Why are there battlefields in the land that he’s been entrusted? The land of broken gods and bitter soldiers.
No one touches them; neither Haaman, nor Ko. Ren moves to Basuin’s side, reaching out to touch the bruised, broken skin Haaman’s left on his cheek. He doesn’t even flinch—doesn’t look away from the scene before him.
“Don’t go!” Haaman screams to no one. Ko isn’t there anymore. “Please! Don’t fucking—don’t leave me!”
When Ren’s blue magic lances over his skin, Basuin brushes her touch away. Instead, he takes her hand in his, holding tight. All he can do is watch as his heart aches in his chest worse than the wounds do. He doesn’t deserve the healing. She’s exhausted anyway.
She couldn’t save Ko, but that’s not her fault. It’s Basuin’s fault—because it wasn’t Isaniel he saw in the forest last night, golden hair haunting it. He knows the man who would be this cruel. Only he knows how Kensy would curl his lips and bare his teeth in the most vicious of grins.
Kensy hadn’t outpaced them. Kensy had followed them.
“Bastard,” Haaman curses, choked by their tears. They struggle for breath. “You fucking bastard, don’t fucking do this to me.”
Haaman’s screams echo through the forest, loud and shrill enough to scare off a flock of birds who take off into the sky in search of shelter.
They let Haaman cry and sob and curse and wail for so long that Bass loses track of time and stops counting each throb of his head. Yaelic’s silent tears run down his face. Qia hides her face in the sleeves of her robe. Ren sits holding Bass upright, fingers pressed to his temple to sink what magic she has left into him.
Haaman wipes their face on their arm, struggling to breathe. They hiccup, catching their breath, and dissolve into bawls again. The cycle repeats on and on.
“Haaman,” Ren finally calls to them. “We can let Ko rest now. I can—”
They whip their head around, beady eyes cutting. “Shut the hell up,” they seethe. “This is your fault. This is all your fault. Ko died because of you.”
Ren’s face is still, but her hand tightens in the cotton of Bass’ shirt. She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t move a muscle besides the twitch of her fingers. Qia, sitting further away from all of them, opens a trembling mouth just to shut it again without a word.
“You—” Haaman heaves a breath, “—didn’t do shit to stop them. Your pathetic pacifist ideals killed him. You aren’t a fucking god. You’re just a naive little girl,” they snarl.
Ren doesn’t answer, but Haaman crawls to their feet, sluggish and yet burning with anger. Their face is red and streaked with tears, as if they’ve boiled alive in their grief.
“If you’d fucking fight, then Ko would be alive.” Haaman staggers closer to them and Ren stands. She steps over Bass, toward Haaman, shouldering their words. Responsibility—guilt, maybe—squares her shoulders but keeps her small.
“But here’s the truth,” they spit, thrusting a hand toward Ko. “The truth is that you don’t give a shit about this forest. Don’t care if we live or die. All you care about is upholding your perfect version of peace.”
Haaman sobs, clutching their chest. They fold, as if the weight of everything is too much. It’s all compounded on them, too heavy to keep them upright anymore.
“Well, Am-sa? Is it fucking pretty?” they scream, throat raw. “Looking down from your godrealm—have we died just for your fucking entertainment?”
The trees shake. Haaman pants, shivering.
“I’m sorry,” Ren says. Basuin closes his eyes, for it sounds just like Tehali’s apology.
Haaman jerks back, eyes wide as a choked sound leaves them. For a moment they stand stock still, frozen in fear. Then, they turn on their heel and take off into the forest, running for the woods. Everything is silent. Too silent. So silent that Basuin doesn’t think mourning could break it.
He hangs his head between his legs, skull still pounding. Blood drips from his nose into the dirt.
Ma, what can I do? he asks no one. She’s never responded before—she won’t respond now. The dead don’t talk back. Ko’s body, stricken and cold, is so starkly outlined in his mind even in his refusal to look. Ma, I don’t know what to do anymore.
You do what you can, the wolf-man answers. It’s curled in a ball inside his chest. You must protect her—at any cost, man or spirit alike.
But when will it end? When will I stop having to watch people die?
The wolf-man huffs.
Blood begets blood begets blood, the wolf-man answers. War begets war. Debt begets debt that is never repaid.
Chapter 31
Qia heals the rest of Bass’ wounds, chasing away the ache and the dizziness that remained. Yaelic stays close by, but sticks to Qia when Bass heads into the forest for some air that isn’t thick with death.
