The cyclopean tower trembled, falling apart piece by piece, as if time itself had finally claimed it. Harris and Jack watched from afar as it crumbled, sending tremors across the desolate wasteland.
Soon, the tower became nothing but rubble—then dust—fading from existence like a phantom, along with the corpse of the colossus. In a way, it had completed its purpose: a tomb for the mother and her children.
Jack clenched his fist, eyes burning with fury, but relief shone through more than anger. He was alive. That alone was enough.
His gaze lifted to the lifeless sky. Memories of the White Death were still fresh; his body ached with a pain that healing couldn't erase.
Jack loosened his fist, letting out a heavy sigh. Questions burned inside him, but he knew Harris would never answer.
"No. Not yet. The carriage also needs some patching."
Jack's eyes went wide. "What? You're not—"
"I saved your life. That's enough for one day," Harris said, walking away. A sudden gust caught his coat, flaring it like a banner in the wind.
"I know you're watching," he called calmly.
"So why don't you just come out?"
The sky cracked.
Shards of it rained down like glass. Mountains split, landmasses groaned, and reality itself seemed to warp.
Time froze.
Then, from the fractures, a throne formed—majestic, impossible—as if the heavens themselves were reshaping the world. Upon it descended a being of white light, cloaked in thunder, its presence bending the earth beneath it.
Harris stared without flinching. "You did all this for me? I'm flattered."
"Why have you come here, butcher?" the being's voice boomed, shaking the void itself.
"I thought that would be clear," Harris replied, a vile smile creeping across his face.
"To make sure you and your friends starve to death."
The being's expression remained unshaken. "Insolent wretch. If I wished, your soul would be torn apart and hung across the stars."
"Go ahead. Try it. You'll never find *****."
The radiant figure's smile faltered. The throne's base cracked beneath it. Thunder clashed with the earth—heaven colliding with land—as flaming eyes fixed on Harris.
"I'll take my leave… for now."
The being ascended through the fractures, vanishing into the void.
Time resumed.
The throne shattered. Mountains stitched themselves back together, and the world flowed once more.
Three days passed since the White Death.
Harris did nothing but watch the sun rise and fall over the gray battlefield, crimson sparks occasionally flickering against the darkened sky.
By day, he rode in silence across the barren wasteland, his mask unreadable, his thoughts incomprehensible—but chaos churned beneath.
The carriage groaned at every turn, wooden wheels complaining as dust rose like a mournful sigh.
"Lark," Jack said quietly.
Harris turned. "What?"
"That's my last name."
Harris arched an eyebrow. "Lark? Your last name's a bird. No wonder you're friends with a horse."
Jack frowned. "It's normal where I come from." He refocused on the road, narrowly avoiding a jagged piece of bone.
"What was your home like?" Harris asked.
"What?"
"The world you came from. What was it like?"
Jack was a little surprised by Harris's sudden interest. "To tell you the truth… I don't really know. I lived in that world, but I never really lived in it, you know?"
"Then tell me what you do know."
"What I know…"
Maybe it was because it was just the two of them in the middle of nowhere, but for some reason Jack felt like he could be honest.
"The hearts of the people were wicked. They were cunning and shallow. They judged everything by what they saw. The world I knew was dirty—dirtier than shit—and it devoured anything good."
"Do you still want to go back?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Jack's mouth curled into a smile, trying to hide his sadness.
"Because I'm hoping someone is waiting for me."