Nada knelt beside El Ritch, her gloved hand hovering just above his face. She peered at the faint wisp of his breath in the cold, her expression unreadable beneath the pot-like helm. "Wouldn't it be kinder to let the child go?" she said, her voice smooth but edged with something sharp. "He's clearly suffering."
Jol's head snapped up, his jaw tightening. "Until the final breath leaves his body," he said, his tone cold and deliberate, "he stays alive. Here. With us."
The air grew tense, the crackling fire doing little to warm the sudden frost between them. Nada shifted, her posture rigid with irritation, but Khal spoke before she could.
"And whose bright idea was it to drag an eleven-year-old into the Rose of Venus?" Khal asked, his head tilting slightly, his dark eyes narrowing on Jol. "Desperation for attention is the quickest way to die in a place like this."
Bada opened her mouth to intervene, sensing the inevitable explosion, but Jol beat her to it. He turned, his grin sharp as a blade, though there was no mirth in it. "A lot more useful than the warmongering 'animal' with an axe, you brought along," he said, his words laced with venom. "Where's he now, Khal? Oh, that's right— dead."
The word hit like a slap, and Khal's hand twitched toward the hilt of his shortsword. Nada straightened, her shoulders stiff as she turned slightly toward Jol, her presence a warning in itself.
"First of all," she began, her tone biting, "we didn't even know him. And second, is your little brother any better? Dragging a child into this mess doesn't make you clever. It makes you reckless."
Jol snorted, rising to his feet and brushing the snow from his trousers. "Reckless, sure. But he's alive, isn't he? Which is more than I can say for your... friend." He glanced at her torn off arm's stump, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "The only thing missing from your body is your left hand, thanks to my friend's competent decisions. Being useless and illogical? That's all on you two."
Nada's pot-like helmet tilted slightly, her shoulders stiffening. Khal took a half-step forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his short sword. Bada could feel the tension crackling between them like the fire that refused to die. She clenched her jaw, fingers gripping the hilt of her blade as her patience wore thin.
"Enough." Her voice was firm but low, cutting through the brewing storm without rising to meet it. "All of you. Now."
Jol opened his mouth to retort, but Bada silenced him with a glare sharp enough to carve through steel. Nada's posture relaxed slightly, but her irritation still radiated from her like heat from the embers. Khal, however, lingered on Jol, his hand tightening on the hilt of his blade before Bada's glare swept to him as well.
"Do any of you think this helps?" she asked, her voice cold and clipped. "We're surrounded by beasts, stuck in a cursed forest with no guarantee of survival, and instead of working together, you're tearing into each other over scraps of pride."
"He started it," Khal muttered under his breath, but Bada caught it.
"I don't care who started it," she snapped, her tone brooking no argument. "We're here, and we're all we have. If you can't stomach that, then feel free to wander off and let the forest deal with you. I'm not stopping you."
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the distant rustling of the trees. Jol finally looked away, his jaw tight. Nada shifted uncomfortably but said nothing, and Khal simply folded his arms, his expression unreadable.
"Good," Bada said after a moment, her tone softening but still firm. "Now, let's focus on what matters. El Ritch is breathing. He's alive, and as long as he is, he's one of us. We protect him, same as we protect each other. Understood?"
Khal's brows furrowed into a storm, his voice rising in a heated retort. "Why should we listen to either of you? I respected you for saving my friend, but that respect ends there. You've got no authority over us."
Jol's smirk was a blade unsheathed. "No authority, huh?" he said, stepping forward, his gaze locking with Khal's. "Maybe not. But after saving your hides and losing my friends in the process, I've earned the right to call you out. You're a liability, Khal. And her—" Jol jabbed a finger toward Nada without sparing her a glance, "—an incompetent cripple. Go ahead, leave. Take your chances in the forest. I have no problem to throw off a rotten fruit off the cart."
The words landed like blows, and Khal rose to his feet, his hand gripping the hilt of his shortsword. His face twisted in anger, but his movements were deliberate, like a predator circling its prey. "Oh, we've got a problem all right," Khal growled, his voice low and dangerous. He cracked his neck, the sound sharp in the cold air. "And it's right in front of me."
Jol stood as well, slow and deliberate. His hand, bloodied from gripping El Ritch's chipped blade too tight, hung at his side. The blade itself lay discarded next to the unconscious boy, flecked with crimson droplets that had splattered across El Ritch's cheek. Jol didn't seem to notice—or care. "Yeah," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Let's sort the problem out."
The tension crackled like a live fire. Khal's blade slid from its sheath with a whisper, its edge catching the flickering light of the fire. Jol's fingers twitched, ready to snap, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Bada stepped between them, her twin blades drawn, her expression hard as steel. "Enough!" she barked, her voice slicing through the charged air. She turned her glare on Khal first. "You want to pick a fight now? After everything we've just been through? Fine. But when this forest swallows you whole, don't expect anyone to come looking."
Then she rounded on Jol, her tone colder still. "And you. You're so consumed by your grief and anger that you can't see straight. You think this is how we honor Agun and Misti? By tearing ourselves apart? Pathetic."
Nada shifted uncomfortably, her single hand gripping her transformed blade.
EL RITCH
He floated, or so it felt. Weightless, adrift in a sea of nothingness. Tiny pinpricks danced across his skin like needles piercing through layers of flesh, each one sharp and searing. Pain surged, but it was distant, like a memory more than a sensation. He couldn't lift his limbs, couldn't open his eyes. Panic rose as he realized—he couldn't breathe.
He was dead.
Or so he thought.
Visions flooded his mind, a torrent of images and sensations that weren't his. A child with a toothy grin, front teeth still stubbornly growing in, beamed up at him. "When am I going to be a strong hunter like you?" the boy asked, his voice filled with innocent wonder. El Ritch recognized the voice that answered—it was Jol's. He was seeing this through Jol's eyes, standing taller, stronger, and older. "I'd say about forty years," Jol teased, his voice warm with fondness.
The scene shifted violently, the warmth of the memory replaced by blistering heat and suffocating smoke. A pile of ashes smoldered in front of him, glowing red and orange. El Ritch felt himself crawling, nails cracking against the rough ground, his breath choking on the thick, acrid air. His vision blurred, streaked with tears and blood. "Where are you?!" he screamed, his voice raw and desperate. "Where are you?!"
No one answered.
The images melted away into darkness. Faint voices began to filter through, distorted as though muffled by water. They were distant, fragmented, but familiar.
"—you think you can just insult them—" Bada's voice, sharp and brimming with restrained fury.
"—Agun and Misti at least fought, unlike cowards—" Jol's voice roared, crackling with raw emotion.
"—I'll kill you—" A female voice, unfamiliar, venomous.
"—Nada! NO!—" A male voice, panicked, desperate.
El Ritch's heart thudded against his ribs, a drumbeat that quickened with every word. The voices swirled around him, growing louder, more urgent. His breath hitched, and the pain became real again, clawing at his chest, his limbs, his very soul.
They were in danger.
Bada, Jol—they were going to die.
He had to save them.
His mind screamed for his body to move, to wake, to do something. The void around him cracked, light piercing through like shards of glass, and with it came a jolt that coursed through him. His fingers twitched. A breath clawed its way into his lungs, and the world began to spin.
He wasn't dead. Not yet.
Kill or be killed.
The mantra burned in his mind, a single thought igniting his entire being. El Ritch pushed his body, heedless of its protests, heedless of the pain that screamed through every nerve. It didn't matter if his limbs felt like lead. It didn't matter if the world swam in a haze of black and red. He forced himself to move.
Move. MOVE!
His fingers found something cold and familiar—the chipped blade. He gripped it, not by the hilt but the ragged metal itself, sharp edges biting into his palm. Warm blood dripped from his hands, but he didn't loosen his hold. He couldn't.
Kill or be Killed.
Blurry shapes danced in his vision, swirling and indistinct, but two stood out. Two shapes he recognized. Jol and Bada.
A voice—Jol's, urgent and strained—called out to him. "—Ritch—"
He couldn't hear the rest. He couldn't stop. The scream in his head drowned out everything else.
He shoved Jol aside with an arm that felt like stone, staggering forward. The blurred figure in front of him came into focus just enough to reveal the glint of a weapon, the shadow of a threat. El Ritch's breath hitched as he drove the blade forward, feeling it sink into flesh.
The man stumbled back, a gurgled cry escaping his lips as El Ritch's blade tore through him.
He won't let Jol be killed. He won't let Bada be killed. Never them. Never.
El Ritch's mind screamed the words as his body betrayed him. He couldn't stop his hands from tightening around the chipped metal, the jagged edge biting deeper into his palms as he swung again.
Blood spattered across the snow, hot against the icy ground. His arms trembled under their own weight, his vision flickering like a dying flame. His legs buckled, and he crumpled to the ground, the chipped blade slipping from his hands.
The world dimmed, voices clashing in a cacophony around him, indistinct and chaotic. He closed his eyes, letting the darkness take him once more.