“I didn’t wanna interrupt,” Erot begins as I exit from his bedroom. He appears from the shadows. Surprisingly stealthy.

  “What?” I ask. Then, when he gives a cheeky, knowing look, I scoff. “Nothing happened. We were just talking.” Which is true. Sorina left after a while, saying she had to make her own preparations. Take stock of the villagers as well.

  “Sure,” he says, winking at me. I move past him, muttering some petty curses about peeving old men. He follows behind me as we descend the stairs.

  “Ah young love. I do miss it, you know? The thrill of it.”

  “When you were in Fangshade?”

  He stops, frozen at the last stair. “The shark told ya? What am I saying—of course he did. Talkative little bastard can’t keep anything to himself.” Erot shakes his head solemnly. Then, he looks me up and down. “The armor doesn’t look bad on you. It fits.”

  “Not really. But it will have to do.”

  There’s a silence between the both of us. It drags—as if knowing we both have something we desperately want to say, but just can’t put into words.

  “Erot—” I gulp, trying to order my thoughts. What to apologize for first. I start with what’s easiest—the thing that’s already been made known: “I’m sorry I never told you about who I actually was.”

  “Why are you sorry? I already knew.”

  “What?”

  “Well, I didn’t know, but I had my suspicions. Call it a farmer’s intuition.” He makes a grunting chuckle.

  “Really? Just that?”

  “Well, that and the fact that I saw ya lad. Shootin’ lightning all over my farm.”

  I frown. When did I ever—the realization hits all at once.

  “You saw me fight Sorina that night?”

  “Saw yah, heard yah, smelt yah—” he sniffs. “Was going to come help you out, grabbin my old weapons and everything—till I came to find you, the shark, and our good ol’ mayor talking nice and sweet. Figured you worked something out between yourselves. Which was all well and good, but ya did smolder a solid acre of my lander”

  I wince. “Sorry.”

  He chuckles. “I don’ care. Didn’t affect me nothing. You helped out at the farm, entertained my grandchildren, and hells Raiten, you tried your best to save my family,” he shakes his head. “That’s all that matters to me.”

  A torrent of guilt kicks in my stomach. He still doesn’t know what I’ve done. But before I can broach that topic, Erot peers past my shoulder for a moment, before looking around our surrounding area. Then, he pulls me in close and whispers.

  “Why aren’t ye going to use the cure on the people of Takemeadow?”

  Oh. He was checking for others.

  I shake my head. “I thought it through, but I don’t think I can take that risk. If I go there and try to heal one or two of the turned villagers, whose to say they aren’t too far gone in the plague? And even if they are healed, what then Erot? The cures would’ve been wasted.” It seems so cold to say that, but it's true. I need to be pragmatic here. “The best chance for any of us is if I find Lucian, or another doctor, and have them somehow replicate the cure. But I need to save them first.”

  “I see.” Erot doesn’t judge me with his expression. Rather, he seems to understand but also despise the cold calculus of all of this. The old man moves past me now, going to the kitchen. He starts cleaning the plates. I move to help, however, he waves me off. “You’ll be doing enough work for all of us. Let me take care of this at least.”

  I watch him work for a bit, seeing his rough, calloused hands scrub the dishes.

  I wonder what he’s seen. What he’s fought. Maybe that’s why he liked me so much when we met—sensed a kindred soul who was tired of fighting. I move to leave, however, his voice cuts above the water.

  “What happened to you out there Raiten? You have that look in your eye.”

  I hesitate.

  He doesn’t turn around. “It’s fine if you don’t wanna talk ‘bout it now. I get it. But… Well, if ya ever need an ear, let me know.”

  I bite back my response and just give him an appreciative nod. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

  …

  “You’re leaving again?” Dandy asks, sleepy eyes drooping. She holds the flower dagger I gifted her in one hand and a teddy bear in the other.

  “Only for a little bit,” I assure her, bending down to ruffle her hair. This time, she deftly dodges my head pat and makes a great big HUMPH!.

  “Not fair. Not fair at all, Raiten.”

  “I know. But, I have to do this.”

  “Do you really?”

  I hesitate for a moment before nodding. “Yes.”

  She looks at the floor, bouncing on her foot for a moment to lean against the doorframe.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “You won’t die like my mother right? Like my father?”

  The question hits me like a catapult. She’s so young. Has already lost so much. Family. Mobility.

  And yet most of the time, she’s able to smile so joyously.

  Meanwhile, I’m just an angry ball of spite.

  I bend down and pick Dandy up. She yawns over my shoulder as I place her on the bed.

  “I won’t die Dandy,” I say, carefully parting some of the orange-red hair from her face. “It’s not in my nature.”

  She nods solemnly. Then, a light sparks behind her eyes and she holds the flower dagger towards me. “Take it! You’ll need it, right?”

  I hesitate, looking at the ornate, vaguely magicks-infused blade. I bought it from a traveling vendor for her—right before the plague outbreak happened. To be honest, I still don’t understand what it does.

  “It's yours, Dandy. Your gift.”

  “Then make sure you give it back to me, alright?”

  I smile at the thoughtfulness of this young girl. “Alright.” My hands reach out for the blade and I pat her head once more. She squirms, but doesn’t resist as I ruffle her hair.

  Her eyes track me even as I approach the open door. I take one last look at her, smile, and shut it behind me.

  …

  Once I’m out the front entrance, I start regretting how my conversation with Erot went. I had so many things to ask. Like, why did the leash he gave me for Umbrahorn break? It's something that’s been bothering me ever since I left the Catolican fortress. But amongst those more paltry questions, I didn’t even tell him of the decisions I made. The things I’ve done. He must think of me as some hero—but he’s wrong. I’m just a bastard killer. A little shit who knows one thing and one thing only.

  My only trade is blood.

  Stars form varied patterns in the open sky. The night is a gradient of blue and purple and black. Cold colors for a cold occasion. The villagers look at me as I pass. The guardsmen have weary, fearful gazes. Some are hopeful though. The young men are skeptical of me. They may think I’m a braggart or a glory seeker—all in all, some idiot who will die for nothing.

  The merchant and his folk ignore me. He’s still nursing the nose bleed that Erot gave him. I could say I blame the poor man, but in reality, he’s also just frightened. As anyone else would be. Besides, there are far worse men out there.

  The workers and washwomen look at me with strange gazes. In those tired, death-weary faces, I see glimmers of hope.

  The young washwoman who spoke for them earlier now talks to her comrades in hushed whispers, throwing looks at me. When she realizes I’ve noticed their gossip, she stands and stalks over to me.

  “I don’t know if you can do what you say,” she speaks, her voice clear and confident. “But I’m glad someone is trying anyway. At least you’re better than them lot.” She spits in the direction of the spearmen. “Cowards. But you ain’t no coward, eh?”

  I think she’s being too harsh. But then again, she said her brother was out there in the meeting. She almost reminds me of Zyla

  The freckled-faced woman holds out her hand. “Names’ Dalit. Friends call me Dal.”

  I shake her hand. “Raiten.”

  “Yah I know. Here,” she reaches into her heavy, red-woolen kirtle and takes out a sash. “Hold out your arm.”

  I oblige with some hesitance, but she merely wraps the sash around the faded green of the sleeve. Then, she produces a leather-patched sigil from her other pocket. It shows a wheat field under the sun.

  “This is the symbol of Takemeadow. You should have it. You’re one of us now—don’t care what the others say. You’re the only willin’ to fight for us.”

  I take the sigil and give her a nod. She smiles down at me—and it’s only then I realize how tall this woman is. “Good luck to ya. May the Spirits and the Angels guide your way, Thunder Watcher.”

  Dalit hurries off after that, and I stare for a moment longer at the sigil. Then, I stuff it into my pocket and straddle the fence. I look back at all of them one last time—our hopeless mob of villagers, who rely on me.

  “Is there help coming?” the blacksmith had asked.

  No. There isn’t.

  But I’m the next best thing.

  …

  As I start wading through the fields, I hear Umbrahorn rumble up next to me. He pops his head out of the ground, yet he is uncharacteristically quiet. It reminds of how we were right before the Battle of the Glades. Before him and I charged 1000 of Thraevirula’s rotten army. Of course, back then, I used the amulets.

  Now things will be a bit different.

  “Alya was always good to me,” Umbrahorn mutters. “Kind. I’m sad that we were… too late.”

  I don’t think he’s speaking with any expectation that I’ll actually respond.

  The shark unearths himself fully and blocks my path. “Let me help. I won’t run away this time.”

  “There’s no Elk this time.”

  His teeth grind. “I know. But—Raiten please.”

  I try regarding him coldly. I try summoning up all the anger in my heart for this selfish spirit. And yet? It's just… not the same anymore.

  My head shakes. “Umbrahorn, you need to be here. Help these people out—just in case there’s an attack while I’m gone.”

  “But—”

  “Give me a ride there, will you? And also, do me another favor.” I reach into my belt and toss him the amulet sack. It lands upon his wooden head.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Keep that. I won’t need it today.”

  “Raiten are you insane?!? You need to keep them on you, otherwise—what if something happens? Without them, you’re just a man. You don’t have the power to take on a whole mob of plagued all on your own—”

  “That’s the point, Umbrahorn. Without them, I am just a man. I have to be more than that.” I stretch Aether from my fingers and twist the azure lines. “I need to ascend. To get the second stage. If that means backing myself into a corner, then I’ll do what it takes.”

  The shark gulps. His beady black eyes stare at the ground between us, the field that is his own. His home.

  “What if you don’t ascend? What if you die? Just—keep them with you, I’m begging you.”

  “What is it with everyone thinking I’m going to die, huh?” I start walking, increasing my pace again. “I’m not going there to die, hammerhead.”

  “Good. Cause if you do, I’m going to eat your corpse.”

  I almost laugh at that, for once. He studies my reaction with suppressed glee, before sighing as my face darkens and we both remember that I’m supposed to hate him still.

  “Raiten… will you ever—give me another chance? I really want it. You know that.”

  I do know that. I know that he’s not even deserving of half the anger I levy at him. Yet whenever I see this damn spirit, I see Kiren.

  Still, eventually, this irrationality will fade. Just not at this moment.

  So, my only response to Umbrahorn is getting on his back and telling him to ride fast. Through the fields, through the dark, through till the open valley and its dips and curves in the starlight—through till the smoke rises in the distance and ash mingles with light flurries of snowfall.

  And Takemeadow is upon us.