By the time we reached the bottom of the Column, I was barely conscious. From blood loss alone, I should be dead, for my tourniquet was loose, and the bandage Sovina helped secure was dripping with nearly every step. And as if this were not enough, I still contended with the enervation from excessive Sorcery. Yes, by all reason and belief, I should not be alive.

And yet I was.

Was there meaning in this? Was I offered a second opportunity? Hardly. Who would offer it to me? It is but random chance. There is no intention. Even so, delirious as I was, I found it hard to deny the hand of something tipping the die in my favor.

Such bemused, half-aware reflections toppled through my mind as we made toward the palace. Demetria, now more awake and healthy than I, was bearing most of my weight. I looked at her occasionally, taking in her beauty as one might gaze at a scenic mountain range as they breathed their last breath, dying after a long life, hopeful of keeping the image held in their mind's eye forever. I'd blink, look away, wipe at my eyes, all just to make sure she was truly there. Truly real. And each time, when I dared to glance her way once more, I was not mistaken or deceived. Demetria, the woman whom I'd sworn myself to, given my heart to, bonded to for life… She was here, alive again after so long.

"I should have been there," I said in Pethyan, finally able to speak after we'd finished our tiring, anxious descent where the thought of Soulborne lurking around every corner had us paranoid and quiet. Emotion overwhelmed me, and tears stung my stone-scrapped cheeks, blurring the dark emptiness of Nova's streets, the soft lines of her face. "I should have saved you. I should have—"

"Daecinus," she interrupted, voice raspy and thin, yet so missed my knees nearly buckled at the familiarity of it, "I don't blame you. Please, do not blame yourself." Harsh coughs racked her body, so I stopped, trying to support her. But she shook her head and continued forward. "Speaking is… painful."

"I'm sorry. We can wait." I looked away. Does she know what vengeance I sought after her death? That which she wished so fervently to pull me away from? The decades spent in research, construction, and experimentation with the Grand Observatory? I never tried to convince myself she'd support my decisions—for she'd rather wish, like Maecia, that I dedicated myself to the people, as I hoped to, long ago. What would she make of me now? Enemy of an empire? Monster of history?

"What is happening here?" Demetria asked, adding after a long pause, "Where are we?"

"It's been over four hundred years since you died. I was… attacked, captured, and stowed by the Vasians for much of this time. Emalia and Sovina awoke me from the ruin in which I was held." I watched her face fall as I continued, "I came to Nova with another to seek justice against Vasia for all they'd done. They… they killed our people and destroyed our home. This other—Feia—she is at the palace, and I fear the worst. Yet Maecia lives, captured as I was, and perhaps our people, or whatever remnants of them are left."

Horror, sadness, and misery captured her expression, breaking my heart. And, for the first time, I wondered if bringing her back to this cruel reality was anything more than selfish.

Before she could reply, if she even would, Sovina said from behind, "If a fight has broken out, we are in no condition to intervene. It would be beyond control."

"I know."

"Then, if you press on in the face of evidence of violence, we will leave, wherever that takes us."

"That would be foolhardy," I said. "We must stay together. All forces are against us, Sovina."

She pressed forward to walk alongside me, face gaunt and pale with the priest's Sorcery, but nevertheless as determined as ever. "I will not bring Emalia into such violence," Sovina whispered fervently. "And if you care for Demetria—"

"Careful now."

"If you care for her, you will not bring her into a fight you cannot win."

I looked away, jaw clenched, teeth grinding in frustration. She was right. Yet, if Feia needed me and I wasn't there… We continued forward, fast as we could, Sovina bearing Emalia, Demetria no longer needing to bear me so heavily as we drew closer, and my anticipation rose. Soon, sights of estate grounds and imperial monuments became more common, and the tall shadow of the Column faded behind us. The sprawling palace and its walls grew close. We paused occasionally, listening for violence, peering through the dark for threats. It was eerily silent and still. With Demetria at my side, I was not just anxious, but afraid. Terribly afraid. I stared into the darkness and saw enemies abound when the shadows were empty and lifeless. I heard voices calling for death in the wind when there were none. Weak and debilitated as I was, I couldn't protect her. If something were to happen… I shook my head. Such thoughts were counterproductive.

As the side street turned, we found ourselves staring down a thoroughfare into the mouth of the palace gates. The sight made my heart fall. I watched, with a tight chest and bile in my throat, as warriors put the heads of my Soulborne on spears outside the gates. They heaved away bodies of men and Dead alike, clearing some of the gore from a massacre at the mouth of the gateway. Already, small bands departed with weapons at the ready, clearly intent on hunting any Soulborne still left, frozen and uncontrolled. I hadn't the chance to reclaim any myself, if I could even manage the Sorcery. A few groups were even heading our way, making toward the Column.

"Follow me." Sovina pulled Emalia into a nearby alley away from the road.

Demetria and I followed, quickly veering out of sight behind the stoop of a leaning building, hiding in the shadows cast by its protruding second story. We waited in the darkness for a long moment as I thought in panicked haste of what to do. Of what we ought to do.

"Daecinus," Sovina whispered.

I looked to her and found this warrior who had pulled herself from the Crown of the Column, pushing away the Souls' prying influence, and nearly defeated a Sorcerer with only her fists… I looked at her and saw fear in her eyes. A pleading. We cannot stay here. Don't make us split apart. Don't endanger Emalia, they begged. Don't endanger Demetria.

I closed my eyes and let out a long breath. If Feia was still alive, still free, then she would know where to meet me. Any Soulborne still unfrozen as well, as unlikely as it was.

The hollers of reckless abandon and victory floated up from the palace grounds. The celebration of humanity's empty triumph. I closed my eyes and nodded, whispering, "To the bay."

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

…

The spineless bastards were crawling the grounds near the Column like a bunch of dogs sniffing about for the wounded deer. Maybe trying to rustle up a boar. Oskar hoped they found its tusks in their bellies, and Daecinus's Soulborne ripped them all apart.

He hid in the darkness, leaning against walls to avoid collapsing. He didn't dare sit down to rest, because he knew he wouldn't get back up. And that meant keeping Feia's body over his shoulder the whole time. There was a time when he'd be able to carry twice what she weighed for three times as long, grinning and laughing with ease. But those times were dead and gone.

First it was Daecinus, then me, Feia, Emalia, then all of us all over again, knifed by Vasia, he thought with a deep-set grimace, hustling across an empty street to the dark safety of the distant alley. Laczlo, you lying bastard. Oskar wanted to shout, to scream. In the end, in wasn't even the blood-hungry fucker's fault. Feia tried to kill him. She doubled down when she should've called it. Ego is what it was. A need to win…

No, it was Daecinus. He brought her to Nova. He put the power in her hands and told her it was justice. And where was he now? Likely dead to some Soul magic fuckery. There'd be no justice, no vengeance, even. And what did anyone get for it?

Oskar shoved open the decrepit door to the catacombs they'd snuck in what seemed like ages ago and hauled Feia into the darkness. And because all this shit, how many are dead? Gods, how many of my men died in the Column alone? Four? Five? He grimaced, pausing to let his eyes adjust to the thick black. All those casualties… He was to blame for that, wasn't he? Got himself persuaded by the young and naïve to go save Vasia. But the ironic thing is that the people he actually cared about would still be alive if he left the empire face what it was due.

And now, what was he left with? A shitty situation where his best chance of survival was to leave Feia to the imperial wolves? He'd rather face all the Dead of Neapoli. They weren't getting her body. She deserved more than that.

Once his eyes adjusted, he strode to the spot where they'd buried their treasure, set Feia down, and used his sword to pry the stone free. Took a few minutes, but after exposing the chest's lid, he opened it and hauled out fistfuls of jewels, stuffing them in his side pouch, draping his neck in gold chains, clasping his arm in silver torques. He kicked the lid shut and shoved it back in its hiding place, scraping dirt and stone back over the top. It'll be enough for whoever's left, whatever they decide to do. He curled his lip at the memory of them turning their backs on him. Damn cowards.

With enough wealth to sustain him for years to come, and then some, he picked Feia back up with a huff and made towards the exit. He'd get out of this. He would. Just had to get beyond the walls, and he'd be a free man. Then, once he'd seen to Feia, he'd put Vasia behind him for good this time. Mercenary work, too, if he had any sense.

But when Oskar opened the door and pushed out from the dark hold of the catacombs, he felt all that slip right between his damn fingers. As usual.

Because standing before him, hand on the pommel of his sword, was Stanilo.

Feia was on his right shoulder, so he went to draw his sword with his left in a panic.

Stanilo raised his good arm, the other half-destroyed one still tied in a sling. "I'm not here for a fight."

Oskar squinted at his face in the darkness, trying to read the towering warrior's expression. It was stoic as always. Unreadable except something akin to disappointment. Fuck him too. "Yeah? Not here to bring me in to your new overlords, eh?" He looked around, searching for others, but it was dark and the city was still quiet as a Deadless Ruin.

"No, Oskar. Nothing like that. Just knew you'd come here, is all. Wanted to talk."

"Talk, huh? About what?"

Stanilo sighed, one arm falling to his side, though not making a move for his blade. Oskar doubted he could take the man in a regular fight, but he was tired, laden down with Feia, and in no mood for more damn bloodshed, even if the man was injured. "Listen," Stanilo said, "I don't know what you plan on doing next, but you should go, leave Nova. Leave Vasia."

"That was the idea."

"Good. They'll be after you, you know. Her too." He looked away, too much of a coward to see what he'd done. "Is she…"

"Yeah."

Stanilo was quiet for a long moment, then asked, "Where are you taking her?"

"Far from here."

"Oskar."

"What?"

"I won't chase you. I told them I'd search this area. Only our band's here—"

"Our band? You mean mine?" Oskar stepped forward, lips bent in a snarl. "You gonna abandon me, then steal my men from me?"

He stood tall, chest and chin raised high. "They stopped being your men when you asked them to turn on the druzhina. When you demanded that they fight Vasia. We'd already lost too many good warriors today. To demand that—"

"A step too far, eh?" He barked out a laugh and spat to the side. "Saving the boyars and voivodes and all the lying fucks in this city was the only good to be done? Just toss Feia aside then, let them have at her? She was one of us. As much as you or I."

"Or Nifont."

"Yeah? What's your point?"

Stanilo gave him a sad, pathetic frown. Nothing but self-pity and shame, him. "He died for this, Oskar. A lot of the boys did. It's not heroics and honors—no one loves Vasia here—but it was a good cause. And he died for that despite his hate for this place. Fighting the druzhina wasn't just suicide, but a good way to see that his death was for nothing."

"What?" Oskar stared at him in shock. "We'd have gotten her out of there safely! Turned away from all this—"

"She wouldn't have given up."

"With Daecinus dead, she'd have seen the error in her ways. Changed her mind or—"

Stanilo shook his head. "No, she wouldn't have. You saw her. She wanted blood more than he did. We thought she'd temper him out, but we were wrong. By Deus, we should have seen it back then, but we didn't. After what Vasia did to her…" He sighed. "She'd never stop till Nova was a city of ashes and bones."

He was wrong. He didn't know Feia, not like Oskar did. She'd go far from Vasia, turn their back on it all, start over. But not anymore—not since they abandoned her to the voivode. "All I know is you've got no loyalty. None of you do." He cast a glare to the dark buildings and alleys around, where the other men surely hid, too afraid to face him. "Now I'm leaving. Don't try and stop me." He went to go.

"Wait."

Oskar took a few steps, then looked back. "Thought I just told you not to try?"

"The pardon."

He scoffed, searched out the piece of parchment, and tossed it to the ground. "Have at it. Enjoy your servitude."

Stanilo came over to pick it up, folding it carefully before stowing it away. "Thank you. I'm sorry it's ended up like this. I wish I could ask you to stay, but the voivode wants you dead for Oiir."

"I'm sure he does."

"Right then." Stanilo stepped back, crossing his arms. "You might have luck on the eastern passage out of the city. It'll be the slowest to see reinforcements."

Oskar went to leave without another word, but after he'd got enough distance from the man, his temper calmed and everything began to feel… Lost. He paused, hefting up Feia's body once more. "Gonna try and make it to the mountains. See if I can't find her village. Where it used to be, anyways. Bury her ashes somewhere nice."

"That's quite a journey."

"It is."

"What about Daecinus? What if he lives? He'll want to know what happened to her."

Oskar scoffed. "If you see him again, put a knife in him for me. If it weren't for him… Bah." He continued on, bearing east, tossing a half-wave behind him. "Take care of 'em, Stanilo."

"May Deus light your path, Oskar."

Yeah. I'm sure he will. Feeling old and tired of it all, Oskar trudged for the eastern gates. It was shut, of course, with a few guards on post, oblivious to the night's chaos. But they were nothing he couldn't pull away with a small fire and a well-timed punch that left his knuckles stinging. He was a fugitive, after all, so what did it matter? Once outside, free from the crowding confines of the city, Oskar felt like he could breath again. The sea air rolled in, sharp on his wounds, light in his lungs. The great expanse of the east before him. Those distant mountains where Feia had called home.

Tomorrow, he'd draw up a fire and see her body burned before Corruption could do anything sinister to it. But for now? He found the quietest copse of trees and collapsed, falling asleep in the underbrush like some hibernating bear, and dreamt of better times.

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