(Nazanin.)

Backstabbers... quick with their blades, both short and long... rogues were deadly, but a lot less deadly without their hands.

With the last of my strength and drilled instincts, I swept the haft of my glaive against Alister's legs; with the pain and blood loss already dulling his reactions, he was easy enough to unfoot.

I stumbled then. I had meant to take a step towards him, but it didn't go quite right.

Now I was falling. I knew he'd have healing potions on him, but I'd already lost so much blood myself; i didn't know if I could take them from him.

I could feel the hot, grainy sand beneath my face now. Right in front of my blurring eyes, a heavy rock inched out from below the sweeping, wind-tossed particulates.

My eyelids were slowly closing. It was like falling asleep, but with a much longer promise of oblivion seeming to loom.

Was this death?

I had never assumed the moment to be like this, but perhaps that was what made it what it was: the unknowing of it.

I only wished that I could've seen my lovers' faces one more time... and those of my family.

Being lost in the battle that had earned me my place here as I had been, I didn't even know if any of them were still alive.

My regrets, those of a dying woman, seemed to lift from me as the surprising lightness of the end drew closer.

My eyes had already closed. Strange, I hadn't noticed.

Then I noticed nothing.

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(Castien.)

I grunted in a dizzied pain as I forced myself to slowly stand. I was very clearly concussed; a previous lifetime of combat told me that much.

My legs could barely hold me. My teeth ached from where the mercenary's knee had driven them together.

I could taste the blood running along my tongue, though the numbness made it impossible to tell where it came from exactly.

One step became two.

My body slowly bent over to wrap around the handle of Alister's fallen blade. It was strange just how natural it felt in my palm.

My class granted me proficiency in martial weapons. It seemed that translated to me feeling very at home with them, despite never holding a proper sword in either of my lives; I assumed most people had to train to get this feeling and that I was just the exception.

Pulling heavy breaths into my tired lungs I slowly assessed that most of my discomfort wasn't actual pain, but rather an extreme lethargy brought on by an overuse of my magic.

My head was banged up a little from Alister's strike, sure, but most of my HP loss had been inflicted through my own hands.

I felt my head become a little clearer as I resolved to focus through the pain. It was funny how much just acknowledging the source of your injuries could clear your thoughts, as if it freed your brain up from worrying about it.

One of a soldier's greatest tricks, after all, was the one he pulled on himself when he lied to his mind about the pain his body was feeling. Or about how long he'd go before quitting.

Or... of how willing he was to take a life when the time came.

I loomed over Alister with his own blade in my hand.

It had been a long time since I'd taken a life. It got easier, but it never got easy; you didn't want it to either, not really.

My other hand joined the first in wrapping itself around my stolen shortsword's handle; it was funny that I seemed to know exactly where to aim to put the man out of his misery.

Sword downturned, I prepared to take another in a long list of lives.

I regretted the need, but acknowledged the necessity. Sometimes the only way to survive was to close with and destroy the enemy.

"Stop! Don't hurt him!" a small voice cried out to me.

My eyes shifted to the little, red headed girl that was rushing towards me.

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(Alister.)

Her voice brought me back to the world of the living... it was the girl's.

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I didn't think I'd been asleep long, but I had been dreaming.

Barsilia had been a beautiful region. Me and the boys had been at the height of our glory and prestige in those lands.

I'd even gotten to see a few high-society balls. I'd hated them at first, but eventually one had surprised me.

It was because of a woman of course. It was always a good, honest woman that could surprise a man when he least expected it.

She was above my standing though. Would've been better for her if we hadn't of done what we'd done. Would've been even better for the child that came after if I hadn't been its father.

Girl's own father hid the child in a village near his hold. He wouldn't abandon his blood, and keeping an eye on the boy was a lot more than the crueler nobles would've done, but he wouldn't take my son into his house either.

I would've been willing to take the lad if I could've, but his mother wanted to keep seeing him in secret.

A rock and a hard place if I'd ever seen one.

Still, it had worked somewhat. My secret lover kept my identity from her father and he was too decent of a man to turn her out of his house for it.

Until, of course, the fool had run afoul of the wrong people and had chosen the wrong side of the war.

We'd been ordered to sack the village that he'd hidden my son in.

I couldn't do it.

I'd planned to rescue the child in earnest then and to flee the land, but Lord de Romanet somehow heard of my affair and relieved me and my company of our duties shortly after issuing his initial order, no doubt feeling my loyalties were compromised. Though he had the decency not to make the reasons public; no, he just did something far worse and made it very clear that if I came near the village that he'd run me down.

I'm surprised the boys hadn't mutinied right then and there, but most of them just left in the fallout of us being run off from the green countryside we'd come to call home for some time.

I'd never gotten to name my kid. He was only a few days old when Lord de Romanet's own forces had sacked the village and I hadn't been able to sneak in to see his mother yet; we hadn't been able to agree on anything before then.

His mother had gotten him out I'm sure, but her father's castle didn't hold out much longer.

Regardless of what Romanet had said, I should've gone to my lover's father and offered him my sword in exchange for pay, made it out like i was a turncoat, but he would've never taken me up on the offer. Too honorable a fool. I probably wouldn't have made it there in time anyway.

Instead I'd lost everything.

The glinting of steel caught my eye, as a single ray of sunlight made it through the sandstorm to flash off of my own stolen blade.

The half-elf boy. I still didn't understand just who or what he was, but as I met his eyes I saw death. Not evil or cruel death, but the specter that hid behind all killers' eyes. It was a quiet ghost, unloving and solemn.

I found myself regretting that I'd never named either of the children who'd come into my life.

I didn't really like slavery. Didn't hate the idea, but didn't love it either. The girl had been an investment, but she'd grown on me. I'd done my best to give her a better life than the cruel slavers had.

I'd tried at least.

The boy hefted the blade into position. Guess he knew how to use the weapon too.

This would be it then.

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(Castien.)

I stared into the child's eyes and felt a coldness sweep through my heart.

I couldn't keep Alister alive. This wasn't a fairy tale. I simply didn't know enough about him or his motivations to trust him.

This child, she was a slave. She had no name for God's sake. Whatever affection she felt for Alister wasn't what she should've been feeling for her owner.

"I'm sorry," I told her. "I know you might not understand, but you shouldn't be owned by anyone."

"He was kind to me," she whimpered. "No one's ever been kind to me before!"

She paused and tears welled in her eyes. "No one's ever cared about me before either."

Memories of my own children flashed through my mind.

"I promise I'll make sure you're okay," I told her. "Please, look away. Kids shouldn't have to see this."

A person I didn't expect to join into the conversation then did so.

"It's okay," Alister said in a distant voice. "He's right. You shouldn't be a tool, girl."

I hadn't noticed that he'd awoken. My body tightened in anticipation, but he didn't look like he could put up much of a fight.

Alister gave the child a small, sad smile. "I should've named you though. Both of you."

Slowly the man turned his gaze up to the sky. "How about Amarie? An elf once told me that it was the word for home."

The man's breathing slowed as he said his final words. "I'd been thinking about it you know? Taking us away after this last job and just making us a home. Someone should've done it for you, kid, but maybe it's best this way... I would've been a lousy father."

Alister's chest stilled. My sharp eyes no longer detected the slight thudding of his heartbeat underneath his breastplate.

I lowered the man's sword. He was dead.

I looked to the little girl; her eyes were wide with tears. "I'm sorry."

I reached down to close the captain's eyes. Seemed like he deserved that much now.

Men would sometimes surprise you in their final moments. No one was the villain of their own story.

My free hand slipped down to the mercenary's belt as I searched his pouches. Sure enough, in the second compartment that I looked through, I found a small, red vial that prompted the notification that I was looking for:

[Potion of Healing (Common)]

I took the item and approached Nazanin. Her status bar spread out before my eyes.

[Nazanin, Level 9 Wardancer (Bleeding)]

[HP: 2/74]

I took the elf woman's head into my lap. I pinched her delicate nose and slowly tilted her chin up.

Very carefully, I began to pour the red liquid of the healing potion between her bruised lips.

My eyes drifted to the gaping wound in her torso. It was crusted with blood and still leaked the bright red of an arterial bleed.

Slowly, however, as the potion entered her body, the bleeding seemed to halt and the wound itself started to close.

It was the oddest thing to look at, as if her body's natural healing was increased by a large magnitude and was happening before my eyes.

Little by little, her HP ticked up.

And, eventually, her eyes opened.

"Castien," she said.

The elf warrior shifted her gaze to the dead man beside her and the little girl who was now approaching him.

"Mr. Alister?" Amarie said; she leaned down to rest on her knees beside him. Her hand grabbed the dead mercenary's arm and began to try to rouse him. "Mr. Alister, wake up."

Nazanin looked to me with concern then, before she began to sit up and to look at the distraught girl.

"He's gone, child," she said in a very tender voice. "I'm sorry, but he's passed to the next life now."

"No!" Amarie screamed at her. "Give him one of what you just had; they were his anyway!"

Nazanin flinched against the onslaught of the little girl's pain. I could merely watch.

"He's gone," she repeated. "It won't help him. I'm sorry."

I brought myself to stand beside Nazanin. My heart felt numb.

"Make sure nothing happens to her," I told the warrior as I gripped the fallen captain's sword harder than I needed to. "There's still the merchant."