The early morning light cascaded all over the buildings and streets of Vindis, with remnants of rain still pattering over the city. Regardless, no water would be enough to wash out the blood that stained the streets.

Gutters filled with red gunk, canals littered with corpses, and buildings still smoking from the flames that once engulfed them.

While the danger was now absent, the damage was far from gone. Amidst the city, many were trying to recover. Injured folks who still clung to life as they were pulled from rubble. Guardsmen doing their best to regroup and direct citizens to safe spots. Healers feeding vitality potions to the weak. People counting the dead.

In the middle of it all was a lone Jarl, one who was coming to terms with this bloodied aftermath.

----------------------------------------

James looked down at the corpse of Harald Stroud, whose blank eyes stared off into the sky, a gaping wound in his forehead. Next to Harald was Bjorn’s body, the dwarf’s figure covered in a bloodied blanket. They were brought here by other guardsmen, along with the bodies of countless other men and women who had fallen during the battle.

James stared at the bodies in disbelief. This wasn’t real. No, this was just a dream. A fate conjured by a mad God.

‘James. They’re gone.’

Faust’s voice rang out in his head, reminding the man that this was real. It was not a hallucination or a vision. It was reality.

“James?” Dahlia’s voice rang out behind James, snapping him from his trance. The disheveled blond man turned to Dahlia, who was still wearing her plate armor. She looked like hell, her short hair matted and stained with blood. Her left hand was bandaged, but James could still see the glaring red stain in the dirty gauze. The same went for the wound at her side.

They had grouped together after the battle’s end, helping the rest of their wounded to the harbor. Only once they got there did James see the cost of their fight. Bodies were lined up at the harbor, ranging from fellow guardsmen to honorable thieves who fought with them. There were people that James knew: Harald, Bjorn, and even a couple of guardsmen he used to train with. They were dead.

“Where’s Seamus?” James forced himself to say. He had just realized that his friend wasn’t accounted for. He had hoped to regroup with him at the harbor. James didn’t even think about the chances that he was dead or worse—not until now.

Dahlia perked up at the question, her amber-colored eyes reaching the same conclusion as he had.

“He’s in the Gold District with Haggard and the Wizards. I didn’t think anything would happen to them, but…” Dahlia’s voice trailed off, her eyes widening as she focused on something else. James turned to where she was looking, his heart skipping a beat.

There were guardsmen and thieves carrying bodies into the harbor. Bodies that James himself recognized.

Haggard was covered in blood and wounds, his body carried on a stretcher. The two thieves carrying him were guided by another familiar face, one whose red robes were torn and singed.

“There! Near the raven ship! Bring him and the other two there!” Nathan looked like hell, half of his face covered in blood and bandages. More men followed the Wizard, carrying two more bodies.

The first was Falrick, and his robes were also torn and bloodied—so bloodied, in fact, that it took James a moment longer to realize that the Wizard’s left arm was gone.

The second man was none other than Seamus. He wore dirtied bandages on his legs and arms, his torso covered in gauze, and his head sporting a nasty cut. He was also the only one conscious, his green eyes widening at the sight of James and Dahlia. Seamus reached out almost instinctively, his mouth opening to speak.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

James rushed ahead, coming to his friend’s side. Dahlia followed right behind, accompanying the injured man on his right.

“Are you alright?!” James almost shouted in worry.

“I…I’m fine,” Seamus answered. He sounded hoarse like he had lost his voice. The young man even had the energy to force a smile. “I’m glad to see you two are alright. I’m... happy to see you two again.”

Before James could say anything, Nathan pulled them both away.

“He needs to rest,” the Wizard explained as he grabbed both their arms. James clenched his jaw and almost wanted to argue. Yet he held back. Nathan was more than correct. Seamus needed rest for now. James could only watch as the two guardsmen carried the young man to where the healers were.

“What happened to you guys?” James asked.

“It was a hellish fight,” Nathan muttered. “We ran into one of Deimos’ enforcers. Eli, I believe, was his name. Nearly killed all of us. Would’ve killed all of us had it not been for Seamus taking his head off.”

“He did what?” James blinked at that. “Was he…?”

“He was fully conscious,” Nathan revealed. "Towards the end of the fight, when we were losing, he got up and managed to pull through. Even poisoned, Seamus was fast. I had never seen anything like it.”

The Wizard sighed, his hand rubbing at the bandage on his head. “I must go. The healers will need my help.”

“I can go help you with the injured,” Dahlia suggested. Nathan gave a nod before he headed off. Dahlia looked back at James. “Go and rest, please. After what we all went through…”

“I can help,” James offered as he grabbed her hand. Despite everything, he wanted to keep going—even after nearly dying and fighting for hours. He wanted to do something. Anything.

Dahlia gave him a soft smile, her hand squeezing his. “You already did help. Rest, James. You’ve done enough.” With that, Dahlia left, her eyes breaking contact with James as she headed off to help Nathan.

James stood there, alone. The only thing accompanying him in the harbor was his thoughts and the bodies of everyone who had died. James couldn’t help but glance back at the rows of dead. He focused on some of the men he knew, the ones who were once guardsmen back at Yorktown, the ones he had sparred with back in that dirt-covered training ground. He stared at the painted ravens on their chests, their once-white wings stained with red.

He had done this.

‘It’s not your fault.’ Faust said.

‘Shut up.’ James shot back.

‘James…’

‘I said shut it.’

James shoved Faust’s voice to the back of his head. He took a deep, shaky breath and looked up at the sky. Dawn was slowly making itself known, the sun’s light tinting the sky a purplish orange color. As if on instinct, James reached into his armor’s pockets, his fingers grabbing onto a blossom he had kept on him. It was once pink and glowing, showcasing a perfect future for him. It was the perfect future for him.

Now, however, the blossom was pitch black. It felt coarse and fragile, almost like it was beginning to deteriorate already. It was the sign of a dead future, one that would never come true. James stared at the blossom, his mind returning to the words of a mad demigod.

> “The more you deny death, the more you avoid it, the heavier your side of the scale becomes. At some point, the scales will rebalance, and they will take whatever is necessary to keep you in check.”

James' future was gone. His mentor and friend, dead. His close dwarven companion, dead. Countless allies, all dead. It was the price he had paid for defying death a second time. James wanted to scream. He wanted to curse Iendis. Curse Myr. Curse the Gods who placed him here. Yet he held back those frustrations.

Instead, James buried it all. He shoved these feelings deep into his soul. Locked it all away without a second thought. He needed to keep a cool head. James needed to stay calm. His people needed him. His surviving friends needed him. Dahlia needed him.

With that in mind, James Holter turned and headed to the city. Dahlia would hate him for this, but he did not care. People needed help, and James was more than willing to lend a helping hand.