Hirrus knelt on the hilltop, looking over the ruins of the camp. Despite his attention being focused on Nidra and her small army gathering and moving out, he couldn’t help but see the line of scattered bodies from the fight.

It was a streak of death that ended in the still-burning bonfire of the collected refuse of the camp.

A slash that Hirrus himself had cut on the landscape, punctuated by the dancing flame.

He found himself wondering if the fire would spread. If it would catch on the path of gore and cauterize the wound.

Deep down, he hoped they would. Otherwise this monument to his revenge wouldn’t go anywhere. It was too cold for the bodies to rot. Not before the reset he’d been told to expect, which would clean it all up and put everyone back where they came from. Scavengers were unlikely to touch them either, due to how much of the local wildlife had been cleared back by their attempts to infuse some Arcana and experience points into the army.

Hirrus watched Nidra’s forces move out. Despite the brevity of their training and organization, they moved as a united force.

The visible coordination gave him some peace of mind. Even if GM Dave didn’t have faith in her, Hirrus knew Nidra was strong. As much as his guilt at abandoning her roiled in his chest, it wasn’t hard to push it down.

She had this under control.

He wasn’t needed for this.

The Shadow Council was her problem, and she was perfectly capable of dealing with it herself.

As much as he’d wanted to just get rid of GM Dave, he hadn’t lied. Yenon was a long walk from here.

The sooner he began, the better.

At long last - too long - he turned his back on the ruins of Rumi’s sick little empire. It was a short walk to Shemil, where he could get back on the Hari path, and follow it all the way to Yenon.

The burnt-out husk of Shemil was waiting for Hirrus, as well as the scattered remains of Rumi’s routed vanguard. He’d wondered if he might come back here to find them planning a counterattack, and he would have welcomed a moment’s exercise to take his mind off of the weight of his decision.

But the place was bare and empty.

There was nothing waiting for him.

Exactly how he expected to find Yenon when he got to it.

It took nearly a full minute for Hirrus to realize he’d stopped walking, and had simply been staring at the ruins.

Shemil was quite a bit larger than Yenon - with a ruined citadel on the edge of town as well - but the smell of blood-soaked ash and burnt wood transported him to the memory of his home. He’d seen it in ruins. Still burning. He’d pulled the one and only scrap of life from the wreckage and left it behind.

It seemed fitting to end his journey there, right where it began. Maybe he would get to witness the reset. To watch the town spring up from the ashes.

Maybe he could be there when his wife was raised from her grave to return to him.

He cast the thought aside when the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

Someone was behind him.

His first instinct was to use Flames of the Apocalypse. Even unbuffed, the attack would make certain whoever was there would instantly know that attempting a sneak attack was a fatal mistake. But Hirrus took a deep breath. As much as he wanted some action to take his mind off of things, the core of his being recoiled from the idea of striking the first blow unprovoked.

He asked himself if it was Hirrus who wanted to lash out, or the monster within. And so he stayed his hand.

“What do you want?” Hirrus asked, not turning around.

“I just…” a familiar voice said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t. Now, answer the question.”

Hirrus turned around to see the young man who had approached him before. The one whose armor was artfully arranged to show off a bared chest. Despite the carefully manicured appearance of cavalier disregard, he looked genuinely frightened now. Hirrus realized he was scowling and tried to force his expression into something more neutral.

“I wanted to go home,” the man said at last. “Like we talked about?”

“Yes,” Hirrus said with a nod. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at Shemil. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“Sorry,” the man said quickly, “no, you don’t understand. I’m not from Shemil. I’m from Nael, just south of Inoha.”

Hirrus nodded, though he didn’t know what the man was getting at. He didn’t even know where Nael was.

“It’s a long way from here,” the man said after an uncomfortable pause. “Nidra… She has me nervous, you know? I would travel alone if I were confident in my abilities but…” He flinched and looked away. “She tried to talk Kailu and Elmon into staying with her instead of staying behind to ‘fend off Rumi’s dregs’ as she put it. She was sorry to lose their help.” He shook his head. “She didn’t even try to convince me. It did not inspire confidence in my abilities.”

“What’s your point?” Hirrus asked.

“I don’t want to be alone,” the man said, nearly blurting it out. “I don’t want to die out here because I blundered into a few too many wild boars. Or crossed paths with some adventurers.” He gestured at Hirrus. “I was wondering if you could stomach a companion. After all, where could be safer than under the wing of the Merciless One himself?”

Hirrus grimaced. Every time he heard someone call him that, it felt like they were talking about the monster within, rather than him. It bothered him to hear the nickname applied positively. Did people want him to be that bloodthirsty fiend who cackled in joy at wanton slaughter? Would they be disappointed to find the simple and uninteresting man on the outside instead?

Just the same, he knew his instincts. At the core of Hirrus’s being, he wanted to help people. Protect them. It was why he’d left the mercenary life behind and become a guard. All this man wanted was a sense of security. Safety. Hirrus didn’t have a problem with that.

He jerked his chin southwest, towards the Hari path. The man sighed with relief, and when Hirrus started walking again, the bare-chested man fell in step beside him, just a step behind.

“Um,” the man ventured as they left Shemil behind, “my name is Cedril, by the way.”

Hirrus grunted in acknowledgement, but didn’t say anything.

His instinct was to let his companion talk. Alric hadn’t been able to let a full minute pass in silence between them, and he expected the same of Cedril. He obviously didn’t expect the man to burst into song. Alric doing so had been ridiculous enough, but Cedril was a normal person, and not an erratic adventurer.

But he could be expected to make conversation. Talk about his life. Confide the indignities suffered under Rumi.

Fill the silence.

But he didn’t. The only sounds were the crunch of their feet on the dirt road that was the northern reaches of the Hari path, and the occasional scattered birdsong.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Cedril wasn’t an awkward companion, and Hirrus wasn’t anxious about him being near to his back. But after a few minutes, being alone with his thoughts started to bother him.

What if GM Dave was right and Nidra did need him? What if her failure - and subsequent punishment - was on his conscience?

What if after all this was done, vengeful adventurers came for him? What if their harassment never stopped? What if he never knew peace again?

What if he was too far gone? What if the frayed remnants of humanity left in him were a thin film stretched over something Julissa would turn her back on?

“Nael,” Hirrus said suddenly. “What is it like there?”

Cedril was silent for a moment, surprised. “I’m sorry?”

“Your life. Before all this,” Hirrus said, thumping a hand to his chest. “What was it like? What did you do?” He tried to remember what the lanky man had said when gesturing to the bare-chested man. Merchant? “What life are you returning to once this is over?”

“I was a clothier,” Cedril said. Hirrus could hear the smirk in the man’s voice. “I thought you could tell.”

Cedril picked up his pace, walking beside Hirrus. He pulled off one of his gauntlets and showed his hand to Hirrus. True to his word, the calluses on the fingertips were a dead giveaway. Julissa was a seamstress, not a clothier, but the occupational markers were more or less the same.

“Truth be told, the reason I was following Rumi was because of how miserable I was,” Cedril said, pulling his gauntlet back over his hand. “Adventurers would stop in Nael all the time as a way station between Inoha and who-knows-what along the southern coast. They would make a mess of the inn every night - if not the whole town - and use whatever services our decision tree forced us to offer day and night.”

He held up his gauntleted hand, staring at it as if looking through it to the calluses on his fingers in a moment of silent reflection.

“Those who wore cloth armor would come to me,” he continued at last, his voice full of bitterness and hate. “Day and night. Before the break of dawn. Hours after dark. Interrupting my meals. Pulling me from my bed. Stepping between my spouse and I as we spoke, demanding my attention mid-sentence. ” The leather gauntlet creaked as Cedril made a tight fist. “And it was all at cost. I never made a single copper coin in profit from it. I worked my hands to the bone, and still lived in near-squalor. My decision tree bound me to the laws of Hari. Laws Rumi said that the Shadow Council had put in place to serve adventurers’ needs.”

Hirrus grimaced. Julissa had been a seamstress, but she’d never worked for adventurers. He wondered if it was a difference in decision tree, or if it was because Yenon was so far from the big city.

“Nidra will correct that,” Hirrus said. “When you return to your decision tree, things will be better. You’ll make a better living. A better life for you and your spouse.”

Cedril stared at his clenched fist for a moment longer.

“I hope you’re right,” he said at last, his voice quiet and distant.

Hirrus hoped he was right as well. That roiling feeling of doubt in his chest kept twisting.