Killian was having a very bad day. His week had started off normally enough, with him picking up a bounty in Sol City- A criminal organization running out of King’s Valley, the Skin-and-Bones: Thieves, drug dealers, and murderers. Killian had made his way out, traveling at a quick pace, and was soon back in his home region. He started doing some investigating, asking around and narrowing down his search radius, until he finally pin-pointed them, more or less. That’s when he started to get in a bad mood.

Killian gritted his teeth as he stalked through the Kingswood. Of all the places… Well, at least it wasn’t quite in Kenting. But it was damn close.

Kenting… His village. His home. The place he murdered his family and friends. Well, maybe murder was the wrong word, but the fact that it was self-defense didn’t make it much better. Killian may not have regretted what he did that day, but he hadn’t been this close to Kenting since then, and he was as tense as he could be, coiled like a spring about to burst free.

The cave system the Skin-and-Bones were operating out of was maybe an hour or two from his village; he remembered it well enough, having played in it in his youth. This wasn’t home, but it was close enough.

He didn’t give the two lookouts a moment to call out or run, his sword striking out with incredible speed, his anger in each blow as he took them out in a single instance [Double Strike]. He paused for a moment before the mouth of the cave, and steadied his breath.

Time to clear out this place.

Wandering around King's Valley aimlessly was not Ambika's intention in the slightest - rather, her consciousness was so fatigued at the very idea of thought that one could argue she was closer to an autonomous automaton rather than a person at this time. She was too responsible to ever point implements of death at herself, but any external factor was fair game even if she would not confess to her passive suicidal ideation. Though of course, her body would refuse to allow that outcome without a fight.

So it was that Ambika found herself flanked by two highwaymen who happened to find their allies fallen to the ground by the entrance to a cave system and spotted the old soul in the process. She had no interest in getting involved, and tried to simply walk away only for the two criminals to charge at her with murderous intent, and it would be the last mistake they made in their lives. A sudden thrust of a blade[1] to the neck instantaneously ended one of them, and the other fared no better with being treated to an oversized shuriken[2] to the torso, striking the blood vessels connecting to their heart. Murder was all too easy when it served a permanent solution to issues, even if it was horribly unhealthy to whatever remained of her conscience, and introduced even more smouldering guilt to the towering pile she already had weighing her down.

Looking over the features of her victims - an ingrained teaching passed down to her by her elders - Ambika would notice an insignia on their collars, that of a criminal organization known by the name Skin-and-Bones. Glancing in the direction of the cave system with her keen eyesight[3], she would find the lookouts having the same emblem as well. Someone else was here before her.

Perhaps she was looking to help someone to assuage her guilty conscience, as futile as that may be. Perhaps she was looking for someone to end her as she just did the highwaymen. The end result was Ambika heading into the cave system as well. Anything to distract her from herself.

---

[1]Scarab - Desert Stinger

SPOILER: Click to show

The Scarab has a unique weapon at their disposal, a six inch knife or blade that is mounted into a bracer and worn on the forearm. The blade can be retracted by a single flex of the forearm muscle, allowing the scarab to summon or return the blade almost instantly. This makes it the perfect assassination weapon, able to be hidden and concealed until needed. Scarabs often used this weapon to initiate surprise attacks, or keep their hands open and free from weapons. The Scarab is considered Exalted when using this hidden blade and can use sand from Born from the Desert to repair the knife if it breaks or becomes damaged.

[2]Oniwanban Shadow - The Folding Shuriken

SPOILER: Click to show

The Folding Shuriken
The folding Shuriken looks like a large talon like blade attached to a circular ring, with the blade being roughly the size of an adult human forearm and looks very similar to a hoof knife meant for the large stone Oxen found throughout the Crescent isles. The user however can unfold the blade into a four bladed star shaped throwing weapon, making it look like a comically large shuriken. These are typically used with rope or wire to redirect them once thrown and retrieve them easily.

[3]Sharpshooter - Far Sight

SPOILER: Click to show

Your aim and range as a marksman has increased, making you even deadlier at long ranges while using a range weapon. You can see just as clear as normal but now at twice the distance, letting you track and see targets even at incredibly long distances. Your reach with a weapon has also increased, letting you fire a weapon twice as far as you normally would be able to.

Killian allowed the fog of war to cloud his senses, let himself get lost in the heat of battle, striking out instinctively as he hunted the criminals down tunnels and into larger caverns, his childhood knowledge of the caves giving him an advantage. One after another, men and women fell screaming from his onslaught.

An arrow took him on his left shoulder, but he ignored it, moving forward and running his blade through another thief, or murderer, or whatever the hell this one was guilty of. Probably both. He grabbed the man’s knife as he died, and tossed it at the one who shot him, turning away as a wet gurgle sounded out.

He stalked forward, and entered into a massive cavern, the largest in this cave system, and clearly the base of their operations. He was sure many criminals had escaped his rampage back in the tunnels, but he didn’t care. He was going to dismantle this organization with an efficacy that would leave nothing for the survivors to return to afterwards.

But he was too focused on the few shadows he could see moving ahead of him, too angry to pay attention, and someone slammed into him, sending him sprawling, his sword clattering off into darkness. He scrambled to his feet as his attacker swung a greataxe at him in an overhand blow. Killian’s hands came together, slamming into place with perfect timing, catching the blade in between his palms [Steel Catch].

The attacker snarled at him, and Killian curled his lip grimly.

Guess I'm fighting unarmed.

Ambika loathed how convenient blades were for preemptive self-defence. She had originally sworn off using any bladed implements for anti-personnel purposes after retiring from adventuring life the first time, and yet here she was once again, using the worst type of weapon as her mainstay once more - the type specifically designed for assassinations. Other weapons were all still too weighty for her to swing regularly with her aged muscles, but the skills required to vivaciously employ the accursed reminder of her sordid past[1] saw fit to remain nestled in her gruesome instincts, to the inevitable horror of the hapless assailants charging her way.

The old soul would have been content to live and let live had there been any cowards with the sense to simply ignore her and prioritize their wretched lives, but alas, the fools feared retribution by their own fellows more than a veritably grey kook who did not give nearly enough indication she could be ultimately worse than whatever punishment the criminals could devise. And thus a bloody trail of corpses would emerge alongside the pre-existing trail she was following along.

Eventually, Ambika would reach a large cavern, whereby she would immediately notice a young man duking it out against an attacker tattooed with the Skin-and-Bones insignia wielding a greataxe, and it was immediately obvious that the former was at a disadvantage. It was then, and only then, that she regained a sliver of her conscientiousness, losing the will to murder even though she had just unleashed hell upon no less than 10 people on her way here. It was a deep-seated hypocrisy, but the prospect of strangers witnessing her kills terrified her. So much so that she used to operate on a 'no survivors' policy back in her heyday.

A sharp pain[2] would course through the attacker's dominant knee as it met the pointy end of a crossbow bolt aimed in a manner designed to maximize the amount of pain generated, breaking their balance and allowing the young man an opportunity to retaliate.

---

[1]Scarab - Desert Stinger

SPOILER: Click to show

The Scarab has a unique weapon at their disposal, a six inch knife or blade that is mounted into a bracer and worn on the forearm. The blade can be retracted by a single flex of the forearm muscle, allowing the scarab to summon or return the blade almost instantly. This makes it the perfect assassination weapon, able to be hidden and concealed until needed. Scarabs often used this weapon to initiate surprise attacks, or keep their hands open and free from weapons. The Scarab is considered Exalted when using this hidden blade and can use sand from Born from the Desert to repair the knife if it breaks or becomes damaged.

[2]Sharpshooter - Crippling Wounds

SPOILER: Click to show

Damage with your range weapons now cause crippling wounds, wounds that sting and burn, lasting longer than normal. These wounds can not be healed by spells or abilities and take twice as long to heal naturally. This prevents others from healing the damage you dealt, allowing you to close in and truly finish off your prey.

Killian didn’t know where the crossbow bolt came from, but it was welcome. As the man howled in agony, Killian reached down and grabbed the shaft of the bolt and yanked it free. Thankfully, it didn’t break, and the man screamed right up until the bolt was jammed under his jaw. He stiffened and keeled over.

Killian stumbled back and looked around wildly. There, in the mouth of the cavern. A woman. Killian frowned at her, then looked around for his sword. She didn’t look like a member of the Skin-and-Bones, and he felt naked without his weapon. Besides, she had just saved him. He might have dismissed the aid as a missed shot intended for him, but the woman wasn’t trying to shoot him now, so…

He found his sword a few feet away and picked it up, straightening and turning his attention away from the woman. He didn’t care about her just then, and he still had a job to do. He spent the next five minutes clearing out the room, the handful of criminals still left barely putting up a real fight. He didn't notice if the woman was helping him or not.

The cavern floor was wet with blood when the final couple of enemies rushed forward. The first one, a middle-aged man with a broken nose, died quickly, and then Killian was rushing towards the last one.

He was just a kid, really, barely sixteen at a glance, and as Killian hurtled towards him, he dropped his dagger and held his hands up, terror in his eyes. A tear slipped down the young criminal’s cheek as Killian raised his sword to deliver the final strike. There was no room left in the swordsman’s heart for mercy. Not today.

Not here.

The old soul had no real interest in helping or harming the young man as he performed his vicious murders, but she felt responsible enough to at least see to the criminals' deaths, for ignoble as they were, they had their lives, dreams, perhaps even families just as she did. Ambika deeply loathed her perverseness in how she barely flinched at the field of corpses in front of her and how the puddles of blood simply smelled disarmingly pleasant[1] to her abnormal senses.

Then she saw the young man primed to kill what was most definitely a young child who was likely 16 at most, and the next thing she knew a bolt had left her crossbow with such brutal force that it would undoubtedly shoot holes into both of the man's hands and even the sword handle if it connected.[2]

"I will not... stand to see... another child die in front of me again," the old soul declared solemnly even as the hypocrisy of it all gnawed at her aching heart. How many children did she end in her service to the Gilded Delphinium and in her cowardice towards the reality of herself? One could argue her family's death was simply karma, and yet her rage and grief ran unabated still.

---

[1]Blood Scent

SPOILER: Click to show

You are able to smell blood as easy as any other normal smell, regardless of how little the amount is. Once blood has left a body, you are able to pick up on the scent and follow it, making this a useful feature for tracking injured prey or hunting for food. The scent is pleasant to you and non invasive, and can not be turned off or affected by spells.

[2]Sharpshooter - Piercing Shot

SPOILER: Click to show

With the focus and patience of a true sharpshooter, you have gained the ability to charge a shot, holding back your strike for a short duration and building up tension. You can choose to super charge your next shot, giving it extra punching power. The charged shot will ignore things like armor, structures or walls and can be used to pierce things, ignoring the defensive capability of it. This allows you to shoot through a barrier or even hit an enemy directly, ignoring their armor. You only get two charged shots per topic.

The bolt pierced through Killian’s left hand as he raised the blade to strike, and the woman’s voice pierced through his heart.

He stood there, frozen, arms still raised, barely having felt the pain of the bolt impacting. He could feel it now though, how it burned in his palm, though it seemed to have mostly missed the hilt of his sword, only causing a large nick on the side of it.

He slowly lowered his arms, and let his sword slip out of his bloodied fingers to clang on the stone of the floor.

“Go.” He croaked out, and the kid bolted, running past the woman and out of the cavern.

Killian was in a daze, and he slowly started walking, aimlessly, his thoughts swirling around him as a quiet despair took hold of him. His sword remained where he dropped it, and he didn’t even look at his hand, let alone attempt to remove the bolt.

The kid, terror in his eyes.

Velaru.

Was I really going to kill him?

He was a criminal.

He was a kid. He’d surrendered.

He’d probably killed people before.

I’ve given people second chances before.

You always have to be merciful?

… Yes.

He pulled up short, then slowly sunk to his knees, and stared down at the bolt sticking out of his palm. What happened today? Why did I… Because I’m here? Because I’m so close to home, I allowed my emotions to control me and almost killed a kid?

Velaru.

Killian felt shame surge through him, and he looked up, into the darkness above him.

Velaru.

What am I even doing with my life?

Ambika watched the child rush past her without so much as a nod or acknowledgement, his movements governed solely by survival instincts as his adrenaline provided the temporary burst of energy needed to leave. Perhaps the child would join yet another criminal organization in search of whatever he could call home and die a senseless death anyway. Perhaps the child would swear revenge on her and the young man, just as she once did on Florentio, even though in retrospect she would argue that the Gilded Delphinium being destroyed was the best thing to ever happen to her criminal life. Perhaps a better fate could await him in other parts of society. She dared not assume anything, other than that it was clear today would leave eternal scars on the child.

Then, Ambika's eyes refocused on the man who has since dropped his weapon, his stance defenceless, walking simply for the sake of walking. Just as she was just a number of hours ago. The young man must have his own demons, just as she did. Demons that will never disappear permanently. Demons they had to contend with whenever they surfaced. Demons that all but screamed that they will never be better people.

Words never came easily for the old soul who tended to speak with her actions rather than with her mouth - what had she to give that could save the man from himself? 

Florentio, give me the strength to help him.

"Horribly easy to lose ourselves in our emotions, is it not?" Ambika walked to his side. "There will be no judgment from me, young man. I have done far worse. The child will find only corpses upon corpses on his way out, for I too, have made it so." He was not alone in this endeavour, that much she could freely admit.

"Ambika Shanti Phairot. Nothing more than a traveller in search of her son now." Sharing her full name was a risk of its own, but she had all the faith in her being that he would most likely keep this entire affair as another secret to be buried deep within his heart.

Killian struggled to break out of the shadows that swarmed him, tried to focus on the woman next to him, tried to understand what she was saying. Judgment?

Killian had never doubted his actions before. When he had killed his family, when he had killed the forty-five other people in his village, he knew that what he was doing was right. He never faltered, didn’t hesitate for a second. And since then, he had dedicated himself to helping people, and never once had he wavered in his convictions.

…So what the hell happened today?

You’ve never been emotional before, that’s what.

Always kept yourself closed off. Sealed away from feeling.

…And this is why.

...I don’t do well with feeling.

He slowly raised his gaze to Ambika, despair residing within his blue eyes.

“... Killian Glae.” The words were dead, soulless, lost.

He looked down at the bolt in his hand, and a lifeless smile ghosted across his lips.

“Thanks.” The same flat, monotone voice. He slowly got to his feet, rising to his full height and looking around for his weapon. He located it, and walked over to it stiffly, bending down and picking it up with his right hand, the wounded hand hanging limply by his side. He didn’t even seem to be aware enough of his body at the moment to cradle the injured hand, like most people would.

Ambika had not the slightest idea what the man had done in his past, but she had seen people break for less than her countless sins. The old soul was so thoroughly broken it would be easier to refer to her by the glue that somehow kept all the shards together, a blob that happened to have fine sand on it as opposed to the pieces being so impossibly small to put together that any glue was too much, ending up with an ugly, insignificant mess as a result. There were stories in each and every grain, held in place by nothing more a grueling persistence to survive, an underlying sense of responsibility for all her actions, and the barest sliver of hope that there was someone out there who still loved her despite herself. Mainly that last one.

"Emotions require release. Life would be easier if they died on their own, but alas, they do not." Ambika began as she noted the empty void spilling out of Killian's vessel. She could no longer recount the number of times she tried to kill her emotions, and how all it did was result in her spiraling further into the abyss of her own transgressions when they inevitably pushed back, descending further as she steeped herself into performing worse deeds to stave the guilt from whatever she did before. 

"The emotions will eat at you, surface in the most inconvenient of times, and not knowing how to handle them will only guarantee further descent into misery. Take it from an old soul who had fallen deep enough at one point to consider murder over the mere idea of being judged." The old soul had went beyond that, but that was a secret Killian need not be aware of.

"I know not what you have done, nor will I ask that you share your tale with me." Ambika followed behind Killian, poised to act in case her words only worsened his already depressing mental state. "Just know that you are not alone, Killian Glae." The only thing she could give was her wretched self and the experiences even she dared not allude to more than in passing, and she could only hope that Killian would find even a hint of solace in all of that.

Ambika’s words carried the weight of truth to them, the timbre of wisdom in each syllable. Emotions require release… Emotions will surface at the most inconvenient of times… Know that you are not alone, Killian Glae.

At the first thought, Killian was reminded of his long conversation with Kvasir, the doctor insisting that he had never truly processed what happened in his past. At the second thought, he was reminded of his panic attack on the streets of Sol City, how terrified he became of that ever happening in the midst of battle. At the third and final thought…

Killian stiffened as images of people poured unbidden into his mind. Try as he might to pretend that he was alone in this world, the truth was that he had picked up quite a number of acquaintances, and even one or two friends.

He thought of Astrid, the kid with a big hammer and even bigger appetite. He thought of Sarne, who he’d bonded with over drinks. He thought of Cyran, even of Zarius, and of course of Kvasir. He thought of his faithful wolf, Lilith, who had saved him so many times. He thought of Caedes, the man who faced down the impossible with him, the man Killian would call friend. And he thought of Kamille.

You are not alone, Killian Glae.

Slowly, he turned to face Ambika, though he didn’t say anything for the longest time. When he finally spoke, it was with a broken, tired voice, raw and vulnerable. “You stopped me from doing something… I wouldn’t have been able to take back.” There was a pause, then Killian continued. He was no longer lifeless, no longer speaking in a monotone, but his words were still drowning in a mournful sorrow.

“I… I don’t think I know how to… to release… my emotions. I think… I think they might destroy me if I do.”

The old soul simply shaked her head. "It was as much for myself as it was for yours." She could not possibly presume the child was saved, and while she would not have attempted to kill Killian, she was all but prepared to bring him to his knees or worse if it came down to that to stop him. No, the former assassin was ultimately self-serving, and she had not the temerity to assume any virtuousness on her part. That was beyond her, and it would be sheer arrogance for her to believe she was a good person.

That was the hardest part. That was always the hardest part. The first time Ambika ever found proper release for her emotions was when she confessed to trying to kill Florentio for leading the raid that took the Gilded Delphinium from her when she believed he was in his dying breaths as an apology... Only for him to ruin the moment by revealing that he knew all along and that he was perfectly fine, and she very damn well almost ended him that day out of pure instinct in response. Though in all honesty, even that was only one of the tips of the iceberg. There were so many- too many sins for her to even remotely try to count, enough that she was haunted by her countless deeds every single night and could only be granted her nightly respite through a dreamcatcher specializing in warding off nightmares.

To put it simply, the old soul had found someone she could share her wretched self with and be loved still. And now he was gone. It was... not advice she could possibly give the lost soul standing in front of her. Finding someone with the level of empathy Florentio possessed was like finding a miracle of its own, and there was no guarantee that empathy would be exerted at him. But she could offer herself. Battered and broken as Ambika was, one thing that stood the test of time was her heart - no matter how much she preferred otherwise. Her heart, ironically, was precisely what drove her to her extremes during her assassin years. It did not want to be hurt. It did not want to be known. Yet it only made everything worse, just as her heart drove her out of her blasted hometown in the first place into the cruel world. Conversely, however, her heart was also what gave her the strength to love and want better for her family, for her to understand the why's of others, and for her to want to help even if she did not like what it may cost her.

"I am here. I will stop you if need be." Ambika spoke simply.

Here, in a dim cave in the Kingswood, surrounded by blood, a crossbow bolt in his sword hand, only a couple hours out from the home of his youth, Killian found a sliver of connection. He eyed Ambika wearily.

So, this woman went through something similar? Held her emotions in until it broke her? Or did she simply mean she was closed off? Was she a kindred spirit or just an old woman trying to comfort him?

He looked down at the bolt sticking out of his hand, then glanced back up at Ambika. Could this woman help him? He looked around, located the nearest body, and crouched down to clean his blade off on the dead man’s cloak. It was a little difficult to do with one hand, but he managed, then stood back up and sheathed his sword.

Then he looked up at shadows above them that hid the roof of the cavern, and gripped the shaft of the bolt. “We’re near a village called Kenting." He began suddenly. “It’s not there anymore. I had to… had to…” Killian took a deep breath, then snapped the bolt, letting out a pained explosion of air and words. “KillthemIhadtokillthemall! Argggggghhhhh!” The scream wasn’t one of physical pain.

That done, he pulled out the other end of the bolt and dropped both halves on the floor. His pack was left at the entrance of the caverns so as to not slow him down, so he had nothing to bandage the wound for now.

He gave a sidelong glance at Ambika, breathing heavily and trying to judge her reaction.

“I’m not a murderer.” He said quietly. “I had to do it.”

Is this what she meant? Emotional release?

… It sucked.

Ambika observed intently as Killian confessed to what was likely one of his darkest deeds, only wavering so slightly as she heard her crossbow bolt snap in the process. Then she heard the following words:-

"I'm not a murderer." "I had to do it."

Ah, there it was. In the old soul's view at least, Killian's existential issue was that his heart was trying to cling onto the pretense of virtuousness, and as such was unable to reconcile his emotions with the objective reality that he killed an entire village. He can insist all he wants that he is not a murderer, but he cannot deny he is a killer. And killing a person, regardless of the reasons one might have, will leave a mark on anyone who has not outright dehumanized their victims. Even that might not be enough to carry them their whole lives, for emotions are cruel, fickle masters who can lash out in the most inopportune of times through even the most innocuous of triggers. Ambika was tempted to point out that in the eyes of the those who regarded his victims as important, he might as well be a murderer, and that his justifications may never be enough. The reality was that he robbed his victim of their lives, and that he robbed them from the lives close to them, and nothing he can do will ever undo that fact. However, given that the man just murdered half, it not most of a criminal organization in cold blood and almost did the same to a child, suggested he might not be ready for this conversation just yet.

As such, Ambika opted to tackle this from another angle. There will be no expression indicating anything that could be construed as negativity that Killian could gander from her face throughout. She had done far worse for what she was, for the time being, willing to assume was far less than that which drove him to silence an entire village, and as such was in no position to judge him in the slightest.

"I hail from a village built by, of, and for people with questionable backgrounds and their descendants. Not a place I would ever wish to return to. But their teachings spoke of hard truths, cruel realities and cold logic, all in the service of ensuring that their folk could survive anywhere no matter the cost. It was cold solace, but it served." She began, observing for any possible changes in his demeanour. The man was likely someone who once lived in the light, and found the darkness a disconcerting nightmare to navigate for his constant denial would refuse to allow him the tools to do so.
"Needless to say, those teachings included advice when it came to killing." The old soul chose her words carefully. "I will spare you the long-winded prattling and just say that there are three among them which I feel might be pertinent to you."
"The first of which is to discount not the cries of the dead. The responsibility of ending a life lies in your hands now and forevermore, and the cries will only be louder if you pretend otherwise. They may never leave, and that is the eternal punishment one must bear." Ambika started with her first, even as she felt Killian probably did not need this rehashed. It was important, though, to establish the next.
"The second is to respect every second you have unduly earned by killing someone. That is the least you can do to atone for robbing them of their time." The old soul hadn't the slightest idea anymore if she was solely living off stolen time at this point, but it did not matter. She still needed to find her son, and her sole responsibility now was to not expire before then.
"And the last, is to remember everyone you kill, for their chains may return to drag you into the earth." Ambika paused for a moment as she pondered whether to say the rest of her piece, before gritting her teeth and ending it with the following. "That includes the lives you just ended today."

The first piece of Advice: Responsibility. Killian didn’t say anything, reflecting on what that meant. He made choices every day that kept him in this life of violence. He went after monsters often, sure, but just as often he was fighting and killing other people. Bad people. If he didn’t kill those people, then other people would die: the innocent, the weak. Those with no one to defend them. No one to avenge them. Killian clenched his jaw.

“I can take the responsibility of killing those who deserve it. I don’t hear their cries; They don’t deserve that from me.” The people of his village however, had been innocent. At least they hadn’t cried out when they died, so it was only their faces that haunted him.

The second piece of Advice: Respect that you live only because you killed others. Again, this was something Killian could appreciate. His life was danger, and if he didn’t fight back with every fiber of his being, if he didn’t kill those that would kill him… He wouldn’t be standing here today.

“Their deaths allow me to live. But it was their lives that led to their own deaths. A strange circle, no?”

The third piece of Advice: Remember everyone you killed. Including- Killian’s head whipped around and he stared hard at Ambika. Whether she had intended it this way, her words had suddenly lifted the fog over his senses. He suddenly felt secure again.

“No.” The word was ice. His eyes blazed with righteous fury. “These people deserve no remembrance from me. They were killers, thieves and drug peddlers. Men and women who dedicated their lives to worsening the lives of others. They made their choices.” He paused, eyes softening slightly. “I admit, I lost myself a little. A boy as young as that… One who had surrendered… I would give him a second chance. But if he continued down this path? If in a week from now, I found him standing over a corpse? If I found him with the remains of this group? Then I would strike him down in an instant, and I would regret only that he didn’t make a different choice. But I would never regret my own.”

There was a long pause, then: “I never should have mentioned Kenting. But you should know; They were possessed. They wanted to destroy the world. It was them or all of Charon. And while I regret that they had to die, that I had to be the one to do it, once again I stand before you and declare: I don’t regret my actions. I would make the same decision right here, right now. So no, no chains will drag me down, Ambika Shanti Phairot.

Not because of these people. And not because of my village.”

He stood there, proud and angry in equal measure, not even noticing that he had slipped and revealed more than he had intended. He felt better than he had in a long time, and he never felt more sure of his actions, of his path, than he did right then.