It is finished.
As the swordsman staggered deeper into the forest, it wailed around him. The wind jostled trees that shivered as the strange tincture worked it's magic outward. He could feel the warring powers. Lindequalmë was a body, and its antibodies throughout the forest worked in futility against an unknown toxin. Fledgling trees still reliant on the dark power died outright.
Alkor watched the tragic beauty unfold. It was the twilight of an age, the grasp of a titanic power loosened by the ingenuity of humans. For all the good this might mean now, Podë had given him the truth of it. Mortal minds were cyclical.
They would band together now and tear down a common enemy. For a time, they might celebrate as brothers and friends. When the dust settled, the world would war again.
For millenia, my curse stood testament to the evils in men's hearts.
"That they have learned the power to combat it bespeaks darker things still," Alkor agreed, gaze locked on the horizon. His steps were purposed now, back to the encampment beyond Podë's domain. Outside the blossoming death that stretched out in his wake.
You have overcome the greatest of all trials, my beloved avenger. The frailty of mortal reasoning.
"And with your gift," he whispered coldly, "I now see the world drab and bleak."
You now see as I have seen, since long before any of this.
"I pity you, Witch," he stated. He could feel warmth stain his cheek, and he reached up to dab the corners of his eyes. He felt no sadness of his own, but the sensation was familiar. An eternity of tears swirled within him, older than memory. "Podë," he said her name so sadly that it wrenched his heart.
He stopped short of the camp in awe. He soared a backward glance toward the forest, where the beautiful redheaded woman smile sadly at him, leaned against a tree. Alkor matched her gaze evenly and offered a slow nod, which she returned. He blinked, and she was gone.
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