Rezak flinched, the weight of the blade he held against Sera a stark contrast to the unexpected warmth in her eyes. "I… I'm sorry," he stammered, dropping his hands. How could he explain the absurdity of it all? The curse, the day-blindness, the man with hair like spilled blood – even he didn't understand it.
He took a step back, catching the flash of a knife in her hand. When did she draw that? "I didn't mean to hurt you," he rushed out, his voice tight. "It's just… I couldn't see during the day. Not today, I mean. Before."
Sera's gaze remained unwavering, sharp and assessing.
"I'm truly sorry," he added, the memory of her driving a wild bear back with a knife-spear fresh in his mind. Enraging this woman with his bandaged hands wouldn't end well. Maybe another apology would appease her. But she kept the blade drawn, a silent reminder that words alone wouldn't sway her. Yet, there was something about her – an invisible power radiating off her, much like the faint whisper he felt within himself. She was a storm compared to his flickering ember.
"What were his terms?" she finally asked, her voice low and controlled.
"Out of nowhere, this red-haired man came to my village. He was... deranged, everyone said. But I..."
"The terms," she cut in, her voice firming. "What did he demand?"
"To kill you with this blade." Rezak felt a knot loosen in his chest, a confession escaping his lips. "With a warning - that if I failed, someone dear to me would die. For an orphan, not many make that list."
Sera's breath hitched.
"This day-blindness… it just happened," he continued. "Skinning a hare under the sun, and the light… it became a memory."
"He punishes disobedience," she stated more than asked.
Rezak considered her words. "Then why didn't he punish me for the other attempts?"
Silence stretched between them, the question hanging heavy in the air, an enigma she couldn't unravel.
"I never meant to kill them, your friend and her husband," he confessed, dropping his gaze to his bandaged wrist. The ancient mark burned there, a constant reminder of his folly. To follow that madman's words, to seek the ancient power – what had it gained him but loss, misery, and a soul-crushing ache?
"I understand," came her voice, surprising him. The knife was gone.
"You do?"
"You're not alone in this, Rezak," she said, her voice heavy. "Our paths are twisted in ways we never imagined. We both sought The Creator, we both destroyed what we loved. And now, we're left clinging to the only ones we have left."
Rezak had no idea who was left in his village. His wife? Or perhaps a child born while he hunted Sera? Could he even choose? Regret and pain washed over him, but her words rang true. Their lives were bound, intertwined by something beyond their control. "What did he demand of you, Sera?"
Her lips tightened, a flicker of doubt in her eyes.
"Why did you seek The Creator?" he pressed, needing to know.
Before she could answer, a sharp rap on the door startled them. Sera opened it, and Rezak caught a glimpse of the chief's face over her shoulder.
"He's here," the chief announced, his voice grave. "The man with the red hair."