Ash stepped back, shoulders tightening. ‘If you g-go…’
‘It’s only a year, Ash. You’ll survive without me.’
But Ash shook his head, and something in him, something raw and vulnerable betrayed the lie. Hagan must have seen it too because in the next moment, he reached out and pulled Ash into him, arms folding around him in a tight embrace.
‘You’re my brother, Ash,’ he said, voice low and sure. ‘Remember that. No matter what happens, in this life or the next. We are brothers. Not by blood. But by soul.’
Ash opened his eyes, banishing the memory to the shadows of his mind as he crouched before one of the many fires flickering beneath the night sky. Across from him, Adriana satserenely, a glass of wine cradled between her palms. She caught his stare and, with a faint smile, said, ‘Someone unearthed crates of stolen wine in one of the old homes.’
Ash gave a nod, his eyes drifting back to the fire, watching its amber tongues dance against the dark.
‘The crops are doing well,’ she added.
Another nod.
To Ash, the place held a certain quiet beauty. It was wild and worn, yet brimming with potential. Marshes stretched out not far beyond, their mirrored waters dotted with small wooden boats used by soldiers to navigate the twisting waterways. Around them, the forest had begun to regrow, tall and lush, vast enough now for the wolverians to hunt freely once more.
Though the village was too small to house them all, it had become a sanctuary of sorts. After so many weeks trapped in the witchland, the army had pushed outward, seeking ground that could offer hope; soil to till, rivers to drink from, trees to fell and build anew.
Ash had chosen to remain behind, though he knew Bryn Wynter had ridden out with a contingent of wolverians to explore the land beyond.
The houses served well enough for sleep, but by day, few lingered indoors. There was too much to do like tending crops, repairing shelters, bringing life back to a land left cursed and forsaken for over a century.
At night, they gathered round the fires. They drank and they ate, shared silence and laughter, until the embers faded and they drifted, one by one, into slumber.
‘Speak what’s on your m-mind,’ Ash said at last, having long since noticed the way Adriana kept casting furtive glances his way.
She huffed softly, brushing a hand through her short blackhair and tucking it behind her ears. ‘If you know absolutely everything—’
‘I’ve never claimed to know e-everything,’ he interrupted gently.
Adriana rolled her eyes. ‘Then tell me this, do you know why? Why Hagan began all of this?’
Ash let out a long breath, his gaze dropping to his hands. Hands he had come to know in too many forms. Through vision and dream, he had seen them young and unmarked, seen them aged and trembling, weathered by time and sorrow. It was strange, seeing his life laid bare through something so simple as his own fingers.
‘I do,’ he said quietly.
Adriana straightened a little. ‘Was it for revenge, then? Is it really that simple?’
‘No.’
‘Well?’
Ash shifted his weight, lowering himself further, his knees drawing close to his chest. He stared into the fire, letting its light dance across his features. Pain settled into him like a second skin. Memories came swift and cruel. Flashes of what had been, of what could not be undone. Each one struck him like a thunderclap, splitting his thoughts open.
‘Why did Hagan do all of this?’ Adriana pressed, her voice softer now.
Ash rose to his feet, his head pounding with a pressure that promised no peace. He longed for sleep. Not the restless tossing of nightmares, but something deeper, a forgetting. If only memory could be silenced like pain, if only regret could be buried like the dead.
‘Because of me,’ he whispered.
Adriana’s eyes, dark and sharp as obsidian,widened. ‘Because of you?’ she echoed, frowning. ‘What could you have possibly done to make him start all of this?’
Ash’s hands clenched into fists, the pain a vice around his chest as Hagan’s voice echoed through the chambers of his memory:
You’re my brother, Ash. Remember that. No matter what happens in this life or the next. We are brothers, not by blood, but by soul.
The ache bloomed anew, sharp and unforgiving, and he turned from Adriana, unable to face the weight of it. She must have sensed the shift in him, for she straightened, her voice gentler now.
