Plenty of people visited and talked and consoled and I didn’t care for much of any of it.

  I could walk at that point, once my calf healed to a point where it wouldn’t be damaged through the endeavor. I was…a drone. Walking from one point to another, butchering and training with nothing that resembled a thought because thinking was remembering and remembering was-

  Well, something I’d rather avoid.

  So instead I spent my time appreciating everything I had ignored of my new home in favour of my foolish quest for power. There was plenty of fur in the hunters guild, who could’ve guessed? I didn’t care before because it didn’t really matter but plenty of grand trophies adorned the walls of the guild alongside placards crediting the kills. The guild’s tavern area was surprisingly orderly all things considered, sure there was a ruckus, but nothing that’d spill out into chaos. Everyone had a mutual respect for one another, including me.

  The thought that they shouldn’t ran through my mind many times but that part of my psyche was being a bitch, so I generally ignored it.

  Then there was the northern portion of the city where I usually spent my time. Surprisingly futuristic in its grid-like design aimed at utilitarian efficiency. It was the people that gave flavour to Anik, not the architecture, and the people were plenty. Many recognized me but few bothered to talk, either because they were intimidated or kind. Though on occasion there was conversation. I always replied with mechanical control, not letting anyone know, because who was I to deserve sympathy?

  Spent plenty of time in Yorokrom’s temple, training along with Adaman who seemed adamant about overseeing my progress, of which I made plenty since…well, I didn’t really care for pain anymore so progress was inevitable.

  They were lifelines, anything I could grasp was a lifeline, and the beating of wood on flesh and trophies hanging from the walls had provided me with the greatest comforts I could find at the time.

  Until I realized that none of the pelts belonged to a Muri-Ursi. Then it became a curse, looping over and over at the sight of mere leather. Why? There were plenty down in the sewer, and they weren’t hard to hunt, so why didn’t the guild regularly cull the things? Especially during winter when there was nothing else to do.

  I didn’t know, would it matter if I did?

  Would I be free of the sorrow in Riri’s gaze as she turned to look at me before Skiski would bite off her head? Orbs of jelly that communicated so much fear, belonging to a person that trusted me with her life.

  A trust that I failed.

  My last memory of Gar when he was alive was his stand-off with the rat that would almost kill me, then the next thing I knew he was a corpse being eaten by something of fur and teeth and chitters-

  Chewing. I’d never forget that sound. An overgrown rodent enjoying the remains of what was once my friends in front of my eyes as someone I was supposed to trust surely watched through the eyes of his minions. There was nothing of malice in Skiski’s eyes, nothing of guilt, nor menace. Just nothing.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  It stared at me for a while as I bled before dragging me to a stairwell. I climbed, and someone carried me to the hunters guild to see Healer Ken. I didn’t bother to look at who it was, I could already tell.

  Only one person could’ve been waiting for me at the right grate.

  I wondered if it was possible for me to dream anything but nightmares at that point? I’d slept plenty, when I was forced to by exhaustion, but I’d learned a bit about staying awake through my efforts, slowly costing less the more I pushed mend alongside trying to learn the new word that seemed imperative for my sanity.

  It was futile, I know, to push against such a fundamental aspect of biology.

  I kept pushing anyway. Anything to avoid the memory. Anything.

  Aira said plenty of words to console, but I wasn’t listening most of the time. Something to comfort, something to help. I wanted neither. I wanted to burn in my misery for an eternity if it could reverse what I had done.

  Because it was my fault at the end of the day, wasn’t it?

  Foolish girl with a foolish plan to see her friends past the End. Nothing I could’ve taught them would’ve increased their odds, but that didn’t matter to me, did it? The logic floated past my consciousness, and I let my desires control me. Let them convince me that I had a responsibility to train them. Let them convince me that I needed to do this, for their safety.

  I let naivety convince me, wanted so badly for them to survive if I'd just taught them. Now they weren't even ashes, just some rat shit to stain the sewers.

  All because of me.

  They were dead because I pushed them too hard, too quickly.

  But that’s not the whole story, was it? They could’ve handled a single Muri-Ursi just fine on their own. Didn’t need my help to kill the one left after all. The plan was always just to fight one, not four alongside a fucking tank. Hell, we would’ve all survived if it weren’t for Skiski. Alvir sent his ambush, and we prevailed. Albeit I was the one that killed most of the rats. Shouldn’t that have been enough?

  Apparently not.

  So my friends were turned into a snack for a giant rat, all because I trusted a witch.

  Was it really his fault though? At no point did he indicate that I could trust him, I just started to do so the more we interacted. I thought he wasn’t so bad once I got to know him. He was genuinely aggrieved at the sight of Rudy after all, and he was training me alongside giving an allowance for no reason at all.

  Sure, I was an advertisement, but that should’ve been offset by the fact that he was willing to teach me the mystical. Something I couldn’t pry out of Healer Ken. Though to be fair I hadn’t tried very hard.

  How could someone capable of such generosity and empathy manage to deliver such a horrific end to a pair of children?

  That thought crystallised in my mind and I…needed to know.

  I held the little wooden sculpture of Gar close to my chest, then wrapped it around with delicate cloth before storing it on the sash of my toga. I got up from the wood of the floor and stood for a little while, staring outside my window.

  Then I opened the door and started to walk.

  I let my feet guide me through the familiar path I’d taken to the eastern portion of the city for so long now, ignoring the derisive sneers I’d get for my less than stellar state as I walked through the rich streets.

  The guards didn’t care to stop me, though one almost tried.

  Something in the look I gave him seemed to be enough for him to back off.

  Eventually I was there, standing in front of a door that led into the den of the most dangerous person I knew. A door I’d pushed open without care on so many occasions. The sign said it was closed but I didn’t care, so I opened it and entered the jewelers store. There Alvir was by the counter, waiting for me.

  “Hey kid,” he said with a softness that I hadn’t expected. “Wanna come back to my workshop and talk?”