Day One
The first day after losing the food was not the worst.
That was the problem.
It should have been.
Our packs were gone. Our water was gone. Our beautiful, terrible mushrooms were gone. The path above us was broken, and the branch we had fallen onto was darker, narrower, and wet enough to make every step feel like an argument with death.
But we were still moving.
That made everything feel almost manageable.
Almost.
Carlos walked ahead with one hand against the bark wall, testing each step before putting his full weight down. His coat was torn near the shoulder, his hair stuck to his forehead, and one side of his face was bruised from the fall.
He still moved better than me.
Because the universe had decided he could be starving, injured, and exhausted while still looking like a tragic painting.
I, meanwhile, looked like a cautionary tale told to first years.
"You're limping," Carlos said without turning around.
"I am walking with dramatic emphasis."
"You are limping."
"It adds character."
"It wastes energy."
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Then poked his side with my good hand.
"I don't have enough energy to argue, so just shut up."
Carlos glanced back just long enough for one corner of his mouth to move.
Not a smile.
Almost.
The branch curved beneath us, sloping downward into denser layers of leaves and bark. Above, the canopy blocked most of the light. Around us, the branch-forest breathed quietly, all slow-moving vines and pale flowers that opened when we passed too close.
We did not touch them.
Then the thirst came.
Thirst came before hunger.
My mouth felt dry by midday. By what I assumed was midday, anyway. There was no real sun here, only a dimming and brightening of golden light through leaves.
You would think this tree of light would shine blindingly, even when shrouded by its own leaves, but somehow the light was weaker here.
Not gone.
Just diminished.
Drastically, compared to the places we had already passed.
It felt like we were entering the throat of darkness.
I could only feel dread.
Eventually, Carlos found a hollow full of rainwater about four meters wide.
It looked like a tiny pond.
I nearly lunged for it.
He grabbed the back of my collar before I could.
I slowly turned my head.
"Again?"
He pointed at the water.
A dead beetle floated on the surface.
Then the beetle sank.
Then something beneath the water ate it.
I stared.
Carlos released my collar.
I nodded solemnly.
"Thank you for your service."
"To you?"
"To the beetle. Its sacrifice educated me."
Carlos sighed and kept walking.
We found nothing edible.
No safe fruit. No clean water. No mushrooms. No roots Carlos trusted. The branch gave us light, air, and enough stable ground to continue suffering.
By the time the glow around us dimmed, my legs shook with each step.
The ghosts were quiet.
Too quiet.
Knight appeared once near a bend in the branch, watching the dark layers below. His face was unreadable. Lazy floated above us but said almost nothing. Sleazy kept to the edges of my vision, his coat blending into the shadows. Bloody smiled whenever I looked at Carlos for too long.
None of them spoke.
I could not tell if they were leaving me alone so I could think for myself, or if I was too tired to hear them properly.
I was not sure which option scared me more.
We stopped beneath a cluster of thick leaves that curled together into a poor excuse for shelter.
Carlos sat first.
Then immediately stood up again, an irritated look on his face.
"What?" I asked.
"The bark is damp."
"This whole fucking branch is damp."
I stared at him.
It seemed like the deterioration of our health was affecting Carlos too.
I was honestly too tired to care.
I looked around at the area.
"Carlos, my man, I say this with respect. Everything is damp. I am damp. My soul is damp."
He looked at me.
He sighed.
Then sat down anyway.
Progress.
I leaned against the bark wall and slid down slowly. My ribs protested. My shoulder complained. My stomach made a sound like an animal trying to escape.
Carlos glanced over.
"Still hungry?"
"No. That was a war cry."
He looked away, but I saw his mouth twitch.
Jerk.
We did not make a fire. No dry bark. No sparkstone fuel worth wasting. No reason to announce ourselves to whatever had eaten our food and our happiness.
I closed my eyes.
For a few seconds, there was only darkness.
Then someone sat beside me.
I opened my eyes.
It was me.
Not one of the ghosts.
Me.
Same black hair. Same silver-white eyes. Same tired face.
The only difference was the malicious look in his eyes.
Pure cruelty.
Pure practicality.
He sat with one knee raised, elbow resting on it, smiling like he had been waiting for me to notice him.
"You know," he said, "this gets easier if you stop pretending there are two people to save."
My eyes shook as I stared at him.
Was this me?
Or was this one of the ghosts still not awakened?
He smiled wider.
Then Carlos shifted across from me.
I blinked.
The other me was gone.
Carlos looked over.
"You okay?"
I rubbed my face with my good hand.
"Define okay."
He narrowed his eyes.
"That bad?"
I looked at the empty place beside me.
Then at Carlos.
"Getting there."
He did not ask more.
For once, I was grateful.
Day Two
By the second day, thirst became a personality trait.
A bad one.
My tongue felt too large for my mouth. My head ached behind my eyes. Every breath tasted like old bark and regret.
Carlos was not doing much better.
He still walked ahead, but slower now. He stopped more often to check the path, and sometimes he stayed stopped longer than he needed to.
He was conserving energy.
Or trying not to fall.
Possibly both.
I did not comment.
Mostly because talking hurt.
Also because if I opened my mouth too much, my stomach might crawl out and go looking for food on its own.
The path was worse now. Narrower. Darker. Less like a route and more like a mistake the tree had grown and regretted. Roots twisted through the bark, catching our boots. Vines hung low enough to brush our heads. Several times, something moved inside the walls.
Moved.
Watched.
That was so much worse.
"We should have seen more beasts by now," Carlos said.
His voice was rough.
I glanced at him without moving my head.
"You noticed too."
"I noticed on the first day."
"Of course you did."
He gave me a tired look.
"You say that like it annoys you."
"It does."
"Why?"
"Because I like being the paranoid one."
"You can keep the title."
I let out a dry chuckle.
"Thank you."
He crouched near a pale leaf curled around a bead of liquid.
I froze.
Carlos did not touch it. He took out a strip of cloth from his pocket, dipped the corner lightly, then waited.
The cloth smoked.
He dropped it.
The leaf folded shut around the cloth and squeezed.
A faint hiss rose from inside.
Carlos stood.
"Not water."
I gave the leaf a thumbs-up.
"Good effort, horrible plant."
Carlos looked at my hand.
"What are you doing?"
"Morale."
"For the plant?"
"For me."
We kept moving.
Around what might have been afternoon, I heard a sigh behind me.
Knight.
I turned.
He stood several steps back, watching Carlos.
The black anger from the day before was gone, or buried again. His eyes were quiet now.
Sad.
I waited for him to speak.
He did not.
"Nothing?" I whispered.
Knight's gaze moved to me.
Then he shook his head once.
Slowly.
I looked away.
That was almost worse than an argument.
At least anger gave me something to push against.
Silence left me alone with myself.
Unfortunately, myself returned.
He appeared ahead this time, walking backward in front of Carlos.
Hallucination-me had his hands tucked behind his head, smiling like this was a casual stroll through a park and not a slow march toward moral collapse.
"Look at him," he said.
Carlos walked straight through him.
My breath caught.
The other me leaned closer as Carlos passed.
"He still thinks you are just strange. That is almost sweet."
"Shut up," I muttered.
Carlos looked back.
"What?"
"Not you," I snapped.
He stopped.
I stopped.
His eyes moved over my face.
"The voices?"
I clicked my tongue.
"Something like that."
He just nodded once.
"Tell me if you need to stop."
That was all.
No pity.
Just practical concern.
Damn him.
"Sure," I said.
The hallucination stood beside Carlos now.
Still smiling.
"That is the problem, isn't it? He keeps making it harder."
I looked away.
We stopped later beneath a branch that curved over itself like a broken arch. Carlos managed to scrape a handful of moisture from the underside of broad leaves using the back of his knife. It was not enough.
Barely a mouthful each.
He handed me the first portion.
I stared at it.
"You drink."
"You're injured."
"You're more useful."
Carlos's expression flattened.
"That is not fair, Kamrik."
"There is no fair here. It's only survive or die."
"That does not mean I want to leave you here," he said.
"Isn't it normal for man to want to save his fellow man?"
I narrowed my eyes.
"Do not use my lines against me while being noble. It's disgusting."
He pushed the leaf toward me.
"Drink."
I drank.
It tasted like grass, metal, and filthy humiliation.
Carlos drank the second portion without complaint.
After that, we sat in silence.
I watched him wipe the knife clean and tuck it away with careful hands.
His movements were slower than yesterday.
His breathing heavier.
The other me crouched beside him, chin resting on his palm.
"You know what happens if he survives."
I closed my eyes.
The voice came anyway.
"Every step he takes is another corpse you are choosing later."
I pressed my fingers against my temple.
Carlos noticed.
"Kamrik?"
"I'm fine."
He frowned.
I gave him a small smile.
It probably looked awful.
"Fine-adjacent."
"That sounds more believable."
"Good. I aim for plausibility."
Carlos leaned back against the bark and looked up into the leaves.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
The ghosts remained quiet.
Maybe they were listening.
Maybe they had nothing left to say.
Maybe they were waiting.
Day Three
On the third day, I started talking too much.
That was how I knew things were getting bad.
Usually, my nonsense had structure. A goal. A target. A precise amount of irritation.
Now words leaked out of me because silence was too heavy to carry.
We had found a thinner branch that curved upward through the canopy. It was not safer, but it was less wet, which counted as luxury now.
Carlos walked beside me instead of ahead.
I noticed.
Did not mention it.
My pride was starving, but alive.
We stopped when my legs shook badly enough that even I could not pretend it was dramatic emphasis anymore. Carlos helped me sit against a raised root, then sat a few feet away.
Not too close.
But just close enough to listen.
"You said something yesterday," Carlos said.
I leaned my head back against the bark.
"I say many things."
"You said you were not ready."
My eyes opened.
"When?"
"When you were half asleep."
That was unfortunate.
I looked away.
"Then I cannot be held responsible."
"You sounded serious."
"That was my first mistake."
Carlos did not smile.
He waited.
I rubbed at my dry lips.
There was no point in talking.
No point in not talking either.
"I don't know if I'm ready," I said eventually.
"For what?"
I laughed once.
It came out thin.
"Big things."
"That is vague."
"Yes."
"Intentionally?"
"Yes."
Carlos accepted that with a small nod.
I looked at the leaves overhead.
"I keep acting like I can handle it because the alternative is admitting everyone was insane for trusting me."
"Who trusted you?"
I smiled without humor.
"Wrong question."
"What is the right question?"
"Whether they had a choice."
Carlos was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, "That sounds lonely."
The words landed harder than they should have.
My mouth moved before I could stop it.
"My sister would have handled it better."
Carlos looked at me.
I stared at the bark between my boots.
"She handled everything better."
The branch-forest moved softly around us. Leaves shifted. Wood creaked. Something distant called once, then went silent.
I kept talking.
"She was better at school. Better with a sword. Better at making adults feel like the future was safe because she existed." I swallowed. "Not in a cruel way. That was the worst part. She did not even have to try to make me feel smaller."
Carlos did not interrupt.
That made it easier and harder at the same time.
"I know they loved me," I choked.
Then I stopped.
The words felt too exposed.
I forced myself to continue.
"Probably. I know that. Logically. But sometimes it felt like they were proud of her and worried about me."
My hand curled against my knee.
"And after a while, being worried about starts feeling a lot like being disappointed in."
For a few seconds, there was no sound except my own breathing.
I wanted to take it back.
All of it.
I wanted to laugh and ruin the moment before it could look at me too closely.
But I was too tired.
Carlos leaned back against the root beside him.
"My sister was like that too."
I looked at him.
A small smile touched his face.
Soft.
Tired.
"She could make duty look easy," he said. "I hated that about her."
The smile stayed.
"I loved it too."
I did not say anything.
Carlos looked at his hands.
"In the Strega family, talent is not treated like a gift. It is treated like evidence. Proof that the family invested correctly." His jaw tightened. "If you are useful, they sharpen you. If you are not useful, they find a use for you anyway."
"That sounds horrible."
"It is normal."
"That sounds more horrible."
His mouth twitched.
Then faded.
"My sister understood it better than I did. Or maybe she pretended better. Either way, people looked at her and saw someone worthy of the name."
"And you?"
Carlos gave a small shrug.
"I was someone they expected to become worthy eventually."
That was not the same as being loved.
I did not say that.
He already knew.
The other me appeared behind Carlos, leaning against the branch wall.
He was smiling again.
"You hear that?" he asked. "He feels small too. How touching. Maybe the two of you can bond over inadequacy while the future sharpens its teeth."
I closed my eyes.
Carlos noticed.
"Voices again?"
"Yeah."
"What are they saying?"
I opened my eyes and looked at the hallucination.
He waved.
"Nothing useful."
Carlos nodded.
The silence after that was not comfortable.
But it was honest.
That was worse.
The ghosts appeared near the edge of the branch.
Knight stood with his back to us, looking into the lower layers.
Lazy floated beside him.
Sleazy sat on a root with his chin in one hand.
Bloody watched Carlos.
None of them spoke.
A sigh came from one of them.
I could not tell who.
Maybe Knight.
Maybe me.
Day Four
By the fourth day, hope had become a sound I did not recognize.
My mouth was cracked.
My stomach had stopped growling and started folding in on itself.
My thoughts came slower now, but sharper when they landed.
Like broken glass sinking through water.
Carlos was quiet.
Too quiet.
He still moved. Still checked the path. Still corrected me when I stepped too close to glowing fungus or leaned toward suspicious leaves.
But the corrections were shorter now.
"Left."
"Stop."
"Don't."
"Careful."
Once, he reached out to steady me when I stumbled.
His hand caught my sleeve.
That almost made me laugh.
It almost made me cry.
The hallucination walked with us for most of the day.
Sometimes ahead.
Sometimes beside Carlos, matching his steps perfectly.
"Look at him," the other me said. "Still kind. Still useful. Still innocent. How inconvenient."
I ignored him.
"Do you think guilt makes you good?"
I kept walking.
"Do you think waiting makes this mercy?"
My boot slipped.
Carlos caught my sleeve.
"You okay?"
I nodded.
The other me smiled over Carlos's shoulder.
"You like him. That is the problem."
I pulled my sleeve free gently.
"I'm fine."
Carlos did not believe me.
He was too tired to say so.
The path rose near what might have been evening. The branch angled upward through layers of leaves and pale hanging roots. Each step hurt. Each breath scraped.
Then the canopy opened.
A wide gap split the ceiling of leaves above us, revealing the sky.
Real sky.
Not gold filtered through divine leaves.
Not branch-light.
Sky.
Deep blue fading toward violet, with thin clouds stretched across it like torn cloth.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Carlos sat first, slowly, like his body had finally filed its resignation.
I sat beside him with less grace and more suffering.
The opening above us let in cold air. It moved across my face and through my hair, and for one brief second I remembered the world was larger than bark, hunger, and impossible choices.
Carlos looked up.
I did too.
The ghosts appeared behind us.
Quiet.
Knight's armor dim in the fading light.
Lazy floating low, almost seated.
Sleazy half-hidden in shadow.
Bloody standing farther back than usual.
None of them spoke.
I did not know if that was mercy.
Or judgment.
Carlos's voice came after a long silence.
"What did you want to become?"
I looked at him.
He kept his eyes on the sky.
"Before all this," he said. "Before whatever big thing you refuse to explain."
I let out a breath.
A laugh tried to follow.
It failed.
"I don't know."
Carlos glanced at me.
"That is your answer to everything."
"It is a versatile answer."
"It is an empty one."
I looked back at the sky.
Maybe he was right.
"I wanted to matter," I said.
The words came out before I could make them prettier.
Carlos did not respond.
So I kept going.
"I wanted to become someone people were glad they trusted. Someone who could stand beside all the impressive people and not feel like a clerical error."
My mouth twisted.
"Not a hero. Nothing that dramatic. Just… not useless."
The sky above us blurred for a second.
I blinked until it cleared.
Carlos's voice was quiet.
"That is not a small thing."
"Feels small."
"It is not."
I looked at him.
He was still watching the sky.
"What about you?"
Carlos did not answer immediately.
For a while, I thought he would not.
Then a small smile appeared on his face.
Tired.
Embarrassed.
Almost childish.
"I wanted to become a hero."
The words were so soft I almost missed them.
My chest went cold.
Carlos laughed under his breath.
"Stupid, right?"
I did not speak.
"I do not mean a legendary hero," he said, waving one weak hand. "Not the kind people write songs about. I just wanted to be someone people were relieved to see. Someone who could protect others without making them afraid of the name Strega."
His smile faded, but the softness stayed.
"My sister used to say that was naive, and she was probably right."
He looked up through the opening.
"But I still wanted it."
The world seemed to tilt just slightly.
A hero.
Carlos Strega wanted to become a hero.
Not a butcher.
Not a murderer.
He did not want to start a genocide.
All he wanted to become was—
A hero.
So then why?
Why did he become the person I had to kill?
My hands started shaking.
I hid them in my lap.
The other me appeared in the opening of the leaves, sitting on a branch above Carlos.
He looked down at me with a cruel glint in my eyes.
His smile was gentle now.
That made it worse.
"A hero," he said, like it was taboo. "That's funny."
I stared at him.
Carlos did not see.
The hallucination tilted his head.
"Are you going to wait until he becomes one before you kill him?"
My throat tightened.
My pupils shook.
The sky above us looked too clear.
The other me leaned forward. His mouth spread into a malicious, feral smile.
I did not know my face could make something so wrong.
"Every kind word is another chain. Every smile is another excuse. You know what he becomes. You know what waits for him. You know what happens if you let him keep walking."
Carlos looked at me.
"Kamrik?"
I could not answer.
The hallucination's smile sharpened even more.
"You are not sparing him. You are delaying because you want to feel clean."
I pressed both hands to my face.
My breathing shook.
"Kamrik," Carlos said again, quieter this time.
The ghosts said nothing.
Just silence.
I did not know if they wanted me to think for myself.
Or if I was too far gone to hear them.
Carlos shifted beside me, but did not touch me.
The sky stayed open above us.
Beautiful.
Unreachable.
I lowered my head into my hands.
My voice came out broken and small.
"A hero, huh."