The building shuddered under the force of the blast, the wall against which he had been standing reduced to ash and dust. Ruban staggered, trying to find his feet, trying to process what had just happened.

For a moment, he thought it was Ashwin who had pushed him out of the way. But that couldn’t be right. Ashwin would have been behind them, where he had left him when he approached Tauheen to reclaim his blade. And yet he knew with absolute certainty that whatever had shoved him out of the way of the blast had come from the side.

He frowned, disoriented, even as something soft collapsed heavily against his feet. The stench of scorched flesh filled his nostrils, making him dizzy.

He looked down, confused, and retched violently, biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood.

His uncle lay at his feet, whimpering, his back a mess of charred flesh and blood, bits of bone visible under the carnage.

Ruban dropped to his knees even as another soft moan escaped Subhas’s bloodless lips. His eyeballs had rolled back in his head and tears streaked his grimy face, although his eyes were dry now. He was gasping, and flinching with every gasp, as if it hurt him to breathe.

Gently, Ruban took his uncle’s face into his hands, placing his head on his own lap as carefully as he could. A blast sounded somewhere in the distance, but he didn’t care. Some rational part of him told him that he should, that Tauheen would take this opportunity to finish them both off. But rationality was beyond him at this point. Another part of him wondered if there was anything at all left to fight for. And if not, then why bother?

Subhas’s lips parted, moved, but no words came out, just a sort of formless gurgle, accompanied by some blood. Ruban felt hot tears singe his face, blurring his vision, but he barely had the strength to wipe them off. With the little energy he had left, he ran his fingers through his uncle’s thinning hair, trying to give comfort he knew he didn’t have the power to provide.

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“It’s okay,” he said. He was saying it over and over again, the words tasting false on his tongue. Meaningless. Nonetheless, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. “It’s okay. We’ll get you out of here. Get you back home. You’ll be alright.” It was like a mantra, a chant almost religious for the fervent hope it inspired in his broken soul. If he said it enough times, maybe it would turn out to be true.

Once again, his uncle’s lips moved. Ruban brought his head down, his forehead almost touching the other man’s nose. A sob threatened to escape him, but he couldn’t let himself cry. Not now. If he bit any harder, he thought his teeth would cut clean through his lip. He wondered, discordantly, what Simani would say about that.

“I’m sorry,” Subhas said at last, the words barely a whisper brushing Ruban’s ear. Ruban shook his head, his eyes beseeching his uncle to understand what he couldn’t say. That it didn’t matter, not now. That he loved him. But his throat was locked up, a giant lump lodged somewhere over his vocal chords that made it impossible for him to speak. If he tried, Ruban thought that he might scream.

“I’m sorry,” Subhas said again, voice slightly stronger. His fingers gripped one of Ruban’s hands with surprising strength, and he pulled him closer. Ruban went willingly.

With a long, rattling breath that seemed to cost him all he had left, Subhas parted his lips one more time. Almost desperately, Ruban leaned closer, all but pressing his tear-streaked face into his uncle’s shoulder. “What is it? What can I do?” he asked, forcing the words out of his clogged throat.

Subhas choked, coughed, spitting blood into Ruban’s face, his hair. After a blood-soaked eternity, he murmured, still retching copper: “Take care of Hiya. Ruban, please, take care of my daughter.”

Ruban wanted to tell him that he would. Wanted to promise him that he would never let her out of his sight again. Wanted to say a million other inconsequential things that he hadn’t said because he’d thought they had time. Because he’d thought he had a lifetime.

But there was no point. Subhas was gone. His moans had quieted. His wracking gasps had stilled.

Trembling, Ruban ran a hand over his uncle’s blood and dirt stained face, sliding his eyes shut. As gently as he could, he lifted the body and lay it down on the floor amidst the dust and debris of the destroyed wall.

Then he stood and turned back to face the Aeriels.