They walked together, away from the camp.
On the way to somewhere intimate and private, Henry Savoy did not have the bravery to look at Lady Keirin. An ounce of shame that had been weighing him down became tenfold in the moment that she had really appeared.
In hindsight, he became sure that Lady Keirin did love him.
And that love was so foreign to him because he didn't really feel this assurance before.
After a while of silence, they found a spot. Near a cliff, overlooking the sprawling trees under and beyond, the moon's up there watching them like an eye ever open. The wind was just right, and Henry did not feel that comfort. All he felt was anxiety and fear he couldn't brush off.
That kind of fear he felt one December night.
Yes, Death did not knock and swatted in, at least for all he knew, but the dread was the same.
Lady Keirin stood near the precipice, looking up at the blue moon as if she was looking for words spelt in those craters. Whatever they may be, she hoped that it was not hers. Because, unlike her armor, sturdy and strong, it was all hurt and pain. Understanding comes into the picture where love clicked, but sometimes and most times, when the ache of it all twisted absurdly, you can't help but just shed a tear or two for love turned anger.
"Why did you do that, Henry?" said Lady Keirin, still braving the horizon and not the one behind her. "Why did you leave without a word? The letter barely tells what you mean. How could I ask a paper the questions I want to ask?"
Henry Savoy looked at the silhouette of her armor. It looks as if they were still at the Arena of Tyvin. It brings back a recent memory and yet it still manages to be nostalgic.
"I don't know, Keirin," said Henry Savoy, averting her gaze and looking down, tongue-tied. "I really don't know."
"You do the things you do, all incredible and horrible," Lady Keirin turned, looking at Henry Savoy. He felt that shot of gaze like a gun piercing through. "You say things without a hitch, you say that you hated fate, you curse everything and for what? Is there no reason behind it all? Why do you not take credit? Why do you not take responsibility? What is in that skull of yours so indescribable that you have not figured it?"
Henry took a shaky breath, struggling to find his voice. Keirin's words cut through him like a blade—each question sinking deep, exposing truths he'd spent years hiding from himself. He met her gaze, and for the first time, he felt stripped bare under her scrutiny, like every mask he wore was peeling away.
"I don't know, Keirin," he said, voice rougher now. "I thought I did once. Thought I understood myself well enough, thought I knew exactly what I wanted. But then… then I met you."
She flinched, and he could see the hurt flash in her eyes though most of her was obscured. It wasn't the answer she wanted, and he knew that. But there was more, and it hung between them like an unfinished sentence.
"I don't want you to understand, I want you to at least know," continued Henry Savoy, words coming slowly, like drawing poison from a wound. "Every time I've cared about someone, every time I let myself trust, it's like… I'm cursed to destroy them. Or they destroy me," he gestured wildly like a lone wolf trying to find the pack. "But losing people—losing them because of who I am—that's a wound that never healed."
Keirin's expression softened, but her eyes held a steeliness that demanded more. She stepped closer, crossing her arms as if to steady herself, waiting for him to unravel further.
"Fuck sadness, fuck regrets, and all that hides between," Henry said, his voice rough, like it was dragging over gravel. He held Keirin's gaze, his own eyes a mix of anger and helplessness, his fists clenched at his sides. "I'm as broken as a windowpane smashed to shards, pieces so fine you can't even pick them up without bleeding. Don't feed me platitudes, Keirin—I know what I am. I'm a damn mess. And you—look at you. You're everything good, everything clean, and what am I? The so-called 'Chosen One,' as if I asked for any of it. I didn't choose this. Hell, I wouldn't have chosen it if I'd had a hundred lives to live."
His voice cracked, and he took a breath, but his shoulders shook as he continued, his words growing even more jagged. "This world might be new, but that doesn't erase the old one. I remember every damn thing, Keirin. Every time I let myself slip, every lie I told to make things easier for me—to dodge the truth, to dodge them, to dodge you. I remember it all, and I know—I know that I've hurt you, hurt others, and I'm haunted by it."
He paused, hands trembling, the weight of everything he'd buried finally cracked through. His voice softened, barely more than a whisper. "I've become someone I hate. Someone who runs, who breaks everything he touches. I'm a coward. I hurt the ones I love, and I've no one to blame but myself. So, I left, thinking I could save you, spare you from me, but it was never enough, was it?"
Henry's breath hitched, his gaze fixed on her, desperate and raw. "You were the only good thing I ever had, Keirin. And even now, even standing here… I don't know if I can be anything other than this damned ruin. But I know that leaving you… it's the only thing I regret."
"You spoke once, that night and before it, before you left, that fate killed freedom, hence you hated what it stood for. Yet, you left without giving me a choice about what to do. What has become of my freedom when it faced yours? Is it your fate then to destroy people?" Lady Keirin said.
Henry Savoy looked down. Hell wouldn't save him from this, nor the dirt he associates with. No chuckle, no laugh, no smirk, nor smile found their way on his cold lips. A hitched breath came hither after a while. And he only said: "I don't know."
Lady Keirin stood there, under the moonlight, her expression unreadable like a palm with too many lines. But Henry knew what she felt when he heard her snicker venously, like a viper hissing after its rattle was removed. "You're not the wise man I believe you to be."
"You shouldn't believe anything," Henry only said, and the air between them was replaced with a suffocating void of silence. "I used to believe that, but—"
"Whatever words come flooding out of your lips, they should be the truth. If not, they should weigh as such or more," Lady Keirin said.
And they both stood there, looking at each other.
Eye to eye.
Serious as all hell like two strangers in the night bumping after a drink or two.