Days turned into a long blur. Underground, Iago had no idea about the time but for the meals. Yet they helped him little to guess as to how long he’d been locked up. After counting once, he found out that they weren’t set. Sometimes they came after four hours, and sometimes after what must have been a whole day if not more.

It all depended on if anyone remembered that there was a prisoner needing feeding.

The people who came to bring his meals were instructed not to talk to him, and he didn’t bother them. He wasn’t that far gone. Not yet at least.

But the monotonous hours were driving him crazy. Has it been a month already? Alone but for his own thoughts and memories.

The conversations in his mind had dried out long ago, same as confessions and regrets. By now he no longer knew who he was talking to, and what. If no one came to save him soon…

Save. There was nobody in this world who still cared about whether he lived or died. Scorpius, the only person that might have, had gone never to be seen again.

It wasn’t that surprising. Really. Iago had killed his friend. Not with his own hands, but it didn’t matter. Nor that the boy would have died anyway if he’d let Cyana go. She’d have killed everyone present who’d seen her humiliation. It wouldn’t have been the first time. People tended to disappear around her.

But all of that no longer held any meaning. It was done and he had become everyone’s enemy. In this world, there was no one that minded that he would die.

For a thousandth time he unconsciously reached for the earring and grasped empty air. The guards had taken away all of his possessions before throwing him in here. They didn’t take chances with him having some other hidden trinket that might magic him away from here.

He didn’t. Not really. With those two alone he could have bought a country. Or two.

Sounds came from the corridor. He listened and recognised his guard’s steps. The blank faced man held a torch in one hand, and a plate in another. Iago squinted at it, ignoring the pain in his eyes from the sudden bright light.

He was right, this wasn’t a usual meal. There were two freshly baked buns, from which his mouth instantly watered, thick vegetable soup, not the usual coloured water, and even a small cup of wine.

Once the door was opened, he rushed the man, grabbing the plate and then retreated to the farthest corner of his cell. Eating as fast as he could.

He heard his guard scoff in disgust but did not pay him any attention. It’s been way too long since he stopped caring how his actions might be seen by others. Eating, shitting and sleeping in the same place brought an overload of insights to him. If he ever got out of here, he could become one of the topmost philosophers.

But not now. He pushed half of the bun into his mouth, some wine over it and another bite from the second one. Swallowing hard he choked a bit, poured more wine and finished the buns. Then finished the soups in a couple large swallows and was done. The special meal didn’t last him full two minutes.

Only when finished, he turned to see the guard still standing. What was this? Did he want the bowl and cup back? Carefully, Iago scuttled to the iron bars and pushed the plate with what was on it through the gaps, then retreated.

The light of the man’s torch was still too bright to his eyes used to the darkness. They often forgot to come and feed him, so caring for the torches to be lit was out of the question.

To his surprise, the man picked up the plate but did not leave. He stayed, watching Iago with disgust written clear on his face. Iago grinned at him, showing his dirty teeth. His guard blanched and stepped away, a curse upon his lips.

Iago was about to nod off, staring into a wall, when there was a commotion by the entrance. He sat up with his back against the wall and waited. In the last month or so, there hadn’t been anyone to visit him. Could Scorpius have returned?

Impossible! He moved to edge of the cell, grabbing onto the bars in an to see better. There were more torches ahead, many people too. A good ten of them. There was no way that Scorpius would be among them.

With shoulders slumped, he returned back to his straw bed. It was little more than dust, but he didn’t want to face whatever was coming for him. His execution date most likely. They’ve been very patient already. Having just come here, he expected to be taken out for the gallows every time the guard came with his food. Not lately, though. He thought they’d forgotten even about that.

The crowd came to stand before him. An older man, somewhere between fifty and sixty, moved to the front and addressed him, “Revered Elecar, would you come forward?”

Revered? Iago couldn’t help himself. He laughed. The sound more maniacal and insane than he would have expected.

“What do you want?” he asked from his shadow, not bothering to stand up. They were too bright anyway. It hurt only looking at them, so he closed his eyes, lowering the head on his knees. That was somewhat better.

“We have come to give you an offer. Your healing in exchange for freedom,” the spokesperson said in a pompous voice. He probably thought himself to be some kind of noble. Maybe even really was before The Scourge.

But he didn’t think his offer through. Iago had nothing no wish for freedom. Left to his own devices, he’d starve to death in a couple days. Without a society’s support or shaping, there was no way to live out in this new world.

Did they think he was at stupid? That his brain was already that muddled? They should have waited a bit more for that. A month was not enough to drive him crazy. Not too much, anyway.

The man shuffled in place, coming close to the bars. He knocked on them lightly. “Mr. Elecar. Can you hear me? We will set you free if you agree to do this one thing.”

Iago didn’t even bother raising his head. “I’m fine here.”

There were a few gasps of surprise from the crowd of followers. They begun whispering to each other about how he must have went mad from desolation. “Enough!” the man roared, and his people quieted in an instant. A well-trained bunch. “Guard! Come here!”

Footsteps, and a salute. Then the nobleman must have pointed at the door since there was a clatter of keys, and his cell’s door was opened. Two people entered, one of them holding a torch. Iago burrowed his head further into his knees. They didn’t have food for it to be worth blinding himself.

The nobleman fell on one knee, softly touching Iago’s head. “Are you sick? Have you caught an illness?” He tried to lift Iago’s head, and he swatted the hand away.

“The light,” he hissed out, annoyed. What’s with the fake concern? It didn’t matter how he was living until they needed his assistance. There was no point, then, to pretend now. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe it.

“Ah!” the man exclaimed, moving about.

A couple moments later, the cell returned to its blissful shadow. Not darkness since everyone was still standing nearby, but it was better. So Iago raised his head, lazily opening his eyes. “What do you really want?” he asked, leaning back against the cold wall.

“I want you to heal a girl. If you do it, I promise to set you free!” the man nobleman said in a sweet voice. His expression was well-matched, with an ingratiating smile both in his eyes and on the lips. A veteran liar. Real nobleman then.

“Don’t you have your own healers? You want to tell me not a single one survived?” Iago asked with mockery evident in his voice. He crossed his arms, making it clear he wasn’t going to play any games. One thing he never missed was the constant pretending in the court.

The man frowned, but soon, like the sun after a rainy day, the smile returned. “Of course, of course! We have them, but this case is special. We need your expertise. It’s renow-”

“Get to the point.”

“Fine! The girl was accidentally hit with an arrow while passing through the training field, and it almost took her life. Now she suffers without any of the healers daring to operate on her as the shaft is too close to the heart. They say that if they merely touched it, her life would be forfeit.”

As he spoke, the man grew more and more excited. “But you might be able to. I’ve heard about how you remove the splinter from a shoulder, removing all the shards and knitting the muscles back! The kid can use his arm freely now, and there’s not even a scar left! If you agree to heal her, we’ll instantly operate on you to remove the piece of the ensorcelled metal so you can regain your shaping!”

Finished, the nobleman stared at Iago with hope and obvious admiration shining in his eyes. There wasn’t a moment he believed that his offer might be refused.

“You’ve closed the doors for that a long time ago. I can’t help you with your problem,” Iago answered, watching with a touch of pity as the man’s face crumbled before him. First there were the narrowing of eyes, then the scrunching of nose, frowning and then the rush of colour.

“What do you mean?” he shouted out, hands clenching at his sides.

He must really love the injured girl to lose control like this. Poor man. His newfound daughter won’t get to live to her old age, either. Same as the rest of his family lost to the Scourge.

“City Lord, I truly can’t help you. That metal you used to control me is poisonous to shapers. If exposed to it for long enough, we’re left but a husk of our old selves.” Iago raised a hand, trailing an invisible path in the air. “As I am now, I can’t even see the currents. And even if you remove the metal from me, it will change nothing. My body has been altered, and not for the better. For the rest of my time, I’ll be as powerless as any human. More so, since I’ll know what I have lost - the power to shape the world at my fingertips.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“But I am. If you’ve removed it in a week’s time, I might have still been able to scrounge up a drop of my originally infinitesimal power. But now? Not a chance. I’m spoiled goods, old man.”

“Why- Why didn’t you tell anyone? I- I-” The man couldn’t even talk. He took a couple steps back, his whole body shaking. “No… It can’t be…”

Iago turned away form him. He’d seen more than his share of such personal tragedies. “No one would have listened anyway. You better go and spend her last moments with her now. She can’t have many of those left, and you’re just wasting your time with me.”

The nobleman looked at him with a fevered gaze, promising him a painful ending. Then he even voiced it out. “You’ll pay for this! I’ll make you suffer! Guard! Skip every other meal!” He glanced back to see if his words were having an effect. Seeing none, he cursed, and added, “I’ll see you burn, mark my word! Soon, soon you’ll get to pay for all your crimes!”

He threw the cell’s door closed, the iron bars clanking upon touch, and strode out, his subdued retinue following right after. The guard locked the door and left, too, taking the torchlight away with him. Iago was left in a familiar darkness.

Another hour gone by. At least they brought some amusement to entertain him for a bit. It wasn’t very interesting but better than nothing. He was bored enough to wait for their next move. There wasn’t much else to do here. Hopefully, the nobleman won’t take too long.

Time lost meaning as it went by. No one came to make right of the threat. Iago just sat and stared at the bleak walls, counting their invisible cracks in the darkness . Or painting with dirt and dust.

His meals were as irregular as always, and this time he didn’t bother pretending to count the days. He was always hungry, and often cold. But that must have been his punishment. The guard didn’t care for the words Iago said. It was as if the man was deaf.

He also always brought a torch to blind Iago, picking up the old bowl and putting the new one, and scurrying off, before Iago could get used to the light. He didn’t even know if it was the same person as before or not.

But it made no difference. The man’s face would not feed his hunger, nor would it make the surroundings warmer. It was all just a slow death. It felt like the time between meals kept increasing, and his thin blanket was taken away at some point. Now he could only wrap himself into a tight ball and lie shivering, pretending that it was the perfect temperature.

By the time there was another commotion in the hall, Iago was too far gone to care about it. He only huddled deeper into his corner, shutting his eyes close. Instinctually he knew that there would be light and it would hurt his eyes. The people won’t bring anything good either.

But he wasn’t given a choice. When the cell’s door was unlocked, two people with heavy steps walked in and grabbed him by the arms. Iago fought back, kicking, clawing at them, but his feeble movements only brought out their laughter. He subsided soon, tired.

It had been a long while since his last meal. He was racked with hunger pains that stole the little energy he possessed. And those people brought him closer to the light. He tried to look away, hide from it since his eyelids weren’t good enough to protect his vision.

Someone raised his head, moving it towards the source of the light. Iago screamed. His voice was dry and alien. He stopped from shock as much as the coughing fit that shook his whole body. People talked around him, but he didn’t care. For now, the most important part was to get a full breath of air.

Control the coughing. Stop it. Enough. Breathe in, breathe out. Slowly Iago subsided, though his heart still raced, and fell limp in his oppressors’ hands. They might as well carry him. He didn’t have the energy to spare for their games.

Something wet touched his lips. He licked them, disbelieving. Could it be? A metal corner was put against his mouth, and water dripped down his chin. He opened his mouth, welcoming the liquid life, and shivered from the pleasure. It was warm. His whole body tingled with the forgotten joy of warmth.

But soon it was gone, and it left a staggering amount of pains and aches all throughout him. He’d forgotten cold for a time. Or just gone so far as to learn to ignore it. It was back now. He could feel his numb limbs, the unresponsive fingers. The place wasn’t cold enough to freeze them off, but…

Was this another form of torture? Give him something nice so he would remember what was lost and could mourn it all over again? Cruel. They were too cruel. He didn’t deserve such a fate! Whatever he’d done, he’d done it for everyone! The world would have been doomed for eternity without his interference! Only now could it start all over again and prosper.

They should be thanking him! Scrapping before him on their knees in awe of what he’d sacrificed for them! Because of him they were free now! No more Winteridges left to turn their world into another horror story.

Ah! That was the problem. There was one left. One cursed existence remaining in this new world.

He struggled against his captors, trying to escape their hold. The hands tightened around his shoulders and kept him steady. Something was said but the words didn’t make sense.

He didn’t want to die. Why did he have to? He hadn’t done anything! All he’d ever done was give his life away for his brothers and sisters to be saved! That wasn’t a crime! He didn’t know what those old man were thinking!

If he did… if he did… He’d have done it all the same…

His body fell limp once more.

He knew he was at fault. Even if he was brought back in time, he would still do it all the same all over again. He couldn’t stop the two men alone, and none of the nobles would believe his word. Besides, now his family had a better chance of survival than ever before. They were alive and were friends with a shaper girl.

She would keep them safe. She must!

Tears streamed down his grimy face as he thought of his family. What were the young ones doing? Did they not know that he was locked up here? Is that why they never came to visit? It had to be it. Llare wouldn’t want them to see him like this. Or maybe even she didn’t know. His capture was very swift, silent.

That was good. Good. She won’t need to worry like this.

He sighed blissfully. It was still all right. He hadn’t failed his brothers and sisters. For them, it was okay to die. As long as no one touched them, it would be fine. He was okay with it. Right?

Why does it sound so much like excuses? All his life he’d been telling himself that he was doing it for Kallum, for the poor and defenceless, for the weak, but had he ever? It was bizarre how adept a person could become at lying to oneself. He couldn’t remember the time when he started, but he knew he never stopped.

Knowing that hatred for your own family has been fuelling your every step is not the same as understanding it. When he proposed his plan to Kallum, he thought he did. Finally he was able to see behind the mirror and into what really lay in his heart.

But that was just another lie. Another disguise. He had hundreds of them to fool himself. As many as the forms Cyana twisted him into.

He recalled those days, the moment when mother spat at him saying she was no son of hers, when father passed his prostate form as if he was nothing more than a house decoration, and most importantly the numerous times his siblings found him.

They’d do it once a week at a random day. Finding and cornering him, then practising their shaping. It was a fame for them. They couldn’t do it on servants, humans shaping being heavily frowned upon even by the shapers themselves.

He was different. There wasn’t anyone who’d listen to his cries or pleading. Parents despised him for bringing shame onto the family, being born without talent in the strongest shaper family in history. The people torturing him were his siblings. While the servants were afraid of his family’s wrath to dare to interfere. His parents weren’t know for their gentle tempers.

And so he was made a testing subject. Horns, extra arms, tails, hooves, another pair of eyes or ears. Spikes, feathers, fur, vines, and everything else that could be thought up. They added and removed body parts to him at will.

They didn’t care if he couldn’t walk for a week, or talk, or if it hurt like he was being torn to pieces all the time. Sometimes the new limbs only got in the way, while other times they misjudged and shifted his bones out of place, leaving him in agony. He often wondered if they were really that terrible at shaping, or if they did it on purpose.

His siblings enjoyed watching him suffer, after all. They’d push and kick him around, pretending it was to check how his new, ‘improved’ body worked. The pathetic excuse fooled no one. Their laughter was loud enough for the whole street to hear as they hollered in joy at seeing him stumble, fall, or cry out.

Those days were endless, and healing shapers rarely were called to return him to normal. Only in the worst cases, when the servants thought he was about to die, would they do it. They were afraid of helping him, certain that they’d be killed swiftly at best for it, but as much as a disgrace he was, if he died in the family manor, it would be even worse. They couldn’t have it.

That was why the healers came, setting him back as he was. Or how they imagined him to have been. They never fully repaired him. None of them knew how. The shaping done on him was to such a deep level, no one dared to attempt correcting it in fear of taking his life.

And he thought he could forget such a life? Put it all behind and start anew, become a people person? What a joke. All his life he was treaty worse than shit, and now they expected him to be the hero. What a bunch of fools. Him included, of course. Just because there was a single person that extended a hand to him, it didn’t mean he could let go of the chains tying him securely to the past.

He as his family, the dismissive mother, mocking father and cruel siblings. They were a match made in hell. Neither could live as long as the other survived. There was too much hatred, too much anger between them. There was no future for him in the world inhabited by monsters like them.

What future? He was an old man now. Without shaping, he wasn’t going to live much longer. Past ninety, any day could be his last now. But the debt of life had to be repaid. He couldn’t die without making them pay for destroying his life. Every single time he picked up something, it was shattered right in front of his eyes.

It was time to get back at them, take away what was most precious to their hearts. Those energy currents, that accursed shaping, all of them needed to be gone!

He was scared. The old shaper promised to protect his family, and he was trustworthy, but what was he really asking of him? Wear this earring and that’s it. Just live on the funds provided while wearing the earring.

It didn’t sound good. Too simple, too strange. Why would the old shaper pay for his food and promise to send his family to get an education for him wearing around a strange earring? There had to be something more to it. Something more sinister.

The old shaper had asked him if he was ready to give away his life. He wasn’t, but for his family he could. If that helped them have a better life… it was okay.

He expected to be sacrificed on the spot then, killed for some vile ritual that required an innocent man’s blood. But instead he was given a couple silver coins, place to stay and told to wear the earring. He fingered it, the jagged crystal rough against his touch.

What was so special about it? He wanted to take it off and examine it more closely, but the old shaper had told to never do that. If he did, their agreement would be over. And the old shaper’s words had to be followed. He was kind and gentle, diligent and straight forward, never lying, but there was iron in him. One good look at his eyes was enough to know he wasn’t one to be crossed.

But why did he have such a weird request. There had never been anything like that before. He’d have heard if the old shaper started some weird ritual requiring people’s lives. No one trusted shapers. Not even ones that spent their whole lives helping those around them. They were watched like wolves milling about a herd of sheep simply because of who they were.

It wasn’t that they were believed to have bad intentions. They just were shapers.

Iago recoiled as something wet and freezing landed on his face. He reached with his hand to touch the dripping water. Someone threw water at him? Squinting, he looked around. There was something blocking his sight. He reached with his hand for it, encountering a thick fabric.

He was about to pull it off when a strange sound caught his attention. Were those words? It must have been. This time, he paid attention and understood what was being said.

“Can you hear me? Or have you went mad?”

Iago was about to nod to the first question, when the second stopped him. He wasn’t mad. He would know if he was. Right?

“Look, he’s paying attention now,” another voice said, from behind him. Iago twisted to face in that direction, but his sight was still blocked. Everything was the same old pitch black.

“I see, I see. Good. Shaper, can you understand me?” the first voice asked him again.

Iago nodded. He didn’t know who they were, but no one would be good in his position. It was as good a choice to follow the orders as any.

“Good, good.” The first man seemed to love repeating himself. “Can you speak?”

It was unknown. Iago didn’t remember if he was always talking to himself aloud, or if it was only in his mind. “Ye,” he grunted in a barely recognisable sound. It was heavy and thick, hoarse.

“You think that’s a yes?” the first man asked his companion.

“Sure looks so,” the other answered, not hiding his amusement.

It annoyed Iago. He wasn’t a monkey put on display to make the passers-by laugh. “Yes!” he shouted out in a somewhat clearer tone.

“Ha! Your charge sounds angry!” the second chortled. He then stood up and walked away. There was a distinct sound of door closing, so they had to be inside. Iago filed that information out of habit.

“Right, now listen to me, shaper,” the first man began speaking, and Iago turned back to face him. “It’ll take time but I’ll restore your eyesight, as well as get you more nutritious food. Scarecrows would laugh at your current appearance. So do as I say, understood?”

“Why?” Iago asked in a low voice. It was easier to make legible sounds that way.

The man stood stunned for a second. He opened and closed his mouth, unable to utter a sound. Then he exploded. “What why? Do you want to look like a ghost all your life? I can see right through you! Are you fine with that? Or do you not wish to see again? Hav-”

“No!” Iago did his best to shout, but it was little better than a deep groan. Still, the man must have heard it for he stopped. “Why… now?”

The question silenced the man for a second. Then he barked, “Do you want it or not?”

“Yes…”

These people must have reasons of their own to help him, but it wasn’t like he had better options. Iago would have done anything not to be returned to that chill cell. Here he was blessedly warm and had water to drink. It was even thrown at his face, wetting his dry skin.

If to keep that he only had to eat well and allow them to take care of him, then he was all up for it. As long as he didn’t need to return. He shuddered just from remembering that dark and cold place. Stinking too probably. His nose didn’t pick up anything but living in a cell for months wouldn’t have made him the beacon of cleanliness.

Soon after, he was dragged away and cleaned off, fed and laid to sleep in a bed. There was even a blanket thrown over his body to guard him against the night’s chill.

The next morning he received another generous meal, as much water as he wanted, and was allowed to exercise for a bit. His unused muscles screamed from abuse. He hadn’t bothered to move about his cell, so his body had degenerated at an astonishing speed. It was hard for him to walk to the other end of the room without falling.

If nobody would have been watching, he’d have just returned to moving on all four. It was much easier that way…

Later someone came to change the fabric on his eyes. They explained how he’d been in the dark for too long and needed time for his eyes to adjust to the no longer familiar brightness. The new cloth was thinner and he could see faint shadows moving through it. His eyes complained about it, watering, but he didn’t pay much attention to it.

In the next few days, he was taken care of in the same manner. The rehabilitation was slow but Iago felt himself growing stronger. After a week his eyesight was already back to normal, and his form filled out a bit. At least he didn’t look like a five sticks put together any more.

He was preparing to go to sleep on the eight day, when the doors to his room opened and ten armed men came in. At their front stood the thirty-something man that had taken care of him for the last week.

“What is it?” Iago asked, keeping the alarm he felt away from his voice.

He’d wondered why they’d freed him. It was weird. First keeping him caged for months, taking away food, shelter, and then bringing him out to feed, cloth and nurture him back to health. It could be a trick to play with his mind, but it shouldn’t have been necessary.

The darkness, cold and hunger were doing their job with stunning efficiency. There was no need to waste supplies on thinking up better ways to exact revenge. It would just be a waste.

At least, he hoped so. The thought of returning to that disgusting dungeon propelled him to move, stand up from his bed. His body wouldn’t last a single strike from these guards - no matter how pathetic their skills might be - but he wasn’t going back to that cell. Not alive, anyway.

If that’s what it took, he’d do it.

With narrowed eyes, he watched his caretaker step forward. The man pretended to be calm, but the way he kept on straightening his vest again and again gave away his nervousness.

His caretaker licked his dry lips. “You’ve been summoned by the city lord. He deemed you should be ready by now.”

“Why them?” Iago asked, motioning with his head towards the soldiers. The sudden movement caught him off-guard and his vision swam. He was forced to catch the edge of the table to remain standing.

His moment of weakness wasn’t missed by the soldiers. Contempt flashed through many eyes. They didn’t hesitate any longer and advanced on him, not bothering to draw their weapons. It was obvious he was no threat.

Iago wished to prove them wrong, but it was an effort only to remain standing. His nonchalant behaviour in the cell had cost him more than expected. He’d waited for death there and didn’t bother to pay attention to how quickly his body went out of shape.

Now he was going to pay for it. He was it in those ten pairs of mocking eyes.

Someone even chuckled under their breath.

Curse them all. He evaded the first man’s grabbing hands and drew a dagger from another’s sheaf in the same move. While his opponent stared open-mouthed, Iago pushed the dagger into his unprotected neck.

The blade entered easily, but there was no time to draw it back. Iago leaned away to dodge a fist coming for his jaw and tried to catch another one to redirect it sideways, but his strength gave way. He couldn’t even deflect.

The fist smashed into the side of his face, hurling him towards the bed. It’s wooden frame dug deep into his side and Iago screamed out in pain. He tried to push away, but before he could even begin doing it, hands grabbed onto his wrist.

He was hauled up by two people and held between them like a puppet. His faint struggles only elicited mocking sneers from the guards.

Then, one came and smashed his fist into Iago’s face. He would have fallen if not for the two holding him up. Another punch came. And another.

Pain blinded him. Iago fought it for a second, screaming, wresting to get free, but it was pointless. The only escape was a retreat into himself. He let go, going limp, and found the darkness of the cell within him. It enveloped him in its chilly embrace without a single question, shielding him from everything that was outside.

When he came about again, there was warmth nearby. He slowly opened his eyes. After blinking a couple times, he saw a sea of people before himself. A large square was filled to the brim with them shouting and pointing at something.

Him to be more exact.

To figure out what they found so interesting, he moved his head to look at himself, finally noting the disconcerting feeling in his arms. He looked up to find them bound above his head to a thick wooden beam. His attempts to tug the hands free was met with failure.

He then looked down, seeing that his feet were bound in the manner. The only difference was that they were surrounded by dozens of pieces of wooden furniture.

For a time, he stared at them. There was a great significance to all this. He was certain of it. Bound hands and legs, a beam on a platform, dry logs surrounding it.

His body shook as he understood. The memory came like a wave crashing over him, drowning him in its terrible knowledge.

He was going to be burned at a stake. And all these people came to watch him die.

He didn’t want to see them, glancing instead to the side. There stood a familiar man of fifty or so, the city lord. Unexpectedly, there was no satisfied grin on his face. Instead, it was full of grim determination mixed with lines of worry and exhaustion. There were even dark rings under his eyes whispering of sleepless nights.

But that didn’t mean he would stop this. One look at the man’s firm stance was enough to know he wasn’t going to change his decision. Even if the whole crowd rioted, he would still kill Iago. It was a necessity for him to have his revenge, find his peace of mind.

The same way Elecar had to kill his family to move on. Sometimes letting go wasn’t an option. You needed to do something to be able to leave the past behind. And killing was always the simplest solution. You remove the perpetrator, so the case is solved. There’s no need to look deeper into the whys and hows of it.

It was a fitting end then. Iago lowered his head, staring at the wood piled under his feet. It was very dry, would burn fast and hot. A small mercy? He didn’t think it made any difference. He was going to be burnt alive.

His body struggled to free itself against his own wishes. He wanted to just close his eyes and let go, but something inside him, the primal part of him, couldn’t just accept death like this. To die without fighting back. Without trying to survive.

But his bonds were done well. And he was so weak, so very weak. That single week of food and rest to make him look more presentable to the crowd had done nothing to return his old strength to him. The rope only cut into his skin, drawing blood.

Still, he struggled.

It elicited many laughs from the crowd. They guffawed and chortled, screaming words he didn’t want to hear. Coward? Traitor? Destroyer? Demon? Monster? Animal? That last one wasn’t so bad. Animals were pretty cute actually. Bastard! Worm! Scum!

The names kept on coming, but no one remembered the ones from before. Where was ‘hero’, ‘saviour’, ‘Lady’s right hand man’? Where were all those names he’d been called his life? How could they just disappear like that? Exchanged with these disgusting mockeries of who he was.

He raised his head to stare back at the crowd, defiant. A torch was thrown to the pile of wood, and it caught fire in a heartbeat. The flames roared to life, licking at his bare feet.

Ignoring the growing pain on the soles of his feet, he watched the people who’d come to his execution. He tried to meet each and every one of their gazes, showing that he was unafraid. One thing that he always had in abundance was pride. He dragged it out now, using it to fortify his resolve.

Whatever happened, he couldn’t break down. Not this time. Not when everyone stood there waiting for his moment of weakness. He was a poor excuse for a hero, little having to do with honour and righteousness, but he was who he was.

Never had he bowed his head in acceptance of defeat before even trying. For all his mistakes and faults, he did everything in his power and accepted his mistakes.

His last task, one he worked for twenty years, was supposed to eradicate Energy Currents. It didn’t happen. He failed, and that failure resulted in the majority of the world being destroyed. So be it, it was his choice. If there was another try, he’d do it all over again. Though, with a bit more reading up on how that particular artefact works.

There was no such thing as going back in time, so he had to live with his choices. Stand by them. He drilled in each person in the square, silently whispering to them of his conviction. What he did, it had to have been done. This time it failed, but next time someone will learn from his mistakes and succeed.

This world didn’t need shapers. They were a blight that destroyed any goodness that might exist in people. Humans weren’t the nicest of creatures on general basis, but given unrivalled power in the natural world, they became absolute monsters. Something that had no right to exist. All of th-

His thought was cut short as he locked eyes with Scorpius. The young man stood in the middle of the crowd, watching him with perplexed expression. There was worry, uncertainty, fear and anxiety, but also a steely determination.

Iago strained to see if he would say anything, mouth any word, but the nosferatu stood still, unmoving. He watched the spectacle with a dispassionate look reserved for forced entertainment. If not for the emotions betrayed by his wrinkled brow and twitching face muscles, Iago would have thought he didn’t care one bit for what happened here.

It didn’t matter if he cared, though. The important part was that he wasn’t going to interfere. Flames had already climbed high enough to lick at Iago’s clothes. They caught fire, and indescribable agony coursed through him. He wriggled, trying to get away from the flames, but he was secured tightly.

There was nowhere to move, nowhere to run. Flames went higher and higher, and it became harder to keep his mouth shut with each passing second. He wriggled like a pierced snake, but it only quickened the fire’s ascent.

Soon, it was too much. He screamed, shouted, cried, and crumbled to pieces. What pride, it held no meaning in this world of heat and pain.

His vain struggles brought him a sense of motion, of fighting, even as he knew them to be useless. Maybe, maybe if he tried harder. The fires might weaken the bonds, and he could escape. Yes, soon, soon. He can do this, just a little bit longer.

But the time never came. The smoke choked him, and his screams subsided. The constant twitching of his body went for a bit longer, but calmed down not long after, too.

In another ten minutes, there were no more signs of life from the flaming beacon in the middle of the square. But the people stayed, watching as the flames devoured the wood, smoke raising up to the clear sky.

By the time the fire went out, there was only a large circle of ashes with blackened bones left on the stage.