They already have.
A trail of tears drips off the edge of Ren’s jaw in the same way a painter’s brush makes a single stroke. Her eyes are two moons, bright and wide. Then, dark, in such a quick second Basuin would’ve missed it if he’d blinked.
Ren’s eyes narrow, rage replacing her despair. Fury gathers around her so tangibly it stings his skin. Cerulean magic crackles as if crying for help—but who cries for help, and who is the help cried for?
With a scream yanked from her throat, Ren slams her palms down against the forest floor. Blue lightning surges across the clearing, cracking through the ashen earth. An acrid smell mixes in the air and Basuin slaps a hand over his mouth. Smoke. Gunpowder. Fire. Blood.
He’s brought to his knees, the sound of shrapnel shrieking through the sky in his ears. The forest spins. The blackened, barren field floods with magic and out of it, light blooms. Painted in Ren-blue. Then, seedlings burst from the fissures in the forest floor—new, pushing through all the ash the army left behind.
It’s incredible. New life, populating the clearing. All from Ren’s magic.
Basuin chokes. Something is ripped from inside him; something is being torn out of his body. His skin is sucked to his bones. He can’t hear anything—not even his own thoughts. There’s no air out here. He can’t breathe.
Strangled, Basuin is pulled to the ground on his hands and knees. Red bleeds from his hands and sinks into the field, drawn toward Ren. And on the other side, Ren is hunched over, too. Panting with pain, drawing ragged breaths. Behind her, the blue magic seedlings begin to recede back into the soil.
Magic. She needs his magic.
Basuin reaches for her. God mark outstretched. “Here,” he pants. “Take it.” Blood paints his palm.
Ren doesn’t look at him. She slams her own palms down against the ground again, but a cry of pain leaves her. It shatters him. Enough to make him crawl on his hands and knees to her. It feels like something inside him is dying. Like everything that he is has been liquefied and now leaks from every orifice.
“Let me help,” he begs. For the pain of watching her, and for the pain that she wrenches from his body as she tries stealing her magic back. “I can help!”
“No!” she screams, fingers digging into the earth. “I don’t need your help. I can do this on my own. I’ve always done it on my own.” Her body shakes. “I’ve always been alone.”
From her fingers, blue magic bleeds into the dirt, but it isn’t enough. The seedlings are dying. The ash is drowning them again. Ren sobs.
Reach her.
Basuin throws himself toward her despite the cost of it—the searing ache of all his meat and bones. When his hand falls to her back, Ren shrieks and tries to force him away, but Basuin stretches for her god-marked hand.
“You don’t have to,” he grits through clenched teeth. “I can help you—” if you’ll let me.
His left hand finds her right. Beneath him, she’s trembling. Every breath she takes is labored, sweat dripping from her skin. He takes her hand, trying to match their god marks.
“Let me help,” he pleads.
A curtain of dark hair hides Ren’s face from him, but another silver tear traces the line of her throat.
Then, Ren presses her scarred palm to his, and a violent purple magic colors them. Basuin curls the fingers of his right hand in the dirt, like Ren does, and their magic bruises across the clearing.
Please. Let it work. Let their magic regrow the forest his people cut down. End the pain.
Let this be his penance. Proof that he isn’t just made to kill.
When he looks up, the seeds have begun to sprout again—violet, this time. Blue entangled with red. Ash peppering their homes as it does every living thing in this forest. This time, when their magic recedes, the sprouts look unbothered. They stand short and steady, planted in the earth, ready to grow again.
It isn’t much, but it’s a new start. A rebellion against the legion who tried so hard to ruin this place.
Basuin smiles. Until Ren forces herself to her feet and makes a sound like she’s trying to choke back another sob. The loss of her hand in his feels so cold. Frozen, like snow beneath his hands biting through his heavy gloves to smart his skin.
“I don’t need you,” she cuts, breathing heavy. “I wouldn’t even need your help if you hadn’t come here and stolen all my magic.”
Something inside him withers.
“I’ve always been alone.” Ren wipes her tears away on her arm. “You being here won’t change that. Ever.”
Right. Basuin didn’t help grow this forest—this magic never belonged to him. Proof that all he knows is how to kill.
