Page 184 - B. Ing_Antologi Cerpen Xl-6

Lowering his blade, Tornike faced the

necromancer not as a warrior, but as a witness. He
spoke of how wrath could never rebuild what had been

lost. He reminded Rhahzadh of who he once was a
protector, not a destroyer. His voice, ragged but

resolute, pierced deeper than any sword. The words

echoed in the chamber, and something shifted. The
flames that clung to Rhahzadh faltered. His magic

cracked. The Soul Stone began to flicker. For the first
time in centuries, Rhahzadh wavered not from pain, but

from memory. He looked down at his hands, as if seeing

them clearly for the first time. There was a silence,
heavy as a cathedral. The necromancer fell to his knees

before the altar. The Black Soul Stone shattered. A
violent wind tore through the ruins, stripping away

shadow, dissolving the creatures into nothingness. The
curse lifted in a scream and a sigh, and the deep was

still.

At dawn, Tornike emerged, battered and half

broken. Only three of his companions remained alive.
Their armor was scorched, their faces lined with

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