The world had gone quiet.
Not in peace. In absence.
We walked in silence.
For weeks.
It took us almost a month on foot to cross the distance Helene had never needed to travel. Towns came and went. Forests opened, then closed. Rivers narrowed, then vanished. We passed through villages still recovering from winter and ones that had long stopped trying.
Every step carried the weight of those we'd left behind. Every morning felt heavier than the one before.
We didn't talk about where we were headed—we all knew. And we didn't speak of turning back.
I led. Not out of strength—but necessity. The weight of what came next had already settled in my bones.
Konrad followed close behind, his pace slow and careful. One hand always hovered near his chest, where the echo of his awakening still burned. He didn't speak—not because he had nothing to say, but because the act of saying it would've hurt more.
Erich followed, shoulders tight, coat half-buttoned, eyes forward but far away. His wound had closed, but it still echoed when he moved.
My body still remembered Sayo's weight inside it.
We didn't talk about her.
Or Shuji. Or Clara.
We had said farewell. But not aloud.
Each of us bore their memory differently. Konrad carried it in silence. Erich, in posture. I carried it in my hands. I hadn't let go of my journal since I woke.
The days were long. Cold. Each night we set camp in places that didn't deserve silence but received anyway. Old taverns, broken barns, churches half-crushed.
No one laughed.
Even our dreams felt tired.
I had seen Sayo's grief. Lived it. I had watched Shuji's shadow flicker beside mine. I had held Clara's thread in my hands, and it wasn't enough.
None of it was enough.
And yet we walked.
We passed through towns that no longer knew our names. As the days stretched on, the season turned with us. What began as mist-laced mornings and cool, brittle winds slowly gave way to warmth.
By the third week, the air felt different—soft and slow. Meadows bloomed. Trees were full now, their leaves catching light like shallow cups. Wildflowers brushed against our boots. The rivers ran clearer, faster. The sky held light longer.
The last traces of winter were gone—washed out by a season that refused to wait.
Each morning, Konrad stood first. He never needed waking.
Erich would take the second shift in silence, bladeless, but vigilant.
And I—
I would write.
Not much. Only a few lines. Most days my journal didn't reply.
But I still wrote.
Because if I stopped, I was afraid the thread that held me here might snap.
***
We made no maps. Took no shortcuts.
We didn't need to.
I had seen it. In Sayo's memories—in the way Helene shaped her prison, in the place she kept her. I knew where the castle was. Knew how to reach it. The road wasn't marked on any map, but I led them just the same.
I didn't ask. I didn't wait for agreement.
They followed.
There were no signs.
No anomalies.
No puppets.
Nothing from her.
Because she was waiting.
For over 6 weeks, she hadn't moved. Not since the pale field collapsed. Not a whisper of interference. She didn't hunt. She didn't send visions. It was the quietest she had ever been.
But I could feel her.
In the stillness.
In the pauses between our footsteps.
In the way the shadows moved wrong just after dark.
She was saving her strength.
Not to escape.
To conclude.
We knew what it meant.
And we didn't care.
Because we had nothing left to lose.
We reached the forest edge just before evening.
The trees thinned into a clearing. Fog hugged the roots. Stones rose from the ground like stray pebbles. There were no birds. No wind.
Just the sound of boots on old earth.
We had arrived.
Bastei Bridge.
It didn't emerge from mist. It wasn't dramatic.
It was just there.
Timeless.
A thread suspended across a canyon carved by history.
The cliffs rose on either side, tall and sharp. The air smelled of stone and smoke. The bridge itself was old, but unbroken.
And across it—
Helene's lair.
A castle.
Black towers. Empty windows. A fortress built not to keep enemies out, but to keep truth within.
She was there.
Standing at the far end.
She hadn't changed.
Same posture. Same coat. Hands folded behind her back. As if none of this had touched her.
But we knew better.
She was stronger now.
Whatever she had become—whatever she had stolen, twisted, corrupted—she had gathered it for this.
She had waited.
And now, so had we.
We stopped at the edge of the bridge.
None of us had anything left to say.
The grief wasn't gone—it had simply calcified. Shuji's wisdom. Clara's laughter. Sayo's silence. They were with us, but no in words. In weight. In the drag of our steps, in the quiet we no longer tried to fill.
We didn't speak of them anymore. Not because we forgot—but because remembering would break us. And we still had to cross.
Erich stepped beside me.
Konrad to the other side.
Then—silence.
For a moment, we just stood there.
Then Erich said, "This won't be a battle one can walk away from."
I didn't answer at first.
Konrad's gaze didn't leave the far end of the bridge. "Doesn't matter. We're here now."
I exhaled, slow. "I wasn't planning on it."
There was nothing left to say.
We wouldn't ask questions.
We wouldn't beg for answers.
We would walked.
We would fight.
And if needed—we would die.
Together.