The world felt quiet and distant as I sank deep into my own soul and mind.
It wasn't something I could gauge easily, and I knew it would take time. At first, I feared I wouldn't have that luxury—but surprisingly, the lich didn't press its advantage. It seemed curious, maybe even entertained, as it turned its attention to the goblin instead, toying with it like a cat with a screaming mouse.
I couldn't help but pity the creature. It had survived so much, clawed its way through dirt and blood, only to die in a slow, ugly fight—used, not even honored.
Turning my focus inward, I reached—not with my hands, but in that strange, half-real space between thought and spirit. And there, I felt it: a thread. Faint and nearly invisible, like spider silk drifting in the dark. I tried to grasp it. Missed. Tried again.
This time, something helped me. A gentle pull, like a hand over mine.
The thread coiled around my finger, and I closed my hand over it.
The change was instant.
It was like water pouring into a starved vessel. My body had been waiting for this—beyond ready. With the thread bound to me, I wrapped it tighter, drawing it up to my wrist and anchoring it fully. Power stirred.
When I opened my eyes, I was surrounded by embers—tiny motes of light glowing like drifting stars. They floated gently through the air, and for a moment, I forgot I was in the middle of a battlefield. It was beautiful.
But then it struck me: embers only come from flame. Something had to be burning. And with this many…
I scanned the arena.
Every pair of eyes—spectator, fighter, even undead—was locked on me. Not just watching, but stunned. Bewildered. Afraid.
Even the lich had paused, its head tilted in curiosity, like it didn't understand what it was seeing.
Then I saw the truth.
The embers weren't falling from above or carried in on the wind. They were coming from me.
A veil of ethereal flame crowned my head, flickering like a living halo. And as I turned, I saw them—wings. Not of flesh and blood, but of ghostly fire, sweeping behind me in graceful arcs.
They looked wrong—unfinished. Like an artist's first attempt at a masterpiece, beautiful from afar but rough and strange up close. And yet, with every passing moment, they became more defined. More real. The shape began to change, sharpening into something terrifyingly familiar.
The wings of that woman.
The one from when I was a child.
A pang of guilt stabbed through me. Seeing them again felt wrong, like I was wearing something stolen. I shook my head, trying to focus.
The lich had stepped back, drawing its undead servants with it. They formed a ragged but dangerous-looking line—organized, even intelligent. I shifted my stance.
The goblin limped toward me. Its bicep was gone, torn away by something that had clearly bitten deep. Its back and cheek were ripped open, deep crimson blood pouring from every wound. It wouldn't last much longer.
It collapsed beside me with a pained groan, breathing raggedly. I looked at it. It looked back. Our eyes locked—silent, exhausted.
I raised my blade.
The goblin didn't flinch.
The strike came down clean. Its head rolled, landing near its body, and to my surprise, its face looked peaceful.
I waited for its soul flame. But none appeared.
I could feel it, hidden… but not free.
I knelt beside the body and cut a hole into the flesh near the heart. Pushing my hand in, I dug around until I felt it: a gem-like object pulsing faintly. Its soul core.
I pulled it out. Held it in my palm for a moment.
Then I crushed it.
The soul flame burst forth at last, dancing in the air—then darted straight into my chest. Like a gentle hug for just a moment, fleeting before it started really. I did feel a change after though, looking over my shoulder… the wings had become more solidified.
I felt so close to being complete… The sensation gnawed at me, hollow and relentless. As wrong as it felt—as monstrous as it made me—I couldn't ignore it. I needed just one more soul.
The thought alone made my stomach turn. I hated it. Hated how much I wanted it. Hated that I felt like the lich. And as if summoned by that twisted desire, three bodies fell behind me with a crunch—two adults, and one smaller form.
I barely had time to glance back. I couldn't see their faces. Maybe that was mercy.
I reached out—gently, but urgently—and guided their souls to me.
As their flames touched mine, something within me ruptured. The fire of rebirth surged through my body like a second heartbeat.
And the wings…