MTL NOVEL Chapter 12: Chapter-12
Mira sat by the dying embers of the fire, silent, exhausted, and hollow.
Kael watched her from the opposite side of the camp, sharpening his steel sword with slow, deliberate strokes. The rhythmic scrape of the whetstone was the only sound between them.
She hadn't spoken since the ritual. Since she had unbound the souls and collapsed, barely breathing. He had kept her alive, though he still wasn't sure why.
He could have killed her.
He should have killed her.
But something about the way she had let go—how she had surrendered the power rather than clinging to it—made him hesitate. Necromancers did not give up their magic so easily.
And yet, she had.
Now, under the moonlight, Mira looked like nothing more than a tired girl, not the monster he had fought.
Kael exhaled, setting the blade aside. It was time for answers.
"You had a choice," he said at last. His voice cut through the stillness, low and even. "Why did you let it go?"
Mira's fingers twitched in her lap. She didn't look at him. "I was never meant to keep it," she murmured.
Kael narrowed his eyes. "Then why take it in the first place?"
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Because I was a fool."
She finally lifted her gaze to meet his. There was no deception there. No defiance. Only regret.
Kael studied her, his expression unreadable. "Start from the beginning."
Mira hesitated. Then, with a deep breath, she told him everything.
"I was an apprentice," she began, voice quiet. "A healer, trained in herbs and minor spells. Nothing grand, nothing powerful—just enough to ease pain, mend wounds." She exhaled, rubbing her hands together as if trying to warm them. "But it wasn't enough."
Kael listened, saying nothing.
Mira continued. "People died anyway. Disease, injuries, war… I watched them suffer, knowing I could do nothing." Her fingers clenched into fists. "I wanted more. I needed more."
Her eyes darkened. "That's when I found the book."
Kael's grip tightened around his knee. "Where?"
Mira hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. "A scholar passed through our village. An old man, frail, but his mind was… sharp. Too sharp. He carried tomes no ordinary scholar should have. One of them—" she swallowed "—was a treatise on the old ways. On death, and how to… bend it."
Kael's jaw tightened. He had heard this story before. It always started the same: a desperate soul, a forbidden text, a path that could not be undone.
Mira continued. "I didn't steal it. He gave it to me." She scoffed, shaking her head. "Said I had the 'aptitude.' That I could do good with it."
She clenched her fists. "I believed him."
Kael frowned. "Where is he now?"
Mira's face went pale. "…Dead."
Kael said nothing. He had expected as much. Dabbling in such magic rarely ended well.
Mira exhaled shakily. "I didn't mean for it to happen like this. I only wanted to help. But every time I tried, the magic—" she hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. "It took more than I gave."
Kael's eyes darkened. "Because necromancy doesn't work that way."
Mira nodded, her expression grim.
"It started small," she admitted. "A withered plant, a dead bird. But then… then I tried to bring back a child." Her breath hitched. "She had been sick. Died in the night. Her mother was screaming, begging. I thought—" She closed her eyes. "I thought I could fix it."
Kael exhaled sharply. "And?"
Mira shuddered. "It wasn't her anymore."
Silence fell between them.
Kael knew how these things went. The soul doesn't return. Only something else. Something wrong.
Mira's voice was hollow. "The village drove me out. Called me a monster." She laughed bitterly. "They weren't wrong."
Kael let out a slow breath. "And yet, you still kept going."
Mira nodded. "Because I thought… maybe if I learned enough, if I got stronger, I could control it. Undo the mistakes." Her hands trembled slightly. "But it never worked. It only got worse."
Kael leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. "And yet, when the time came, you let it go."
Mira was silent for a long moment. Then, finally, she looked at him.
"I was tired of losing," she whispered. "Of failing. Of chasing power that only took and took and took." She swallowed hard. "When I saw those souls—what I had done to them—I knew… it had to end."
Kael studied her. The exhaustion in her voice wasn't just physical. It was the weight of years of regret.
He exhaled slowly. There was no lie in her words. Kael stood, rolling his shoulders. Mira tensed, watching him warily.
"I should kill you," he said evenly. "That would be the safest path."
Mira didn't flinch. She only nodded. "I know."
Kael's fingers brushed the hilt of his dagger. He had killed for far less.
A necromancer—even a repentant one—was a risk. A loose end.
And yet…
He thought of the way she had broken the ritual. How she had surrendered her magic instead of clinging to it. That wasn't something most would do. It wasn't something a true monster would do. Kael sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. Damn it. He sheathed his dagger.
Mira's eyes widened slightly. "You're… sparing me?"
Kael didn't answer immediately. Then, finally—
"You're coming with me."
Mira blinked in surprise. "What?"
Kael turned to face her fully. "If I let you go, someone else will find you. Someone worse. You've made enemies. You're hunted." His gaze hardened. "And if you go back to your magic, I'll know."
Mira swallowed. "And what happens then?"
Kael's voice was cold. "Then I finish what I started."
Mira exhaled shakily. But she nodded. "I understand."
Kael turned toward the dying fire. "Get some sleep. We leave at dawn."
Mira hesitated, but eventually lay down, pulling her cloak tighter around her. Kael remained awake, watching the flames. He still wasn't sure if sparing her was the right decision but for now, he would wait. And if she ever proved him wrong, he would not hesitate next time.
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Kael rose before dawn. The air was crisp, the scent of damp earth and smoldering embers lingering from the night before. Mira still slept, curled beneath her cloak, her breathing slow and steady. For the first time, she looked at peace.
Kael exhaled. He wouldn't be taking her with him. Not yet.
She was too weak to travel far, and he had things to do. Supplies to gather. Decisions to make.
He scrawled a quick note on a scrap of parchment and placed it beside her before adjusting his cloak and securing his gear. Then, without another word, he left.
The village was beginning to stir when Kael arrived, the morning sun barely cresting over the rooftops. Farmers loaded carts with sacks of grain, a blacksmith hammered away in his forge, and merchants arranged their wares along wooden stalls. He pulled his hood lower as he stepped onto the main road. Time to resupply.
The first stop was the stable. Kael leaned on the wooden fence, watching the animals inside. Most were workhorses—sturdy, built for plowing fields. Not what he needed.
The stablemaster, a burly man with a grizzled beard, approached with a wary glance. "Looking to buy?"
Kael nodded. "Two. Strong, fast. Not plow animals."
The man huffed, rubbing his chin. "Got a pair that might do. Cost you, though."
Kael followed him inside, where two leaner, muscular steeds stood tethered. One was a dark chestnut, the other a gray with black stockings. Both had sharp eyes, the kind that spoke of endurance and intelligence. War horses, once. Likely stolen, or stripped from fallen knights.
Kael inspected their legs, teeth, and muscle tone. They were in good condition.
"I'll take them," he said, tossing a pouch of crowns into the man's waiting hand.
His next stop was the blacksmith. The forge burned hot, sparks flying as the blacksmith hammered a glowing blade against the anvil. Kael waited until the man finished before stepping forward.
"I need supplies."
The smith squinted at him, setting down his hammer. "What kind?"
Kael listed them off.
Whetstone. For maintaining his blades. Throwing daggers. Small, balanced, at least four. Oil and rags. To keep his weapons in prime condition.
The blacksmith scratched his beard. "That's a fair bit. Got the coin?"
Kael slid a few more crowns onto the table. "Enough?"
The smith grinned. "Aye. Give me a bit."
Within the hour, Kael had his whetstone, fresh throwing daggers, a bundle of clean rags, and a small flask of blade oil. He tested the daggers, spinning them between his fingers. Well-balanced. Good steel.
Satisfied, he moved on.
His final stop was the general store. Inside, a stout woman eyed him warily as he approached the counter. "What do you need?"
Kael grabbed a sack and began filling it. Dried meat and bread. Enough for the road. A small bag of salt. Useful for preserving food… and for certain rituals. Waterskins. Freshly filled. Basic herbs. For treating wounds and poisons.
The woman counted the items, then looked up. "Ten crowns."
Kael placed them on the counter, took his supplies, and left.
By the time he returned, the sun had risen fully, and Mira was awake, sitting by the fire with his note in hand.
She looked up as he approached, eyes wary. "You left."
Kael tossed her a small sack of provisions. "Had things to do."
She caught it, frowning. "And now?"
Kael jerked his head toward the horses. "We ride."
Mira glanced at the animals, then at him. "…You're serious?"
Kael simply mounted his horse, adjusting the reins. "You coming or not?"
Mira hesitated only a moment before climbing into the saddle.
And with that, they set off, the road stretching endlessly ahead.
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The journey south from Oldtown in the Kingdom of Aerdin to Rivia was long and relentless, a test of both endurance and patience. The path took them through rolling plains, shadowed forests, and treacherous river crossings, each mile putting distance between them and the specter of Mira's past. Kael had planned well. Their horses were sturdy, their packs filled with supplies—whetstones, rations, alchemical ingredients, and the weapons he had gathered. Throwing daggers, newly sharpened, rested in his belt, and his sword and hunting dagger sat comfortably at his side. Yet despite the well-prepared journey, two things continued to gnaw at him.
One was the Ice Sign.
The other was Mira.
Each night, after setting up camp, Kael practiced.
He would step away from the fire, away from distractions, and try to recreate that moment—the sheer instinct that had given birth to the new Sign. He had felt it back then. The frost had come naturally, as though it had always existed within him, waiting to be unleashed. But now?
Nothing.
He extended his hand, fingers curling as he called forth the energy. He breathed in, bracing his stance as he pushed—just like with Igni. A flicker of frost bloomed at his fingertips. A moment of icy mist. His pulse quickened.
And then—nothing.
The frost sputtered, vanishing into the air as if it had never been there. Kael scowled. Again. He clenched his jaw, focusing, summoning every memory of cold—the deep winters of Kaedwen, the icy winds of the northern peaks, the way frost clung to steel in the dead of night. A faint shimmer of blue-white energy pulsed in his palm. His heart leaped—only for it to die just as quickly. Kael cursed. The power was there. He could feel it, buried deep beneath the surface, but it refused to be controlled. It had emerged on instinct before, but now? It eluded him.
Magic had never been his strength. He was a warrior first. His instincts, his training, his survival—it had always been through steel, strategy, and experience. But this? This was different. This belonged to him.
And he would master it.
As for the second matter, at first, he didn't notice, the road was exhausting, the journey long, and he was more focused on his training and their supplies. Mira had always been quiet, always withdrawn. But then he saw it. She was slowing down. Her steps grew sluggish, her breathing heavier. She would shiver despite the warmth of the sun, her appetite fading with each passing day. At first, he thought it was exhaustion.
Then, one evening, as they made camp in the shadow of a valley, he watched her hands tremble as she tried to lift a waterskin. That was when it hit him.
She was weaker.
Far weaker than she should have been.
Kael sat beside her, sharpening his newly bought throwing daggers. His tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp. "You've lost weight."
Mira didn't look up. "Haven't been that hungry."
"Strange." He scraped the whetstone against the steel. "You were eating fine a few weeks ago."
Mira said nothing.
Kael set down the dagger and studied her. Her skin was pale, her breathing slower. He had seen this before—a slow, creeping decay.
His voice was quieter this time. "It's the magic, isn't it?"
Mira finally met his gaze. Her expression was guarded, but Kael wasn't a fool. She knew.
Mira stared at Kael, her breath slow and uneven. She knew. He could see it in her eyes—the flicker of realization, the acknowledgment of the truth she had been avoiding.
She was dying.
The silence stretched between them, the only sound the distant rustling of the trees and the quiet sharpening of Kael's blade against the whetstone. Finally, Mira exhaled, shaky and unsteady.
"I thought I had more time," she murmured.
Kael tilted his head slightly. "More time for what?"
She gave a weak laugh, but there was no humor in it. Just exhaustion. Resignation. "More time to figure a way out. More time to fix what I've done." Her fingers curled into the fabric of her cloak. "More time to… not die."
Kael set the dagger aside. "The necromancy?"
Mira nodded. "It's been… pulling at me. At first, I didn't notice. A little fatigue, a little less hunger. But now?" Her voice dropped lower. "Now, it's like something's sinking into me, hollowing me out."
Kael frowned, watching her carefully. "And you didn't think to mention this sooner?"
Her eyes darkened. "What would it have changed? You'd just tell me what I already know."
"That it's killing you?"
She didn't answer. She didn't need to.
Kael leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You're afraid."
Mira scoffed, but there was no weight behind it. "Of course, I'm afraid, Kael." She rubbed her arms, as if trying to chase away a cold that had settled deep into her bones. "I don't want to die."
Kael studied her, the flickering fire casting shadows across her face. This was different. He had seen fear before—seen men on battlefields clutching their wounds, seen the panic in their eyes when they realized the end was near. But Mira's fear was deeper, more personal.
"You fear death," Kael said carefully, "but it's not just that, is it?"
Mira's lips pressed into a thin line.
Kael waited.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, "I don't think I deserve to live."
Kael's expression didn't change, but inside, something shifted.
Mira laughed bitterly. "I brought the dead back, Kael. I took souls and bound them to their corpses, twisted them into something they were never meant to be. I thought I could control it. Thought I was strong enough. But I was just playing with something I never understood."
Her hands trembled in her lap.
"I did horrible things," she continued, her voice barely above the crackling fire. "And when you made me free them… when I saw what I had done…" She swallowed hard. "They were suffering. All of them. And I did that to them."
Kael exhaled through his nose. Now, he understood.
Mira wasn't just afraid of dying. She was afraid that death would be a punishment.
"You think this is your price to pay?" Kael asked, voice steady.
Mira hesitated, then nodded. "I thought I was doing something powerful, something… greater than myself. But in the end? I was just a coward, trying to keep control over something I never had a right to touch."
She looked down at her hands.
"And now, that magic is eating me alive."
Kael was silent for a long moment. Then, he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.
"Well." He leaned back against a rock. "That's a load of self-pitying shit."
Mira blinked. "What?"
Kael gestured at her. "You think some unseen force is punishing you for playing necromancer? That you're getting what you deserve?" He shook his head. "No. This isn't some divine justice. This is the cost of magic. Of power. And you took that risk."
Mira frowned. "That doesn't change what I did."
"No. It doesn't." Kael's gaze was sharp. "But it means you have a choice. You're not dead yet, Mira. So what are you going to do about it?"
Mira stared at him, expression unreadable.
Then, slowly, she looked down at her hands again, flexing her fingers.
Kael could see it—the war inside her. The guilt. The fear. But beneath all of it? There was still a fight left in her.
And Kael would make sure she didn't give up just yet.
He watched her closely, the firelight flickering across her pale features. She had changed—thinner, weaker. He had noticed the signs, but now that the truth was out, it was impossible to ignore.
"How much time do you have?" he asked, his voice even, though the weight of the question settled heavily between them.
Mira exhaled, rubbing at her temples like she could chase away the exhaustion dragging her down.
"I don't know," she admitted. "Days, weeks? Maybe more if I push through it. Maybe less if the magic decides it's done with me." She let out a humorless chuckle. "It's not exactly predictable."
Kael's fingers curled against his knee. He didn't like uncertainty. Didn't like not having control over a situation.
Mira met his gaze then, her eyes steady despite the tremor in her hands.
"But before that happens…" She swallowed, gathering her words. "Before I die from this magic, you'll kill me."
Kael's expression didn't change.
Mira continued, her voice quieter now. "If I turn into something that isn't me—if this magic twists me like it did the others—please, free me."
Kael held her gaze for a long time. There was no pleading in her eyes, no hesitation. She had already made her peace with it.
He inhaled slowly, then nodded once. "I will."
Mira closed her eyes briefly, as if a weight had been lifted, then smirked weakly. "Figured you'd say that."
Kael rolled his shoulders, reaching for his whetstone again. The fire crackled between them, the tension still heavy, but there was something settled now. An unspoken understanding. He wasn't sure what the coming days would bring. But one thing was certain—Mira would not die as a monster.
Not as long as he had anything to say about it.