“You are a moron, an idiot, a buffoon, a hopeless fool!”Shabra stomped with his feet. “Did the solstice already come and burn away all your remaining seven brain cells, or do you pretend to be as daft as a rock!?”
Kiur shrugged off the spit that flew at his face from Shabra’s ranting.
The encounter with the remaining Escapees was prone to be a tense one. Shabra was vehemently against the idea of cooperation—he’d rather jump into an active volcano while singing naked than work with a Reiszer.
Sadly, though, the closest one was way too far away anyway—thought Kiur, his composure running thin.
“Please listen to me, Shabra. Time is running out. I can’t leave before—”
“Good! Don’t leave then!” Shabra let out an odd and desperate laugh, spreading out his hands around the half-empty basin. “What are you missing here? We’d built this place to last the elements and thwart any assault. It’s safe, the safest place there is.”
Something strange now happened to Shabra as he talked to Kiur—the aged dwarf was crying with a forlorn expression on his wrinkling face. “What is it you don’t like here? Why does everyone have to leave?”
“...” Kiur felt everyone’s eyes on them. He had convinced more of them to trust that it was the right decision, but they stopped in their tracks upon Shabra’s outcry. “Let’s talk inside.”
Kiur didn’t like the stares—he never did.
Away from the curious and prying eyes, Kiur sat Shabra down at a nearby housing area with empty furniture, the gentle rush of cold air near their feet and a lonely iron kettle nearby.
Shabra and other dwarves and earth users carved the walls into something liveable. Building beds, channels, furniture and other amenities they could. Everyone tried their best to make this place as comfortable as possible. And Kiur was prying here—rendering their hard work obsolete.
“No, this was unrealistic, to begin with. We can’t survive here. No one can.” Kiur clenched his knees, reminded of his brother. “I’m doing the right thing. It is the right thing.”
“Don’t be tense. It suffocates the air here,” said Shabra, his shoulder sacking, his beard visibly greying. The already old dwarf looked much older than the last time Kiur saw him—as if he had aged by at least a decade. “Do you have a family, child?”
“Yes,” replied Kiur. “A mother and older brother…” he looked away, “perhaps only a mother now.”
“Hm,” Shabra’s shoulders sagged. “Tell me about him.”
Kiur was reluctant to talk about his brother, but the words spilt out of him anyway. He told Shabra how they first met, how Archil reprimanded Kiur whenever he did something wrong, and how he protected him as an older brother would.
How Archil came to the desert with the scouts and then stayed behind to fight one of the scariest Reiszer Kiur had ever seen.
Tomoe’s fox mask was still haunting his mind. Her snarling features and swirling eyes judging his every move.
Archil was gone, but so was Cylia. Kiur didn’t want to accept that reality. It would mean admitting his brother was dead.
“He died valiantly,” expressed Shabra, shooting a pang of fear through Kiur’s heart. “Far better than what happened to my sons.”
Confused, Kiur looked up. “Sons?”
Shabra dipped his head, his shoulders and face sagging further. “Years ago, I had two sons. My youngest son was very sick. Each summer was the toughest of our lives, not knowing whether he would make it.”
“The Sumer fever?”
“Mhm,” affirmed Shabra, “The Solstice comes, and with it, the worst kind of diseases… straight from the underworld to pull in the living.”
There was no hint of rage in his voice, just grief.
“We always went by, no matter how bad each Summer was… he reminds me of you,” admitted Shabra sombre. “He died before his 20th birthday.”
Shabra didn’t say anything for a long moment, filling the room with a heavy silence. A dreadful curiosity clouded Kiur’s head, making him talk before he even realised it.
“How did he die?”
“Fratricide,” Shabra stated coldly, clasping his fists to stop them from shaking. “His older brother; he was born without magic… or so I assumed. Always the quiet ones… Those are the most dangerous ones to watch out for.”
Slowly, Shabra cracked the bones in his fist and consequently the ground that reacted to his emotions.
“There’s a reason everyone gets his magic assessed in their youth. Why did I not question the results? Why did I not double-check? I should have been suspicious. I SHOULDN’T HAVE TRUSTED HIM!” He smashed the table with his fist; rage spilt out from his eyes alongside the tears. “Whoever he was, it was not my son. He was a cold-blooded murderer who deprived me of my only child.”
Shooting up from his spot, Shabra shuffled closer to Kiur with bloodshot eyes. He grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him.
“Listen to me, child. You will regret your decision.” The desperation seeped into Kiur’s bones. “I understand why you did all that; I DO, but listen to me. Reiszer are not to be trusted. They are the enemy. When you let your guard down and decide to trust them… it’s the moment someone will hold their sword against your throat and slit it open.”
Shabra went down to his knees, begging Kiur. “Please, trust me,” he cried. “YOU’RE MAKING A MISTAKE!”
—✹—
Xander finished his 42nd round around the chasm this morning—or whatever number it was. He lost track after his third sunstroke. Ragnar later accompanied Xander for the rounds as he had enough to pull him into the shades every time.
“Your soldiers must have missed something.” Xander went through his tangled hair again—they were long overdue for a long, soothing bubble bath.
Ragnar let out an exasperated but understanding sigh, “We are searching for her, Sonny, but—”
“Maybe you don’t search hard enough!” Xander received reprimanding looks from Leif and Kochel, who had just returned from their little chasm trip again. “I should go down myself. Can’t rely on anyone here.”
Ragnar raised a brow. “Can you even climb?”
“Of course I can!” Xander looked down the chasm. An icy shiver ran down his spine. He immediately glanced away. “I mean, how hard can it be?”
“If he falls and breaks his leg, I will not carry him back up again,” commented Leif.
“10 bucks that he snaps his neck on impact.”
“HA!” Leif high-fived Kochel.
“Stop screwing around and do your damn jobs!” Xander snapped at them. “My friend is down there, and she’s probably hurt, alone, or… or—”
“From what we heard, it was your fault anyway,” Kochel snarled at him, clicking her tongue.
Xander blanched at the reminder.
“We heard the story.” Leif approached him. Xander instinctively took a step back. “Didn’t you drive a stake between your friends, prompting this situation in the first place? Are you sure you should call yourself a friend?”
Ragnar rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Children, shut up!” he shouted, feeling more like a parent of a bunch of unruly children than someone who led a raid with hundreds of soldiers. “We’re here on a rescue mission and not to play the damn blame game!”
“But, sir,” Kochel coughed nervously, “we should reconsider continuing the search.”
Leif carried on. “Rather, we should focus on the preparations out of here and what we’ll do with the Escapees afterwards.”
Xander narrowed his eyes at them. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Take a guess, hotshot,” said Kochel, putting her arm on Leif’s shoulder. “We’re searching for someone who left behind not a body but gallons of blood.”
“Face it, she’s dead-”
“I’m not talking about her.” Xander was quick to dismiss it. There was something else gnawing at him. “What did you mean by what you will do with the escapees later?”
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The two Reiszer glanced at each other before speaking, “Buddy, do you believe we—”
“We’ll part ways after the escape,” interrupted Ragnar.
“But, sir, we have orders. We can’t defy them and come back with—”
“Break’s over.” Ragnar glared at them, the ridges on his arms and neck flaring up like gills. “Get ready for the next round, or I’ll throw you down myself.”
Grumbling, the Reiszer duo shuffled over to the chasm for the last descent of the day. Xander joined Ragnar’s side and watched them jump or climb down languidly.
“Sonny, if they don’t find your friend after this run, then—”
“I know.” Xander bit his gloved finger. “Then we’ll have to declare her dead.”
“Are you ready for that?” Ragnar put a reassuring hand on Xander’s shoulder. “You’ll have to come to terms with the fact that your friend is dead. Do you think you can do that?”
Xander dipped his head, his hair covering his face. “I guess I have to. Considering we haven’t found her, she might still be alive.”
“Thoughts like that will poison your mind,” replied Ragnar knowingly. “You’ll wake up every day with a gnawing feeling in your chest, not knowing what her fate was.”
“Are you saying I should accept the uncertainty?” Xander’s laugh was strained. “I was taught only to trust facts. To trust what we can see or manipulate with our own hands. It goes against our nature to just…”
“Then do the maths,” he suggested. “What’s the probability of surviving this kind of fall? Or the fight with the monsters? With no food, water, or protection against the elements. What are her chances of surviving all that?”
Ragnar turned Xander around so he could face him.
“Listen to me. Trust me when I say that uncertainty is the worst kind of feeling that can exist. Knowing every single one of your decisions might turn out to be a mistake. It can drive anyone mad.”
Ragnar shuddered and looked away. “I would rather have put my daughter out of misery than hope that your friend might have returned with help while I watched her suffer. Even now, when she’s still not awake, I wonder what the right decision was.”
Xander gnashed with his teeth and shook his head. One more time, he whipped his hair back with both his hands, trying to concentrate.
He hated making mistakes.
It meant he had flaws. Some of which might cost him everything. His father taught him to eliminate every single mistake he made and redo the process until it was perfect.
Magic and science leave no room for mistakes. One error could lead to a fatal result. His father was meticulous at teaching him that.
Xander clawed at his forehead. “Why does it have to be so complicated? Now I understand why every wizard is so damn egocentric and lacks humanity—despite us being human!”
Dreadfully, Xander waited. Hours went by, and the stars came out in the still-illuminated sky. The days were long, but the nights felt longer because of the lurking dangers.
Leif and Kochel returned, and Xander’s anxiety only grew. Were it not for Ragnar’s steady presence next to him, he would have pushed them back into the chasm.
They had returned without Cylia.
“We searched every nook and corner. There were only dead ends, with no signs of life. No monster, no animal, nothing.”
Xander’s heart dropped.
“Guess this is it,” Ragnar sighed. “The girl’s dead. We’ll return to the camp at once.”
“This doesn’t sound right,” argued Xander. “You searched everything? There wasn’t a hole or passage or anything?”
“Give it a rest. We searched everything!” They sneered at him but relaxed quickly. “Sorry, but we looked through everything. There’s literally nothing down there.”
“Something’s not right,” mumbled Xander, biting on his gloved thumb. “Are they lying? How could they have not found a body or a trace? Where did the monsters disappear to? Nothing makes sense!”
“Don’t beat yourself,” Ragnar replied, keeping his expression stern and unmoved. “Sometimes you can’t change anything and have to face the cons—”
Ragnar and the other Reiszer turned around to the sudden arrival of a scout group rushing over to them on horseback. Tension grew as they forced the horses to go faster despite how close they were already.
“They are back early… something’s not right.”
The scouts dismounted the horses and almost stumbled on their frantic attempts to run.
“Third Elite Marcet.” One of them fell before Ragnar, panting heavily. “Bad news—very bad news!”
“South,” another scout continued. “It’s the South!”
“Don’t tell me that the demon cat is back.”
They shook their heads, panic seizing their expressions. “No, not panic,” thought Xander. “Dread.”
“It’s him. He’s back!”
Ragnar’s dark skin visibly paled. He failed to keep his composure.
“What? Are you certain?” he inquired, frowning deeply. “Are you sure you saw him—”
“Yes, we did!” they shouted. “It was unmistakably him. The banners… they belonged to him!”
“Who are they talking about?” asked Xander. “Your reactions aren’t reassuring.”
Ragnar chuckled at that, turning it into an eerie laugh. He held a hand before his face, casting dark shadows over his glowing eyes.
“Sonny, you’ve no idea.” He turned to Xander with a frown so deep and a grimace so wide it made him look downright evil. “The real enemy is returning.”
— ☽ —
Kiur hung his head as he loaded up the last wagon. He could not convince everyone, but at least more people agreed to give it a shot. Though it didn’t feel like much of a win.
“This will be a mistake,” Shabra warned, rocking in his makeshift chair and wrapped in a blanket. He still refused the call, and a small percentage backed his decision. Kiur failed to change his mind.
After all, a dwarf’s stubbornness was hard to crack—Kiur knew from experience.
“While you still have the chance, please,” Shabra begged, standing up with shaking feet and putting a hand on Kiur’s arm. “Stay, I don’t want you to face disappointment.” He drew Kiur away and whispered, “I mean it. I know you want our best, but you can’t trust a Reiszer. You just can’t.”
“Not like there’s any other option.”
Shabra’s lips quivered. His sigh was long and weary. “I’m aware. However, if you ever need my help, be sure to come back. This place was meant to last…”
Shabra let go. Before Kiur could say something in return, the dwarf walked away. Kiur’s heart felt like it was wrenched through a vice. Shabra didn’t deserve this kind of treatment.
Even when they all turned their backs on him, he still cared.
They departed at dusk when the first cold draft hit them and rode until it was too cold to continue. They settled for a nearby rock formation to make camp.
Food was sparse, but they shared whatever they had. Kiur hadn’t eaten for days, nor did he drink a drop or could sleep—not that he felt compelled to. It sort of became like a new norm for him.
Not even the flames of the campfire warmed him anymore as he sat alone, away from everyone. He also volunteered for the night shift, so they got some rest. He needed the alone time.
“Tell me, is what I am doing a mistake?” Kiur rubbed his freezing hands over the fire.
Gilgamesh sat opposite of him, scratching his stubble. “It’s too early to tell,” he replied as if he was there and not a figment of Kiur’s imagination. “Besides, I’ll remain impartial in this.”
“Why? Aren’t you here to judge me?”
Gilgamesh shook his head. “Not for this. Besides, you should take a nap. Sleep is for everyone. It’s important.”
“I can’t.”
“Why? Close your eyes and drift off. It’s that easy. Did it all the time when I was still alive—”
“I’m afraid I won’t wake up again.” Kiur stared at the cold flames. His eyes were losing focus on how heavy they were.
“Look at it that way. If you don’t take a break now, we will spend more time down there.” Gilgamesh pointed to the ground. Kiur didn’t remember what Gilgamesh meant, but he understood the gesture. “Besides, your lifeline is flickering. Your soul is trying to break out of the cracking shell called body.”
Kiur was dozing off, nodding his head. “Does that mean I am dying?”
Looking over to Gilgamesh, Kiur saw him smirking, his head resting against his hand. “Who said you were alive to begin with?”
Kiur’s body lurched forward. He realised he had fallen asleep. No one was sitting next to him, but one had tried to approach Kiur.
“Ah, sorry, didn’t know you were awake,” they said, withdrawing their hand. “You look tired. Were you up all night? You should take a nap when—”
“I’m fine.” Kiur held up a hand and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Drawing some colour back to his face, Kiur faked a smile. “We are close to the camp. Let’s gather everyone and go.”
“There’s too much to do. I can rest and worry when I know everything’s done.” Kiur coughed into his fist and blinked. His eyes imagined seeing blood, but he blinked it away and saw nothing but his dirt-caked palm.
He whipped his hand against his robe and dragged himself upon a horse. Kiur’s thoughts swirled around the next encounter as they got closer.
He hoped everyone was getting along just fine and didn’t murder each other.
He hoped all the preparations were done with no complications to the plan. He also hoped that Ragnar’s daughter was awake and safe. And he hoped to see Cylia be safe and sound.
She, like Xander, was a friend, one of the few ones he had left now after everything that happened.
“Was it too much to ask for a good omen?” he wondered sullenly.
Approaching the camp, Kiur had a low smile form on his lips when Ragnar was there to greet them. Kiur had only the worst encounters with Reiszer.
There was Hessian who pried him away from his life. Tomoe, who had mentally scarred him and forced him to fight Hessian. Then she fought—or, worst case, killed—Archil. And then there was one Reiszer Kiur once encountered years ago who—
“No, Ragnar isn’t like them.” Kiur shook away the thoughts. “Ragnar’s one of the good ones, I am sure of it—”
“You’ve returned,” Ragnar’s gruff voice brought Kiur out of his reverie. He crossed his arms and motioned to the group with his chin. “Is that everyone?”
“Yes.” Kiur dismounted the horse and almost stumbled again. He tried to keep his smile towards Ragnar, albeit a tired one. “I’ve convinced as many as I could. We’re ready to depart.”
Ragnar nodded, hiding his expression in the dim light of the dawn. He exhaled deeply. The ridges on his neck rippled, and his veins pulsed.
“There’s been a change of plans,” he announced, hardening his look on Kiur.
“What do you mean? Did something happen?” Kiur asked, panic rising in his throat at Ragnar’s odd behaviour.
“Yes, a lot.” Ragnar drew his sword, holding the sharp and cold blade against Kiur’s throat before he could even react. “Your people are property of the Reiszer Nations.” His eyes glowed, and he bared his sharp canines. “You’ll be returned from where you escaped. Resistance will be punished.”