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This can’t be happening .
You aim one last stream of magic straight at the Warrior Brood in front of you, and it collapses to the ground with a heavy thud as you drain the last of its health pool. His antennae twitch feebly,, and he’s chittering something you don’t understand – probably to the tune of “woe is me!”-- but you don’t have time to dance over your fallen enemy. There’s something far more important demanding your attention. You do a quick scan of the room to locate your companion.
Without magic, Dyvim relied on swordsmanship and strategy alone, and you had seen for yourself how he was more than able to hold his own. Still, as you learned in your years of adventuring, you could never get too comfortable in battle. Your eyes land on a platform above you, where you see him dueling none other than the Brood Mother. His concentration and focus are palpable as he flits around the area in which the Brood Mother has him cornered, dodging her attacks and landing jabs when possible. He hasn’t fought alongside you for long, but you can tell that the Brood Mother is giving him a real challenge. You make a dash for the ramp leading up to provide reinforcement, when a terrible cry makes your blood run cold. You snap your head up just in time to see the Brood Mother pulling her stinger from his chest and sending him hurtling out the window.
The ground feels like it’s tilting beneath you and time seems to move in slow motion, as if all of Khrysalis were plunged into the same honey that oozes from the tower’s walls. What just happened? Your heart pounds in your ears, and you’re slightly nauseous as if you’d taken too many spins on the Wizard City carousel. You could just lie down right there and close your eyes until your head stops spinning… but you need to make a decision first. Do you finish what Dyvim started with the Brood Mother, or do you rush to his aid? Would he be alright if you just took a few minutes to- No. That’s a ridiculous question. You know what you need to do. The Brood Mother could have been Morganthe herself, and you would have done the same. The world comes back into a crystalline focus as you break out of your stupor and your feet carry you outside.
You rush out of the Tamarind Tower, nearly tripping on your own robes, back into the hostile territory that is the Moon Cliffs to be greeted with Dyvim’s crumpled form on the ground before you.
This can’t be happening .
You first check to make sure it’s safe for you to get to Dyvim. The royal guard haven’t caught onto your activities yet, but they will soon. You go ahead anyway. They pose no real threat to you, but that’s not the case for a seriously injured Dyvim. You drop to your knees at his side, the shards of glass surrounding him crunching under your boots being the only noise in an otherwise silent area. He’s not moving, and his eyes are closed. His sword, which he was still holding as he fell, lies a few feet away. There’s a hole torn in the leather of his armor where the Brood Mother’s stinger pierced it. You don’t detect any breathing. Your own breath catches in your throat. Is he…? He can’t be.
You grab his shoulder and turn him over before giving it a shake.
“Dyvim… Dyvim?” Your voice comes out thin and uncertain. You clear your throat before trying again.
“Wake up. Dyvim?”
There’s a moment of terrible stillness, but fortune must have been smiling upon you at that moment. Before your mind can accept the worst case scenario, you hear a weak cough from beneath you. A surge of hope courses through your veins. You almost want to start laughing in relief, but you hold back in the face of your wounded friend.
“Thank Bartleby, you’re alive–I thought you died for a minute there,” you say, trying to force a bit of levity. Dyvim was going to be fine. He was fine. He is fine. “Let me fix you up.” You move to unbuckle his armor and begin checking his injuries, but he stills your hands by resting one of his own on top of yours.
“Spellbinder, take the Comb Key.” He presses the key into one of your palms with a shaky hand. “The Brood Mother stung me - I can feel the poison burning through my veins.” He turns his head so he’s facing you, wincing as he does. You can tell by the way he struggles to keep his eyes open that this is a tremendous effort. “Go through the Honeycomb Gate to the Last Wood. Find my kin. Please, do whatever you can to help them, for me…”
You can feel a burning in your chest almost as if the Brood Mother just stung you too.
“What are you talking about? Come on, I’ll carry you back to them,” you protest.
“No. You’ll never be able to get to safety if you have me.”
You open your mouth to respond, but you can’t find the words. As much as it pains you to admit it, he’s right. The royal guards have surely noticed that something’s going on by now, and there’s no way you’ll be able to get yourself and Dyvim out in one piece. Besides, it’s your death that would mean a certain end for the spiral. Still, the thought of leaving a friend behind twists your heart. You object once more, but he’s firm on his decision. And if there's anything you’ve ever been good at, it’s following orders.
“Go,” he insists, giving you a weak smile, before turning his gaze back to the sky to let you know that he won’t argue with you anymore. The conversation’s over.
You stand up wordlessly and collect your belongings. Before leaving, you take one more look at Dyvim, who had closed his eyes, almost like he was sleeping in the grass. You leave and don’t look back.
It takes some battling through royal guards and wary mouse knights before you get to the heart of the Last Wood, but at last you find yourself before the commander of the Burrowers.
You hate to be the bearer of bad news. It seems that every time you speak, a new misfortune or horror tumbles out: from telling Ambrose about your failure to stop Morganthe’s plans in Celestia, Zafaria, and Azteca to telling the Aztecans themselves that for all the times you had been a savior of any kind, you failed to be their savior. So, when Alwyn Woodward visibly deflates when you tell him that Dyvim is gone and you left him (albeit at his request), it was the least you could do to follow his one request for you and head back out to secure the forest’s borders.
While you beat back Blue Razors and Flame Legs, you make a joke about how easy it was, before realizing you’re talking to yourself. You just concentrate on your work after that. After finishing up, you notice your helmet is more scuffed up than it should be after a routine battle. You shrug it off and settle for believing that you underestimated these enemies. It’s not until you’ve stopped halfway back to the Last Wood to dig through your bag for some dinner that you remember that you never had these problems with Dyvim by your side. Maybe you got lazy with someone working by your side, or maybe you got too used to his presence in general. Whatever it is, you feel a whole lot more vulnerable out in the woods. It’s getting dark – you scarf down your rest of your meal and continue your walk back to tell Alwyn of your accomplishments.
“I am impressed by your deeds,” he says, after you finish listing out the number of enemies you defeated and their locations. “It’s the mark of a true knight to help those in need.” As you thank him and turn to leave, he speaks once more.
“We are all feeling the loss of a friend and brother, but please know that we do not blame you. The best that any of us can do is keep fighting on the side of light, and I know he would have trusted you to continue his efforts.” In the warm glow of the setting sun that usually turns the world to glorious gold, Alwyn still looks harried and tired. You’re tired.
For all the times you’ve acted as a diplomat or ambassador in your career as savior, a simple “thank you” is all you can come up with for Alwyn. You leave him so you can both rest before nightfall.
You’re standing outside in the Last Wood with the other Burrowers as you wait for Alwyn to start Dyvim’s memorial vigil. The night air is brisk, and you rub your hands together to try to warm them up. For a wizard who’s been surrounded by death for as long as they can remember, you don’t remember the last time you went to a funeral, or if you’ve even been to one since coming to the spiral. You sneak discreet looks at the other Burrowers. You don’t know if you’re doing this right, and the last thing you want to be is disrespectful at a time like this.
A light murmur spreads through the crowd. Alwyn is standing at the top of a large rock that jets over the clearing you’re gathered in, wearing what could only be his finest clothes. He’s ready.
“Burrowers, we are gathered on this night to honor the memory of our fallen friend, the brave Dyvim Whitehart.” The jewel centered on his helmet gleams in the silver moonlight. “Honorable, kind, and good, he was the pride of the Burrowers and the perfect image of what a knight should be.”
He continues for a few minutes listing out Dyvim’s many virtues and contributions to the Burrowers’ cause. At some point, another Burrower joins him on the rock to speak of the respected Whitehart family and their history of said virtues through generations. At the end, Alwyn formally begins the vigil (“May we all live in his example in our resistance to the Shadow”), and you are left standing in silence, surrounded by the crowd of other mice. In the darkness, you can’t see much more than a few feet in front of you. You should feel afraid. The dark has never spelled anything but danger for you in the past. Instead, you feel comforted– comforted by the presence of those around you. You’re in Dyvim’s home: his place of refuge. You’re walking the same lands that he walked. You’re with the people he called his own. But tonight is a momentary consolation, and you are only a visitor to the Last Wood. You’ll have to take the plunge back into the darkness, whether you want to or not.
Later that night, you jolt awake after dreaming of Dyvim laying on the ground, stiff and cold, small and alone, face frozen in agony. You wanted to reach out and bring him home where he deserves to rest, but you were frozen in place. In the real world, the Royal Guard would have found him at this point. You shudder to think of what they did with him. You can’t go back to sleep after that.
You decide to get back to your quests at hand. Flipping open your quest log, you choose the first one your finger lands on: collecting some papers for a blind mouse. It should keep you busy enough to make it to morning. You pull on your questing clothes and grab your bag, wand, and deck. You check the contents of your bag once, twice, thrice over before starting your walk to Bastion in the silence and stillness of late evening.
You arrive in Bastion by dawn, and you decide to watch the rising sun from a corner hidden from the mantises and goliaths. Streaks of gold scatter across the scene in front of you. In a word, it’s beautiful.
Bastion stirs to life around you, and you move to start your search.
You still can’t shake the feeling that you’re missing something, but you know you need to move on and keep fighting.
Isn't it what Dyvim would have wanted?