharpened. A heavy vibration rolled through the cavern, like a drawn breath held too long.

“…You truly do recognise it.”

“We’ve fought it. Scarlett faced it head-on. She’s its natural enemy.”

Olgolzkreh’s gaze moved to Scarlett again, weighing her.

“Disciple of the Witch,” he said slowly. “The abomination that gnaws at me… Is what Grehalyr’s brood claimed true?”

“Yes,” Scarlett replied.

A short silence settled.

“I believed his claim that you could save me to be a delusion,” Olgolzkreh finally said. “Was it?”

“…I cannot say. Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

The dragon continued to study her. Then something faint—almost amusement—touched his tone. His maw parted slightly, revealing teeth larger than Scarlett. “Tell this lord — do you seek divinity?”

Scarlett’s brow creased faintly. “No. Not directly.”

“Immortality?”

“No.”

“Then what do you seek?”

“Why do you ask?”

“If you do not seek any of those, then the reason does not matter,” he said. A long, extended moment passed. “Very well. If you bear genuine enmity towards the Anomalous abomination, I will permit your hand to put me to rest.”

His eye lingered on her, unreadable. Then it moved. It passed over the rest of her party, pausing briefly on each member, before settling on Carnwedain.

The armoured knight still had a whetstone in hand, calmly meeting the dragon’s regard. Olgolzkreh exhaled, and cold breath spread with it, frost settling thinly across the stone surrounding Carnwedain.

But that was all.

Olgolzkreh’s eye turned to Nol’viz.

The robed girl’s three eyes squinted with calm curiosity.

“You,” Olgolzkreh said.

Nol’viz tilted her head.

“We?” she asked.

“Striving for mortality in a borrowed shell…do you possess no pride?”

Nol’viz blinked slowly. “We are uncertain. Should we?”

“…Perhaps not. Are you beyond it?”

Her head tilted the other way. She glanced towards Slate, as if consulting her.

Olgolzkreh rumbled softly. “Do as you will. But heed what mortality brings to your kind.”

His gaze moved on, sliding completely past Slate like she wasn’t even there. It returned to Scarlett.

“Disciple of the Witch. Let us not prolong this. You may end me now.”

Scarlett took one step forward. “Before we proceed, I have a question—”

“No.”

The single word echoed through the cavern with the same weight as when he had roared before. “Simply end this existence of mine.”

His head lowered. The overhang beneath him groaned as his great skull settled against its edge.

Scarlett’s lips pressed together. She turned to Fynn and held his gaze. “Are you certain you wish for me to do this?”

“Yes,” he said.

“You are aware of what that entails.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “It’s better if it’s you.”

She had discussed this with him before. In practical terms, it didn’t matter who killed Olgolzkreh. There was no experience to be gained, no real reward attached to it.

But there was power in the name of having done the act itself. Power that mattered to some. And she had been prepared to give that to him.

He was saying that he wanted her to have that.

She searched his expression for any lingering wavering or hesitation. She couldn’t spot it.

Even so, part of her resisted. Not because she doubted him, but because his words earlier had simply forced her to consider whether this was the only path forward.

As if sensing that flicker of delay, Olgolzkreh spoke.

“There is a threshold, Disciple of the Witch. A point beyond which I will no longer restrain myself. You have freed me of the phrenzy, but it will return. When it rises again, I will not temper my actions. I will not be reasonable. I will not care for the smallness of your lives or those of other mortals. Act.”

She faced him fully.

That was similar to what he had said in the game.

“…Very well.”

She looked to where his ruined wing lay hidden in the darkness. She couldn’t see the corruption any longer — but now that she knew it was there, she could feel it. That Anomalous power continued to stir the fragments within Thainnith’s legacy.

It was still too much.

If she took it, it would drown her.

If she left it, it might fester. The Cabal might find it. Or she would be abandoning a source of power that could matter later.

How should she handle that?

Her thoughts turned. There had to be a way to contain it. The Cabal had managed as much before.

She turned slightly. “Slate.”

Slate looked at her, expression blank. “Yes.”

“Could an arcane vessel be constructed to contain Anomalous power?”

“Anomalous power is not a recognised classification.”

Scarlett reached into her [Pouch of Holding] and withdrew a hand-sized object shaped like a rounded triangle.

[Seal of Thainnith (1/3) (Unique)]

{A third of a whole. A seal upon that which cowered}

“This seals Anomalous power. Can you measure it?”

Slate stepped forward and took the object. For a moment, the impassive calm on her face shifted into something quieter.

“This is…inconsistent,” she eventually said. “It is aberrant to this world’s laws.”

“Can you make a container for it?” Scarlett asked.

Slate did not answer immediately. She continued examining the seal, even running a pale thumb along its edge, as if testing whether the shape itself obeyed reality.

Finally, she looked up. “Standard containment arrays would fail.”

“What about non-standard approaches?”

“Its state is not stable enough to be anchored by formation. It does not occupy permanence in a way that can be mapped. Any vessel built upon fixed assumptions will break against a phenomenon that refuses to remain fixed.”

Scarlett narrowed her eyes. “So it cannot be contained.”

Slate tilted her head. “It can. And it cannot. It would require altering the governing parameters. A revision of local law. Such a revision would demand immense, sustained power. And it would require a constant presence to uphold the change.”

“A presence?”

“A stabilising authority. The phenomenon changes in its permanence and cannot be left unattended. An array is unattended. It is memory without mind. A will is required.”

Scarlett’s eyes lifted slowly to Olgolzkreh. The dragon’s eye met her gaze.

“I will end you here, as you wish,” she said, “but before I do… will you consider one final proposal?”