The irony was a jagged shard in his gut, twisting with each ragged breath. Every life he'd taken, every innocent he'd spilled, was a hammer blow to his own heart, shattering the fragile hope he'd clung to.
He started with Xenaz, a gruff mercenary with a heart of gold, hired to help him find Sera. Their shared journey had forged an unlikely friendship, forged in laughter around campfires and whispered secrets under starlit skies. One moonless night, the truth had slipped out, a desperate confession. Xenaz's laughter had turned to chilling silence, followed by a cruel dismissal: "There's no such thing." He'd been a fool then, convinced by that cruel mockery. But the doubt, like a seed, had taken root.
Then came the hare, its fur marred by his clumsy blade, a chilling echo of the villager's skin. He remembered Xenaz's body slumped behind him, the echo of his final, choked breath. He'd cried that night, clutching his friend under the cold gaze of a sun-bleached sky, his tears like frozen diamonds on his cheeks. The darkness had seeped in then, a creeping shadow that refused to leave.
And now, Hewar. His raven, found plummeting from the sky, life extinguished. Years ago, he'd stumbled upon the tiny black bird, facing down a wildcat with defiant chirps. He'd saved it, nurtured it, named it after the ancient god of the wind. Hewar, who danced on the breeze, a creature of freedom, now lay still. He'd traded freedom for blood, and the price had come due.
With Xenaz and Hewar gone, only two remained: the very reason he'd embarked on this twisted mission. He closed his eyes, but the ache was a living thing, clawing at his insides. He mourned them, the innocent and the friend, the bird and the man, all victims of his own poisoned hand. He was drowning in a sea of his own making, and the only shore he saw was painted crimson.
**********************
Sera's spearpoint glinted, inches from the slumped back of the killer. He knelt, a whimpering mess, one hand a crimson tapestry of shredded cloth and bone. She crept closer, drawn to the eerie tranquillity of Fezar's face, his sightless eyes reflecting the cold gleam of stars.
A suffocating guilt twisted her gut. "I'm so sorry," she rasped, the words hollow against the stillness, "but I can't save you."
A raw wail erupted from the man, tears glistening like misplaced diamonds on his grimy cheeks. Sera's anger, a simmering pot, threatened to boil over. Yet, there was a raw honesty in his cries, a catharsis that mirrored the summer rain softening the parched earth, momentarily cooling her rage.
She needed answers. Five years she'd built a fragile peace, convinced she'd outrun the ghosts of her past. Recent events had shattered that illusion, leaving her exposed and bewildered. Her gaze snagged on the intricate tattoo adorning the man's wrist. Could she truly blame him, a pawn on a chessboard he never knew existed? He was just another victim, just like she once was.
An unsettling silence descended. The man's ragged sobs had ceased, replaced by an unnerving stillness. Sera's eyes darted to his face, searching for any sign of life. It was blank, the canvas of a life extinguished.
Panic clawed at her throat. "Don't you dare die!" she choked, the words laced with desperation and a sliver of something she couldn't define. Perhaps a flicker of regret for a life cut short, or the chilling realization that she was, once again, entangled in a deadly game with unseen forces.