As Amukelo continued through the quiet streets, he drifted in and out of memories that felt both vivid and distant.
Passing by a modest restaurant, his steps slowed. The warm glow of candlelight through the windows, the soft murmur of conversations drifting out, reminded him of dates with Pao. His heart clenched as he pictured her face, the way she'd look up at him with that playful glint in her eyes, the way her smile could fill his entire world. He could almost hear her laugh, soft and full of life, echoing through the shadows around him. His breath quickened, and he closed his eyes for a moment, letting the memory wash over him.
He remembered the times they'd snuck away to little places like this, simple restaurants where they could escape from the pressures of quests and guild ranks, just the two of them in their own world. He could still see her across the table, her cheeks flushed from laughter, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she teased him about some joke only they understood. In his mind, he reached out across that table, touching her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin against his own. The memory was so vivid that for a second, it felt real. But when he opened his eyes, there was only the empty street, the restaurant filled with strangers.
As he walked on, the memories grew stronger, as if his mind refused to let go of what had been. He remembered the day he'd given her the necklace, a simple piece of metal in a shape of a flower. She had laughed, touching the necklace as if it were the most precious thing she'd ever owned, though it had been nothing compared to the treasures they'd found in the time spent together. The look on her face, the gentle surprise, the way she had held it to her chest—those images remained seared in his memory.
And then there had been that evening, the one that had felt like a dream. She'd worn a dress, something elegant and delicate, different from her usual rugged, practical attire. He remembered the way his heart had pounded, how he'd felt as though he were seeing her for the first time, even though she had been by his side for a long time. He could still feel the ghost of her touch, her hand resting in his, her head leaning on his shoulder as they moved together, lost in each other.
As he passed by a bathhouse, a familiar place where he, Bral, and Idin went the day before they started the quest that had taken everything from Amukelo. He saw himself there with his friends, laughing and talking as they soaked in the warm waters. That night, he and Bral and Idin had spoken of their dreams, their aspirations, in a rare moment of vulnerability.
Idin had spoken of exploring the world, of visiting places he had only read about in old scrolls, of seeking out adventures beyond anything they'd faced together. Bral, in his quiet, unassuming way, had talked of one day settling down, finding a peaceful life after the dangers of questing were done, of perhaps even marrying Bao and starting a family. They had all laughed, imagining that future, making promises to meet up after their quests, to never lose touch. Amukelo had spoken then too, of his own dream—a life with Pao, far from the violence, a life where they could be together without the threat of danger looming over them.
He thought now about what they had planned, that vision they'd shared, the life he had wanted with Pao. He could almost see it in his mind's eye: a quiet village, maybe a little cottage nestled in the woods. He would spend his days in peace, with no need for the sword that had become a part of him, no need for bloodshed. He could picture her there, her laugh echoing as she moved through the house, her smile lighting up even the dreariest of days. They would have had a simple life, perhaps, but a life filled with warmth and love.
And then, as he walked, the weight of reality settled over him like a cold shroud. That life was gone. It was lost forever, and there was no bringing it back. His breath hitched, and his heart ached as he realized that he would never see her again. He would never hold her, never hear her laugh, never see her smile. She was gone, lost in a sacrifice he couldn't undo, a sacrifice he hadn't even fully understood until now.
He stopped, standing in the middle of the empty street, his hands clenching at his sides as the full weight of his grief crashed down on him. It was too much. The pain, the regret, the sheer emptiness of it all—it was too much to bear. He felt as though he were being torn apart from the inside, as if his heart were shattering, piece by piece, leaving nothing but an empty shell.
A strangled sob escaped him, raw and broken, and before he knew it, he was crying, the tears streaming down his face in silent torrents. But even now, with his vengeance fulfilled, with the emptiness swallowing him whole, he found himself powerless against the wave of sorrow that overwhelmed him.
He wept for Pao, for Bral, for Idin, and for Bao, for the life he had lost and the dreams he had destroyed. He wept for the moments he would never have, for the love that had been ripped away, leaving him hollow and broken.
The street around him was silent, the night cold and indifferent to his pain. He sank to his knees, his shoulders shaking as he let the grief consume him, his cries echoing through the empty streets. For the first time, he allowed himself to feel it all, to mourn not just for Pao, but for himself, for the person he had become, for the life he had thrown away in pursuit of a revenge that now felt meaningless.
It was over. Everything was over. All that joy, all that love, all the dreams he had cherished—they were gone, lost to the darkness he had chosen, to the hatred that had driven him down this path.
He sat there, in the middle of the empty street, his body wracked with sobs, his heart a hollow, aching void. And as the tears fell, as he let himself grieve for everything he had lost, he felt the weight of his choices settle over him, a burden he knew he would carry for the rest of his life.
Eventually, his tears slowed, and he found himself staring at his trembling hands, raw and numb. The weight in his chest was unbearable, like a stone pressing down on his heart, but there was nothing left for him to do but move.
After a while, he staggered to his feet, his body heavy from the cold and his heart drained of whatever hope he had once harbored. He turned his gaze back toward the manor, knowing he had to return. A strange reluctance held him, as if going back would somehow tether him further to a life that felt emptied out, yet… he reminded himself of the belongings he had left behind. If nothing else, he had to collect them.
His return to the manor was slow, each step like moving through thick fog. Dawn was beginning to creep over the horizon by the time he reached the outer walls. The frost had settled thickly on the stone, glistening under the faint light, and He jumped over the wall.
He finally found the window he escaped through and was about to jump back, when a rustle caught his attention and he heard a voice, "Who's there?"
Before Amukelo could react, Roland stepped out from the corner, and he scanned the dim light of the early morning. When his gaze fell on Amukelo, a flicker of surprise softened his stern expression.
"Oh… it's only you," he said, his voice carrying a note of relief. But his brows knit together as he looked Amukelo over, noticing the faint red marks under his eyes. Roland's face softened even more. "I see…" he murmured, piecing together what he could without pressing further.
He studied Amukelo for a moment before asking gently, "Do you mind joining me for a moment?"
Amukelo hesitated. The last thing he wanted was to be around anyone, to speak, to be seen. But he knew he owed Roland some respect for the kindness he had shown him. So he gave a quiet nod, letting Roland guide him.
Roland led him through the manor's back entrance, down a quiet hallway that opened into a secluded garden. They walked in silence until they reached a small stone bench near the center of the garden, where Roland motioned for Amukelo to sit beside him.
As Amukelo settled down, he shivered, the cold that had settled in his bones from the night air seeping deeper. Roland, noticing the slight tremor, glanced at him thoughtfully. Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and held it out.
Amukelo opened his mouth to decline, but a cold breeze swept through the garden, cutting through his thin clothes. He realized, belatedly, just how long he had spent outside in the winter air, how numb and weak he felt. With a quiet nod, he accepted the jacket, draping it around his shoulders.
They sat in silence for a moment, Roland staring out at the garden, while Amukelo focused on his own breathing, trying to steady himself.
After a while, Roland reached into his pocket, pulling out a small wooden case. He opened it to reveal two thick cigars, the brown leaves wound tightly, each one exuding a faint, earthy scent. He handed one to Amukelo, who took it with a slight frown, turning it over in his fingers, clearly unfamiliar with it.
"Ever had one of these before?" Roland asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Amukelo shook his head, studying the cigar with a curious, almost naive expression. He'd seen people smoke in the city, but he had never felt the urge himself, nor had he ever been offered. The cigar felt foreign in his hand, a strange weight, rough and textured against his fingers.
Roland chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. "Here, I'll show you." He raised his cigar, his fingers poised just above the tip as he murmured a quick spell, summoning a small flicker of flame. He lit the end, letting the fire catch, while inhaling deeply.
He leaned forward, lighting Amukelo's cigar with the same small flame, nodding for him to take a breath as the end smoldered. "Go on, take a big breath in."
Amukelo took a tentative inhale, and immediately his lungs seized up, the smoke catching in his throat as he choked, coughing hard. The bitterness of the smoke filled his mouth, sharp and strange, burning his throat as he tried to catch his breath. He spluttered, his face twisted with surprise and discomfort, and it took him a few moments to compose himself.
Roland let out a hearty laugh, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Ah, first time's always the hardest," he said, still chuckling as Amukelo rubbed at his throat, his expression half-annoyed, half-bewildered. "Don't try to breathe it in too fast. Take it slow, let the smoke sit in your mouth a bit. Don't rush it."
Amukelo cast him a sidelong glance, caught between irritation and intrigue. He brought the cigar back to his lips, following Roland's advice, taking a slower, gentler puff this time. The smoke was still sharp, but less overwhelming, the bitterness mellowing into a warm, earthy flavor that lingered on his tongue. It was… unusual, strange, but somehow comforting in its own way.
Roland watched him, a smile playing on his lips as he exhaled a thin plume of smoke, the scent mingling with the crisp morning air. "Not bad, right?" he asked, his tone light, as if they were two old friends sharing a simple pleasure.
Amukelo nodded, still uncertain, but there was a faint glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. The cigar seemed to distract him, if only for a moment, from the storm of emotions raging within him.
They sat like that for a while, the silence between them filled only by the soft crackle of the cigars, the early morning sounds drifting in from the garden. The sun was beginning to rise, casting a soft golden glow over the frost-covered grass, illuminating the delicate branches of the trees with a pale light. Amukelo watched the scene in silence, his gaze distant, but there was a faint sense of calm settling over him, as if the entire scene could dim his pain, if only a litlle bit.