A few days ago, a mercenary committed suicide by poisoning himself. Bossia vaguely remembers him as a quiet and well-behaved person. Although not very strong, he had participated in the eradication of the Zora hive. He left a note requesting that his savings be anonymously sent to an address on the west coast of Kalimdor. Since he had no friends to entrust this task, Marlis ordered his subordinates to handle it.
During her first year at the fortress, the main emotion Bossia sensed from the mercenaries was fanaticism; after all, they chose to make a living with swords in the most dangerous places in Azeroth. But now, especially after the battle with the Zora hive, she realized that beneath the facade of fanaticism lay deep anxiety and confusion, like the first ash near a fire. A high-risk lifestyle needs high rewards to attract people to continue - rewards that are not just material. The contradiction of working in Silithus is that no matter how many bugs and twilight cultists you kill, no one outside will know who you are. They continuously seek and earn the honor of warriors, only to have it swallowed up by the desert as soon as they step out of Cenarion Hold. Outside, a mercenary has the chance to gain widespread admiration and gradually expand influence, but in Silithus, what lies before them is more like endless asceticism. The immense power of habit and the actual difficulties of life make it hard for them to leave easily.
When do you plan to leave? - They would ask each other. The answers Bossia heard included: starting over after leaving, needing to save more money, or not leaving until dealing with someone they disliked, to avoid being labeled a deserter. Sometimes, they would simply swear, as if the question was absurd and insulting. No one had ever asked Bossia; she thought it was because she hadn't been there long enough. There was an invisible benchmark: above it, you consider when to leave; below it, you stay and ensure you become like them, unable to answer the question.
Think it over, take him away. - I'll try. Actually, since Rahol disappeared, Bossia hadn't seriously considered persuading Bassario to leave together. She suspected that the forces keeping others here were also gradually creeping into her mind. She didn't know how to bring it up with him. Repeatedly, she asked herself where to go after leaving, only to realize that this cautiousness was hypocritical - she was used to wandering, and Silithus was the least memorable place. Gradually, she replaced the key question with: What will happen to us after we leave? This sounded more uncertain, vague, and deep... making it easier to numb herself before those invisible forces took full control.
If Rahol were still here. If he were, he would mock her unreservedly for her lack of action, making her realize her mistakes. But this hypothetical scenario was just another numbing agent. Because Bossia knew herself too well, the lack of concrete action made her feel more pressure. She recalled her mental process each time she left a place, hoping to find the driving force that made her act immediately, but to no avail. The glaring white sand and expansive sky of Silithus were gradually severing or confusing her memories.
If we need to escape this siege, today might be a good chance, as it's raining in Silithus. During the extremely brief and unstable rainy season each year, the desert's consistency faces minor changes. Each gray raindrop tries to shake the stubborn sand with its own shattering. The rainy season is also when the Qiraji bugs are relatively dormant, and the destruction of the Zora hive has made this even clearer. The black ring atop the insect columns had also shrunk considerably today. As for the Twilight cultists, they couldn't perform their favored rituals in the rain. What lay before them was a monochrome woodcut of Silithus, with all dangers and unrest still present but confined to a more restrained and calm space.
At night, Bossia stood under a rain shelter outside the fortress, looking up at the canvas above. She imagined the light rain turning violent, creating continuous noise on the shelter, and the world outside becoming dark, obscuring the distant dunes. As a child, when it rained heavily, she would open the door and hide in a corner, watching the raindrops gradually stain the wooden door grayish-green.
Bassario sat to her left.
"You've been more cautious lately," she said.
"Have I?"
"I thought you would definitely catch that Twilight cultist yesterday."
"He stopped in too conspicuous a place. Could be a trap."
"There were no enemies around."
"Marlis didn't tell us to catch him. I don't want to give him an excuse to dock my pay."
"Your money doesn't have much use except for gambling."
"Yeah."
When she brought up this topic, Bossia had expected to get angry; Bassario's straightforward answer, ignoring her hints, made her prediction come true. She knew the root of her anger wasn't justifiable, so she covered her cheek with her hand, hiding her awkward expression, and muttered.
"Rahol is gone. You don't need to show off for anyone."
Until now, Bossia hadn't talked to Bassario about Rahol. She had always wondered about his thoughts on the matter and knew she would eventually mention it. She felt conflicted: it was good not to worry too much about Bassario's safety, but it inevitably brought some imbalance to her mind - Rahol was gone, but he still had more influence on Bassario than she did; and she herself was always unsettled by Rahol's warnings to leave. She didn't turn her head, glimpsing Bassario looking at her from the corner of her eye. After several seconds of silence, unable to bear it, she shifted her gaze to his shoulder, avoiding his eyes.
Bassario straightened his back, moved her hand from her cheek, making her look at him.
"I used to be alone, it didn't matter, but now it's different. Bossia, now I have you. I can't always make you worry."
Bossia understood that if she truly believed Bassario's change was entirely because of Rahol, it would be a lie. She just needed him to say it out loud. If it were another man, this could be seen as a mere tactic, but since it was Bassario, it had to be sincere - those overly simple, unchosen words were still there.
"What nonsense. Even if you were alone, you can't say it doesn't matter. Living is important, living." After a pause, she continued, "It's fortunate you lived to meet me."
They kissed for a while. After they parted, he said, "After visiting the Crystal Vale and seeing Jose, I thought about many things. Things I hadn't thought about before."
"Like what?"
Bassario pondered for a few seconds, seemingly searching for the right words.
"You've been to many places, right?"
"I guess. I won't list them all."
"Just talk about them."
"I don't want to."
"Are they all different?"
"Sometimes… and sometimes I feel they're all the same."
"Why?"
"Don't ask. I don't know."
Bossia truly didn't know why she said that earlier. She took pride in her years of wandering; but she wasn't an ascetic and couldn't face the hardships of travel with an open heart. She had survived everything she encountered so far, but that didn't mean she cherished these experiences. If no place could keep me, aren't they all the same? - She couldn't encourage herself to think this way because it would permanently nullify her pride.
"There will be differences," Bassario said. "If I go with you again."
Bossia looked at him. Instinctively, she believed she had long been waiting for him to say this, regardless of his specific wording.
"Are you saying… you want to leave here with me?" she asked.
"I'll take you away."
At that moment, Bossia finally understood why she hadn't brought up this issue with him before. Analyzing her mindset, judging Bassario's will, and making decisions for both required too much confidence; she needed Bassario's confidence to share the burden. Jose and Lahore's wills had made Bassario grow, and they also made him belong spiritually to Silithus. She couldn't forcibly take away Basalius's spiritual belonging. Bassario had to choose her on his own to completely alleviate her concerns.
"Big words," she said. "In the end, I'll still have to guide you."
"No need. I'll figure out where to go."
"If you don't figure it out..."
Bassario hugged Bossia and kissed her. After a while, she lowered her eyes and said, "What did you say earlier… now you have me?"
"Don't you think so?"
"Of course not." She turned, sliding her right knee slowly across Bassario's thigh, straddling his waist and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Do you want me?" She kissed him again. "Tell me."
Bassario spoke. Then Bossia said something. They told each other what they wanted to hear and what they wanted to say. Their voices were soft, barely reaching the first rain curtain hanging from the shelter's edge, yet loud enough to convey all their wishes and pains behind the syllables. After taking the first step, Bossia soon became far more nervous than she had imagined; later, Bassario laid his clothes on the ground for her to lie down on.
Over the years, her will had driven her body to do many things she had never imagined in Stormwind, and now she was discovering another side of her body through Bassario's touch and exploration. This gentle, vulnerable, and sensitive side had naturally been hidden under her skin since girlhood, now gaining richer vitality after years of wandering. As a native of Silithus, Bassario was a symbol of life in this dead desert; she had no reason not to share everything with him. She realized this was Basalius's first time, so she carefully handled the expected clumsiness and awkwardness, letting him naturally feel that she belonged to him.
Before dawn, the rain stopped. Bossia lifted her head from Bassario's chest; she saw the two pillars of the rain shelter within her view—reflecting raindrops—along with the black edges of the shelter's top, forming a balanced and lofty angle, as if they could jointly support the sky of Silithus after the rare rain. She still remembered the grand white colonnades of the Cathedral of Light, and after beginning her wanderings, she finally saw the same thing again. Whether the Cathedral of Light or Silithus, she had lived in them and would eventually leave.