When Eliphaz returned to Shechem, dawn was already breaking, the clay bricks of the palace awash in warm, rosy light. He rushed past the guards half-asleep at their posts, a blur of snorts and clattering hooves as he clung to the reins of his horse. The animal collapsed in the middle of the courtyard, its shaking legs finally giving in to exhaustion.

Crawling off the writhing mass, Eliphaz hardly fared better than his beast. His skin was cracked and burned, covered in thin cuts painted over by tender scabs. He was exhausted, heart still pounding as his body began to shut down, darkness enveloping his senses. All he felt was a faint buzzing in his arms as he clutched the fevered body of Narina.

It was a miracle they had escaped from the forest of bells. Eliphaz could only guess at from where they had come, yet he nonetheless stumbled upon the clearing where Besset had left the horses. At the other side of the glade, the earthen hut of the witch lurked. Desperate for help, Eliphaz investigated, but found the place abandoned: no mortars, no teraphim, nothing at all. Only the smoking coals suggested that their conversation had ever taken place. Where could the old woman possibly have disappeared to?

Eliphaz had no time for such questions. Narina’s condition was already beginning to worsen. She had stopped trying to fight the curse, at least outwardly, and her body was starting to shiver even as her forehead slickened with sweat. Her fate was in his arms, and Eliphaz felt helpless. The best he could do was lead them through the forest, tugging at the reins of Narina’s horse, tripping over dark roots and praying that the trees would give way. The forest grew hushed, or at least to Eliphaz’s senses, which heard only the sound of his own breath, and the grunting protests of the beast as he urged it forward.

Lost in the singular nature of his cause, Eliphaz would later not remember the precise details of his return. Where exactly had he emerged from the thick of the forest? What townships had he passed, how had he managed to navigate the dusty roads at the early morning hour? He had relied entirely on instinct, some unconscious memory guiding him as he retraced the steps of their journey. Where the road split, he chose to head towards the dark ridge in the distance, praying to the gods it was the one they had crossed only a day before.

Only once the sun rose, and he could see the soft glint of Shechem’s clay tiles in the distance, did his heart begin to sink from his throat. Not that Eliphaz allowed relief to wash over him, for Narina still hung from his arms like a broken doll, lifeless except for her slow, faltering breaths. There was no telling how much time she had, Eliphaz thought, for all he knew it might already be too late…

There was no use in such thoughts. Keep moving, he repeated like a mantra.

He dug his heels into the beast. It frothed and cried in protest.

Keep moving.

He felt his vision darken. Biting into his tongue, the pain jolted his mind awake. Exhaustion could not stop him now. Not now. Not when they were almost there.

Keep moving, Eliphaz still thought when his limbs had seized and given up, his head resting on the dusty stones of the palace courtyard. People had gathered around him, likely disturbed by the early morning commotion, but he could not look up and see their faces. Too weak to move, he stared at their feet, old pairs of boots and sandals, shuffling with discomfort and concern.

The feet parted, and a pair of slippers approached, walking briskly but with a notable limp. Eliphaz felt himself grabbed at the shoulders, suddenly face to face with the newcomer. For a second, he was blinded by the sun, the morning light blotting out the person’s features.

His vision cleared, and he saw that it was Mina, the Keeper of the palace. Her face was inscrutable, a mixture of confusion and annoyance at the chaotic scene occurring within her walls. And yet her eyes betrayed her fear, as if she saw something in Eliphaz’s face that he had unwittingly revealed.

“What is the meaning of this?” Mina asked. Her fingers gripped his arms tightly.

Eliphaz struggled to speak. His throat was parched and filled with dust, and he felt it tighten in protest as he forced the words out of his mouth.

“Besset is dead,” he blurted out. “The...Nephilim is dead. Narina killed it. I’m not sure how.” His gaze drifted across her unconscious form beside him. She looked almost peaceful, resting on her side.

“And Narina is…”

He felt blood rush to his head, beating in his eardrums in panicked alarm. He tried to say it, but his body failed him, the terrible words caught in his throat.

Narina is dying.

He felt light headed, the world drowned out by darkness. His body grew heavy, and he slipped from Mina’s grasp. The last thing he saw was the woman’s face aghast as he keeled over, finally giving in to exhaustion.

—

When Eliphaz came to, he felt weightless. His eyelids still heavy, he remained in the dark until a blue screen ran through his vision:

You have assisted in the defeat of the Nephilim Dânêl! +200 exp

Assisted? The thought drifted drowsily through his mind. He glanced over his stat sheet.

Eliphaz

[Briarsworn] Level 12 Experience 225/400

He was well on his way to level 13, most of it owing to the wealth of experience the Nephilim had brought. Looking back, he had very little to do with Nephilim’s demise. In the end it had been Narina who delivered the final blow, so who knows what rewards she may have reaped…

Narina.

The thought bolted Eliphaz awake. He sat up, looking around his unfamiliar surroundings. The room was dark, a curtain pulled across the window, with only a thin rectangle of light filtering out along its edge. Most of the space was taken up by an extravagant four poster bed (wherein Eliphaz found himself), though by the window there was a small desk littered with trinkets, and beside that a wooden basin filled with water.

Parting the fine mesh of the canopy, Eliphaz slipped off the bed. The stone felt cool beneath his feet. Someone had wrapped him in a thick robe which reached his ankles, covering his former clothes that were torn and sullied beyond repair.

Eliphaz drank deeply from the basin, before taking a towel to his face, scrubbing as hard as he could. His whole body felt dirty, as if he was encased in a second skin of dust, grime, and sweat. Beneath that his body ached, the skin along his arms peeling from burns. His face stung from the shallow cuts where branches had whipped him—but that couldn’t be helped. There were more pressing matters at hand.

Exiting the bedroom, he found himself in a narrow outdoor corridor. The walkway was lined on either side with low, fruit-bearing trees, and in the distance he could hear the trickling water of a fountain.

He ignored the gawking looks of the servants he passed. He meticulously checked each room, brazenly poking his head inside to make certain she wasn’t there.

In the fourth room he found her. Shrouded behind the gauze-like canopy, wrapped in a long gray robe. The expression on her face was peaceful, her head tilted slightly as if looking up towards the ceiling.

Almost too peaceful.

Eliphaz couldn’t help himself. Instinctively he reached out and took Narina’s hand, feeling for a pulse. It was still there. Weak, but still.

He felt a wave of relief, but it didn’t last long. Narina was still alive, but the worst was yet to come, the foreboding thought heavy in his mind. And here he was, helpless in the face of the inevitable, with little choice but to watch her slowly slip from his grasp.

The silver lines had spread across her skin, like cracks beneath the surface of ice. They were growing, fine scars slowly etching their way up past her neck and onto her cheeks. In the sunlight they were impossible to miss, and despite their appearance, Eliphaz knew the damage was far from skin-deep.

The Nephilim was cursed. It was meant to die, but for reasons unknown to him, it had lived on in anguished pain and hunger. And though Narina had killed it, in some way the curse lived on within her, draining her life force just as it had once drained that of the abomination, the forbidden creature.

“I thought I’d find you here,” a warm voice said from across the room.

Eliphaz looked up. Mina was standing at the doorway, her gray hair pulled back in an elegant bun. She wore a dress the color of sand, a shawl wrapped around her arms.

She approached him and for a moment they both stood in silence, looking down on Narina’s sleeping form. Eliphaz didn’t know what to say, and so he said nothing at all.

“I had the royal physician examine her this morning,” Mina finally began, sensing the unspoken question. “He confirmed there is nothing physically wrong, well, outside the general lack of sensory response. He will examine her again tonight. In the meantime I have ordered the servants to deliver water and damp towels—”

“She’s been cursed. Something to do with the System.” Saying the words out loud made Eliphaz’s mind go dull. “She showed me, right before she fell unconscious. The System is killing her and she will die unless we do something about it.”

For a second Mina tensed up, clasping her hands together to contain her nervous energy. “Yes, we…suspected that. Unfortunately there is not much to be done about it at this time.”

Eliphaz turned around. “Unfortunately?” Anger welled up in his voice. “You’re telling me there’s no one in this wretched city that can help her? No one who understands the System enough to tell us what is wrong?”

Mina shot back: “Where do you think the priests and priestesses went, after the trouble you caused at the Baal’s temple?” She took a deep breath, adjusting her shawl as she collected herself. “My apologies. It’s been an unusual series of days, to say the least.”

Eliphaz’s cheeks reddened, suddenly bashful. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”

He looked down at his feet, but felt a hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, I understand that the past few days have been exceptionally difficult. I extend the Court’s deepest gratitude for your service. No one could foresee the great sacrifices that had to be made from everyone involved. Including the brave Besset—may his name be blessed.”

He nodded as tears welled in his eyes. “Besset knew that death was a possibility, but that didn’t stop him from doing what was right. We all knew, and yet I let Narina come with us. And now she will die, because I couldn’t protect her.”

“Hush, Eliphaz, all is not yet lost.” Mina bent down to look at him with bright, piercing eyes. “There is still hope, as long as her condition does not worsen. I have spoken with the Prince, and his lordship is prepared to do whatever it takes to save her.”

“Whatever it takes? What options do we have?”

“Shechem may not be able to save Narina, but north of here, in the far reaches of Amurru, lies the city of Qadesh,” Mina explained. “Home of the sacred Order of the Kotharat, the swallow-like daughters of the goddesses of life and healing. If anyone will know what ails the girl, it will be them.”

Eliphaz looked up, his interest piqued. “And these Kotharat, they will be willing to help?”

Mina nodded. “For the right price, yes. If by tonight Narina does not improve, a messenger of the Court will make the journey with her. If the rider is swift and travels by moonlight, they should reach Qadesh in two days.”

Eliphaz’s mind raced with possibilities. He seized on the sliver of hope Mina offered, already preparing for the journey ahead. “I will take her,” he said. “I can personally ensure that Narina reaches the Kotharat within two days.”

“Are you sure?” Mina raised a curious eyebrow. “It hasn’t been a day since your return. There is no shame in staying behind to recover—”

His gaze cut her off. Eliphaz’s eyes were still slightly red, cheeks sparkling from where tears had yet to dry. But his expression had changed to one of steadfast determination, and the sudden change in the boy’s demeanor took Mina by surprise.

“I will take her,” he said again. “I mean no disrespect to Prince Hemor, but I made a promise to Narina.” He looked down toward the ghostly figure, hidden behind the sheer canopy. “I have no choice but to keep that promise.”

“Very well.” Mina bowed lightly in assent. “I will personally inform the Prince of your decision.”

Mina prepared to leave and was halfway to the door before Eliphaz called out to her.

“One more request.”

She turned around. Eliphaz’s robed figure looked like a ghost in the half-lit room, his auburn curls glowing red in a shaft of light. To Mina, he seemed so young, so innocent: there was a jarring contradiction between the boy and his deeds. How could he have faced the depraved Molek, within his own temple? And survived an encounter with the cursed monster, who had claimed so many lives before? In Mina’s mind, it didn’t make sense.

“Tell the Prince to prepare a horse and the Kotharat’s payment as soon as possible,” Eliphaz continued. “There is no time to waste, I know for a fact that Narina will only grow sicker the longer we wait. I will leave before nightfall.”

In his voice there was an undercurrent of power Mina hadn’t noticed before, so assured that she did not dare question his intentions. Like a dark shadow sweeping across a face, a force from deep within Eliphaz reared its head, and obliterated her doubts.