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‘Rhen drew in a shuddering breath and hesitantly climbed off his horse. It knickered in response, shaking its mane, and nudged him with its head as if sensing his reluctance. Or maybe it was just as nervous as he was. The air always did feel unnaturally still here in the early mornings, deadening any sound.
“It’s alright,” he whispered, petting its neck. “We’re home.”
Home. The word was harder to say than he thought it would be and it caught in his throat. After all this time, it still hurt. Probably always would. And ‘Rhen would carry that pain with him along with everything else, another broken and put back together piece of his soul. “We’re home,” he repeated through set jaw. Coming back here seemed like the right thing to do at the time. He had convinced himself that he was ready. That it was time. He had avoided this long enough. Now that he was actually here, he was no longer sure. The earthiness in the air was achingly familiar and he didn’t even mind the mud that stuck to his boots.
It was the quiet.
It usually was at this time of day, right at the cusp of sunrise. ‘Rhen had spent so many mornings wandering alone through these woods with nothing but his thoughts for company. He could still trace every path he had taken then, every scar he had left on the trees with his sword, every bit of progress he had made. And, as the sun crested the horizon and its light broke through the branches, he turned his face into it, shutting his eyes against the brightness. Voices echoed in his mind, sounds of people waking up, going about their daily lives, greeting friends and loved ones.
No more. It would never again be more. ‘Rhen opened his eyes to cold silence and his heart seized. His breathing faltered and he had to catch himself on the saddle. He wasn’t ready for this. He wished he hadn’t insisted so hard on coming alone, suddenly missing Dorian’s steady and solid presence. But he had to. He needed to finally put this ghost to rest.
Unbuckling the saddle pack with shaking fingers, ‘Rhen carefully pulled out the leather wrap that held the broken pieces of his sword. After defeating Corypheus, he had spent months sifting through the wreckage of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, searching for it. It started simply as something to do in the absence of purpose. He had felt listless, tenebrific, and manual labor helped keep his mind at bay. Then it had turned into a madness of its own as he feverishly dug through every bit of mud, rock, and bone. Eventually, as he put the pieces back together, ‘Rhen had found a modicum of peace. He still struggled with finding forgiveness, though, and he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to. But he could at least say a proper farewell.
Pulling back a corner of the leather wrap, ‘Rhen revealed the shattered blade. It shone in the early morning light, polished painstakingly to perfection, and he ran a thumb over the pitted metal. He had thought to ask Harritt if there was something he could do with it. Maybe reforge it. But, in the end, it seemed wrong. If he could put the sword to rest, then maybe he could do the same with his mind. As little a chance of that as it seemed.
‘Rhen sucked in a deep breath and closed the flap. He could do this.
Sa sylvun, sa ven, sa vun’in i’lam.
Translation: One breath, one step, one day at a time.