At the center of a blackened orchard kneels a solitary figure. A plume of shadows twists above, rising like smoke through the skeletal branches. Two dark gray stones sit in front of him.
Arthur swings from the saddle and unsheathes his sword. He still can’t identify the source of the darkness he feels, pressing into his awareness like the edge of a knife not quite breaking the skin. But he recognizes, with an even stronger pang, the figure before him.
“Shae!” he shouts, running forward. “Get over here!”
He needs Shae to get away from the shadows. Away from danger. Forgetting he threw his pendant away, he presses his hand to his chest. All he touches is tunic and leather armor, but golden light still comes to his call. The rays burst from him, intended to form a protective shield—
But they dissipate in a circle around Shae’s kneeling figure, and Shae doesn’t move.
Were it not for the sick tension humming through the air, the necromancer would look peaceful. Reverent. His pose is very like that of prayer.
Arthur stops short, ten feet away, sensing something wrong. “Shae,” he says hoarsely. “What’s going on?”
Shae’s body shakes. Trembles. A wheezing sound breaks the silence of the orchard, growing louder with each second, until it heightens into peals of harsh laughter. The sound grates in Arthur’s ears. Still laughing, Shae jerks to his feet and turns around.
He looks far too pale, the skin under his eyes bruised with exhaustion. He’s nearly skeletal, his bones ready to break through his paper-thin skin. Bruises mottle his neck. His eyes flicker black, then gray again. The shadows aren’t just surrounding him. They’re rising from his body. He’s the source.
“Shae, what have you done?”
“What I had to,” Shae rasps. “I gave my soul to the power, and it’s too late to turn back. So, fuck off if you know what’s good for you.”
Arthur’s heart pounds in his throat. His ears are about to pop from the pressure. He adjusts his grip on his sword. “I’m not fucking off this time.”
Shae laughs again. “Suit yourself, paladin.”
That’s the only warning before knife-like shadows arc around him and streak towards Arthur’s heart.
“Radiance,” Arthur swears and prays, and dodges.
He swings his sword up to deflect the shadows, and the blade shimmers golden with Vara’s gift. The shadows hiss as they collide with the steel, then ricochet back. Arthur lunges sideways to dodge the next volley, severing a handful of shadows in midair. They dissipate. More stab towards him in their stead.
Shae remains still as ice throughout, a statue in the midst of roiling shadows. Only his face gives any indication of life—sick amusement crumpling into rage.
That anger that gives Arthur hope. He refuses to believe he’s too late.
“I’m sorry,” Arthur says, parrying another blow. He sidesteps the next strike from behind. “I should have left with you.”
Shae lifts his chin. “That doesn’t matter now.”
Arthur can fix this. He has to be able to fix this. He just needs an opportunity to get close to Shae without getting skewered first. “I’m serious. The order didn’t need me. I wanted them to need me, but they didn’t. I shouldn’t have let you go alone.”
“How noble,” Shae spits. His face twists with rage, and the next shadow launches past Arthur’s blade, punching into his left shoulder. The leather armor can’t deflect it, and the skin splits. “But I don’t need you either. Your righteous charity isn’t required.”
Arthur’s shoulder burns with cold, then the heat of blood, but he doesn’t dare take his eyes off Shae to look at it. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t care.”
“Then why are you so angry?” Arthur sees the slightest flinch in the stony face. “I think you still care. I think you want me to help you.”
“I don’t care,” Shae hisses again. But the frozen statue fractures. When Arthur steps forward, he steps back.
The shadow knives dart towards Arthur, and he can’t deflect all of them. He pushes forward anyway, praying silently, and the light flares around his blade, buying him another second. He has one chance to save Shae. The cleansing spell will take all his strength, and if he fails, he knows that Shae will kill him before he recovers.
He’s not afraid of dying. He just hates the thought of what that would do to Shae, if he ever wakes up from this madness on his own.
“Let me help you,” he says. Takes a deep breath. “I love you.”
Shae’s eyes widen for a split second, then darken wholly black. Arthur takes the single moment of surprise to throw his sword aside. If he fails, he won’t need his sword anyway. He seizes Shae by the shoulder, by the back of his head. Feels the trembling resistance to his touch and ignores it, tangling his fingers in Shae’s hair.
