Lamentation

The roar was heard in three states. The flash was seen by satellites in orbit. The shockwave shattered the last remaining panes of glass in the buildings surrounding the hotel. But there was no fire. There was no destruction. There was only an orange light that rose to the sky like a column, and within that light, two silhouettes dissolving like ashes in the wind.

The serpent split in two. Then in four. Then in a thousand. Its pieces didn't fall; they rose, ascending towards the moon, and on the way transformed into rain. But not the cold rain of the deluge. A warm, almost lukewarm rain that smelled of rust and iron flowers. A rain that, upon touching the skin, left a small gray mark, like the fingerprint of a departing god.

Renee saw the exact moment Moradin ceased to exist.

There was no scream. There was no dramatic pronouncement. There was only the orange glow at the center of the explosion that flickered three times, fast, fast, slow, like a hammer striking an anvil for the last time. And then the glow faded, and the sky was empty, and the moon was once again just a floating piece of rock.

The floodwaters, which had receded during the fight, began to advance again. But now they came without fury. Now they came like someone who had lost their driver. The floodwaters rose slowly, enveloping Renee's thighs, her waist, her chest. She didn't move. She just stared at the spot in the sky where her friend had disappeared.

The red scale armor began to cool. The amber glow in her eyes faded. The earth around her stopped moving. And Renee, Moradin's chosen one, stood alone in the middle of the flooded street, the water rising to her chin, and she didn't say a word.

Because there were no words for what she had just lost.

But there were tears. And they were as warm as the falling rain.