Master Tormund had already prepared Damian’s body by the time she woke. He’d been washed, wrapped in his cloak. His hands were folded across his chest, covering where the wound was. Someone had closed his eyes, but they hadn’t been able to do anything about the expression frozen on his face. That last moment of rage, still etched there.

  When Alessia saw him laid out in the main hall, she felt nothing. The numbness from the night before had calcified into something harder.

  “I’ll carry him,” she said.

  Master Tormund nodded. He didn’t argue. Didn’t offer to help.

  Varian started to step forward but Konrad put a hand on his arm, stopping him.

  Damian had never been a large man, but dead weight was different. Alessia got her arms under him. One beneath his shoulders, one under his knees, and lifted. Her muscles screamed immediately. Her arms shook.

  She took a step. Then another.

  The eastern path stretched before her, steep and winding. She ran this mountain a hundred times during training. Now each step felt impossible.

  Behind her, she heard the others fall into line. Master Tormund. Master Vickers. Scribe Willem. Konrad and Varian. A processional of witnesses to what she’d done.

  Twenty steps in, her arms began to burn. Fifty steps in, she had to stop and adjust her grip. Damian’s head lolled against her shoulder, and for one terrible moment she thought he was waking up. But no. Just the physics of carrying the dead.

  She kept walking.

  Her foot slipped on loose gravel and she nearly dropped him. Caught herself. Kept going. Sweat ran into her eyes. Her breathing came in ragged gasps. Every muscle in her body begged her to stop, to ask for help, to let someone else take this burden.

  She didn’t.

  This was hers to carry.

  The shrine came into view as the path leveled out. The same shrine where Damian had knelt and found whatever he’d been looking for. The same shrine where he’d told her his fears about the Trial.

  She walked past it to the cliff’s edge just beyond, where the morning sun broke over the mountains and turned the sky gold.

  Here. This was right.

  Alessia sank to her knees, her strength finally giving out. She lowered Damian to the ground as gently as she could, laying him on his back with his face toward the sunrise. Her arms trembled as she withdrew them, muscles spasming from the strain.

  She knelt beside him, trying to think of something to say. Some final words that would make this mean something.

  Her hand moved without her permission, reaching out to touch his forehead. A gesture of benediction, maybe. Or farewell. Or just the desperate need to touch him one more time while he was still here and not yet scattered ash or bones in the earth.

  Her fingers brushed his cold skin.

  That’s when she saw it. Under her fingernails. In the creases of her knuckles. Damian’s blood, still there despite all her scrubbing the night before. Brown and dried and permanent.

  She stared at her hand. At the evidence that wouldn’t wash away.

  Behind her, the others waited in silence. No one spoke. No one moved to comfort her or hurry her along.

  “I'm sorry,” she finally whispered. Not loud enough for the others to hear. Just for him. “I’m so sorry.”

  Damian didn’t answer. Would never answer again.

  Her voice didn’t waver as she said, “And now his Hunt has ended.”

  The wind picked up, cold off the mountains, and Alessia stayed kneeling beside the body of the person she’d loved most in the world, unable to move, unable to leave, unable to do anything but stay in this moment that would eventually have to end.

  “His Hunt has ended,” the others echoed.

  “Come forward,” she said. “Honor Hunter Damian.”

  Master Tormund stepped forward first, kneeling on the other side of Damian along with her. “Thank you, Sister,” he said. Then his attention turned to Damian.

  Alessia gave him space and returned to stand beside the others, as they awaited their turn to pay respects. She watched him pray over Damian, taking his hawk medallion after he had finished. One by one, the others came forward. Konrad placed Damian’s practice sword beside him. Varian whispered something into Damian’s ear that only he could hear. Scribe Willem’s hands remained clasped in front of him. Master Vickers looked distant, the death toll must have been weighing on her.

  Konrad and Varian both offered her their condolences, they both understood how much of a blow this was for her. It meant everything to her that they cared to that degree, but at the same time, fruitless.

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

  After the others had paid their respects and traveled back to Last Pass, Alessia stood vigil alone with him as the sun began to set behind the distant mountains.

  “After everything you achieved,” her voice shook, the tears finally flowed. “I took it from you.”

  She put her hands over her face. “All of it, I took it. Me.”

  “Fuck,” she whispered. Her nose had begun to run, but she didn’t care. “Could you ever forgive me?” She asked, half expecting a response from him. To hear his voice one last time, even if it was a refusal, was all she wanted at this moment.

  She wiped her eyes and knelt there silently for a time. “I wanted you to be here,” she said. “To be with the Old Ones after everything they helped you through.” She paused. “Maybe they are watching again, and hopefully they take you somewhere peaceful. You deserve it, Damian.”

  She put her hands on his cheeks and kissed his forehead. “I love you,” she whimpered. “Always did.” He was cold. That familiar, comforting warmth, had long left him.

  She stayed like that for a long time, her forehead pressed to his, trying to memorize what was left. Eventually, she had to pull away. Had to stand. Had to leave him here alone on this cliff.

  The thought made something inside her crack open. Not break, she’d already broken last night. This was different. Emptier.

  What was left of her life now?

  She stood, looking down at him one last time. The cold had taken everything familiar from his face.

  “Goodbye, Damian,” she choked.

  The sky was colored in shades of pink from the setting sun. The walk back felt different now, cold. Empty. The more she thought about it, maybe it was just her now.

  She passed the stone hawks that flanked the entrance to Last Pass. The main hall was empty, the practice swords still scattered where they’d been abandoned yesterday. Someone had cleaned the blood from the floor. She could see the damp stone where they’d scrubbed.

  She stood there, staring at the spot where he’d fallen. Where she’d held him, killed him. The dampness would dry. The swords would be put away. Life would continue as if he’d never existed.

  The thought made her throat tight.

  “Sister, I was beginning to worry about you.”

  Alessia turned. Master Vickers stood in the doorway to the offices, not waiting for her exactly, but present. Like she’d been keeping an eye out.

  “I’m not going to run away.”

  “That’s not what I was worried about,” Vickers replied. “I know how close you two were, we all did. We ignored it, Scribe Willem is of the opinion humanity is exactly what Last Pass needs.”

  Master Vickers cleared her throat. “Stay, speak with me for a while.” She gestured down to the floor, and then took a seat.

  Alessia took a seat close by, leaning her aching back against the wall and stretching her sore legs.

  Master Vickers studied her for a moment. “You were going to steal it,” she said quietly. It wasn’t a question.

  Alessia’s chest tightened. Had she slipped up? But Damian wouldn’t have—

  “The Trial,” Vickers clarified, watching her face. “You found a loophole. Avoid the Mark, spend time in a cell, take what you want anyway.”

  Alessia met her eyes. “I won’t deny it,” she admitted.

  “Ever clever,” Vickers said, and she almost sounded impressed. “Sister Ophelia never thought that far ahead. She just demanded. Raged. Tried to take it by force.”

  Silence sat between them for a moment. Vickers softly chuckled. “Want to know something?”

  “Of course, Master.”

  “There’s no rule for it because no one has ever tried to steal the Trial in four hundred twenty-seven years. Why would they? But you, you have actively set it motion.”

  Alessia bit down on her lip. No one has tried because they felt they had something to lose.

  “Maybe the rules need revision,” Vickers said. “An additional Tenent, perhaps?”

  Of course. Deny this too. If only I had been born a boy.

  “There’s another option, Sister,” she said.

  Alessia’s eyes brightened at the words, heart pulsing harder at the thought of another way.

  “It’s not official by any means,” she said. “But it exists nonetheless, an unspoken… understanding.”

  “W-what?” She was unable to hide her anticipation.

  Vickers reached inside her cloak and produced a small vial. She held it up to the fading light, studying it. Alessia’s own eyes locked onto it. Red. The Trial. What made others shudder, she longed for.

  “What I neglected to tell you was, Master Tormund offered it to me after I lost all my Brothers during their Trial. Even though I wanted to end it, I couldn’t end it like that. I didn’t have the spine, I didn’t want to be a Huntress anyway.” She turned her attention to Alessia. “But you do, in all regards, I believe.”

  “Don’t tempt me like that.”

  “I’m not tempting you, Sister,” Vickers said. “I’ll only offer it once. Choose. Now.”

  Alessia’s fingers uncurled as her hand slowly reached out, half expecting Master Vickers to snatch it away at the last moment. She didn’t though, and the vial passed from Vickers over to her.

  “Not tonight,” Vickers’ voice was firm, almost commanding. “That’s the only condition. Tomorrow, once you’ve rested.”

  Alessia nodded, examining the vial between her fingers. She couldn’t believe she was holding it, that destiny was this close.

  “Good,” she said, as she stood from the stairs. She winched and grabbed at her lower back. “I’m deeply sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you, Master,” Alessia said. “For everything.” She cradled the vial next to her heart.

  “We will speak tomorrow,” she said as she turned for the entrance. “Goodnight, Sister.”

  “Goodnight, Master.”

  She had no intention of waiting, come what may. The hours passed in silent meditation, turning the vial in her fingers, studying its crimson contents until darkness swallowed the color entirely. Damian’s face haunted every quiet moment, his smile by the shrine, his final Awakened snarl. She closed her eyes and shook her head, refusing to remember him that way.

  She wasn’t doing this for Damian. She couldn’t lie to herself about that, not now. She was doing this because there was nothing else left. Because the alternative was staying here, living half a life, haunted by what she’d done and what she’d never be allowed to become.

  If she succeeded, maybe it would mean something. If she failed… well. At least it will be over.

  Either way, she’d have an answer.

  She recognized how impulsive this decision was, and how much of a bad idea it was after Damian’s death. She didn’t care anymore though. The decision was easier now than it ever had been before, nothing to lose. Everything to gain.