“That doesn't meanyoukilled them.” Her voice is sharper now, edged with anger. Not at me. At the story. “Raiders kill villagers. That's what they do. You could have found them already dead. You could have been trying to protect them and failed. There are explanations that don't involve you murdering the people you came to save.”
“You don't understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
I stare down at her. This small, stubborn woman with her tired eyes and her absolute refusal to let me be the monster I know I am. The top of her head doesn't clear my shoulder.
She's standing there, demanding that I see myself the way she sees me.
“The berserker doesn't care,” I say. “It doesn't distinguish between enemy and innocent. When the rage takes me, everything is just meat. Obstacles. Things to be destroyed. I've felt it, Maren. Felt the urge to tear through everything in my path without caring what it was. The only reason I come back is because some part of me is still fighting, still trying to hold on. But if I lost that grip, even for a moment...”
“But you didn't.”
“I don't know that.”
“I do.” She steps closer. Inside the safety margin I've been keeping, close enough that I could touch her without reaching.“You came back. Whatever happened in that village, however bad it was, you came back. That means something.”
“It means I was lucky.”
“It means you're stronger than you think.” Her hand comes up, stretching to press her palm over my heart. Even on her toes, her arm is almost fully extended. “What you do when you come back. The choices you make when you're yourself. That's what defines you.”
I want to believe her. Want it so badly my heart aches with it.
“While I was gone,” I say, because she deserves the rest of it, deserves to know the full weight of what I've done. “While I was in that village, losing myself to the rage, the stronghold was attacked.”
Her hand stills against my chest.
“Rodvek was there. He tried to hold the line, tried to give the others time to escape. But there were too many, and he was alone, and he did the only thing he could think of.”
“He went berserker.”
“Yes.” The word comes out broken. “He went berserker to save them. Just like I did. But he never came back.”
“Never?”
“The stronghold fell. Almost everyone died. And Rodvek... the part of him that was my oath-brother, my friend... that part drowned in the rage and never surfaced. What's left is the thing you saw last night.”
She doesn't speak for a long moment. Her hand is still on my chest, warm through the fabric of my shirt.
“That's why you're hunting him,” she says. “Not to kill him.”
“I've tried. He doesn't die. The oath keeps him trapped in that body, keeps him suffering.” My voice cracks on the last word. “I'm hunting him because I have to find a way to end it. To free him. To give him the peace he deserves.”
“And you've been doing this alone. For eight years.”
“Who else would help me? Who else would look at that thing and see anything worth saving?”
Her fingers curl against my chest, gripping the fabric of my shirt. The stretch is hard to hold. I should step back. Should give her space.
Instead, I kneel.
The motion brings me level with her. She doesn't have to crane her neck. Doesn't have to stretch to reach me. We're eye to eye, and the surprise softens into warmth.
“I would.” She says it low, but there's steel in it. “You've been carrying this alone. Fighting your brother, fighting yourself. And you're still here. Still trying. Still hoping there's a way to save him.”
Her fingers uncurl from my shirt and come up to my jaw. She doesn't have to strain now. Her palm fits against the bone, warm and certain.
I lean my forehead against hers. Close my eyes.
