She waited by the deep black chasm, wearing a calm expression. Her white hair flowed with the wind as the sun's radiant light gently kissed her.
Valarie's lower lip had descended down there—into the Chasm.
The Ascendant.
Their teacher had jumped of her own volition, leaving them with nothing but a final goodbye.
Sylvia didn't raise her head—none of them did. Like the others, she stood silent in bloodied, dented armor. Waiting.
They were all waiting.
Sylvia was waiting for Damon. Even with the ability to see the future, glimpsing him had beco more difficult now…
Her second class had made her more powerful, but…
She bit her lip, the taste of blood spreading across her tongue.
They had all grown.
The light wasn't intense at first—it shimred gently—then beca blinding, so much so that daylight itself seed dim in comparison.
Reflexively, they closed their eyes.
Then ca the sound—footsteps.
When the brilliance faded and their sight returned, two figures stood before them.
The first was a young man with dark, long hair matted into dried clumps. His face was streaked with hardened gri, shaped by ti and bitter trials.
A crown rested on his head—majestic, yet worn. It lent him a ruined beauty, the aura of a king whose authority could not be washed away by filth.
And yet… the crown also looked like a burden, sothing that had weighed on him far too long.
Behind him stood a woman clad in full armor. From head to toe, she was encased in steel. A single sword hung at her side, its blade appearing forged from ice itself. Her presence was vast—deeper than any of them had been—stalwart and immovable. Only her piercing ice-blue eyes showed, along with the flowing raven-black hair that spilled from her helm.
Seeing them both, Sylvia's breath hitched.
The young man, Damon, smiled.
A tired smile.
"We're… back."
No other words were needed. Sylvia rushed forward, tears in her eyes—but ironically, Evangeline reached Damon first, embracing him before anyone else could.
Matia, walking behind Damon, almost reached for her sword, but stopped when he glanced at her.
The armored figure behind him remained still, silent, as their party gathered in reunion.
To Damon, everything was still a blur. The ti he'd spent there felt surreal—too much, too fast. No words were exchanged—not yet.
Perhaps none needed to be.
They had fought through hell together, witnessed despair, death, and the void itself. No longer students—they were warriors now, scarred and hardened by the spiral tower.
And yet, despite the reunion, Damon's eyes reddened.
They had still lost soone.
He couldn't tell them Matia had died. That the one behind him now was only what remained—resurrected as his eternal shadow.
But his voice couldn't hide the grief.
So he said sothing else.
"Valarie is gone now…"
Leona's beastkin ears drooped. Tears spilled from her eyes.
"We know… she told us…"
Damon nodded, forcing the sa tired, broken smile.
He walked past them all, his gaze settling on the waypoint they had been defending. It bore the signs of relentless battle.
It seed they had protected it all this ti, warding off the monsters of the spiral tower.
There was no ti to waste.
He lifted the only thing left of her—Valarie's lips, the final remnant of the last Ascendant.
"Let's… perform her final rites."
It was the least they could do for their teacher.
They followed behind him without question as he activated the waypoint—its runes glowing softly as it whisked them away.
To Dawnbreak Hollow.
The final resting place of Valarie Sunwarden.
The ancient cetery greeted them with a strange silence. Damon had expected hordes of undead—but found none.
Instead, the air was clean. The grounds untouched by ruin. The cetery stood pristine, untouched by Lysithara's corruption.
Sacred. Peaceful. As if this place existed outside ti.
They stepped quietly. Each grave bore nas—nobles and commoners alike. In death, there was no distinction.
All were equal beneath the earth.
Nearby stood a stone building—an old temple. Damon spread his shadow perception but found nothing. Just stillness… and unused tombstones.
No one spoke.
Damon and Xander entered the temple, retrieving a tombstone and laying it before Sylvia—her penmanship the best among them.
Evangeline brought a white cloth. Though already clean, she purified it again with her skill.
Leona found a coffin adorned with golden inlays and the symbol of the sun.
It suited her. The sun had always been her attribute.
Matia summoned a shovel of ice and began digging. They chose a spot atop a hill, where sunlight poured through the leaves of a great tree. If Valarie ever grew tired of the sun, they hoped the shade might comfort her.
Sylvia began to hum a soft hymn as she wrote upon the stone, wrapping the remains in pure white cloth.
One by one, they placed a flower over her before sealing the coffin.
Damon was the first to cover her with soil.
He said nothing—he didn't need to.
He only whispered:
"I will build sothing we both think is beautiful…"
Evangeline followed. He couldn't hear what she said, but he saw the tear slip down her cheek.
Sylvia offered a prayer and smiled gently. "Thank you."
Leona said nothing. Her lips trembled, her ears flat. The beastkin girl didn't accept loss easily… but she bowed her head.
That was enough.
Xander stood tall in his armor. His dirt struck the coffin with quiet reverence. He muttered sothing Damon didn't catch.
And then… to Damon's surprise, Matia stepped forward. For the first ti, she removed her helm.
The others looked at her—this ruin fairy, silent and unreadable. Her face was beautiful, cold and sharp as ice.
She didn't speak.
Instead, after placing her handful of dirt, she froze the coffin.
A quiet finality.
The funeral ended in silence. They buried her, then departed for the gates of the ruined city.
Behind them stood a single grand tombstone, etched with simple, solemn words:
Here lies Valarie Sunwarden, the last Ascendant.
A teacher, a sage, a warrior… May she find entrance into the Silent Halls, in a place where war and strife cannot reach.
Those words shimred faintly in the dying ember of the sun.
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