Reflections

The party collapses ashore.
Eldemir stumbles to Sarlen’s side, pressing life into him, only to take corruption into himself. Peter moves like a shadow, scouting for threats the estate might still hold.
Grimgar stands alone.
Water drips from his coat. His goggles click softly as he adjusts the lens, scanning the haze above the pond—now still, but still wrong. He runs a hand over the rifle at his back.
“Well,” he mutters, “a little wetter than I’d like. But the Pale Man is dead. Disaster averted. Mission accomplished.”
Was it?
Grimgar stiffens. He turns. No one speaks. The others are too wounded, too focused. He cycles through light spectrums on his goggles. Nothing. Only his reflection, warped in the trembling surface of the pond.
You met the mission requirements. But at what cost?
His eye twitches. The voice isn’t real. Or maybe it’s always been.
You murdered without context. Unleashed a magical plague that may not be containable. Nearly killed your team. Destroyed the only research that could have saved this city.
Yes, the Pale Man is dead. But I ask again.
At what cost?
Grimgar begins to pace. Circuits hum under his coat. The voice follows.
“Irrelevant,” he says. “I’m an engineer. My job is to solve problems. Square peg, round hole—I make it work. Corners be damned. Results matter. That’s it.”
Really?
The voice is calm. Patient.
Costs don’t matter?
Careless Whisper. A weapon so powerful it scares archmages.
Grimgar smirks. Brushes his fingers across the rifle’s carved stock.
It only cost Stonewick their future.
His hand freezes.
He remembers the chase. Alchemists in the streets, their labs burned. A girl in soot-slick rags, screaming at him through tears. He shakes his head.
The Inscrutable Tower. You solved its riddle. Delivered it to the Amethyst Academy.
Grimgar squares his shoulders. “A net gain. That one mattered.”
It only cost you your dream with the Plumber’s Guild.
He falters.
The lectures he never gave. The books never shared. The promise to democratize knowledge—discarded in favor of treasure and promises.
And the dragon?
Silence.
Grimgar breathes once. Then again. Faster. Shallower.
The Guild Hall in flames. Chief’s hand on his shoulder. The roar. The sacrifice. The body.
It only cost you your friend.
Grimgar sinks to his knees.
You say you’re fine with sacrifice. But what of the ones who follow you now? You are not just an engineer anymore. You are a leader. A symbol. Unless you change, Grimgar—truly change—this journey ends the way it always does.
Alone.
Grimgar gasps, stumbling to his feet. He jogs after the others, calling out, waving one arm, goggles askew. “Oi, Sarlen!” he shouts. “This time let’s use the flare gun. I bet you could give the monsters of the Deep Haze a run for their money.”
His grin returns. Broad. Crooked. Hollow.
The party limps on, bruised and alive.
Behind them, the pond is still. And in the reflection—Grimgar stands alone, arms crossed, saying nothing at all.