Sacerians devoted themselves to the Gods of the Pantheon of Old. They had time, resources and energy to waste on gluttonizing, on mirth with wild abandon. On letting their guards down.

Ghurians, on the other hand, celebrated peace, fleeting as it was. They celebrated the anniversary of the end of each war, knowing things always got marginally better in peacetime and striving to get to that place again and again. That is, until the next fight came.

Gren had been in Sacer’s Catacombs when the festival date the Ghurians called Pantheon’s Blight had passed by. Pantheon’s Blight was a celebration of the end of the War of the Pantheon, the second war to ever be waged between Sacer and Ghuria.

Distantly, he wondered if someday they would all be celebrating Nightshade’s Blight.

Well. Not all of them.

It was tradition for these festivals to start as the sun went down. As what distant sounds of nature that could joined them in a somber, weak tune, as the fire they made and encircled with their bodies gained contrast with the lengthening darkness, it began.

Gren hoped this would bring Dorothea closer to the people he cared for. He hoped it would help her understand the world they all came from. She still didn’t fully understand. Maybe they never could fully understand one another after so long having lived in disparate circumstances. Still, this was his way of saying he still wanted to try.

Wesley had long ago claimed the role of officiator for every ceremony; today was no different. He wore a calm, solemn expression that he only reserved for special occasions. To Gren, it seemed to fit him more well than any other. The real Wesley wasn’t the smirking, callous one. Gren couldn’t fully say that was a good thing. He couldn’t say that one side was better than the other at all.

Wesley raised his hand to catch a knife Gren tossed him. “Ready to start, you all?” After everyone assented, he closed his eyes.

“On this night, we remember the price of the War of the Pantheon. Here, we consider our blessings and losses, our boons and flaws, and devote ourselves to the future. Whatever it may hold, we shall grasp.” His eyes fluttered open, firelight pooling in their depths. Then he cut his own palm in a shallow line, holding it above the small fire for blood to drip down. “For the sake of my father and mother who died before me, I swear all my strength. Snowbound Crocus and Howling Tansy guide me.” He passed the knife to his right, into Johanna’s waiting hand.

She cut her hand and said, “For my love, and for my comrades, I swear all my strength. True Mistletoe guides me.”

Pearlie was next. “For my family, those buried beneath the soil and those above, I swear all my strength. Call of the Butterfly Bush guides me.” She offered the blade to Gren.

“For the land that sustained me and the ones who embraced me despite my sins, I swear all my strength. Bittersweet Nightshade guides me.” His hand brushed Dorothea’s and lingered for a heartbeat before he passed to her.

She flinched at the blade’s bite but did it anyhow. “For the future that must be changed, I swear all my strength. Eternal Rosemary guides me.” She and Rhys looked into each other’s eyes as they traded over, and something passed there that only the two of them were privy to.

He went slower, looking for words more carefully than the rest. “To find a place where we can all heal. To…to that end. I swear all my strength. Aquatic Clematis guides me.”

Honesty and power pulsed through them all. They were linked by the flame, by their convictions.

“With our blood, we create a path,” Wesley stated in the ritual’s conclusion. “And with our hearts and minds in unison, we tread that path to its finish.”

Yes, Gren thought. A heart and mind together set on a path made it traversable. It made living in this world, someday hoping to flourish within it, possible.

Wesley’s laughter interrupted everyone’s repose, but Wesley did that every time. “Fun part’s here!” He gestured behind him to a sparse collection of bottles of various shapes and sizes, all with various remaining levels of liquid remaining in them.

Yes. These festivals were also the only times out of the year when Ghurians allowed themselves to drink or indulge in any given altering substance. It wouldn’t do to become dependent, but they’d allow a bit of relaxation where they could.

They spoke among themselves for a long time, mostly reminiscing. The old days before the war had started were never perfect or even good, but every time a new conflict began they could always realize how things could get worse. Still, it taught them just how much they could survive too.

Maybe looking on the bright side was just a way to cope, Gren mused. Maybe there really was a darkness just like Wesley’s lurking in him, waiting for him to weaken. Maybe all of them had to make that choice in this life.

His thoughts always spun that direction on nights like this. Sitting there quietly sipping and listening to the others had always been calming for him. He knew what Pearlie’s favorite animals to talk to were. He knew about Johanna’s love for history and her desire to someday become Ghuria’s premier author on the subject. And of course he knew more about Wesley than he cared to at times. The man didn’t have much of a filter.

Listening was his way of making bonds. It had been different with Dorothea because of the way she conducted herself and because of all that had been at stake, but all the others had allowed him to silently ingratiate himself and embraced him when he was ready to share his words. Of course now there were times he said so much to Dorothea that his throat hurt from the unfamiliar exertion.

“I love you all so much,” he whispered. “Thank you for everything.”

Well, some words were harder to say than others. But he’d get them out someday.

And someday came sooner than he thought. Things rarely happened when one decided to be ready for them.

Footsteps shuffled up to his side, and Pearlie peered down at him. “A quick word?”

“Mm. What is it?”

“I just… There’s no guarantee that things are going to go well, so there are some things I wanted to say.” She sat beside him and sipped at a straight bottle of vodka, not even flinching at the taste. Gren couldn’t stand the stuff.

“None of us are afraid of dying. Even if Dorothea wasn’t on our side, that would be the case. But…” She bit her lip. “I hate to have to prove to them that we are what they think.”

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“What?”

“The Sacerians think we’re monsters. All this time I’ve felt so degraded by that. I never wanted to live up to those expectations. But we're the ones attacking now. We’ll be the cruel ones. I never wanted… Ugh. This is why I prefer animals to humans.”

“I’m sorry, Pearlie.”

She shook her head. “You know, everyone else thinks I joined you just so I could help Ana. But from the very start, I believed in the honor of your ideals. I love my homeland and my people. I just wanted to let you know that. Even if it hurts, or whatever it makes us… Those ideals are still in us no matter what we have to do now. We can fight our way back to them. We’re all Ghurians and we’re all killers. But we’re people, too. Maybe what's happening next is just the last possible way we have of screaming that out into the world.”

Gren took in her words seriously and thought about his response for what felt like the appropriate amount of time. “I was always ashamed. So ashamed of being a killer. So to hear you lay it out like that, it’s… It makes me feel more forgivable. If that makes sense.”

She laughed. “We all know what happened, and we’ve all suffered. We all think you’re pretty cool anyways, Gren. And we know you feel the same way about us, even if you’re not verbose about it.”

He blushed, embarrassed. “That’s…good.”

She laughed and hopped up. “Well… Jojo’s waiting for me. Thanks for hearing me out.”

“Thank you,” Gren said quietly, then again, louder and firmly. “Thank you. All of you. For everything, for standing by me, for… Thanks.”

“You bet.” She paused after a few steps, turning to him. “The two of you make a fine pair. Even if your time is short, it’ll be well-spent.”

Gren felt a little bit ready to cry. “Thank you,” he whispered to the night. “For giving me this. For letting me come this far. I’ll work to keep it.”

*

Wesley’s thoughts were hazy because he was massively drunk. If this was one of the few times of year he got to live it up, then that’s what he was going to do, damn it.

“Hwuh? Hey, give it back,” he groaned when someone snatched a half-empty bottle of wine from his grasp. “This is my roof, ya hear me?”

Rhys sat beside him and took a swig. “Our roof, for now. Technically everyone’s roof. This entire building is connected.”

“Yeah sure cool. How’d ya get up here?”

“Climbed.”

“Sneaky pig.” Wesley flopped onto his back, hands behind his head.

“Yup.” He took another drink. “Not bad. It’s sweet.”

The sky was painted indigo and gray now, and the earthy smell of rain coated them, thick with promise. “I’m fucked, ain’t I?” Wesley whispered.

“Wanna talk?” Rhys asked quietly.

“I’ve been actively tormenting you since the day you got here. Why the interest in being my therapist?” Wesley had given him enough verbal jabs to break most people down completely in the short time they’d been cohabiting.

“I’m made of harder and gentler stuff than that.”

“Good for you.” Why not? Nothing left to lose. “I was happy when I thought Gren was dead. I’m such a piece of shit.”

“Ah.”

“With everything else gone, I had nothing holding me back from unleashing every ounce of my anger on Sacer. For everything they’ve taken from us, for me and so many others having to watch the ones they love slowly starve to death in front of them, I could go and get my justice. I wanted it so bad.” He angrily wiped tears from his eyes. “Damn it all. But then you and Dorothea come here wanting us all to hold hands, kiss and make up. It disgusts me.”

“Restraint mixed in with our violence is the only way. We all know that.”

Wesley sat up, slamming his fists down. “No, it’s not! Gren and I could take out every single one of them! With you and Dorothea, it would be so easy! That punishment would be our right! But you all just, you had to go and…!” He put his face in his hands and released a short, agonized yell. “Where is all this anger supposed to go?!”

“It doesn’t go anywhere, I think,” Rhys said after some time. “Maybe we just learn to live with it. Maybe we can lock it somewhere deep down so we don’t feel it anymore. Not that I know much about healing. But it stays, and we stay.”

“I can’t accept something that meaningless. I…” Wesley laughed, weak and desperate. “I want to kill all of them. Used to tell my buddies I’d have every last one of those pigs roasting on spits. Time I was done, wouldn’t be any left. Revenge was the only thing that kept me breathing. There’s nothing left if I can’t release this anger on the ones that did this to us.”

“What then? What’s there to do after?”

Gren had asked the same thing of Wesley all those years ago. “I’d know peace. That’s what I’ve always thought.” But he’d never know where that dream would have led him. “Am I ever gonna be okay? I can’t let go of what’s happened. I just can’t.”

“You’ll be okay. I choose to believe that we both…no, we all will. We’ll find a new way to live on the other side. It’ll take time and there’ll be pain, but we’ll get there.” Rhys nudged his arm. “Besides. There’s always someone there to not be okay with.”

“How’d you get so smart?” Wesley muttered.

“My favorite person taught me how.”

“Dorothea,” Wesley snorted. “You know, you’ve been doing an admirable job convincing everyone you’re not in love with her, but you can be honest with your old pal Wesley. You just talked to her for longer than I’ve ever talked to anyone else in one sitting.”

Rhys laughed. “She’s just my friend.” He looked thoughtful yet sad. Weary. That was the word for it, Wesley thought. “When it comes to romance… What does someone who genuinely loves you even look like?”

“Huh. Like I know.” Wesley snatched the wine back and took a long drink. “Usually I have a better eye for these things. I knew Pearls and Jojo liked each other before they did.”

Rhys sighed. “They’re lucky. It’s outlawed in Sacer.” He ran a hand through his bangs. “If we win, that’s another thing we can change. See, that’s what I’ve been thinking about. What do I want to change about this world? Maybe you could think on that too. In this new world, what will you dream of?” He narrowed his eyes at the sky as cold drops of rain started to wash over them.

“Well, maybe I’m done with this world. Done with this damn country,” Wesley sighed.

Rhys laughed. “Now there’s a thought.”

“A useless one,” Wesley snorted. “No one who’s ever left this ass-backwards island has ever come back. The sea is a dangerous place. It’s completely uncharted.”

“Well. I’m pretty good with water, you know.”

“Huh. Guess you are.”

The rain was picking up. “You gonna move?” Rhys asked. “The last thing we need is you catching a cold.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t fall flat on your face getting back down.” Rhys paused before flicking him on the forehead.

“And that was for what, exactly?”

“Maybe it’ll help you remember.”

“Ugh. Something sentimental is coming, I feel it. Fine, lay it on me!”

Rhys smiled. “It’s okay to not be okay. You’re never alone.”

Wesley didn’t know why he said it in the moment, but it would change his life—both of their lives— forever. “Then cross the sea with me. Live up to those fancy words of yours.”

Rhys smiled. “If you start being nicer to me I’ll consider it. Though that’s probably too much for you.”

“Asshole.” Wesley took Rhys’ arm to pull himself up. “C’mon. Be on watch with me tonight and we’ll talk about what we’ll do once we cross the sea.”

“Please.”

“Eh?” Wesley scowled when Rhys lifted his eyebrows and smiled. “Ugh… Pleeeasant weather we’re having.”

“Close enough for now.” Rhys helped him back down to ground level and let Wesley sling an arm over his shoulders to help himself walk straight. “You shouldn’t have drank so much if you were going to be on watch.”

“I occupy the perfect median between drunk and not drunk. So I’ve got this. Also, you are annoyingly tall.”

“I’ll carry you if it’s more comfortable.”

“I’d rather die.” Comfortable. Yeah, that was it. Wesley would never admit it, but this was the most comfortable he’d felt in a long time. So instead he said, “I get to name the boat, okay?”