Chapter Text
The battlefield still hummed with the echoes of dying magic. The air was thick with the scent of blood, charred stone, and something older – something… wrong. Lucanis stood over the fading corpse of Ghilan’nain, his chest heaving, twin blades streaked with the dark ichor of a slain god. Around him, the world still reeled from the battle’s violence, but the fight itself was done.
Ghilan’nain’s body twitched, grey flesh splitting apart at unnatural angles as the last shreds of her divinity unravelled. She was impossibly long, grotesquely lean, her tentacled limbs curling inward as if in agony.
“We had…” she rasped a dying wheeze, “such plans… Elgar’nan…”
Her golden mask – cracked, splattered with gore – slipped from her face and tumbled into the dirt. Empty sockets stared up at the sky, devoid of whatever ancient power had once lurked behind them.
A strangled sound cut through the stillness, low and guttural. Elgar’nan stood just beyond the ruined form of his fallen kin, his expression twisted with something terrible. His fingers clenched around the red lyrium dagger, the blade trembling as though it yearned to strike. His gaze flickered from Ghilan’nain’s broken body to Rook, and his fury swelled like a tide.
His voice, when it came, was thick with grief. “You will regret this,” he spat venomously, his hand lifting the dagger to point at her, as though willing it to strike her down where she stood.
For a moment, it looked as if he might lunge – might tear them all apart in the ruin of his sister’s death – but then, the air warped around him. The crackling storm of magic surged, and he turned sharply, stepping into the flash of light that carried him through the Veil’s open wound. And then he was gone.
Neve’s voice rang sharp with urgency. “The Fade’s still ripping open!”
Emmrich, his face tight with alarm, turned to Rook. “The dagger! Rook, you must break its contact with Ghilan’nain!”
Lucanis turned just in time to see Rook step forward, pushing against the howling maelstrom of magic. The energy swirled, wild and untamed, grasping at her like living tendrils, trying to pull her under. He moved instinctively, starting forward, but the storm surged too strong and too vicious. He couldn’t reach her.
She staggered but didn’t stop, reaching for the dagger still embedded in the god’s crumbling form.
Her fingers brushed the hilt.
A deafening crack split the air. The world folded in on itself – bright, furious, blinding. The battlefield flashed white, a burst of raw energy exploding outward. Lucanis lifted an arm to shield his eyes, heart hammering against his ribs, but the moment passed in an instant.
And then--
Silence.
The storm collapsed in on itself. The battlefield stilled. The last vestiges of Ghilan’nain’s form dissolved into dust and scattered like dead leaves.
Lucanis blinked against the sudden, unnatural quiet. His vision adjusted. He turned, seeking the place where Rook had been only a breath ago.
It was empty.
A slow, creeping dread curled through his gut. His brows drew together, confusion giving way to unease. He took a step forward, then another, scanning the ground, searching for something – anything.
“Rook?”
No answer. Only the shifting rubble and the laboured breathing of the remaining Veilguard regaining their bearings.
Neve turned in circles, her normally sharp composure cracking as she checked the ground as if expecting to see a trace of Rook’s shadow. Emmrich took a step forward, then hesitated, his expression tight, jaw clenched. Bellara knelt briefly, pressing a palm to the disturbed air where Rook had stood, as if she could still sense something there.
“Where is she?” Neve’s voice was brittle, uncertain in a way Lucanis had never heard before.
Lucanis didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
He moved.
Wild, desperate, he shoved past the others, boots kicking up ash and dirt as he ran across the battlefield, searching. His breath came fast and ragged, heart pounding like war drums in his chest. He tore through the rubble, hands shaking and bloodied as he upended broken stones, tattered banners – anything that might conceal her.
“Rook!” he shouted again, louder this time, voice raw. His fingers scraped against the cold earth, finding nothing, nothing. He turned sharply, eyes scanning the battlefield as if he had simply missed her, as if she could be hiding behind the remains of a crumbled pillar.
She had to be here. She had to be here.
“Rook!” The name ripped from his throat, fractured and barely recognisable.
Spite screamed within him.
The presence within him writhed, unsettled, panicking. The familiar weight of the demon’s presence was now pulsing erratically, lashing out like a caged animal. The bond between them twisted with unease, and Lucanis knew, instinctively, that Spite felt it too.
Rook was gone.
Lucanis staggered, breath catching as a violent tremor ran through his limbs. His knees nearly buckled, but he forced himself to remain standing, fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms.
The world felt too still. Too quiet. The battle had ended, but at what cost? His fingers curled into fists, his jaw tightening against the rising dread threatening to consume him. They had won. He had slain a god.
And yet, he had never felt more powerless.
* * *
Lucanis didn’t remember the journey back to the Lighthouse.
He knew they had travelled, that the Veilguard had spoken around him, made plans, exchanged worried glances. He had no memory of the motion of the ship beneath his feet or the sound of waves against the hull. Only Rook’s absence filled his mind, repeating, unrelenting.
Now, in the cold stillness of his kitchen quarters, he sat perfectly still, perfectly rigid. His hands rested on his knees, fingers curled ever so slightly, as though ready to move, to act, to strike. But there was nothing to fight. Nothing to chase.
His mind churned. Replaying every second, every detail. Had he missed something? Had there been a clue in the way she had moved? In the way the magic had swelled just before she vanished? He turned the memory over and over, looking for cracks, for meaning, for anything that would tell him what had happened.
His pulse pounded in his ears. He couldn’t rest. Couldn’t stop. Because stopping meant accepting she was truly gone, and he would not accept that.
Spite stirred.
The presence in his mind coiled, restless, agitated. He had been panicking since the moment Rook disappeared, railing against the confines of Lucanis’s consciousness. Now, his voice slithered through the silence, low and seething.
“Foolish. Weak. You wait. While she is. Lost.”
Lucanis’s jaw tightened, but he did not respond. Spite pressed harder, words dripping from his own lips like venom.
“Not. Dead. Not yet. Magic took her. Only magic. Will bring her back. I want. Rook. Back!”
His breath hitched.
He surged to his feet, the sudden movement breaking the oppressive stillness. Mages. He needed mages. He needed answers. Bellara, Neve, Emmrich. Someone who could track the traces of the magic that had swallowed Rook whole.
He stormed for the door, hands already curling into fists. He had wasted enough time drowning in his own mind.
It was time to act.
* * *
“It is taking too long!” Lucanis’s voice cracked like a whip through the dimly lit chamber, sharp with frustration and fear. His fingers dug into the table between them, knuckles white with pressure.
Emmrich exhaled slowly, measured, the kind of breath taken by a man standing in the face of a storm. “Lucanis--”
“Don’t Lucanis me!” he snapped, slamming his palm against the wood. “It has been two weeks. Two damn weeks, Emmrich, and you’re still telling me you have found nothing?”
Emmrich’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice steady. “You don’t understand the scale of what you’re asking. The Fade is infinite, shifting. We’re looking for one soul in a sea without shores.”
Lucanis shook his head, pacing the small space like a caged predator. “There has to be something. A trace, a thread, anything. Bellara said she was trying--”
“She is,” Emmrich cut in firmly. “We all are.”
He sighed, rubbing his temple as though speaking of it exhausted him.
“You want me to give you absolutes, but I’m afraid the Fade simple doesn’t work that way. Its geography is mutable, its laws barely understood even by those of us who have spent a lifetime studying them.”
Lucanis glared at him. “Then what are you doing, exactly? What’s taking so long?”
Emmrich straightened, his academic patience thinning. “We’re attempting to triangulate Rook’s essence against the arcane resonance left in the tear. But the readings are unstable. The Fade is like an ocean, shifting with every ripple. If she’s moving, if she’s being moved, our readings have to be recalibrated constantly. Every variable could throw us off. We are trying.”
Lucanis felt a deep, clawing frustration settle in his gut. It wasn’t enough. None of this was enough.
“Then try harder,” he growled.
Emmrich’s expression darkened, his voice dangerously even. “You think I am not? You think Bellara, Neve, and I are sitting idle? We are trying to follow a thread thinner than silk, through a storm that changes course every time we find our bearings.”
Lucanis was breathing hard now, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “And yet she’s still gone.”
A tense silence stretched between them. Emmrich studied him for a moment, then exhaled. “I know you’re desperate, Lucanis. But reckless magic will not bring her back. It could do the opposite.”
Lucanis swallowed down the fury clawing at his throat, but he couldn’t ignore the gnawing sense of helplessness threatening to consume him. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled, long and slow. The fire in his chest dulled, just slightly, into something more exhausted than enraged.
“I...” His voice faltered for a moment. He closed his eyes, pressing his fingers against his temples before continuing. “I am sorry. I should not have snapped at you.”
Emmrich studied him, then nodded, his own tension easing just slightly. “I understand. More than you think. You love her very much, don’t you?” His tone was quiet, steady. Not mocking, not prying. Just certainty.
Lucanis stiffened. His throat felt tight, the weight of those words hitting him harder than he expected. He forced himself to swallow against the sudden, stinging pressure behind his eyes.
“I just--” He let out another slow breath, turning his gaze away. His fingers curled slightly, nails biting into his palms as he fought to keep himself composed. “We have to find her. We need her back… I need her back, Emmrich.”
Emmrich's tone softened further, a quiet assurance beneath it. “And we will. I swear it.”
* * *
Lucanis returned to his quarters with the weight of exhaustion pressing against his bones. The dim candlelight flickered, casting long shadows across the room. He closed the door behind him, but the silence was not soothing. His hands trembled at his sides, curled into fists, the echoes of Emmrich’s words still rattling in his skull.
The air felt too thick, the silence suffocating. He gritted his teeth and gripped the edge of a shelf, head bowed, body trembling. He had to do something, had to find a way to fix this. But there was nothing. No trace of her to follow, no enemy to fight. Just this aching, gnawing void.
Rook’s absence was a tangible thing, a hollow space carved into the air. He felt it in every breath, in every second that passed without her voice. He missed the way her eyes softened when they met his, the quiet way she studied him when she thought he wasn’t looking. The way she fought, fierce and unyielding, but never cruel. The warmth in her words, the kindness she gave so freely to others. The way she laughed. The scent of her hair when she stood close, the way her fingers brushed against his without hesitation. Everything about her was gone, torn from the world as if it had never known her.
And the world was colder for it.
The sting behind his eyes burned hot, sharp, insistent. He clenched his jaw, forcing the sensation back, swallowing hard against the thick lump in his throat. But it wouldn’t leave him. It sat there, heavy and unmoving, a weight made of all the things he had never said. The words that had never left his lips. The moments he had let slip through his fingers.
Rook had done so much for him. She had helped him escape the Ossuary, pulling him back into the light when the walls had nearly swallowed him whole. She had stood by his side when he took his revenge on Zara Renata, when he buried the past with blood and fire. She had helped him find Caterina, reunited him with the woman who had shaped his family’s legacy. She had been there through all of it – without expectation, without asking for anything in return.
And what had he given her? A few stray touches, a handful of quiet words, looks he had let linger too long but never acted upon. He had thought there would be time. That he would have the chance to show her properly, to let her see what she meant to him. And now she was gone, and all he had left were ghosts of moments that had never come to pass.
His breath hitched, his chest tightening like a vice around his ribs. He gritted his teeth against the sob that clawed its way up his throat, willing it back, swallowing it down. He would not cry. He would not cry. But the grief was relentless, sinking deep into his marrow.
He breathed in sharply, exhaling in slow, measured intervals, willing the tension to ease, but it only built further, coiling in his gut like a snake. His fingers curled tighter around the shelf's edge, his knuckles whitening. His whole body itched to lash out, to break something – anything – to tear apart this room the way his insides felt torn. But what good would it do? It wouldn’t bring her back. It wouldn’t fix anything.
Spite stirred.
The pressure in his chest tightened, suffocating, unbearable.
“I want. Rook. Back.”
Lucanis closed his eyes, shaking his head. He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. The anger sat beneath his skin like fire, burning, demanding release.
“Where is. Rook.”
His breath came harder, uneven, his fingers curling into the wood of the shelf. The walls of his restraint, already threadbare, began to unravel.
“If you. Can’t find Rook. Then I will!”
The first shattering crack split through the silence before he realised he had moved. The shelf above him tore free from the wall, glass jars bursting against the floor, the scent of spices and dried herbs suddenly thick in the air. A chair was flung back, striking the opposite counter with a sickening crunch. Then the knives – his carefully kept set – ripped free of their place, clattering violently onto the stone.
Then the pots. The dishes. A candle holder, its flame snuffed out before it even hit the floor. A sack of flour exploded as it struck the ground, sending a ghostly cloud into the air. A bottle of oil shattered, slicking the floor with golden streaks. Dried fruit and salted meat spilled from broken containers, mixing with the debris, a ruin of what had once been a space of care and purpose. The remnants of what had once been meals, warmth, sustenance – now shattered and ruined.
Lucanis stood amidst the destruction, chest heaving, Spite raging beneath his skin. His hands were shaking, his breath unsteady, but the rush of fury had passed. In its place, only emptiness remained.
And then… Guilt. Regret. The weight of everything he had lost pressed down on him like a crushing stone.
His knees buckled.
Lucanis sank to the floor, among the wreckage, gripping at his own arms as if to hold himself together. His chest ached. His body wracked with tremors. Yet still, he fought it. Fought the sobs clawing at his throat. He clenched his jaw. Sucked in sharp, shallow breaths. Willed himself not to break. Not here. Not now.
But it was too much. The waiting. The helplessness. The unbearable, endless loss of her…
A sob tore free, then another. His shoulders shook, his entire body wracked with it. He curled forward, arms wrapping around himself, as though he could shield himself from the unbearable weight of absence. He had kept it in for too long, fought against it too hard, and now it poured out of him in waves, breaking him apart piece by piece.
Spite was silent now. No urging, no destruction. Just the aching, empty knowledge that he missed her too.
Lucanis didn’t know how long he sat there, crumpled amongst the ruins of his own making, breath shuddering, body trembling. The wreckage surrounded him, but nothing felt more broken than he did in that moment.
The door creaked open.
Soft footsteps, cautious but certain. Then warmth. Arms wrapping around him, grounding him, anchoring him.
Bellara and Neve.
They didn’t speak at first, only held him as his body shook, as he gasped for breath between sobs. Bellara’s grip was steady, unwavering, while Neve pressed close, a quiet, solid presence.
Bellara’s voice broke the silence, but it wasn’t steady anymore. There was a tremor in it, a fragile waver like she was fighting to keep herself composed. “We’ll find her, Lucanis. We will.”
Neve exhaled sharply, and for the first time, her voice was uncertain. “You're not alone in this. We’ll bring her back.”
Lucanis didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His body trembled against them, the remnants of his sobs still tearing from his chest in broken, uneven gasps. He had nothing left, no walls to brace himself against, no strength to muster. Only the wreckage, the grief, and the hands that held him steady through it.
He buried his face in his hands, pressing his palms into his eyes as if he could stop the flood of tears, but it was useless. He sobbed harder, great, wracking howls that stole the breath from his lungs, leaving him gasping between them. His shoulders shook, the sound raw and desperate. He hated this; hated feeling weak, hated that he had let them see him like this. But he had no strength left to stop it.
Bellara tightened her arms around him, her own breath uneven. “She wouldn't want you to do this alone.”
Neve rested a hand on his back, the smallest gesture, but grounding. “You're allowed to grieve, Lucanis. But you won’t have to grieve forever. We’ll find her. We swear it.”
Lucanis could only grip onto them, fingers twisting into fabric, as if they were the only thing tethering him to the world. The heavy and shuddering sobs still came. But at least now, he was not alone in them.