He felt her hands holding him tighter, and it was as though she were both there and not there, a presence that was tangible but unreachable. The warmth intensified, spreading through his limbs, renewing his spirit. And just as suddenly as it had come, the feeling vanished, and time resumed its flow.
Lord Thane, who had turned his back to Lord Varric to walk away, suddenly froze. He felt a disturbance, a shift in the energy around him. His senses flared, and he spun around, expecting to see Varric still lying on the ground. But the spot where Varric had collapsed was empty.
"What—?!" Thane's eyes darted around, searching their battlefield. He felt a prickle of unease, a sensation he was not accustomed to feeling. He turned again and his gaze fell upon Varric, now hunched over the shattered remains of his axe.
Thane's eyes widened in disbelief. How had Varric, who was on the brink of death just moments ago, moved so quickly? How was he even standing at all?
"What is this?!" Thane snarled, his voice tinged with confusion and anger. "You should be on the brink of death, Varric! How—?"
Lord Varric stood there, his hand trembling as he grasped the broken shaft of his axe. His body still bore the marks of the lightning strike, his armor singed and his skin scorched, but there was a new strength in his posture, a determination that hadn't been there before. His eyes burned with an intensity that caused Thane to take a step back
Thane's sneer returned, though it was less confident now. "So, you think you can stand up to me, even after everything? Fine. I'll make sure to put you down properly this time." Read latest chapters at m_v-l'e|-novelhall.net
But Varric did not respond with words. Instead, he closed his eyes, and in his mind, he heard Guinevere's voice one last time, soft and reassuring: "Fight for Sarah... and for yourself."
He took a deep breath, feeling his strength return in a way he had never felt before. He stood tall, gripping the broken halves of his axe, ready to face Thane once more.
It all happened so quickly that Lord Varric had no understanding of what had transpired. To him, his beloved wife was gone, lost to the cruel hands of fate. In his grief, he did what he knew best—he fought.
With a heavy heart and a battle-hardened determination, he swung his axe with fury, cutting down beasts, enemies, and anything that dared to stand in his way. What he did not realize was that he was not fighting alone. With each swing of the axe, Guinevere's spirit fought alongside him, guiding his strikes, lending him strength, and protecting him in ways he could not comprehend.
It was in the midst of one particularly fierce battle that Lord Varric first heard it—his wife's voice, soft yet unmistakable, whispering in his mind, urging him to dodge, to strike, to survive. At first, he thought it was a figment of his imagination, the desperate dreams of a grieving man. But the more he fought, the clearer the voice became, until he could no longer deny its presence.
He had bonded with the soul of his departed wife.
Over the years, this bond only grew stronger. Together, they faced countless foes, endured endless battles, and forged a connection deeper than anything Lord Varric had ever known. His axe was no longer just a weapon; it was an extension of his will, his strength, his very soul—a bond made manifest by the undying love of his wife.
But now, in this moment of reckoning, that bond had been shattered. Thane had broken his axe, and with it, the connection to Guinevere. For the second time, Lord Varric had lost his wife, and once again it was due to his own inadequacy, his failure to protect what mattered most.
The pain of this realization cut deeper than any wound. His rage was a quiet storm, but his aura spoke volumes. It blazed a furious red, a burning flame to his singular purpose: to end Thane, once and for all.
He stood tall, the broken pieces of his axe clutched tightly in his hands. His voice, low and filled with a fire that matched his aura, echoed across the battlefield. "I will not show you the mercy you offered me, Thane," he growled. "When you find yourself at the edge of my axe, do not beg to be spared."
His eyes blazed with a burning rage, and the air around him seemed to vibrate with the intensity of his fury. The fight was far from over.