The road to the Lifeless Lake had stretched on for over a month now, each day folding into the next with the steady rhythm of their travel. Dust clung to their boots, and the sun burned lower in the sky with every passing day. But as the familiar outlines of trees and hills began to shift toward the lake’s distant shore, the weight pressing down on Morgan’s chest grew heavier—like a storm cloud ready to break.

Her dread was no longer just a whisper in the back of her mind; it had swelled into a roaring tempest that threatened to drown her. The looming transformation into Morrigan—the other self she feared would one day fully claim her—haunted every waking moment. 

It was a shadow lurking in the corners of her thoughts, twisting them into sharp edges. Suspicion and paranoia crept into every glance, every silence, as if the very air held secrets waiting to betray her.

Alaric tried his best to soothe her fears. He spoke softly during their early morning breaks, his voice a steady anchor in the cold dawn. He held her hand tightly in his during the chill of the nights, offering warmth without words. His presence was constant, unwavering—a silent promise that she would not face the darkness alone. But no matter how hard he tried, no words could calm the storm raging inside Morgan.

With only weeks remaining before they reached the lake, Morgan’s sleep became a rare and fragile thing. When she did manage to rest, the dreams came in relentless waves—mocking laughter echoing in empty halls, fragmented images flickering like broken glass, shadows clawing at her mind, tearing apart her sense of self.

One night, as the campfire flickered beneath a blanket of stars, Thomas stirred the embers with a stick, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between them. 

“Morgan,” he said gently, his voice softer than usual, “you’ve been on edge for a long time now. What’s eating at you? You can tell me.”

Morgan hesitated, the weight of her secret pressing down like an invisible hand. But the kindness in Thomas’s eyes, the silent encouragement in Alaric’s gaze, gave her the courage to speak. She swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and finally began.

“When I turn eighteen, Morrigan will take over,” she confessed, her voice trembling with the burden she had carried alone for so long. 

“Not just parts of me, but everything—my body, my mind, my very soul. She’s been growing stronger inside me, waiting. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on. I’m terrified… that I’ll lose myself completely.”

Alaric reached over, gently squeezing her hand, his eyes steady and fierce. “I won’t let that happen. You’re not alone. Not now, not ever.”

Morgan gave a faint, grateful smile but said nothing more. The fear was still there, thick and suffocating, but in that moment, it felt a little less suffocating.

Alaric then shared his own story, the painful pieces he rarely spoke aloud—the absent father whose shadow loomed over every decision, the mother who died too soon, and the fire that took their home and scattered what was left of his peaceful life like ashes in the wind. He spoke of how Morgan had saved him the night of that dreadful fire, how their fates had become tangled together, leading them on this uncertain journey.

Thomas listened quietly, the flickering flames casting shifting patterns on his weathered face as the two young souls bared their scars under the night sky.

When the silence grew too thick, Thomas cleared his throat and finally spoke. “I was the fourth son—four boys and two girls in my family. We were close, until sickness tore us apart. Mother, father… all gone when I was barely a boy. I had to take care of my youngest sister, but with so many debts, I couldn’t keep her safe.” 

His voice cracked, a shadow of grief flickering behind his eyes. “She died five years ago. After that, I drank to forget. I made enemies wherever I went, started fights just to feel something real.”

He looked up, meeting Morgan’s and Alaric’s eyes with a tired but sincere expression. “When I met you two, I thought I’d found something—something worth sticking around for. At first, it was just for the coin, for the drinks. But now… I want to see this through. To the end.”

A quiet understanding settled over the fire, weaving an invisible thread between them. The three shared a fragile bond, forged not just by hardship and loss, but by hope and trust. They were no longer just travelers thrown together by chance; they were a team—a family.

Morgan leaned her head on Alaric’s shoulder, the faintest warmth stirring in her heart. Thomas smirked, lifting his mug toward them.

 “To the end, then.”

Alaric and Morgan echoed the toast, their hearts feeling lighter despite the looming darkness that awaited them.

Together, they watched the embers glow, feeling a rare warmth—not from the fire, but from the trust they’d found in each other and the fragile promise of hope in the long road ahead.