A short while of silence passed after the commander made his statement, a silence so thick with tension that Xayn could almost feel it pressing down on his skin. He waited, watching, his curiosity piqued by what would happen next. Surely, no one would take this revelation well, and he wouldn't have to wait long to see it unfold.

A voice rang out—angry, raw, filled with grief. "I lost my family... for you greedy bastards?" The words carried the weight of unbearable loss, a cry of anguish wrapped in rage.

More voices joined in, their emotions a volatile mixture of sorrow, disbelief, and unrelenting fury. They screamed about the greed of the officials, about how they were being sacrificed for the selfish decisions of those who were supposed to lead them. They cursed the castellan, spat on the names of those who had abandoned them, and soon, their anger found a new target: the commander himself.

"You knew all of this, and you still had us fight?!" a woman shouted, her voice trembling. "You lied to us! You kept us in this nightmare to protect yourself and the others! For all we know, those officials ran away with your help while we stayed here and died for nothing!"

"You're just like them!" another accused. "You knew we were doomed, and you still made us fight! My brother—my little brother—died because of you!"

Xayn quietly observed as the storm of accusations raged on. The commander remained standing, his face unreadable, his posture unwavering. Xayn had seen mob fury before, had seen the way grief twisted men into something worse than any of the monsters he had killed on the battlefield.

He understood it, but he also found it rather tiring. It was always the same complaints over and over.

As his thoughts drifted, he noticed something strange—the golden-eyed girl had been staring at him for a while now. She wasn't saying anything, nor was she reacting to the chaos like the others. Her gaze, searching, almost expectant, bore into him. It was as if she was waiting for him to react, but when he finally met her eyes, she quickly looked away as though she had been caught doing something she shouldn't.

His attention was pulled back to the crowd when a man suddenly ripped off his gauntlet and flung it at the commander. It missed, clanking against the ground with a dull thud. The man, visibly seething, took off another piece of armor and hurled it with greater force. This time, it struck the commander square in the chest.

Xayn expected a reaction—perhaps a grimace, a shift in stance, anything. But the commander did nothing. He remained rooted, like a stone unmoved by the wind.

And that seemed to embolden them.

One by one, others followed suit, throwing whatever they had at him—gauntlets, scraps of armor, broken weapons, even bits of debris from the ruined battlefield. The air filled with the metallic clatter of rage and grief made tangible.

Xayn fiddled with his gauntlets and watched with mild fascination, not because of the outburst itself, but because despite being pelted with metal, despite what should have been bruising blows, the commander showed no sign of injury. His body didn't flinch, his skin didn't break, his expression never wavered.

He simply took it all, silently, like a man accepting his sins.

But then, something changed.

The golden-eyed girl, previously stunned into stillness, suddenly went rigid as her gaze snapped towards the first girl who had spoken—the one who had lost her mother and sister. Her bandaged eye glistened with unshed tears, but it wasn't sorrow that filled her remaining eye now. It was something sharper, something deadlier.

She had notched an arrow onto her bow.

The golden-eyed girl barely had time to process it before the arrow was loosed. It flew fast, straight, unwavering in its deadly path toward the commander's head.

For a brief moment, she expected the inevitable—that the arrow would strike, that blood would spill, that the commander would finally react. But what happened next was something she hadn't accounted for.

A sickening squelch.

Everyone froze.

Standing in front of the commander, his stance casual yet firm, was Xayn. Embedded in the center of his palm was the arrow, its shaft trembling from the force of impact. He hadn't dodged, hadn't blocked it with a weapon—he had simply raised his hand and let it pierce through his flesh as if it were nothing more than an inconvenience.

He was already not far away from the commander so it wasn't surprising how quickly he was in front of him but instead what he did.

A heavy silence fell upon them all. The mob that had been so wild with anger a moment ago now stood motionless, as if the simple act of someone willingly taking the pain had stolen all the fire from them.

Xayn stared at his bleeding hand with a frown, watching as the crimson fluid dripped onto the bridge below. He sighed. Then, without hesitation, he gripped the arrow and tore it free in a single, brutal motion. Blood spurted, but he didn't flinch, didn't even make a sound of pain.

Instead, he turned his gaze to the gathered people, his expression unreadable as he let the bloodied arrow fall to the ground.

No words were spoken. None were needed.

Xayn's gaze narrowed in on the girl with the bow.

There was a short silence as his tired-looking face scowled before he asked in an almost casual voice, "Now what did you think you're doing."

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The girl had her words stuck in her throat as she looked into Xayn's eyes, unable to answer. Seeing that she wouldn't be able to respond, he looked at the rest of the mob and clicked his tongue in irritation.

"You're all so damn disappointing," he muttered, his voice carrying a sharp edge. "Throwing things at the only person who bothered to stay with you. How pathetic."

A man among the crowd bristled at the insult and opened his mouth to argue, but Xayn cut him off.

"Where are those other officials you're busy cursing?" he asked, voice steady. "Go ahead. Point them out to me."

Silence stretched between them. The crowd shifted uncomfortably, some glancing around as if expecting to find an answer among themselves.

"No one? Thought so," Xayn scoffed. "Even the second-in-command ran away, yet here you all are, acting like brainless fools, ready to attack and even kill the only official dumb enough to have a conscience."

There was a bitter amusement in his tone, but his frustration was evident. He sighed, rubbing his temple, his patience thinning.

"Look, I don’t care about the old man," Xayn continued, glancing at the commander. "I don't care about any of you either. But I do care about not watching stupidity unfold in front of me. If this man wanted you all dead, do you really think he’d be standing here? He could have left, but he didn’t. Instead, he stayed and mobilized you to fight, and this is how you thank him?"

His gaze darkened. "You lost a lot today. I get it. But do you honestly believe you’d be in a better place if you hadn’t fought back? You’d all be dead if you hadn’t. Every single one of you. But instead, some of you survived. And for what? To waste those lives now?"

Xayn exhaled, shaking his head in disgust. "You think this whole situation is stupid? You’re damn right. But despite that, you fought when you didn't even know anything, and because you fought, some of you are still breathing. Unlike the dead who don’t get that chance anymore. Every person you lost in that pile over there wanted to live, just like you. So don’t disgrace their fight for their lives by acting like a bunch of whining fools."

The weight of his words hung over them, the raw truth settling into their bones.

A tense silence stretched on for a few moments, the wind carrying the faint scent of burning wood from the distance. Then, slowly, one of the men who had been the first to throw an item at the commander stepped forward. Xayn’s sharp gaze scrutinized him, but after seeing the look in the man's eyes, he let him proceed.

The man bent down, retrieving the discarded pieces of his armor, securing them back onto his body before walking toward the unlit pyre. One by one, others followed his example, picking up what they had thrown and placing it back where it belonged. Without another word, they gathered by the pyre, standing in silent acknowledgment of the fallen.

Xayn watched them for a moment before exhaling, rolling his shoulder slightly as the pain from his injured hand pulsed dully. He didn't regret stepping in. Whether they liked it or not, someone had to knock some sense into them.

The commander, who had remained silent throughout Xayn's tirade, finally straightened. His eyes, filled with exhaustion and something almost resembling gratitude, met Xayn’s for a fleeting moment before he turned back to the gathered soldiers.

The pyre was ready. Now, all that was left was to light it.

The golden-eyed girl approached Xayn, her expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity. “I can’t believe you just said all that.”

Xayn merely shrugged. “Was it wrong?”

She stared at him for a second before shaking her head. “No… just unexpected.” Her gaze then drifted toward his injured hand, the blood still faintly dripping from where the arrow had pierced. “But seriously, how did that arrow even go through your hand? You weren’t wearing a gauntlet.”

Xayn nodded as he lifted his other hand, showing the gauntlet that he had taken off. “Yeah, I took it off.”

She furrowed her brows. “Why would you do that? You could’ve just used it to block instead of stopping the arrow with your bare hand.”

Xayn smirked slightly. “Didn’t want to damage them. Plus, made it more dramatic this way.”

She gave him a long, incredulous look before shaking her head. “You’re crazy.” Without another word, she turned and walked off toward the pyre where the others were gathered.

Xayn exhaled as he looked down at the hole in his palm, grimacing at the pain he refused to acknowledge. A shadow loomed over him, and he looked up to see the commander holding out a small roll of bandages.

For a moment, Xayn simply stared at it, unfamiliar with the object. The commander raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Eventually, Xayn took the bandages, placing them over the wound before slipping the gauntlet back on and pressing it tightly against the fabric to keep it in place.

The commander frowned at his crude method but chose not to comment. Their eyes met, and for a brief second, neither spoke. Then Xayn tilted his head toward the pyre. “Better get back to it. The people are waiting, and I’m not gonna stop them if they get mad again.”

The commander scrutinized him for a moment before giving a small nod. Without another word, he turned toward the pyre.

*******

The flames rose, devouring the pile of wood and bodies stacked upon it. The heat was intense, sending flickering shadows dancing across the weary faces of those gathered. Despite the brutality of the battle, despite the anger and grief that had consumed them moments before, the sight of the pyre forced them all into a somber silence.

The commander stood before it, his posture stiff, his expression unreadable. He closed his eyes for a brief moment before speaking in a deep, resonant voice. “We offer this flame to the fallen. To those who fought and those who had no chance. May their suffering end, and may their spirits find peace beyond the reach of war.”

Murmurs followed as the people echoed his words, some whispering prayers of their own. Others simply stood in silence, their hands clenched into fists, their faces hollow with loss. A few collapsed to their knees, unable to hold back their tears any longer. The grief was heavy, suffocating, yet the fire burned steadily, a beacon in the darkened night.

Xayn remained at the edge of the gathering, watching the flames flicker. His face was unreadable, his thoughts a storm of memories best left buried.

The commander turned to him, his gaze lingering before he finally asked, “Why did you do it?”

Xayn arched an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“Don’t play coy.” The commander’s voice was softer now, his tone lacking its usual authority. “You fought alongside us when you had no reason to. And what you did just now… You stood up for me even when they were probably going to kill me. Why?”

Xayn was silent for a moment, considering his answer. He could lie, deflect, or make a joke out of it. But in the end, he realized it didn’t really matter.

“Because I get it,” he finally said, his voice quieter than before. “I know what it’s like to be thrown into a mind-bogglingly stupid situation. One where the only choices you have are bad or worse. Where the only solutions you can come up with are based on what little you know because you don’t have any better ideas.”

He exhaled, glancing at the commander. “You chose to have them fight back because you’re a soldier. Fighting is what you know. It is your breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It’s the only answer you know, even if you knew it wasn’t a great one.”

"And the feeling of choosing that answer and being scorned for it is not something I'm foreign to."

The commander looked at him, surprised by the depth of his words coming from someone so young. He hesitated as if debating whether to ask what kind of experience had given the young teen such understanding. But in the end, he decided against it.

A long silence stretched between them, the fire crackling in the background. Finally, the commander spoke. “Thank you.”

Xayn didn’t look at him, his gaze still fixed on the flames. “No problem.”

And together, they watched the pyre burn.