The morning was blue, its bright sky striped in ash. Lightsbreath was burning. Bonfires stood watch in the city’s Mewnee Quarter, indifferent to the wails and lamentations that filled the cloudless skies. Every few minutes, a fusillade of rifle fire went off, and the sounds of mourning got a little quieter.

In size, Lightsbreath's Mewnee Quarter nearly rivaled the rest of the city. The locale was a strange reflection of Trenton life, a place of dark, curving tile rooftops, sliding doors, and paper walls.

And, now, thanks to me, Geoffrey thought, a place of unimaginable death.

There weren’t enough wagons for all the corpses. The ones they had on hand were so overburdened that dead bodies slid off the piles and fell onto the street, littering the road as the wagons passed.

And yet… the troops were celebrating. Soldiers got riotously drunk off beer and Vineplain wines, singing songs in Darkpox’s praises.

For it’s a jolly-good plague,

For it’s a jolly-good plague,

For it’s a jolly-good plague,

Which no-body can deny!

The strategy was as simple as it was cruel. Once enough Mewnees had died, the armies of the Third Crusade would sweep through the major cities, killing any and every infected person they came across, regardless of race or allegiance.

“We have to stem the tide as quickly as we can, Athelmarch,” they’d told him. “We cannot allow the plague to take us down with those slant-eyed bastards.”

It was a small mercy that no one had noticed Geoffrey’s reluctance to join in the culling as they rode through Lightsbreath’s streets on horseback. The cloths the crusaders wore over their faces to keep Darkpox’s miasmas at bay also kept them from guessing at each others’ emotions.

“I wanted them gone,” Geoffrey said, in the now. “Not… not this. No one could want this.”

The crusaders cut the infected down where they stood. They sowed fires in their wake, burning down the Mewnee Quarter. Koi drowned in corpse-filled ponds.

In the memory, Geoffrey wandered through the streets, breathing through his cloth-covered helmet—and we followed behind him.

Yuta covered his mouth in shock, utterly overcome—and not just with his own emotions.

The memory’s Geoffrey did not look away from the bodies, even though the fumes and smoke coming off the burning corpses made his eyes sting and weep. He did not look away from the piles on the main street. Men, women… children. There was a separate pile for the children. They looked like discarded dolls, covered in mud, shit, and blood.

Geoffrey wanted to believe the fire was a cleansing flame, but he could not. Charred flesh cracked and crumbled under the fire’s pressure, leaving bones sticking out like used matchsticks.

“It’s incredible, sir,” a soldier said, walking up behind him. “It’s like magic. It’s the days of the Lass all over again. They’re dropping like flies.”

“That they are,” Geoffrey said.

Geoffrey turned to the soldier, and then looked back at the bodies. The fires were magnanimous. They consumed Trenton and Mewnee alike.

The soldier must have sensed Geoffrey’s distress, because he patted him on the shoulder and said, “Don’t trouble yourself, sir. This is a necessary thing. It’s for faith, freedom, and fatherland. I can hardly believe it myself. Most of the sick Trentoners I’ve seen have met death with smiles on their faces. We’re free. We’re finally free."

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I watched the realization flood into Yuta’s eyes. I read his thoughts like an open book. I felt the shame that Yuta felt at his own hatred.

He’d made the very same mistake he’d admonished Ichigo for making: to fail to see the person on the other side of the battlefield.

It was the same mistake Geoffrey had made. And it was a grievous one, for here, the two adversaries were rich of heart and soul.

They had just been too rage-blind to see it.

Even now, their anger was refusing to let go.

“Fucking hell,” Brand whispered.

For once, it seemed even Dr. Nowston had reached his limit.

“Would you have been happy if it killed us, but not the sons and daughters of Trenton?” Yuta asked.

“Do you take me to be heartless?” Geoffrey said, indignant.

“No, I take you to be a monster,” Yuta replied.

Geoffrey hung his head in shame. “Even monsters have hearts.”

“Some do,” I said. “Others don’t. Love can turn men into monsters just as it can turn monsters into men. I find that what matters most is not why we do what we do, but how we respond to what comes after. How can we do better? How can we work to avoid making the same mistakes?”

“I expected the Mewnees to flee,” Geoffrey said, staring off into the distance. “It’s the rational thing. Even rats know well enough to flee a sinking ship! The Mewnee knew what Darkpox did to them. They should have known better. But…” Geoffrey shook his head, weeping, even as he faced the Sun. “No, they stood their ground. They sank in their heels. They forced the dying to fight. They set fire to their settlements, hoping to stop the spread.”

“But that only spread the plague further,” Yuta said, somberly. “As always, they save face before lives.”

“They do, don’t they?” Geoffrey said.

Yuta glared—but gently. “As do you.”

Geoffrey stared at him, as if to yell, but he held his tongue. Then came the admission. “I hate that you’re right.”

Geoffrey turned to look at me, as if I was about to pronounce judgment on him. “I tell myself I did it for my family’s honor. For the honor of my nation and the shining Light of the Angel’s holy truth. And along the way, I became a monster. And in the end, I didn’t bring us victory. I failed at everything I set out to accomplish. So much death, and all of it was for nothing!” He shook his head. “I’m a failure.”

“Victory does not erase our evils,” Yuta said, “nor does it justify them.” Yuta muttered. “It is just a small joy to plaster over our guilt and regret.”

“I…” Geoffrey said. He was hesitant at first, but then he stabbed a finger at his memory-self and the human carnage playing out before us. “I did that! I went out in search of honor, and I found it, served to me on a platter of dead children!” He shook his head. “There could be no turning back after that. Victory was my only chance at redemption. It’s the only way I could get the corpses off my neck, where they hang like millstones. This isn’t about my guilt or my grief,” he said. He pointed at the bodies. “It’s about theirs! Angel’s mercy, I will have to live with this stain on my soul for all eternity. It is my burden to carry, and I refuse to let it be hollow! That’s why I have to save my country. In the name of God, it had to be worth something! All that tragedy… it has to be worth something. There has to be an end to it. But, but now…” he stared, broken and devastated.

“No.” Geoffrey shook his head. “I don’t know. Even that has been taken from me.” He glared at Yuta. “I should have resigned myself to ignominy and failure. It would have been better that way. But it was not to be. I succeeded. I succeeded utterly… and it destroyed me. To think… I devoted my life to redeeming my family name, only to become the very lord of pestilence Eadric was thought to be.” He stared me in the eyes. “In some ways, I’m worse. Eadric never intended to bring about the plague and break . But I did. That is my failing, and I will never be able to escape it.” Turning to Yuta, once more, Geoffrey smiled cruelly. But this time, the daggers of his mind were pointed inwards. “That is the difference between you and I, Lord Uramaru.” His lips contorted as he spoke. “My burden is the burden of millions. You have no idea what that is like.”

“Actually,” I said, “he does.” I stepped close as I butted in. “You’ve been feeling each other’s pain.”

Geoffrey stared at me in shock. “Why would you do that to a person?”

“I’m not creating pain,” I said. “It’s already here, in us. I just happen to have the power to bring it out in the open. No one has to suffer on their own anymore.”

Geoffrey turned to Yuta again. “Then you should know that I can’t forgive your people for what they did,” he said.

“I know,” Yuta replied, staring him in the eyes. “No, I do not,” the samurai replied, quietly. “But… I see more than I did before. I see that you are the broken heir of a fallen house from a nation yearning to be free. I do not forgive your actions, but, I…”

Looking Yuta in the eyes, I gave him a thumb’s up and a subtle, encouraging nod, whispering, “You can do it!”

He snorted in amusement before turning back to Geoffrey. “I do not forgive you, but, I… I suppose I understand you.”

Geoffrey shook his head, distraught. He struck out with his arm, causing his tattered cloak to tremble. “How can you say that? I was willing to exterminate your people. Part of me still is! You and your people hate God. You befouled the Holy Land. You broke my brother’s soul. He was a good man, and yet you defiled him.” Geoffrey clenched his gauntleted hands into fists.

“Geoffrey…” I said.

Yuta nodded at that. “Yes, they did. They did break him.” His sobering words were leavened with an unexpected acceptance. “They broke so many. And I hate them for that. All people have a capacity for evil. The biggest regret of my life is that I was not strong enough, nor selfish enough to gut Sakuragi where he stood.”

“Why?” Geoffrey asked. “Why hate your own people?”

I, of course, already knew the answer, but it wasn’t my story to tell.

Now it was Yuta’s turn to look at me. “Dr. Howle,” he said, “please show him my memory of the earthquake.”

“What earthquake?” Geoffrey asked—though I ignored it.

I turned to Yuta. “Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yes.” A burnt sugar smile broke on Yuta’s face. “I’d like to see my mother again.”

I understand.

Light emanated from Yuta’s body, washing out our surroundings as it transported us to another where and when.