The fire crackled low. The flames, now reduced to embers, painted Helena's and Luna's faces with an orange, uncertain glow. Outside, the snow fell without haste, muffling the sounds of the night. The horses, tied to a pine, slept with their eyes open, their breath smoking in the cold air.
I lay on my back, my hand on my sword, my eyes fixed on the stars that stubbornly hid behind the low clouds. The fatigue of the battle weighed on my bones. The arm where the demon had scratched me ached, but it was not the pain that kept me awake.
It was the silence.
The silence of the snow. The silence of the night. The silence that had pursued me ever since I left the elves' layer.
Closing my eyes was a mistake.
---
The room smelled of sea and dried dates. The walls were of worn wood, the ceiling low, the window open to the pier. Outside, seagulls cried. Inside, silence.
Fenísia sat on the bed, her dark brown hair falling over her shoulders, her blue dress stained with ash.
"Zirinos," she said, with the sweet voice she used when no one else was near. "Why didn't you save me?"
I tried to answer. My mouth would not open.
"You could have saved me," she continued, standing up. Her bare feet made no sound on the wooden floor. "You were there. You saw the knife. You saw the man. And you did nothing."
"No…" I managed to whisper.
"No?" Fenísia approached. Her face, once beautiful, was now marked by a red scar that crossed her cheek. "You killed me, Zirinos. Not with your hands. With your absence."
"I tried…"
"You tried too late."
She touched my face. Her fingers, cold, heavy.
"Did you like me?"
"I did."
"Liar."
"Truth."
"Then why did you let me die?"
Silence. The sea, outside, crashed against the rocks. The seagulls fell quiet.
"Because I am not a hero," I answered finally. "I am a monster who pretends."
Fenísia smiled. The smile split the scar in two.
"Me too."
The room dissolved.
---
The bed was the same. The walls were not. Instead of worn wood, dark stone, damp, smelling of mould and blood. Lysara lay beside me, naked, her eyes open.
"Do you remember me?" she asked, her voice a whisper. "Do you remember my house? My smell?"
"Yes."
"My daughter?"
"Yes."
"She calls you hero."
"I know."
"It's a lie. You are the monster who took her from her mother's belly."
Lysara touched my chest. Her cold hand was heavy.
"You came to me once," she said, with a smile that did not reach her eyes. "Why not again?"
I felt my body grow heavy. Lust, an old acquaintance, stirred in the pit of my stomach.
"No," I answered.
"No?" Lysara leaned in. Her lips brushed my neck. "That is not what your body says."
"No!"
I pushed her away. Her body dissolved into black smoke that rose to the ceiling and spread across the walls.
"Do you like to play?" Lysara's voice came from everywhere. "Then let's play."
The smoke coiled around me, squeezing my wrists, my neck, my ankles.
"You will not let me go, Zirinos. You will never let me go."
"I killed you," I whispered. "I can kill you again."
"You can." The laugh echoed. "But not today."
The smoke dissipated. The stone dissolved. The room fell apart.
---
I woke up sweating, despite the cold.
My body trembled. My right hand gripped my sword so hard my knuckles were white. The fire had gone out. Only embers, red and dying, lit the clearing.
"Zirinos?" Luna's voice, sleepy, came from the darkness. "Are you all right?"
"I am."
"You had a dream?"
"I did."
"About what?"
"About people I couldn't save."
Silence returned. The snow fell.
"We can't save everyone," said Luna quietly. "My mother says heroes choose. They save some. They leave others."
"And who chooses the heroes?"
"No one. They are chosen by the gods."
"I was not chosen."
"Then you chose yourself." She sat on the ground, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. "That is worse. Those who choose themselves have no excuse."
I looked at her. Her light eyes, where the embers reflected, were dry.
"Fenísia," said Luna, "was she your friend?"
"She was."
"Did you like her?"
"I did."
"Then you did not let her die. Fate only took her."
"Fate does not kill anyone. People kill."
Luna did not answer. She just lay down again, the blanket over her head.
I sat watching the embers.
'Guilt was new', I thought. 'I did not know it hurt so much.'
'But the worst was not guilt. It was knowing that, despite it, I would do the same again.'
'If I had to. If it was necessary. If there was no alternative.'
The fire went out.
Darkness came.