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Aisling understood immediately that something had changed when Fenja and Idris crossed the threshold of the Garden. Not only the intimate closeness with which they walked, their fingers intertwined as if it were the most natural thing, nor their glances, tender and burning at once. A new wisdom also appeared on their features.
Fenja finally let go of Idris’s hand gently, stepped toward Aisling, and held her tenderly against her.
“You still look dreadful…”
“And you… you are radiant.” The healer offered a weary smile. “Love suits you.”
The huntress blushed despite herself, before Idris joined them to embrace Aisling in turn. But their gazes quickly took on that new gravity again.
“The Tree has shown us… something.”
Azrael, who until then had watched them silently, stepped forward slowly, joined by Uriel, Astaroth and the Four.
“What did you see?” asked the Archangel in a steady voice.
Idris exchanged a look with Fenja before answering:
“Where the last Elemental is. In fact… I believe Aisling has already encountered it.”
The healer blinked, surprised.
“Me?”
“That branch of the Styx… in the underground tunnels. The Water Elemental was there.”
A freezing shiver ran through Aisling, but not because of the cold that still gnawed at her. She remembered that unbearable sensation that had petrified her to the bone. So that was it. But why had it felt so strangely familiar?
“We need to go back there, all together.”
“We no longer have that luxury,” Fenja added gravely. “The war has begun. Heaven and Hell are already gathering their armies on Earth. Humanity will no longer be able to hide. Our people must have regrouped as well. Hellguard and Astaroth’s troops too.”
Uriel locked eyes with the demon.
“Then we must return. Prepare them.”
“And split apart now? Bad idea. If we hurry and…”
“We might run out of time.”
“Go prepare the humans.” Death broke the silence with his hoarse, deep voice. His icy eyes fell on Aisling. “I will take her to the last Elemental. Let us end this.”
“And afterwards, we’ll settle the score with the Council, Lucifer, Lilith, and all their lackeys…” Strife cracked his knuckles, already savoring the thought of the fight.
Beside him, Fury remained more restrained. She placed a firm yet warm hand on Aisling’s shoulder, searching her eyes.
“Will you hold on?”
“Of course… I must.” The young healer forced a smile.
A heavy silence followed, broken only when Idris raised a hand, his expression grave.
“Wait. The Tree showed us something else. Gathering the Elements won’t be enough to replant the Tree of Life and Death.”
“It requires a colossal source of energy to make the seed sprout and root it into the fabric of the universe,” Fenja completed.
War frowned, his massive fist pressing against his chin in a thoughtful gesture.
“Samyaza might know. If an answer exists, it lies in the archives of the Twilight Realm.”
“Then handle it,” Death cut in. “Search the library. Find what is needed. In the meantime, let Ulthane prepare the three other Elementals.”
Immediately, everyone set into motion, urgency vibrating in every movement. Fenja and Idris returned to Aisling and drew her into a threefold embrace, warm but weighed down by an anxiety no words could hide.
“See you later?” whispered Fenja, her face against her shoulder.
Aisling nodded, but Idris was not satisfied. He fixed his eyes on hers, almost pleading.
“Promise it. No one abandons ship now, right? We’re in this together until the end.”
She knew exactly what they feared, even if neither dared speak it aloud. They saw how she was withering away. The seed drained her faster than her strength could recover. Since their carefree days in Nimrach, an eternity seemed to have passed, and time was running short.
Yet she forced a smile, her lips trembling.
“Promise. See you later.”
She knew she was lying.
.
The exit of the Serpent’s Hole spat them back into the underground depths, not far from the Nephilims’ village. But the place, once filled with peaceful quiet, no longer held anything reassuring.
As soon as Death and Aisling set foot outside the portal, a deafening chaos engulfed them. The galleries resounded with screams, weeping, orders shouted in panic. Villagers ran in every direction, clutching bundles of food, blankets, sometimes only their children whom they tried to soothe despite the terror. Some stumbled, others almost tore themselves out of arms to rejoin their kin, fear carving painful furrows into their faces.
From the adjoining tunnels came bestial howls, mingled with the clash of metal and the dull sound of stone being shattered. Battles raged close by, every echo reverberating through the rock.
Aisling and Death exchanged a brief look. No words were needed. Both rushed toward the heart of the village, cutting through the crowd that parted instinctively before the aura of the Darksider.
At last, they came upon Ogias. The Nephilim, visibly out of breath, was trying to maintain a semblance of order, shouting directives to his brothers and sisters, helping an old woman up with one hand while with the other he pushed a lost child back toward his father. Sweat beaded on his brow, his weapon still drawn, as if he hesitated between running into the fight or protecting his people.
“Ogias!” called Aisling loudly as she drew closer. “What is happening?”
“Demons. Entire hordes pouring up from the depths. They are everywhere, they’ve spilled into the village. We have no choice, we must flee.”
Death narrowed his eyes, scanning the line of battles unfolding in the distance.
“It is the End War. Each camp is summoning its armies.”
Ogias shook his head, fear casting shadows beneath his eyes.
“We cannot stand against this…”
Aisling turned to Death, silent pleas burning in her gaze.
“No,” said Death in a clipped voice. “We have no time. I must first take you to the Elemental. That is the priority.”
“I might be able to help…”
Vulgrim emerged between the villagers’ legs, straightening with a chuckle that jarred with the surrounding panic.
“You… you followed us,” Aisling spat, stiffening. “What do you want in exchange for their survival?”
The demon tilted his head slightly, amused.
“Oh, we will certainly negotiate,” he purred. “But not now.”
Death stepped forward, and his voice sliced the air like a blade.
“If you value your life, demon, I recommend you remain silent. Your lips will stay sealed until further notice.”
Vulgrim shrugged, his smile widening into a grimace.
“I have never had lips, Rider. We will settle the price of silence later, when things are more… interesting.”
Aisling felt her stomach knot with horror. Yet the bite of Death’s gaze, the assurance in his threat, granted her a meager respite. He then turned to Ogias.
“Follow him. And if he seems suspicious… kill him.”
Ogias nodded, resignation and dread mingling on his face. Around them, the Nephilims gathered as best they could, ready to flee. Aisling would have wanted to make sure no one was left behind, but Death was already urging her, pulling her through the network of tunnels.
“Let us avoid the fights. Lead us to the Styx.”
They slipped through narrow passages, the rock damp and seeping. From afar, demonic howls and the clash of battle rebounded against the walls. Brutal encouragements to hurry. Aisling forced her pace, leaning against the stone to keep up. More than once she stumbled, nearly twisting her ankle, almost rolling onto her side.
“You are too slow,” Death growled harshly when she collapsed again.
“I’m doing… what I can…” she panted in protest.
He saw her pale, drained of strength. Without a word, without bothering with explanation, he slipped in front of her, guided her arms around his neck, and hoisted her onto his back. Then he began to run again.
Aisling’s world shrank to the sensation of warmth, to the steady hammering of her own lungs and the pounding of Death’s boots striking stone. They crossed a narrow ridge, leapt across a chasm. She felt the air whistle beneath their feet, and he clawed onto the opposite wall, gouging into the rock. Dizzy, Aisling pressed her hands tighter against his forearms, clinging to him.
“Not so tight…” he muttered in a strangled voice.
“Sorry…”
“You are freezing.”
“I’m cold…”
His jaw tightened.
“I will not let you fall. Hold on.”
They advanced like this, one carrying the other through the damp darkness, the breath of the cavern and the distant uproar of battle urging them always forward.
“I thought you never carried anyone…” Aisling managed a faint joke, remembering their first meeting.
“I will erase your memory when we are done.”
“Fair enough…”
Then Aisling finally recognized the familiar shapes of the rock. She pointed ahead, panting.
“The entrance… it’s right there.”
Death slowed at once, then gently slid her down from his back, steadying her by the waist so she would not collapse. She passed through the opening, her hands groping against the icy wall to squeeze into the narrow passage. But he had barely set a foot to follow when a colossal shadow lunged: an Anakim burst from a hidden recess, its monstrous arm slicing through the air to seize them.
Death shoved Aisling firmly through the gap before turning, his scythe already materializing in his hand.
“Do not stop! I will hold them off. Go!”
Aisling saw him vanish into the passage, his silhouette clashing against the Anakim’s mass, and at once the sounds of steel and roars erupted behind her. Every fiber of her being screamed to wait for him, but his order rang in her head, imperious. Trembling, she took one step, then another.
The cave unfolded before her just as she remembered it. The supernatural waters of the Styx glimmered with a spectral blue, casting shifting reflections onto the walls. She had to follow the course of the water to the lake.
But the farther she walked, the heavier her steps became, her muscles numbed, her breath uneven. Each inhalation released thick clouds of mist. When she lowered her gaze, her fingers trembled, and a thin film of frost formed on them, transparent, cracking at her movements.
Almost crawling, Aisling finally reached the shores of the lake. Her legs, numbed by the cold gnawing at her from within, could no longer carry her. She collapsed to her knees on the damp stone, her palms clawing against the ground.
Then a voice rose, seeming to come from everywhere at once, echoing above the still waters.
“What do you seek here?”
Aisling shut her eyes, a chilling shiver running down her spine. That voice… she already knew it. Idris had been right. She had already encountered the Water Elemental, but elsewhere: in the chamber of the Seed.
“I… I know you,” she whispered in a broken breath.
In response, the lake’s surface began to ripple, stirred by concentric circles. A shadow grew beneath the dark water, and suddenly, a black muzzle broke through. Slowly, majestically, the immense creature emerged: a titanic wolf with ink-dark fur, dripping with icy waters, its luminescent eyes fixed on the young woman. Its massive body, gaunt in appearance, heaved itself out of the lake and remained standing on the surface.
The voice resounded again, echoing from its half-open jaws without its fangs moving.
“What do you seek here?”
Aisling did not need to think. She already knew the answer, for this conversation had already taken place. Weakly, fighting to lift herself despite the pain and the ice biting her veins, she rose to her knees. Her hand pressed against her chest, where the Seed still pulsed.
“I’m here to retrieve the Seed of the Tree of Life…” she whispered, her voice hoarse but steady.
“Why do you seek it?”
“To replant the Tree. To restore the Earth. To save humanity.”
“Why does humanity deserve to be saved?”
Aisling closed her eyes. Nimue had taught her the answer. And in that silence, images flashed through her: Nimrach and its carefree days, the faces met and lost, the humans she had healed, the angels, the demons, the Nephilims… all had fought, suffered, given the best of themselves, often at the highest price. Each had earned their existence, even in a broken world. So she drew a deep breath, reopened her eyes, and said:
“Because each of us deserves a second chance to try to be better.”
The black wolf inclined its head ever so slightly. Its voice grew deeper still, resonating into her very bones.
“Would you give your life for them?”
Aisling smiled, resolute.
“I already have…”
The colossus fixed her for a long moment, its glowing eyes seeming to probe her soul. Then it lowered its head slowly.
“Then come. It is time.”
A cracking sound echoed: the thin sheet of frost covering her legs was splitting as she rose. Each movement cost her dearly, but she stood and advanced toward the lake. With each of her steps, the water froze beneath her feet, carving a path of ice toward the center.
Aisling knew this moment would come. Perhaps she had always known. She had hoped that their quests, their victories, would ease the burden of the Seed within her. But she already felt drained, her life slipping away like water between her fingers. She had only wished not to have to walk alone toward this end… but perhaps it was better this way.
She finally stopped before the Elemental. It had not moved, waiting for her to dare cross the last distance. Trembling but resolute, Aisling raised her hand, ready to touch the gigantic muzzle lowering toward her.
“No!”
A flash of steel sliced the air. Death’s scythe came crashing down with violent force, striking the Elemental square on the head. The titanic wolf leapt back, spraying icy water and unleashing a furious growl that made the entire cavern tremble.
Startled, Aisling lost her balance and collapsed onto the ice. Her eyes instantly turned toward the figure that had just landed at her side. Death straightened, scythe in hand, his icy aura vibrating with determination. His burning gaze fixed on the creature, ready for battle.
The Elemental wasted no time. The moment Death’s blade grazed its flesh, the colossus surged with all its might, and the fight erupted with brutal ferocity. The air quaked under their blows, the ice cracked beneath their steps, every strike sending up sprays of foam and shards of ice flying in every direction.
“Death! Don’t do this!” Aisling screamed.
She tried to rise, but the violence of the duel threw her back to the ground. The entire cavern shook with their clash. Frost crept over her body, thickening into an icy prison that bound her muscles and stole her breath. Her strength dwindled with each passing second. And yet, a pain sharper than the cold tore through her. She wished she had time… time to say goodbye. To give her friends that last comfort, a smile, a word, before her role ended. But that luxury was denied her. So, at least, she could give him this.
Summoning what remained of her will, she lifted herself to her knees, then to her feet. Her fevered eyes followed the duel, searching for an opening.
At last, in an explosion of strength, Death hurled the Elemental to the far end of the lake. The black wolf slid across the ice, rolling onto its flank, snarling with fury and pain. Death charged, ready to deliver the final blow, his menacing silhouette outlined in the icy mist.
It was then that Aisling, staggering but determined, managed to reach him. In a last effort, she seized his arm, her numb fingers clutching him. He turned sharply, startled.
“Death… wait…”
Her legs gave way suddenly, and she collapsed like a doll. Death caught her at the last instant, supporting her so she would not strike the ice. He held her seated against him, his arm solid like a barrier against the inevitable.
“Death… it’s all right… Let it come.”
“No. It must be weakened before you can absorb it.”
She forced her lips into a trembling smile, even as her teeth chattered in the cold
“What does passing on require?” she asked, her voice wavering.”
“No.”
Behind him, she saw the black wolf rising slowly, its colossal frame outlined in the frozen mist. Each step made the ice quake, resounding like a death knell. She tightened her embrace around Death, preventing him from turning. Her eyes blurred with tears, yet she kept smiling.
“What does it require?” she pressed, her voice hoarse.
“I told you… I will not let you fall.”
Her strength abandoned her. She no longer even held herself on her knees, resting entirely in his arms. Frost consumed her muscles. Time frayed apart. Then she clutched Death tighter, words burning her throat. Too much to say. Not enough time.
“Replanting the Seed… means being able to speak with the Creator… That is why the Council will do everything to stop it. When it is done… do not remain alone. You were not made for that. Find someone to finish the chess game with you.”
He cast a glance over his shoulder. The wolf was drawing nearer, its glacial eyes fixed on them, but patient. Waiting. No, it would not come for her. It was for her to step forward. She felt that Death already understood. That he knew she would not leave this cavern alive.
“We all deserve a second chance…” she whispered. “Take yours. All Four of you… all…”
The wolf now loomed over them, gigantic, motionless. It waited.
“What does passing it on require?” she repeated one last time, her voice nearly broken, her eyelids heavy, ready to close.
“Sacrifice.”
Then, summoning her last strength, Aisling lifted herself slightly. A trembling hand rose toward the Elemental’s muzzle. And in the same movement, her lips sought Death’s. The touch burned hotter than the cold. Her hand brushed the wolf’s icy fur. And thus it ended.
It was a good ending, she thought. The kiss of Death.
.
The Twilight Realm had never been so restless. Everywhere, the streets of the city rang with hurried steps, tense voices, the clamor of metal worked in haste. All who had the strength, the experience, or simply the courage were preparing for battle.
In the great forge beneath the castle, right beside the Tree of Life and Death, the Mad Smith toiled with near-mad intensity. His hammer struck ceaselessly on the anvil, taming the realm’s unique alloy into weapons and armor. It mattered little to whom they were destined: angels, demons, humans, even some Watchers. All would be armed, all had to fight. Nearby, the last Makers lent their talents, and despite their dwindled numbers, each seemed ready to take up arms if need be.
Fenja would lead a group of archers, her quiver sagging under the weight of arrows. Idris, for his part, would command a squad of fighters at his mother’s side, determined to hold the line to the end. Uriel and Astaroth had also gathered their own troops, angel and demon, standing side by side in an alliance improbable but indispensable.
At the forge, Ulthane worked on the three artifacts meant to contain the Elementals, engraving with his massive hands the runes that would allow their transport. His brow streamed with sweat, his gestures heavy but precise.
“We are still no further on the source of energy needed to plant the Seed,” Strife growled, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the artifacts.
He turned toward Samyaza, whose shadow stood etched in the glow of the flames.
“The Nephilim will. They can’t fight. They will remain and search the library and the castle archives again,” the Watcher replied gravely. “I am convinced Seraphel and Varakh knew something. There must be a clue.”
Astaroth, uneasy, paced back and forth. His dark eyes kept drifting toward the Tree and its portals, where Fenja and Idris sat.
“We will have to go, and… oh no…”
His breath faltered into a hoarse murmur. All eyes turned toward one of the portals, which had just lit up. Death stepped out, his armor scratched, his stride heavy. In his arms, he carried a fragile figure, slender, white as winter: Aisling.
She looked like a statue of crystal. Entirely covered in frost, her body radiated a strange, peaceful glow. Her features seemed asleep, serene. The black roots that once consumed her skin had vanished, leaving only pale veins, like ghostly scars.
A terrible silence fell over the cavern. Fenja raised a trembling hand to her mouth, her eyes drowning in tears. Idris, motionless, unable to understand. When truth finally struck him, he collapsed with a heartrending cry, which only Fenja’s strength kept from breaking him entirely.
Death said nothing. Not a single expression crossed his face. He passed before the others without a word, laid Aisling’s body delicately upon a flat stone, then opened his gloved hand. In his palm rested the Seed, vibrant, radiant, still pulsing with colossal energy.
“It is for you to plant,” he said, his mechanical voice emptied of all emotion. “The last Elemental is within it.”
No one dared answer. The Four kept their heads bowed. Uriel’s face was frozen in a grimace that could not break into tears. Even Astaroth seemed shaken, his jaw clenched tight. Fenja stepped forward and received the Seed in her trembling hands. Her eyes clung to her friend’s body, silent tears sliding down her cheeks.
“Did she… suffer?” she asked in a broken voice.
“No.”
She nodded, as if that were enough to ease her grief, though she knew nothing could lift its weight.
“We must… we must hold the ceremony to say goodbye,” Idris stammered, shattered. “We cannot leave her like this.
Azrael descended slowly, his wings brushing the ground, and stood beside the still body.
“I will watch over her until your return. You will perform the ceremony on Earth when … it will be all over.”
Idris nodded and stepped closer, pressed a long kiss on his friend’s frozen forehead, then collapsed once more against Fenja. She did the same, laying her lips on the icy skin, her face torn by grief.
One by one, each came to bid her farewell, in silence, with a gesture or a glance. Then, when the group finally left the cavern to return to Earth, many turned back one last time, seized by the insane hope of a final miracle. But no. Aisling did not rise. Not this time.
And when the portal closed behind them, the whole world seemed to have lost a little of its light.