The Longest Journey, Part V: Shards of Hope

The air was heavy with grief as Kargass stood at the head of the small pyre, his arms folded tightly across his broad chest. His face remained impassive- a mask of stoic resolve- but beneath it, the weight of Sur'mylan’s death pressed on him like a millstone, hidden from the world yet etched in every line of his weathered face.

A few paces behind him, Rohan lingered uncertainly. His hands were clasped loosely in front of him, betraying the inner tumult he could not yet voice. He had scarcely known Sur'mylan- merely a fleeting acquaintance, a warrior whose life had ended far too soon- but the sudden, inexplicable loss struck him as a cruel twist of fate. Here, in the silent twilight, the body of the fallen Tir'naru warrior lay prepared for its final passage into flame. There was no time for prolonged mourning; the past demanded release, and the future offered no solace.

Breaking the heavy silence, Kargass’s voice emerged, low and deliberate, laden with a sorrow that seemed to vibrate in the very air. “The Tir'naru do not take kindly to the idea of resurrection.” He turned his gaze toward Rohan, eyes dark and piercing. “To them, it is an insult to death, a disruption of the natural order.”

Rohan’s brow furrowed as his gaze drifted back to Sur'mylan’s still form. “You… you don’t want to bring him back?”

A fragile softness touched Kargass’s eyes, a deep sadness momentarily softening his stern features. “It’s not that I do not wish it,” he murmured almost to himself. “But his tribe believe that death is sacred. To defy it would be to shame the soul of the departed. Sur'mylan died to help us, and if he is to return, it must be for a cause greater than our own desires.”

Rohan struggled to understand. He had witnessed the rare, wondrous power of resurrection in the past; lives snatched back from the brink by magic few could command. Yet the solemn gravity of Kargass’ words weighed on him like an anchor. They spoke of a sacred order, a ritual of letting go that transcended mere mortal longing.

“So, you’ll simply… let him go?” Rohan asked quietly, his voice trembling with the strain of disbelief and sorrow. “What happened wasn’t his fault.”

For long, Kargass said nothing, his gaze never straying from the fallen warrior. The pyre’s flames, small yet determined, began to lick the dry wood, promising to consume and transform. Finally, his voice, hoarse with emotion, broke the silence. “It matters not,” he said. “We must honor who he was. Sur'mylan has earned his rest, and I cannot- I will not- rob him of that final dignity.”

Rohan nodded slowly, though his heart rebelled against the notion. He couldn’t help but wonder if another path might exist, a way to spare the life that had been so abruptly snuffed out. Yet, as Kargass’s words echoed in his mind, Rohan felt it; a solemn, sacred release. Some losses, however grievous, were not meant to be undone.

Together, they stood in that quiet, desolate place, the silence laden with the weight of memories and unspoken regrets. Soon, the flames would rise, consuming Sur'mylan’s body in a final farewell, reducing him to ashes that would be carried away by the wind; a somber end, a natural conclusion to a life that have ended too soon.

The road ahead was shrouded in uncertainty, every step a plunge into the unknown, yet there was no turning back. And so, beneath the indifferent stars, as the pyre’s light began its dance of fire and shadow, they prepared to move forward, each carrying their grief, each determined to face a future that demanded sacrifice, courage, and the painful wisdom of letting go.

Rohan adjusted the straps of his pack, testing the weight of his gear as if trying to measure the heaviness of his own soul. The silence was oppressive; a thick, choking void that smothered even the smallest sound. Across from him, Kargass methodically fastened each buckle of his armor with deliberate precision, his every movement measured and devoid of his once-familiar wry humor. The dwarf’s usual lighthearted ease had been replaced by a simmering anger, a quiet fury that lurked behind eyes that had seen too much loss.

Kargass yanked his belt tighter than necessary, muttering a curse under his breath. Rohan exhaled sharply, a deep weariness creeping into his bones. He longed for sound, for even a single word to break that heavy quiet.

“Tell me,” Rohan said, adjusting the strap on his shoulder with a forced calm, “who is Elaija?”

Kargass paused, his gaze never leaving the darkened corner of the room. He let out a short, humorless chuckle that tasted of bitter resignation. “A sadist,” he replied, his voice low and clipped.

Rohan’s nostrils flared, and he shook his head slowly. “I gathered that much when he burst into my room wearing your girl's face and planted a dagger against my throat. I mean… who is he, really? Why does he want that mirror so badly?”

The dwarf’s fingers tightened around the last buckle as he secured his armor, and he looked up slowly, his eyes dark and troubled. “Because he’s a bastard,” Kargass said, voice heavy with disdain and something deeper; regret, perhaps. “Elaija is one of the Seven Lords of Sin, like me. Specifically, the Lord of Envy. And, like all envious bastards, he hungers for what he cannot have; Daria’s secret haven, and, more importantly, a way to tip the scales.”

Rohan frowned, wrestling with the words. He had always prided himself on his independence, believing himself free to chart his own destiny. Now he had become something else. A rune master of greed... It had no idea what this meant but it seemed it had transformed it into a mere piece in a larger, ancient game. “Are you planning to explain what the hell the Lords of Sin are, finally?” he asked, his voice trembling with both curiosity and unease.

Kargass exhaled slowly, a bitter smile tugging at his lips as if he resented having to recount old wounds. “You want to hear the story? Fine.” He spoke in a voice that was both rough and weary. “There are fourteen of us- seven Lords of Sin and seven Lords of Virtue- each bound to a cycle older than empires. We are the so-called ‘descendants’ of gods, cursed by their meddling and trapped in a war we never chose. My ‘father,’ if you can call him that, is Haestrom, the God of Sin. Elaija and I, we share that blood. Fate, it seems, has a cruel sense of humor.”

Rohan’s eyes widened as the enormity of it all began to sink in. “And the Lords of Virtue?”

“They’re the other side of the game,” Kargass replied, picking up his helm and tucking it under one arm. “The spawn of Novirath, the God of Virtue. They are no better- just different pawns in the same endless war. In the end, we are all caught, circling each other like vultures, waiting for that moment when the Rune Masters awaken.”

Rohan stiffened at the weight of those words. The mantle of Rune Master, especially one marked by greed, still felt foreign on his shoulders- an inheritance he had not chosen but was forced to bear. “So, you’re saying that you and Elaija… are immortal?”

“Not exactly,” Kargass said with a bitter smirk that failed to reach his eyes. “We can die, but death is never final. We are pulled back into this cycle, again and again.” He paused, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shrug off a burden too heavy for words. “Yet, despite all this divine farce, we still make choices. Daria chose to break away from Haestrom’s twisted legacy. She built an army to oppose him, and I chose to stand with her.”

“And Elaija?”

Kargass’ expression darkened, his eyes hardening. “He’s a wild card- a man who never followed the rules. For years he has hunted for a way to reach Daria’s hidden refuge. If he’s after the mirror, it means he’s made his choice.”

Rohan exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on his pack’s strap. “And it’s not a good one.”

“No,” Kargass agreed quietly. “It’s not.”

A heavy silence fell between them, a silence that was no longer one of avoidance but of impending storm. Rohan’s mind raced as he took in every word, every unspoken truth. “Then we’d better find that damn mirror,” he said, his tone both resolute and laden with dread.

Kargass’ eyes flickered for a moment, his features set in grim determination. “Aye. We’d better.”

Time was against them. It was not just about a strange mirror or a desperate mission. It was about the ancient cycle of loss and hope, about destinies written by gods and the choices that could shatter them. And whether Rohan liked it or not, he was now inextricably a part of it.

The night had settled in full, pressing against the land like a heavy, unyielding hand when they stopped to rest. Overhead, a vast, pitiless sky stretched out, its stars mere cold pinpricks in the endless dark. Kargass sat motionless beside the dying flames, his broad frame barely stirring. His eyes, dark and unyielding, remained fixed on the glow as if he sought answers in the ash and cinder. Rohan stood in quiet contemplation, his hands loosely clasped as he absorbed the weight of the moment.

“Where are we going?” he asked, voice barely rising above the rustle of the wind.

Kargass’ gaze remained on the flickering embers of their fire, his voice measured and hushed. “Somewhere Lauriel would have gone,” he replied, each word laced with a quiet, unyielding sorrow. “Somewhere that mattered to her.”

Rohan’s brow furrowed in the half-light. “And you know where that is?”

For a long moment, there was only silence, a silence thick enough to choke, laden with memories of a past neither wished to relive. Finally, Kargass’ voice, quieter than Rohan had ever heard it, broke through. “Aye… I know.”

From the depths of his pack, Kargass produced a dented flask. He did not drink immediately but turned it over in his calloused hands, as though weighing the memory of every sip that had passed his lips. His voice lowered further, stripped of pretense, as if each word were a confession.

“Lauriel wouldn’t have hidden the mirror with magic- no elaborate spells, no cunning illusions. She would choose a place that was safe, a place only she and I would know.”

Rohan leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he searched the depths of Kargass’s gaze for an answer. “And what makes this place so special?”

Kargass’ grip on the flask tightened, and after a heavy pause he drank deeply, as if the alcohol might steady the storm inside him. “Because it’s where I told her what I had done with our daughter.” The words fell into the stillness like a blade in the dark.

Rohan’s eyes widened, his mind reeling. “You and Lauriel…had a child?”

The dwarf’s response was a slow, almost imperceptible nod. “Long ago.” His tone was devoid of anger or regret; only a hollow, time-worn resignation.

“What happened to her?”

Kargass closed his eyes, as if straining to recall a long-forgotten melody. “She was in danger. I had to act,” he said, voice rough with buried anguish. “So I sent her away. To The Lost Fields.” The words lingered, each one a weight added to the already crushing sorrow.

Rohan’s spine prickled. “Levar’s domain? You sent your own daughter into a god’s plane?”

Kargass’ eyes flickered upward at last, and in their depths there was something unreadable; a mixture of regret and hardened resolve. “I sent her somewhere she’d be safe,” he murmured, a statement as final as it was tragic. The silence deepened, punctuated only by the crackle of the fire and the distant whisper of wind through the barn’s broken structure. Shadows danced along the weathered walls, each flicker a reminder of what had been lost. Rohan’s gaze, heavy with disbelief, broke the stillness once more.

“And Lauriel?”

Kargass exhaled slowly, the sound like the rustle of dry leaves. “She never forgave me,” he said, his voice catching on a long-forgotten ache. “And I never blamed her for it.” His admission was quiet, yet it echoed in the darkness, a secret shared only between the dying flames and two grieving souls.

There was nothing more to say. They would find this place, this old barn that held memories and hidden truths. They would find the mirror. And perhaps, before all was done, Kargass would discover something else he had lost along the way.

The mirror lay half-buried in the earth beneath the battered roof of the old barn- a place long abandoned, its clay-red walls crumbling and overgrown with ivy. Its surface, dulled by time and neglect, bore no outward sign of magic; yet Kargass knew its worth with an almost physical certainty. He knelt beside it, his calloused fingers brushing away layers of dirt with slow, deliberate care. They had found it.

In that moment, the weight of the past and the promise of the future pressed in around him. His hands trembled, not from fear or doubt, but from the crushing gravity of the decision before him. Across the barn’s darkened interior, in the half-light of a waning fire, Rohan stood several paces away. His breathing was unsteady, his arms rigid by his sides, as he watched the struggle unfold. Finally, Kargass exhaled and, without turning, spoke in a voice as hard and unyielding as stone.

“We need to use it now.”

Rohan flinched as though struck. “What?”

The dwarf’s words came again, this time firmer, his tone resolute. “We use it now. We go straight to Daria. We end this. We must not give Elaija the chance to take it.”

Rohan shook his head, stepping closer, his fists clenching at his sides. “Kargass...”

But Kargass’ eyes, dark and burning with unspoken torment, met his. “Lauriel knew the risks,” he murmured, his voice low and edged with pain. “She would understand. This is bigger than her.”

Rohan’s gaze hardened as he took another step forward. “You don’t mean that,” he said quietly, but his tone carried a cutting certainty.

“Don’t I? You don't know me, kid!” Kargass challenged, his voice hollow, lacking conviction even as it trembled with grief. He stared at the mirror- his reflection barely discernible in its murk- and in that surface he saw the man he had become: one who had lost too much, one who had sent his own daughter away, who had once lost Lauriel and now teetered on the brink of losing her again. This time forever.

“I know you’re not willing to just throw her away. Not really.” Rohan’s words came out as a whisper filled with anguish and anger.

For a long moment, Kargass said nothing. Instead, he gazed at the mirror with eyes that betrayed the heavy toll of his decisions. The cool metal against his skin seemed to pulse with an indifferent power, a silent reminder of choices made in desperation.

"You don't get it. You have no idea what will..." Kargass tried to say but Rohan exploded.

“Shut up you idiot!” Rohan continued, his voice lowering to something rough and pained, laden with the weight of his own failures. “I lost my son because of what I chose. I killed the woman I loved and I didn’t even know it until it was too late. I told myself it was necessary, that there was no other way. But I was wrong.”

The words fell between them like stones, heavy and unyielding. Kargass clenched his jaw so tightly it seemed he might shatter, yet still, he did not speak. Instead, his fingers curled around the mirror’s frame as though trying to anchor himself to a reality he no longer believed in. For a long moment, time seemed to hold its breath.

At last, Kargass ran a hand through his beard, his throat tight with unspoken sorrow. “Then tell me, Rohan,” he rasped, voice rough with the strain of centuries of grief, “what the hell am I supposed to do?”

Rohan’s answer was soft yet resolute, carrying the weight of his own past. “You fight for her.”

Kargass closed his eyes- an eternity compressed into a single, shattering moment. For just a heartbeat, for one long, agonizing breath, the world hung suspended between despair and hope.

When he opened his eyes again, the decision was made.

The barn was a ruin, a carcass of forgotten shelter. Dust clung to the stagnant air, thick with the scent of rot and time, a bitter memory. Broken beams jutted like the ribs of a long-dead beast, fractured and skeletal beneath the moonlight that streamed through the gaps, carving silver wounds into the dark. The wind whispered through the cracks; thin, restless, mournful. But beneath it, another sound slithered through the silence.

A slow, mocking clap.

“How inspiring,” came a voice, rich with scorn. “Truly, Kargass, you’ve outdone yourself. The hesitation, the torment, the drawn-out struggle- it was all so moving. I almost wept.”

Kargass went rigid. The voice was familiar. Hated.

The air itself seemed to contract, thick with the presence of the man who stepped forward from the shadows. Elaija had been there all along, watching, waiting, savoring every slow unraveling of his prey. He uncoiled like a serpent from its nest, draped in the rich finery of dark silks and golden embroidery- an obscene contrast to the ruin around him. His smirk curled like a dagger half-drawn, his pale fingers trailing along the splintered remains of the stalls as if caressing something fragile, something already broken.

Elaija, Lord of Envy

“You always did take too long to make decisions, Kargass,” Elaija murmured, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. “If only you had been quicker. But here we are.”

Kargass exhaled slowly, forcing his fists to unclench. It was Rohan who broke the silence first.

“You’ve been here this whole time?”

Elaija’s smile widened, slow and indulgent. “Of course I have, you silly sailor. Watching. Waiting. It’s been… entertaining.”

Then, movement in the darkness. A shape. Faint, shrouded. Elaija lifted a hand, speaking a quiet word, and a sphere of cold white light flared to life, floating toward the shadows. It illuminated her.

Lauriel.

Bound in rusted iron, her body slumped against the rotting boards. Blood painted her skin in dark rivulets, her breath shallow, each rise and fall of her chest more fragile than the last. Elaija exhaled a quiet sigh, tilting his head as if observing an artist’s failed work. “Tragic, isn’t it? She’s held on for so long. But I wonder… do you even care anymore brother?”

Kargass stiffened.

Elaija’s eyes gleamed, the light catching sharp in their depths. “I mean, you left her in the past, didn’t you? Walked away. And now? You hesitate. You falter.” He turned back to Lauriel, watching her with something that might have passed for curiosity if not for the cold amusement beneath it. “Tell me, Lauriel, how does it feel to be abandoned by the man you loved?”

Kargass felt the words strike deep, a needle to the bone. He knew what Elaija was doing, knew the shape of his cruelty, the slow, practiced cruelty of a man who understood exactly where the wound was and how to twist the knife. And yet, it worked. Because Elaija wasn’t wrong. Because a part of him had abandoned her. A breath. Then another. He tore his gaze from Lauriel, his voice low, weighted. “You knew where the mirror was,” he said. “You could’ve taken it at any time. Why didn't you?”

Elaija chuckled. “Oh, Kargass.” He stepped closer, boots whispering against the dirt floor. “Where would the fun be in that? A victory without suffering is no victory at all. No, no,” he went on, almost breathless with delight. “I wanted to watch. I wanted to see the moment you realized how utterly powerless you are. The despair, the hopelessness- that, my dear friend, is worth the wait.”

Kargass’ fingers twitched toward the hilt of his blade. Elaija watched him, eyes glinting, then extended a hand, palm up. When he spoke again, his voice was cool, commanding.

“Now. Give me the mirror.”

Kargass did not move.

“Don’t make this difficult,” he murmured. Then, a glance toward Lauriel. A flick of his wrist. “Or shall I give you another reason to regret?”

Kargass’ mind raced. If he gave up the mirror, it was over. But even if he didn’t, Elaija wouldn’t simply let them walk away. His grip tightened on the mirror, its weight cold and unforgiving in his grasp.

Before Elaija could react, Rohan surged forward, his boots kicking up dust. He wasn’t gifted with unnatural power, but he was a fighter, and he was fast. He crossed the barn in an instant, his hands latching onto the rusted chains that bound Lauriel.

Elaija turned, annoyance flashing across his face. “Oh, for gods’ sake...”

Rohan roared, muscles straining as he pulled. The chains groaned in protest, rust flaking beneath his grip.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Elaija scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. “Those chains are—”

With a final, guttural cry, Rohan wrenched the bindings apart. The iron snapped like brittle twigs and Elaija’s amusement vanished in an instant.

Lauriel crumpled forward, and Rohan caught her, his arms steady despite the weight of exhaustion in her frame.

Elaija’s gaze darkened. “You are really testing my patience.”

But then, it was Lauriel's turn to move. It was slow at first- just a shift of her fingers, a tilt of her head. Then, suddenly, she was upright. Her breath came ragged, her eyes locking onto Elaija with something that burned, something raw and defiant.

Elaija sneered. “And what do you think you can do, little dove?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she reached for Kargass. His breath caught as her fingers grazed his, taking the mirror from his grasp.

“Don’t you dare!” Elaija said, but it was too late.

The mirror shattered.

A crackling, deafening roar filled the barn as shards of silver splintered through the air. Magic, wild and untamed, erupted outward, shaking the very bones of the structure. The wooden beams groaned, the floor trembled. The barn shuddered. Cracks raced up the walls, splitting through the decayed wood like veins of lightning. The ceiling sagged, beams collapsing in a cascade of dust and ruin. Kargass grabbed Lauriel, pulling her close, while Rohan lunged for the exit.

“Move!” Rohan yelled.

They ran.

The barn groaned, its bones buckling under the weight of ruin. Magic still crackled in the air, a lingering aftershock that twisted the wind into something sharp and unnatural. Then, with a final, shuddering gasp, the structure gave way- timbers collapsing, dust billowing outward in a choking cloud. The earth swallowed its remains, as if erasing the wound from sight.

Kargass didn’t look back. Neither did Lauriel.

She stumbled, her body wrecked from too many wounds, too much suffering. He caught her without thinking, an arm around her waist, feeling the fragile rise and fall of her breath. She was shaking, but she was alive.

A slow breath shuddered from her lips. “It’s over.”

But Kargass only stared ahead, where the road stretched into darkness. His grip on her tightened. “No,” he murmured. “Not yet.”

Beneath the wreckage, something stirred. A shift in the rubble, slow, deliberate. A whisper of movement swallowed by the wind. Elaija was not dead. Buried, perhaps. Broken, but not beaten. And when he rose again, it would not be with laughter, but with vengeance.

Rohan wiped a streak of ash from his face, scowling at the wreckage. “That bastard’s not finished.” His voice was rough, steady. “And when he comes, he’ll come for blood.”

Lauriel shifted in Kargass’ grasp. She was barely standing, but when she lifted her head, something burned in her eyes-something raw and unrelenting. “Then we don’t wait for him.” Her voice was quiet, certain. “We go to Zolirak.”

The name rang between them like a tolling bell.

Zolirak. Daria’s kingdom. A country of war, of debts unpaid, of dangers lurking in gilded halls and haunted forests alike. It was the only path left. And perhaps, the only chance they had.

Kargass met Rohan’s gaze and the pirate answered with a single nod.

So they turned from the ruin, from the past, from all that had led them to this breaking point. And together, they walked into the waiting dark.

The night held no mercy. But beyond it, the dawn sharpened its teeth. And somewhere- just beyond the edge of sight- hope still breathed.

---

This story was created as part of a very special unofficial challenge called 'The Longest Journey,' created by one of my favorite Anvilites, Tyrdal. I’m so happy that I was able to conclude Rohan's tale and expand on his character far more than I originally anticipated! If you've read this, thank you so much, and I hope you found it interesting. As always, any feedback is welcome!
ps Make sure to check out the "Post Credit Scene" below!

— Imagica

Post Credit Scene

The silence that followed the collapse of the barn was suffocating. Dust clung to the air, thick and choking. The wind was still, and the only sound was the faint groan of the earth as it settled around the wreckage. Then, beneath the rubble, something stirred.

At first, it was a faint tremor, a scraping noise, as if something- or someone- was trying to crawl from the grave of splintered wood and shattered stone. And then, with an agonizingly slow, laborious effort, a figure emerged. His body was bloodied, covered in cuts, bruises, and the dust of a thousand years of rot. His clothes were tattered, clinging to his frame as though they were the only thing holding him together. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one drawn with effort, like it might be his last.

His hand, shaking and weak, gripped the remnants of a beam, pulling himself free from the debris. His eyes were wide, unfocused, as though struggling to make sense of the world around him. The ground shifted again, and he stumbled, barely able to keep his feet beneath him.

His eyes were hollow, distant, haunted. And when his gaze finally found the moonlight, a chill ran through the air, as if the night itself recoiled. He staggered forward, almost falling, but his voice cracked through the quiet.

“Elaija…”

The name fell from his lips with the weight of a curse, but there was something unnatural in the way it was said. Something that spoke of pain beyond physical wounds, something that dug deep into the soul. Rohan stumbled a few more steps, his eyes darting around, searching for something, someone. But there was nothing. No sign of Kargass, no trace of Lauriel. The wreckage around him seemed to swallow the air, suffocating him with its silence.

And then he stopped, the realization creeping up on him like a shadow. He turned, his body trembling, his eyes scanning the broken remains of the barn.

Elaija was also gone.

The last thing Rohan remembered was the mirror shattering, the violent magic that tore through the air, the eruption of force that sent everything into chaos. And then... a smile. A smile painted in his own face; so familiar, so cruel.

He had stolen his face.

He wanted to scream. But all that escaped was a rasping breath. His legs gave way, and he collapsed to the ground, his mind reeling. His body, wrecked and exhausted, had no strength left to fight. Not against this kind of loss.

Elaija was exactly where he wanted to be.