text: "Hey, are you ok?" I rested my hand on her shoulder, tapping my fingers lightly. Arin looked back to me, still fingering her fated weapon. "As good as I'll ever be," she sighed, returning her attention to her sword. I returned a light smile, though she didn’t notice. Her eyes ran up and down the dark bronze blade, falling into every small nick and imperfection. She'd been given the sword the day she turned eighteen, told it was the only way to save the world. Arin was a hero inscribed in fate, prophesied with her sword in hand. Dread bubbled up in my chest as I grounded myself. We were at the final step, the last line of the prophecy. As if she read my mind, Arin mumbled under her breath, "And in the dusk of Autumn's death, the sword shall be plunged into the burdened spirit, striking the counted clock." The air around us felt still, though we were still leaning on the inn's outer, wooden wall. We'd arrived in town the previous night, though it was still two miles out from the Spirit grove. "And we still don't know what the 'counted clock' is either?" I broke the silence, finally pertant enough for Arin to sheath her sword. "It might make sense when we get there," Arin shrugged, before kicking the dirt at her feet. "Hopefully." "Well, did you talk to Carlow about it?" I asked, trying to keep her from growing silent again. Arin blushed, glancing from me to the inn behind us. "I mean, we've all talked about it already. But, yeah, they don't know either." "I though they were supposed to be the smart one," I joked, raising an eyebrow as Arin smiled slightly. "I mean, they're the one who figured out the Spirit grove thing." Arin nodded, answering solemnly, "Of course they're a genius, we wouldn't have lasted a day without them. But, their injury hasn't been kind to them..." her voice trailed off as she turned her body around to face the inn. She stroked a hand on the wood siding, looking up and trying to find the window of the room we'd booked, the room where we'd left Carlow. Chills ran down my spine as I remembered Carlow's injury. I'd been the one to help them when it happened, when their leg was torn all but to the bone by the wolves, a few days prior. Their leg was bloodied and mauled, so much so that they were unable to walk. Carlow'd lost so much blood that they were barely conscious, and Arin and I had to leave them behind at the inn to finish the quest. Carlow swam in both our minds, until Arin slapped the sword’s hilt. “Well, the sun’s setting, so I guess it’s now or never.” “Heh, yep,” I nodded, glancing at the twin knifes sheathed at my hips. They’d served me well, ready for our final fight. I pulled one of the knifes out, just enough for the sinking sun to glint off the silver blade. My knives weren’t anything particularly special, just a pair we’d picked up along the way. I used to be envious of Arin’s connection to her sword, but I realized that being a fated hero has its own pitfalls. I put my knife away and pushed myself off the wall, prompting Arin to do the same. We took a few steps forward, before she swiveled around to face the inn. I sighed, glancing at the fading sun. “Do you want to talk to Carlow again?” Arin nodded furiously, grinning sheepishly as she bolted back inside. I leaned my weight on my hips, tapping my foot against the ground. We’d already said goodbye to Carlow, but it made sense to me that Arin would want a moment alone with them. It was interesting that they still thought I didn’t know. As if it wasn’t obvious, the way Arin defended Carlow in fights, how close together they slept on the nights we camped out in the woods. All my suspicions had been confirmed when Carlow was hurt, the way Arin panicked and fretted. There was no platonic explanation for that. Arin eventually returned, taking a deep breath as she met me. The corners of her eyes were red, and her cheeks flushed. She wiped the corner of her eye with her hand, biting her lip as she nodded for us to head forward. We started walking north towards the Spirit grove, each step carrying more and more anxious weight. As the town dipped down below the horizon, Arin gripped the hilt of her sword, spinning her fingers around it as she broke the heavy silence. “Tiff, have I told you-” she started, pursing her lips and swallowing. “That you and Carlow are totally in love?” I finished, raising my eyebrows, trying to restrain my laughter. Arin turned beet red, glancing away as she failed to cover a dopey smile. “Well, yeah, but I- I wanted to tell you something else.” She slowed her gait, reaching a hand towards mine. I grabbed a hold of hers, letting her squeeze my palm. “Tiff, I just want to thank you.” Arin’s eyes welled with tears, and I felt my own start to burn. Arin smiled, shaking her head and looking to the ground as she continued, “You stuck with me through all of this, Tiff, through the good times-” she reached her free hand up to my upper arm, running her finger down the deep scar that ran from my shoulder to my elbow, “and the bad.” I blushed, shrugging her hand off the old wound. “Of course I stuck with you, we’re friends for life, remember? It’ll take more than a magic sword and some blood to tear us apart.” A tear fell from Arin’s eye a she wrapped her arms around me, staring the hug that I gladly joined. We held each other tightly for a moment, reluctantly pulling away after an long minute. We nodded to each other, turning back to the road before us. We walked briskly and silently the rest of the way, each tensing our muscles as the Spirit grove peeked into our view, a large square-shaped temple built from fine stone. “What did Carlow say was in there?” I asked, gripping my knives. “They said the spirits are like ghosts,” Arin started, slowly finding her own hilt. “Carlow said the there isn’t much known about the spirits, not even if they’re real.” I nodded, and we approached the grove’s entrance with great care. As we found ourselves in front of the door, Arin turned to me and grinned, “You ready for one last fight?” I returned a cocky smile, “One last time, then we’re home free.” Arin nodded and kicked the door open, drawing her sword with a final sense of might. I stepped in behind her, whipping my knives out and flipping them once in my hands. The room we’d dramatically lunged into was empty. Completely, utterly empty. “What?” Arin whispered, lowering her sword as she stepped further in. I followed behind, though I kept my knifes raised. We walked around the room, a stone box harshly lit by small holes in the ceiling. Our footsteps echoed as I shook my head in confusion. Where else were we supposed to find spirits? It’s the last day of autumn, the sun is setting, what are we missing? We wandered through the room a few minuted more. A large boom sounded through the room, and I jumped as Arin raised her sword. We drifted towards each other as more booms followed, quickly falling into a pattern, two quick sounds before a pause, over and over again. We stood defensively in the room, our ears filling with the noise, until something in my head clicked, breaking my trance from the booms. “Arin, it sounds like a heartbeat!” I exclaimed, glancing around at the fading light pouring through the roof. “A heart, a clock-” Arin started, suddenly dropping her sword. “A counted clock, a counted heartbeat, a fated heart-” her voice started trembling as she slowly repeated the final prophetic lines, “...the sword shall be plunged into the burdened spirit, striking the counted clock.” “Arin,” I called, worry bubbling in my body as Arin clenched her fists. “Arin, what does this mean?” Arin stumbled away from me, turning back and looking at her discarded sword in disgust. “Tiff, there’s only two souls in this room,” she started, moving further away from the blade. My heart skipped in my chest, launching into my throat. “So the burdened soul-” “Is me!” Arin cried, falling back against the wall. Her breathing grew erratic and shallow, as she ran a hand through her dark brown hair. Breathlessly, she stammered, “I need to stab myself. In the heart.” Every organ in my body contorted, and I dropped my knives and ran to Arin. “No, there has to be another way, this- this can’t be it. Arin, no!” Arin’s body trembled as I kneeled next to her, grabbing her shoulder. She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply as she placed a hand over mine. She gripped it tightly, before dismally pushing my hand away. I leaned back in surprise, dumbfounded as Arin stood up and shakily retrieved her sword. Sword in hand, Arin turned back to me, taking deep, calming breaths as her eyes filled with tears. “I thought this could happen,” she traced a finger on the blade, “but I thought- I hoped it wouldn’t.” Arin shook her head, blinking tears from her eyes. She masterfully spun the blade in her fingers, her outstretched hand gripping the hilt as the sword’s point floated in front of her chest. “But I’m ready.” “Arin, you don’t have to do this,” I pleaded, my voice already breaking. “What if you’re wrong- what if- what about Carlow?” More tears poured from Arin’s eyes as she shook her head. “Tiff, I think I’ve figured it out. To save the world, this place, this grove- it demands a sacrifice.” “The sword is bait,” I finished, standing up to face Arin. The revelation burned in my chest, and I noticed the stream of my own tears flowing from my cheeks and down my neck. Arin nodded mournfully, looking down and lining the tip of the wicked blade up to her heart. I froze as she focused, watching lamely as she pierced the outer layer of her skin, tearing through her shirt. In an eerily strong voice, Arin looked to me, locking shimmering eyes, “Tiff, listen. We haven’t seen any ‘spirits’ here, but I wouldn’t be surprised if something happens when I do this. Tiff, look at me.” I forced my wandering eyes back to hers, reluctantly opening my ears. “Tiff, I don’t want you to get hurt. So, when I say the word, I need you to run. You run, you hear me?” I nodded. “But I don’t want you to be alone.” Arin gave me a sympathetic smile, “I’ll be ok. It’s time for me to be a hero.” Arin lost her smile, finishing, “Besides, I don’t want your last memory of me to be with this, this thing in my chest.” I could only nod, my throat to swollen to speak. Arin pointed her head towards the door, and I slowly entered the doorway, though I didn’t dare leave. Arin locked eyes with me one last time, tears pouring down her face like never before. “Arin, I love you,” I choked, my own face hot and drenched in tears. My body trembled as I watched Arin tighten her grip. “Tell Carlow I love them, that they mean so much to me,” Arin fought back sobs, choking one back as she finished, “And Tiff, thank you. For everything.” A sob broke through, and she gave her last testament, “Tiff, I love you.” I twisted away as her words slipped into my ears, hearing her grunt before I heard the sound of Arin’s body topple to the ground. I bolted at the final sound, my cruel mind finishing the scene for me. She’s dead. Arin’s dead. Dead. There was no room in my heart for anger as I ran from the grove. Every inch of flesh, every vein in my body pounded with sick grief, an unending pain as I ran faster and faster to the town. My shoes were made of lead, my head full of knives, my skin covered in barbed wire, yet I sprinted as fast as I could, finally stumbling into the outer reach of the town. I couldn’t breathe as I stumbled back to the inn, navigating through the new darkness of night. As I finally found myself back at the entrance, I pushed through the door, ignoring the blinding of the interior lights. I tore through the hallway towards our room, flying past the other patrons as they gave me worried glances. I almost kicked the door down, jerking to a stop as I clunked into the room. I whipped my head around to find Carlow resting on a chair in the corner of the room, a book fallen at their side. They looked up at me, their face melting from confusion to horror as they started to put the pieces together, examining my tear stained face and horrified eyes. Carlow tried to stand up, failing as their leg kept them from approaching me. Instead, I tripped over to them, toppling to my knees to be at their height. Carlow met me halfway by sliding down to the floor too, though they winced as they landed next to me. Once they’d looked back up to me, I pitifully wrapped my arms around them, and I felt as they embraced me back. I squeezed Carlow tightly as more tears fell from my unrelenting eyes, even feeling some of Carlow’s as they dripped onto my shirt. I bit my tongue, spending a moment of silence with Carlow before whispering in their ear, “Arin loved you so much, Carlow. You meant the world to her.” Carlow sobbed into my shoulder, holding me tighter than ever, as I held them back. We’d both lost Arin, our hero. We sobbed. And sobbed.