Rorix's gaze dropped to his own left hand, to the pale, bare skin where a wedding ring should have been.
It couldn't be. Still doubtful about ownership of the ring, he studied its diameter. It was neither too large nor too small for his ring finger—it should fit just right if he slid it on.
The implant on his chest pulsed once again like a second beating heart, followed by another rush of mana into his body. Rorix knew he did not will such a reaction, and he understood—it was an interaction between the ring and the implant.
The ring cleared the tip of his finger. At that exact moment, Rorix felt the warmth of Lyra's hands on his, and they were urging him to slide the ring further.
The exact words of his wife's vows and her soft, nervous voice on their wedding day accompanied the sensation of her hands. She was there, in all but body.
Rorix…
When I met you, I knew I was meant to spend the rest of my lifetime with you.
Thank you for loving me through the good times and the bad. I promise to love you more than you ever could. Always. Forever.
The ring settled into place with a familiarity that was comfort and torment. This ring is mine after all! Rorix broke down, more memories of Lyra flashing in his mind, triggered by her touch and her voice. Soon enough, Rorix fell to the floor wailing, grieving for a love he could no longer give. With no one and nothing to console him, he eventually passed out.
—
By the time he came to, he gathered what he could use: a second dagger to supplement the first, the greatsword, and a few good ration packs. The rest, he left where they were. He walked through each nook and cranny of his home one last time, a ghost touring his own mausoleum. In the center of the main room, he piled the most flammable materials within reach—the tattered remains of a curtain, splintered wood from the broken bed frame, a discarded uniform. He doused it all with oils from multiple lamps.
Standing in the doorway, he struck a spark from his flint and steel. The oil caught with an angry whoosh, and the flames climbed the pyre with a furious speed. He then stepped out into the cool night air and walked away from his already burning home without looking back.
The fire grew behind him, its orange glow casting his long shadow ahead on the path. He could feel its heat on his back, a final, searing farewell. It was a funeral pyre for a life lost and the cauterizing of a bleeding wound.
He stopped at the edge of the woods, closed his eyes, and felt the weight of the wedding ring. Once a promise of a future with Lyra, the ring was now a part of the alchemical weapon on his person. The implant pulsed a third time, followed by yet another flooding of mana into him, a further confirmation of the ring's connection to the implant…
And the direction he must next take. Time to find out who turned my ring into a weapon.