Chapter 130. A Ghost of Spilled Ale From a Night Before the World Ended
Catherine’s entire body seized as if struck by lightning. The muscles in her hands simply surrendered, fingers spasming open in involuntary convulsions.
Aetherion and her white-hilted blade slipped from her grasp with a twin, hollow CLANG, tumbling uselessly into the blood-soaked dirt. Her knees didn’t just bend; they gave out completely.
She collapsed into the debris, her breath coming in short, wet, whistling gasps that sounded more like a wounded animal than a warrior. Her vision began to tunnel, the edges darkening until the only thing left in the universe was that silhouette that towering, chitinous nightmare looming over the clearing.
Eight years of repressed agony, of screaming into pillows to drown out the memory of bone snapping and flesh tearing, came crashing down on her with the force of an avalanche. This wasn’t just fear; it was a complete psychological annihilation.
Behind them, the clearing was deathly silent except for the guttural breathing of the students. William heard Kaela’s sharp, terrified intake of breath, a sound of pure recognition.
"Stay back," Lia’s voice came in a low, urgent murmur, desperate to maintain some semblance of order among the trembling students. "Don’t move!"
"Stay in formation! This isn’t our fight."
Even Olivia, who usually moved toward danger without hesitation, remained frozen at the treeline. Her instincts were screaming at her that this was a private hell, a moment of trauma so raw that any intervention would be like throwing salt into an open wound.
William moved before he could even think, his boots skidding through the gore slicked grass as he reached her just before her face hit the stones. He caught her from behind, one powerful arm wrapping around her shaking, fragile frame while his other hand pressed her back against his chest, creating a barrier between her and the monster.
"Catherine! Catherine, look at me—no, don’t look at it! Look at me!" His voice was a low, controlled growl against her ear, a desperate attempt to anchor her to reality even as the transformed creature unleashed a roar that shook the very marrow of their bones.
The sound was a physical force, sending loose stones skittering and dust cascading from the trees. "You’re not there! You’re here, with me!"
"That thing... it’s not the same! It’s not that day!"
But her breathing didn’t stabilize. Unlike their training sessions where his voice could pull her back from the precipice, this was different.
This was a freefall into an abyss. Her body was locked in a violent, uncontrollable tremor that made her teeth chatter audibly.
William could feel her heartbeat through his forearm; it wasn’t just fast; it was erratic, a panicked bird battering itself against the bars of its cage. Each breath she dragged in was ragged, desperate, as if she were drowning in thin air.
He realized then, with a sickening jolt of clarity, that all their weeks of healing had only prepared her for the surface. This wound went straight to the bone.
"I can’t..." she gasped, the words breaking apart into broken sobs.
Her fingers clawed uselessly at William’s forearms, seeking purchase in a world that had become alien. "William, I can’t... it’s the same... the smell, the sound... it’s exactly the same--"
"It’s not the same!" William shouted, his voice cracking with rare emotion as he squeezed her tighter, trying to physically hold her together before she shattered completely. "You are not that broken girl in the forest anymore, Catherine!"
"Listen to my voice!"
"I can still hear them screaming," she whispered, her eyes wide and unfocused, staring through him at something only she could see. "I can hear them dying."
"Then listen to me instead," William commanded, his jaw set in grim determination.
He refused to let go, refusing to let the darkness swallow her whole. "I’m right here! I am not letting go!"
"Your students are behind you!"
"You are not alone this time, Catherine! Nobody is asking you to face this nightmare by yourself."
Something in William’s raw, unyielding desperation seemed to pierce through the fog of her terror. It wasn’t a gentle comfort; it was a challenge, a demand that she return to herself.
That spark of defiance cut through the panic just enough for Catherine to draw one deep, shuddering breath that rattled in her lungs, followed by another, and then a third. Each inhale was more deliberate than the last, though her entire frame still vibrated with the residual shock of her breakdown.
Her palm pressed flat against her own sternum, claws digging into the fabric of her tunic as she searched for the anchor she had built during those long, silent weeks of meditation in the low dungeon.
’In through the nose... Hold...’
’Out through the mouth...’
’Control the rhythm... Control the fear, or it controls you...’ The mantra screamed in her mind, fighting against the primal urge to flee.
Her hands, still spasming with involuntary tremors, scrambled blindly across the gore slicked earth. Her fingernails tore against stone and soil until her fingers finally closed around the familiar grips of her weapons.
The cold metal felt like ice against her sweat-slicked skin, but it felt real. It felt like a tether to the present.
She didn’t rise with the grace of the White Sword. Instead, she fought for every inch of height.
She slammed Aetherion’s blade into the broken earth to use as a brace, pushing herself upward with visible, agonizing effort. Her muscles screamed, protesting the sudden expenditure of energy after the collapse, and her whole body shook so violently that William kept his hand hovering inches from her shoulder, ready to catch her again if her legs finally betrayed her.
But she rose unsteady, bleeding from small cuts on her palms, and utterly, stubbornly determined. With her swords serving as both weapon and crutch, she forced one foot forward, then another, each step a battle against the phantom echoes of screams from eight years past.
The tension in the clearing was a physical weight, a coiled spring ready to snap, when a familiar, authoritative voice tore through the chaos from the direction of the academy gate.
"Catherine! William!"
Headmaster Albert charged into the clearing, his robes billowing like storm clouds behind him. A small contingent of patrol reinforcements followed at a respectful distance, their weapons drawn but their faces pale with dread.
But Albert wasn’t looking at the monster yet. His sharp eyes were fixed on Catherine, and in his hands, he clutched something wrapped in protective cloth with obvious, deliberate care.
William recognized the way Catherine’s entire body went rigid at the sight of it. The way her pupils dilated, not with fear this time, but with something far more painful: recognition.
"I came the moment word reached me," Albert said, his voice carrying the grim authority of a man who had seen too many horrors, yet his pace never faltered as he assessed the transformed nightmare looming at the center of the clearing.
"I also brought something I should have given you considerably sooner, Catherine..."
"Something that was recovered alongside your report eight years ago and has sat in the archives ever since... waiting for you to be ready for it."
He stepped closer, holding out the object. Catherine, still swaying on her feet, still pale as death, crossed the remaining distance with mechanical movements.
Her fingers shook so badly when she reached for it that the object nearly slipped between them.
"Aldric’s..." she whispered.
The name was a broken thing, barely more than air.
Her thumb traced the worn leather cover, feeling the familiar scratches along the spine from years of field exercises and mission briefings. Her eyes fell on the faint, dark stain on the corner—the ghost of a spilled ale from a night of laughter, a night before the world had ended.
"It was found near the collapse site during the initial recovery efforts," Albert said gently, though his gaze flickered warily toward the creature behind them.
The monster’s low growl was growing louder, more agitated, sensing the shift in focus. "I never felt it was my place to give it to you before you were ready to read it..."
"I’m not entirely certain you’re ready now, either, Catherine, but given everything unfolding tonight, I thought you deserved the choice, rather than having it stolen from you yet again."