Clutching the button tightly, he collapsed over his desk.
Something poured down over the ruined expanse of his mind. It did not take him long to realize it was his own shattered soul.
Feeling himself crumble away to nothing, he turned with faltering steps. He pulled something from his desk drawer and slipped out of the bedroom.
He could feel the servants lined along the corridor, watching him with startled eyes.
Varkas gave them an order in a calm, steady voice.
“I will return shortly. Do not follow me.”
The servants parted their lips as if to dissuade him, but they flinched under his icy gaze and bowed their heads in unison.
He walked down the corridor at an even pace and descended the stairs.
Rain still fell in the rear garden. Moving along the path through the drizzle, Varkas walked straight toward the chapel. Perhaps because it was the quiet hours before dawn, there was no sign of anyone.
Crossing the main sanctuary shrouded in darkness, Varkas slipped through the rear door into the graveyard. Soon, the plot with its two headstones came into view.
Stopping before them, Varkas’s unfocused eyes swept over the rain-slicked marble.
His wife lay sleeping beside their child, buried beneath a mountain of flowers.
He gently brushed away the raindrops clinging to the stone, then drew the dagger hidden up his sleeve. The gleaming silver blade was instantly drenched by the rain.
As he slowly brought the edge to his throat, a rustling sound stirred nearby.
Varkas turned his head. His eyes fell upon a giant, emaciated wolf. Though it was pitifully thin, starved to the bone, he recognized the beast at once.
It was her wolf—the one he hadn’t brought himself to kill last autumn, abandoning it deep within the Armund Forest instead.
Standing so unsteadily it seemed ready to collapse, the beast limped slowly out from the thick briars.
Varkas watched it in silence. The beast’s eyes flickered with a mixture of despair, sorrow, and agony. Reading the raw hatred directed at him, Varkas lowered the blade from his throat.
A moment later, the wolf’s snout peeled back, baring its sharp fangs. In the same breath, the massive beast lunged.
Feeling those long fangs sink deep into his throat, Varkas fell backward into the muddy ground.
The sickening crunch of his neck breaking under the beast’s jaws rang clearly in his ears. Then all sound vanished.
With fading vision, he stared up at the ink-black sky. Cold rain washed over his face.
He wanted to wipe it away, but his arms would not move, his nerves already severed. Feeling the blood rising from his throat pool around his lips, he exhaled a long, final breath.
In that instant, the wolf lowered its head and looked into his eyes. Its sorrowful blue gaze seemed to be pleading with him for something.
Gazing into those grief-stricken eyes, he forced the last of his fading strength to turn toward her grave. But before his eyes could trace her name on the stone, darkness took him.
He tried desperately to reach out toward her headstone, but his dead limb would not stir.
In his fading consciousness, he tried to picture her face. Even that image dissolved away. Soon, the only thing remaining was bone-chilling cold.
His heart, which had been pumping blood through his torn throat, finally ceased to beat. An icy, pitch-black darkness rushed in.
He felt his consciousness sink endlessly into an abyss.
Is this death?
As he drifted in that daze, a rushing river swept him away.
His lifeless soul was pulled along like flotsam caught in a torrent of crimson water.
The river of blood, without beginning or end, flowed sluggishly through the dark.
After drifting aimlessly for an eternity, something suddenly seized him by the scruff of his neck.
He was dragged out like seaweed tangled in a net. Soon, rough, dry earth scraped against his cheek. Forcing open leaden eyelids, he caught a dim glimpse of whatever had pulled him free.
The first thing he saw was the massive, scar-covered body of a beast. Then, several pairs of glowing red eyes.
He knew this creature.
It was the very beast he had slaughtered with his own hands long ago.
Had it come for revenge?
As the thought crossed his mind, a massive head descended upon him. A sickening crunch echoed as bone and flesh gave way.
He writhed in agony, but he no longer had a mouth with which to scream.
His limbs, half-dissolved in the bloody water, refused to move. He could only watch as his own body was devoured.
The beast’s heads tore away his limbs and ripped into his torso. The raw agony lasted until his head was finally crushed between its jaws.
Torn to pieces and swallowed down into the monster’s gullet, Varkas felt his very existence dissolve into the beast’s flesh.
With that horrifying sensation, he sank back into the abyss.
It was only after an eternity that his consciousness drifted toward the surface.
He felt something warm enveloping him. The slow, steady beat of a heart and faint breathing echoed softly in the quiet darkness.
Yet that peace did not last. A flash of light pierced the dark, and something massive dragged him away.
He was tossed about, trapped in a cramped, dark space where up and down lost all meaning. Then a heavy impact jolted his whole body.
Before he could understand the pain, a giant hand reached in, dragging out the other creatures sharing his space one by one.
Heartrending cries, the reek of blood, and harsh shouts erupted at once.
He could not comprehend what was happening. A vague dread that he had been cast into purgatory was all his mind could grasp.
Paralyzed by sheer confusion, he waited helplessly for his turn.
Soon, a rough hand seized him by the scruff of the neck. He opened his mouth instinctively, and a high-pitched, strange shriek—one he could hardly believe came from his own throat—pierced the air.
He strained his clouded eyes to look around.
In his strangely wide field of vision loomed the blurry silhouettes of iron-clad giants. He was momentarily overwhelmed by the sight, but then a cold blade pressed hard against his neck.
As his windpipe was crushed, a sharp yowl escaped him. The pressure only intensified. Giving up all resistance, he closed his eyes.
Just then, hurried footsteps sounded, and the crushing weight vanished.
He snapped his eyes open. In his broad sight, he saw a fallen giant. An armored man was shouting at someone, but Varkas could not make out the words.
A chaotic jumble of voices buzzed through the roaring rain. He wanted to cover his ears, but his body would not obey.
Sprawled in the mud, he struggled to move his limp, sluggish limbs. Suddenly, something warm and soft wrapped around him.
He froze, holding his breath.
A brilliant wave of gold swept through his gray world.
Rain drenched her long eyelashes and washed down her pale cheeks. Looking up, he met eyes that held an endlessly deep, blue world.
Staring into that clear light, he pleaded silently.
Dear God.
If this is a dream, please…
Before his prayer could finish, a familiar scent enveloped him.
Gathering him into her soft embrace, the woman whispered in a dreamy voice.
“From now on, your name is Khan.”
Her deep blue eyes, wet with rain and tears, shone with a quiet joy.
As he stared up at her without blinking, her cold cheek pressed gently against his neck.
With a blissful smile touching her lips, she whispered softly.
“Let’s stay together forever.”
END