Page 74 of Unravelled

Mira was frozen. Her body wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t breathe. Wouldn’t blink. All she could do was watch.

The blade withdrew from Torvyn’s body. Slow.

Merciless. Slick with his blood, gleaming as if proud of what it had done.

Torvyn's knees buckled. The strength drained from him as his body gave out.

He crumpled. His hands grasped at nothing, reaching for something, for someone, before they fell limp against the stone.

A sound ripped from her chest, raw and impossible, tearing through the battlefield. A scream. A sound that didn’t just come from her voice, but from her soul. Ragged. Violent. Shattering. It ripped through the hall, cut through the clash of steel, the roars of war, the dying gasps of men.

For just a moment, the battle paused. Warriors turned.

Soldiers hesitated. Because they felt it too.

Felt the sound crawl under their skin, felt the weight of it press down on their bones, twisting through their marrow.

A scream of loss. A scream of grief. A scream that did not just mourn the man who had fallen, but mourned the brother she thought had.

Mira moved before she could think. She let loose, her hands steady despite the shaking in her chest. She loosed an arrow. And another. And another. Torvyn’s murderer staggered back, forced to parry the relentless onslaught of her arrows.

She moved forward, swift and deadly, her body cutting through the throng of people. Her breath tore through her lungs as she pushed past fallen bodies, boots slipping in blood-slick dust.

She needed to be there. To see him. To make sure he wasn’t alone. Torvyn. Her brother. The one she had fought with. Cursed at. Clung to. The one she had hatedin this moment and never stopped loving.

She was almost there. Just a few more steps. A few more breaths. Her knees hit the blood-soaked stone, hands grasping, desperate, searching, but there was nothing to find.

Torvyn’s body lay still. Lifeless. The warmth already fading from his skin, the blood pooling around him in thick, glistening rivers. Her hands trembled as she touched his face, as if she could shake him from this, as if she could live back into him.

He was gone. She was too late. Her fingers curled into his tunic, into the red fabric, as if holding him tighter could tether him back to her. Her chest heaved, a sob, a shudder, a sound ripped from the deepest part of her.

He had died alone.

???

Mira wasn’t sure how long she stayed there. Seconds. Minutes. A lifetime. The world around her blurred, faded into something distant and unreal. The battle raged on.

Somewhere, warriors fought and died. Somewhere, steel clashed, boots thundered, voices shouted commands.

But here, at this moment, there was only Torvyn.

Only the weight of him in her arms. Only the way his body did not stir, the way his chest did not rise, did not fall. His body would never move again.

Someone gave an order. His forces hesitated, only for a breath. Then they moved. Quick. Silent. Like ghosts vanishing into the mist. They peeled away from the fight, breaking into the tunnels, slipping from the palace like they had never been there at all.

She didn’t listen to the last of the retreating footsteps.

She only held on to what was left of her brother.

Her hands pressed against his head, his face, his chest. She just needed a moment longer with him.

But there was nothing left to hold on to.

Mira lay her head down on his chest. Willing.

Begging. For his heart to beat. For him to wake up. But the silence was deafening.

???

Time slipped. There was only the weight of Torvyn’s chest beneath her head and the unbearable stillness where his breath should have been.

Someone reached for her. Hands. Holding her. Pulling her from Torvyn. Anchoring. Arms wrapped around her, firm but careful. She fought anyway. Wild. Desperate.

She kicked, lashed out, trying to wrench herself free, her breath coming in ragged sobs. But the grip didn’t falter. A second set of hands warmer, surer, pressed against her shoulders, meant to comfort, meant to hold her together when she was already shattering.

A voice, low, urgent. She didn’t hear it.

Didn’t care. She twisted violently, a sob tearing from her throat, raw and shattered, clawing, desperate.

Back to Torvyn. Her feet scraped against stone slick with blood as she dug her heels in, her chest heaving, fingers reaching, reaching.

But they held her too tight. Not in restraint, but in something like protection.

As if keeping her from him now would somehow hurt her less.

A voice. Sharp. Cold. The arms around her tensed. A choked gasp broke from her lips as the hands held her too tight. Footsteps. More voices. She only knew the warmth of her brother was already fading. Torvyn was still on the floor. Still bleeding.

With a violent jerk, she threw her head back, felt the sickening crack of bone against bone as her skull collided with the person behind her. A sharp gasp of pain, the hands on her loosened. She wrenched herself free, stumbling, nearly falling, but she didn’t stop. Didn’t think. Didn’t breathe.

She crawled to him, hands shaking as she reached for him.

"Torvyn..." His name was a whisper, a prayer, a plea, but there was no answer.

She curled against him. Holding on. As if she could keep him from slipping further away. As if, by sheer will, she could bring him back.

The voices around her blurred into noise. Distant. Meaningless. Arguing. Shouting. More hands reaching for her. She shrugged them off, her breath ragged, her hands clawing at Torvyn’s tunic, fingers twisting in the fabric.

A shadow shifted above her. A face. Tharion.

Mira blinked, her vision swimming, her chest aching, tearing.

He was covered in blood and sweat, his tunic torn,his chest heaving.

He yelled something. His lips moved, his voice urgent, his eyes soft, pained, pleading.

She didn’t hear him. Didn’t care. She closed her eyes.

???

A whisper. Something slipping through her, curling into the hollowness inside her. She opened her eyes. Ren.

He was battered and bleeding, scratches along his arms, his hair clinging to his sweat-dampened skin, his tunic torn, his nose split open at the bridge. And still, His eyes found hers.

He lay beside her. Eye to eye with her. Watching. Waiting.

His voice came low, steady, shaken. “Mira...”

Her throat burned, raw and tight. Her chest ached, hollow and splintering. Ren shifted closer, still lying beside her, still watching. Soft. Gentle.

“Let me hold you...” A plea, not a command.

Mira squeezed her eyes shut, her breath shuddering, hot tears slipping down her cheeks. Her fingers tightened in Torvyn’s tunic.

“I... ” her voice cracked. “I can’t leave him alone.” Ren exhaled, something soft and breaking inside him too.

“He’s not alone, we’ll be right here” His voice was so sure, so steady.

A sob tore through her. And another. Her body shook with each one. Ren didn’t move. Didn’t push. Didn’t tell her to stop. He just waited.

Mira exhaled a ragged breath, her chest heaving, her body trembling as she slowly turned shifted her gaze, looking at Torvyn’s pale face. Someone had closed his eyes. The finality of it clawed through her.

Her fingers trembled as she reached out, barely brushing his cheek. But he was so still. Unmoving. Gone.

Slowly, she crawled to Ren. He opened his arms without hesitation. And the moment she reached him, she collapsed into him. Ren held her tight. Mira clung to him, her body shaking, sobs tearing through her, relentless and raw. Breaking her apart.

He didn’t speak. Ren’s hand slid through her hair, slow and careful. His heartbeat thudded steady against her ear. Her grip on his tunic loosened. Her body gave in, slumping against him. Her breath deepened. The weight of sleep pulled her under.

???

The world returned in fragments. A dull ache in her limbs. The warmth of steady arms around her. The slow, rhythmic thud of a heartbeat against her ear. Mira stirred, her body reluctant, unwilling to return to waking. But the cold, the absence, dragged her awake.

Her eyelids fluttered open. The faint glow of lantern light. The heavy hush of the palace, thick with the echoes of battle. And Torvyn. The breath she had been holding left her in a silent shudder.

He lay where she had last seen him, his body still, his face a mask of unnatural peace. His skin had turned pale, the warmth long gone, stolen. Mira swallowed against the lump in her throat. It did nothing to ease the raw, splintering ache in her chest.

Ren stirred beneath her, his grip on her tightening as if he had felt the shift in her breathing.

She inhaled sharply, blinking against the blur of unshed tears.

She shifted slightly, enough to turn her face up to Ren's.

She saw the exhaustion lining his features, the dried blood along his temple, the bruises forming beneath his skin.

Mira’s gaze drifted past him, back to Torvyn. She needed to look at him. Needed to see him, even though every second that passed made it harder to recognize the warmth, the life, the fire that had once burned so fiercely within him.

Her fingers trembled as she reached out. He was stiff, already drying with blood. His blood. Her lips parted, but the words barely came.

“I need to bury him.” her voice was barely a whisper.

The words sat heavy in the air, pressing down, suffocating. A finality she hadn’t spoken before, hadn’t dared to acknowledge. Ren hesitated. He sat up, pulling her with him, keeping his arms firm around her, as if he could shield her from the truth.

Another figure stepped forward. A shadow darkened the pool of candlelight near Torvyn’s body.

Cleric Perrin. She wore robes of deep ivory, embroidered with silver thread, her veil drawn back to reveal her face carved with quiet sorrow.

Her hands moved with intention, shaped by years of ceremony, of loss, of memory carried like a second skin.

She knelt beside Torvyn’s head, fingers resting briefly against his brow. “I will complete his rites personally.” she said gently.

Mira nodded, but the movement felt detached, as if her body was answering without her. Her brother, her only family, was being prepared for the rites of the Navigators.

The thought twisted something deep inside her, curling into an ache that felt like it would swallow her whole.

“I don’t want him to be alone.” Ren’s arms tightened around her.

“He won’t be,” he murmured, voice steady despite the storm breaking inside of him too.

We’re here. We’ll take care of him." His grip was an anchor, and yet she still felt adrift. Beyond the circle of candlelight, her eyes caught a glint of red across the floor, a dark river staining the marble beneath the dais.

Blood. A trail that led away, smeared and dragged. Brahn. Someone had pulled him from where he’d fallen. Mira didn’t know where he had been taken, or if he still breathed, but Navigators above, she hoped he was dead.

Mira barely registered Perrin stepping back, her presence no less commanding for its stillness. She nodded to someone outside Mira’s field of vision.

“Tharion.” Ren called his name softly, and for a moment, nothing happened.

Mira turned to look. Then a shudder. Tharion was kneeling his back to Torvyn. But his sword lay discarded at his side, forgotten. His chest rose and fell in uneven, ragged breaths. He did not move.

His grief had rooted him to the spot, as if stepping away would make it real.

Mira’s voice barely found her. “Tharion...”. His breath hitched and turned to look at her. Tears carved silent tracks through the blood and grime on his face.

He blinked, his gaze flickering from Torvyn’s still face to hers, as if seeing her for the first time. He exhaled, slowly, carefully and moved. Ren shifted. Mira felt the strength of his arms tighten briefly before he gently eased her from his lap, his movements slow, tender.

He set her beside him with care, as if afraid she might splinter apart if handled too roughly. Then, with a quiet breath, Ren shuffled forward. Tharion approached Torvyn’s body and sank to his knees opposite Ren, his head bowed.

They worked in silence, with rags soaked in warm water, wiping the blood from his face.

Every motion was an impossible kindness for a man who had attacked their home.

Cleric Perrin knelt again at Torvyn’s head, whispering words in an ancient language.

The language of the Navigators, old and reverent.

The same words spoken over those lost to sea, to time, to war.

Mira could barely breathe through it. When the rites were done, Perrin raised her gaze, her face shadowed with the weight of the moment.

“Where is his final resting place?” The question shattered something inside her.

Mira closed her eyes, as her tears fell. Torvyn had been many things, a brother, a traitor, leader. But Mira has no doubt, he would rest where he belonged. In their family crypt.

“With our mother.” The words left her lips like a vow.

As the silence settled once more, Ren stepped back and stood at her side. She felt the brush of his hand against hers, grounding.

A moment later, Tharion joined them. Together, the three of them stood, shoulder to shoulder.

Perrin nodded once, solemn. Only the rustle of fabric, the careful gathering of limbs. Mira watched Perrin's acolytes filed in. And as they lifted him, something inside Mira shattered.

Her chest clenched with unbearable pain, and the sobs tore from her throat, raw and unrelenting. Tears streamed down her face as Torvyn was carried away, each step a cruel echo, toward the place where he would rest forever.