It was a difficult decision to make—even though they were only kids—but Meredith understood what Auren meant. Or at the very least, she believed she did.
He wanted to run. To survive. And with all three of them together, that was impossible. He couldn't protect them all. He couldn't focus.
So they had to go.
Jasper, however, didn't understand. Even though they'd only met the night before—if it could even be called that—he was already deeply attached. Or at least, he acted like it.
But Jasper was passionate. That was expected, given the Province he hailed from. He held certain principles dear, and abandoning someone who'd willingly put his life on the line for them wasn't something he could accept.
The more Meredith pulled him back, the more he resisted, thrashing and trying to hurl himself toward Auren.
She had no choice. With a clenched fist, she struck the side of his neck, watching as he collapsed in her arms. Then, without hesitation, she hoisted him up and sprinted across the black desert. Her feet pounded the sand, each step tearing at her resolve.
She looked back once—just once—and clenched her teeth so tightly it felt like they might crack. Then she forced her eyes forward and didn't look again.
Auren, meanwhile, was doing well enough.
The first strike from the Paladin had come fast, but Auren had blocked it with the holy sword—a shoulder shove that sent pressure rattling through his arms.
The Paladin's pauldrons were large and bulky—almost cauldron-like in design. They could be used as weapons themselves, provided one understood how to move with that kind of precision.
The Paladin thrust again. Auren reacted instantly, throwing his sword into the path of the strike. Steel rang out in a hollow, grating echo, sparks flaring as the force sent him skidding backward. The Paladin didn't stop. He was already closing the distance again.
Auren couldn't defend like this. He had to reroute his stance, brace himself, try to shift the angle—but the Paladin's speed made that almost impossible to manage.
Then again...
He didn't need to defend.
His skin was metallic after all.
'...hehehehe…'
Auren grinned, teeth bared.
He let the Paladin strike him.
The heavy pauldron crashed into his chest, forcing an explosion of pain through his ribs, gut, and spine. But Auren was ready. The moment the Paladin was close enough, he had lashed out, grabbing the collar of his enemy's armor. The impact should have thrown him back again, but he held firm, digging his feet into the sand, grounding himself.
Then, with everything he had, he raised his sword and stabbed.
The motion was tight, constrained by the narrow space between them. The blade grazed the Paladin's shoulder pauldron, skimming the polished surface, and bit into the side of his arm.
The Paladin roared—not in pain, but in fury.
Holy indignation burned through his expression as he wound back his fist and slammed it into Auren's jaw.
That time, nothing could save him.
His head snapped violently to the side, the blow lifting him off his feet. His body followed, limbs flailing through the air before he crashed down onto the black sand, rolling across the surface like a discarded doll.
The Paladin looked down at his grazed armor and bleeding arm. His expression didn't flinch, only darkened. Then his gaze shifted, locking onto Auren.
He began stomping forward, each step like a hammer blow in the silence. Auren could feel the heat of his fury, blistering and suffocating, even before he reached him.
Still crouched, Auren leaned on the holy sword like a crutch. He'd put effort—a lot of effort—into holding onto it. The impact from the last blow should have knocked him out, or at least stolen his senses for a heartbeat between the hit and hitting the ground.
But he endured. Somewhere between instinct and grit, he'd held on—conscious, alert, defiant.
'Not like clinging to a damn sword is going to win me this fight…'
His fingers tightened on the hilt as the Paladin closed the distance. Auren rose slowly, his gaze sharpening.
The Paladin towered before him, seething—rage radiating off him—but his fist remained clenched. Held back.
Auren frowned, bracing for the attack.
It didn't come.
His thoughts twisted.
'Why is he hesitating? Why is he holding himself back so much?'
His frown deepened—then turned into a crooked grin.
"So what now? You scared of killing the heretic you so clearly despise?"
The Paladin's face contorted with disgust, eyes narrowing with holy contempt.
"You maggot. Shut your filthy mouth. The only reason you still draw breath is because you're a vessel. One of the Father's sons resides in you. That… thing inside—you cannot be killed because of it."
Auren's expression darkened.
Something clicked in his mind. The coffin he'd found. The symbols. Dawn.
But he didn't let anything slip.
He shrugged, feigning indifference.
"Father's son or not, I don't give a shit. Either you kill me… or I kill you. No in-between."
Because if there was one thing all his suspicions pointed to—one thing he knew, without a doubt—it was this:
The Paladin couldn't kill him.
He wanted to. Desperately. But he couldn't. And that pissed Auren off more than he wanted to admit.
The Paladin stared at him, analyzing, dissecting the confidence on Auren's face. Then a grin crept across his features—slow, calculated, cruel.
"Just because I can't kill you doesn't mean you stand a chance."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"You see, as a Sacred Paladin of the Order of Light, I carry a special blessing. A gift bestowed upon me when I became a Devoted. I can heal… any injury."
His grin widened.
"Any amount. Any time. I can make wounds vanish like dust in sunlight."
He took a step closer.
"You see, heretic… I bear a strange, dignified unlove for you. I want to break you. Shatter your arrogance. Strip away that mask of confidence until all that's left is a trembling piece of meat who finally understands—you're nothing but a pawn."
Auren's face twitched.
The words didn't hit like blows—they hit like truth. Cold. Crawling. Real.
'This is bad…'
His instincts screamed.
Run.
He pivoted, every muscle springing into action—but the Paladin blurred.
A strike crashed into his ribs. White-hot pain lanced through every nerve. Auren's feet lifted an inch off the sand before his body crumpled. He hit the ground hard, writhing, unable to suppress the agony.
It felt like being stabbed by a thousand blades—each forged from divine light.
It wasn't just pain. It was holy corrosion. It seared through soul and flesh alike.
The Paladin wasted no time. He grabbed Auren roughly, pried the sword from his weakening grip, and held it like a prize.
Then he leaned in, voice a whisper of malice.
"Welcome… to the world of pain."
The sword plunged into Auren's shoulder.
A scream almost ripped free—but he bit it down, lips parting in a silent snarl as the blade twisted, grinding through bone and sinew.