The jungle was quiet. Not in the way cities dream of quiet, but in that deep, old silence that happens when the world holds its breath. The trees swayed gently above, filtered light dappling the forest floor in gold and green. Beneath them, Master Elinar lay propped against the roots of a great tree, one hand resting on his knee, the other open beside him — ringed fingers bare, weathered.
Torin knelt at his side, a mountain brought low.
Elinar's breath was shallow now, a slow rise and fall. The old man's skin was thin, his silver hair matted against his brow. But his eyes... his eyes were still clear. As if the Force was holding them open, just a little longer.
"You feel it," Elinar rasped, his voice barely more than the breeze. "Do you not?"
Torin nodded. "I do."
A silence passed. Not needing more. A bird sang far off. Elinar turned his head slowly to face his student.
"Do not carry me, Torin. Let me fall into the roots. Into the breath of the world. Promise me."
"I promise, Master."
"And when the time comes..."
Elinar raised his hand, looking at the small, rune-marked ring he had worn since his own knight trials many decades passed — forged with fire and trial, worn through peace and storm. He held it gently between calloused fingers, reverently.
"I will burn it," said Torin. "When your watch ends, mine begins." Elinar closed his eyes.
"Then I can go."
And just like that, he did.
* * *
At dusk, Torin gathered driftwood and dry vines from the forest. He built the pyre by a river's edge, beneath the tree where his master had passed.
He placed the ring at the centre, atop woven moss and bark — not as a token of death, but as the ember of a life lived in Light.
He did not chant. He did not weep.
He placed both hands on the ring and called the Force through him — not a storm, but a hearthfire. The flames took quickly, licking up into the darkening sky.
He stayed until long after it had burned down, watching until every last cinder faded into ash.
"Thank you, Master Elinar," he said finally, touching the ashes.
He stood in silence until the stars came out.
And then, Torin Emberlain turned and walked back into the trees — a protector now, with none left to protect him.
