The Weight of Absence

General Edric Bearhold stood at the edge of the portal, his heart racing with a mix of anticipation and dread. He had felt the explosion during the crossing, a burst of energy that had jolted him. He had succeeded in his mission, and his mind had been fixed on one thought as he crossed back to the human world: to return with his wife, Lyraeth, by his side. Yet, as he stepped into the familiar confines of the portal town in the human world, she was not with him.

His chest tightened, an ache of emptiness spreading as he looked around, half-expecting to see her beside him, only to be met with the hollow silence of his arrival. He scanned the surroundings of the portal. The gear Lyraeth always carried—her bag, her daggers, even her neatly folded cloak—was all around the portal, as if she had simply vanished into the ether. Among the scattered items, his eyes caught on something that made his breath hitch: her ring, the one he had given her, rested atop the pile, its band twisted and damaged as though it had borne the brunt of some violent force.

“No,” he murmured, striding forward, his hand shaking as he picked up the ring. It was warm to the touch. His heart thudded in his chest as a deep ache of loss began to claw at him.

“Where is she?” he said, his voice hoarse as he turned toward his men. Confusion clouded their faces; none knew of the bond he’d formed with the spirited rogue in the spirit world, nor the love that had grown between them in those enchanted lands. She was more than his wife—his partner, his equal, his joy.

Desperation crept in as he scanned their faces, the shock settling in. His thoughts spiraled as he clutched the ring tightly in his palm. What was that explosion? What if something had happened to her during the crossing? What if she couldn’t follow? What if... The thought seized him, paralyzing him for a heartbeat. He forced himself to breathe, to gather his composure, and made for the capital, heart thudding heavily. I will find her, he vowed silently. No matter where she is, no matter what it takes, I have to find her.

When he finally reached the palace, he strode through the grand halls with uncharacteristic haste, and by the time he entered the throne room, the strain of his worry was all but laid bare.

“General Bearhold,” King Thorne, the king of Calarith greeted, his voice steady and commanding. “You have returned.”

Edric struggled to keep his tone even. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he replied, a trace of desperation slipping through. “I succeeded in my mission. It wasn't easy, but I collected all the artifacts you asked”

"If you succeeded and finally came home after five years, why do you look so worried?" the king was very observant and quickly noticed something was amiss.

"Someone helped me with my mission in the spirit world, she was with me for all five years. My wife… she is missing," confessed Edric about his peril.

King Thorne’s brows furrowed in surprise. “Your wife? This is the first I’ve heard of such a union.”

Edric gripped his hands tightly, the tension nearly breaking his resolve. “I couldn’t send letters from the spirit world,” he explained, his voice thick with frustration and regret. “I met Lyraeth there—a fierce, brilliant spirit. We grew close and, in time, we married. She stepped into the portal with me, but something went wrong.” His voice faltered. “She’s in danger. I cannot lose her.”

The king’s gaze softened, and Edric recounted everything, from the explosion to the ring he had gifted Lyraeth which is connected to an unknown threat that had torn them apart. “The ring is cursed,” King Thorne said gravely. He was not just a powerful ruler, but very knowledgable in magic “Dark magic lingers on it still. Whoever sent it to you meant for it to harm. This was no accident. Where did you get it?”

"It was part of my equipment I got from Your Majesty."

As the realization sank in, guilt twisted in Edric’s stomach. The ring had not come from the king, as he’d believed. Someone had ensnared him with it—and he had unwittingly bound it to Lyraeth. He felt the weight of his actions crash down, his heart constricting with remorse. I used that ring to pledge myself to her. And now…

“I need time to search for her. I cannot abandon her.” The anguish in his voice surprised even himself, but he didn’t care. The mask of the hardened general slipped, leaving only a man who loved his wife more than anything.

The king regarded him with a solemn nod. “You shall have what you need,” he said. “Once you find her, please bring her here and introduce her. I would like to hear her story.”

“I will,” Edric replied, fighting to hold back the wave of emotions that threatened to spill over. “I never meant to keep her a secret; I simply had no means to tell you.”

With the king’s blessing, Edric left the palace to scour every corner of the portal town, his mind racing with questions and fears. Had she been stuck in the spirit world? Had the curse harmed her when they separated? For days, he rode from village to village, through dense forests and across rivers, haunted by the image of her—the warmth of her laugh, the fire in her eyes, the way she seemed to bring light even in darkness. And the fear that he had lost her forever.

Days later, after exhausting every lead, he returned to Bearhold, his ancestral home, empty-handed and defeated. Alone in his study, his gaze fell upon a letter on his desk. The handwriting was delicate, the familiar, looping script striking his heart like a thunderbolt. Lyraeth. She was alive, but the letter hinted at danger. Urgent and resolute, he rode back to Eldoria, hope and dread warring within him.

As he neared the palace, he caught a glimpse of a shadow, moving swiftly at the edge of his vision. Instinct took over, and he followed the suspicious figure into the tunnels beneath the palace—a labyrinth of stone and secrets. Yet, as he ventured deeper into the dim passageways, doubt clawed at him. He thought, the weight of his duty pressing on him.

In the darkness, he heard the clang of steel and a familiar, breathless voice. Lyraeth. Fear surged through him as he broke into a run, pulling out his enchanted bow, every fiber of his being screaming to reach her. Rounding the corner, he saw her locked in combat with two attackers, her movements graceful yet weary.

“Lyraeth!” His voice echoed down the tunnel, but she didn’t hear him, too focused on the assailants. She fought with everything, but Edric could see her strength waning. Just as she gained the upper hand, one of the men struck her from behind, a blade sinking into her side. She staggered, a pained gasp escaping her lips.

“No! Lyraeth!” The sight was a dagger in his heart, his grief fueling his rage. He felt the ancient magic of his ancestors stirring, a force he seldom called upon, and in a moment of pure will, he summoned his great war bear—a creature of primal power that charged forward with a fierce, earth-shaking roar.

The bear tore into the fray, scattering the attackers. Edric rushed to her side, his strong hands gently steadying her as she faltered. The sight of her blood, of her pain, cut him deeper than any sword ever could. “Darling,” he whispered, his voice a hoarse blend of relief and agony. “What have they done to you?”

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