Sol let go of the hilt and stepped back, his chest heaving as he let out a deep, shivering breath. The hot spray of blood on his face was already beginning to cool, turning tacky in the stagnant air of the hollow tree.
Everything fell still. No noise followed the final, wet thud of Vurok's head against the wood. The forest outside seemed to have gone mute, offering only a silence that was full, heavy, and absolute.
Sol stood there in the dark, and for the first time since he had woken up in this world, he felt light. It was as if a physical weight had been sliced from his shoulders. The weight of years of the predecessor's bullying, the phantom pains of a thousand beatings, and that cold, shivering fear of the dark that had haunted this body's marrow… it all dissolved, melting into the rot and soot of the iron-bark tree.
Sol felt a strange, terrifying sense of peace. The "Modern Sol" was gone, and the "Cripple Sol" was also finally at rest.
