The smoke of Briarthorn no longer lingers in the air, yet its memory rests heavily inside my chest as I look at the faces gathered before me.
“I will leave Briarthorn,” I say quietly.
The words ripple through the clearing with surprising force. Several villagers exchange startled glances. Ravik’s expression tightens as though the statement has struck him harder than the fire ever did.
“You expect us to believe that? That you won’t return for revenge,” he demands.
His voice no longer carries the reckless fury that fueled his attack moments ago. Now it sounds tired. Exhausted in the way people often become after a long night spent watching their world collapse around them.
“I don’t expect anything from you,” I reply calmly.
The truth settles between us without accusation.
“I’m telling you what will happen.”
Behind me the warmth of the bond shifts faintly as Threxian studies the villagers with quiet attention. I feel his approval brushing against my thoughts like a silent nod of encouragement.
“So you burned our homes and are now leaving,” another man says.
His voice shakes slightly despite the axe clenched in his hands.
“Yes,” I answer.
A murmur spreads through the crowd as the admission settles over them.
“I burned Briarthorn,” I continue quietly, meeting their eyes without flinching from the weight of the truth. “I will carry that knowledge with me always. I am truly sorry for what happened and the blame will be with me, till my last breath.”
The forest wind stirs the leaves again, carrying the faint scent of damp earth through the clearing.
“But it will not happen again.”
Ravik laughs harshly.
“You think we’re supposed to trust that? You lied to yourself that you can control it before, don't you?”
“No,” I say again.
The word arrives gently this time, yet it carries enough certainty to quiet the rising murmurs around him.
“I don’t expect trust from people who watched their homes burn in the night.”
The villagers fall silent once more.
“But I expect you to listen.”
For a moment no one interrupts.
“I am leaving Briarthorn,” I repeat. “Not because you demanded it. Not because I’m afraid of you.”
My gaze moves slowly across the gathered crowd.
“I’m leaving because this place cannot heal while I remain.”
I see the realization settle across several faces as the meaning settles into place. I am not running from their anger. I am acknowledging the truth that Briarthorn will never again feel safe with me living among its ruins. The choice is mine.
“I will not stay here while every child in the village wakes in the night afraid of the woman who burned their home,” I continue.
The words tighten something in my throat.
