As Haldane stumbled through the red forest, a slow sinking realization was settling in his stomach. The berries, miraculously, had rallied enough of his mental faculties to walk into the red forest without making his perceptions spin on a swivel. However, something was not right. His vision was slowly narrowing to a pinhole, tilting slightly from side to side as though he was walking on a rocking ship. Bitter bile was scraping at the back of his throat. This sickness was not like the symptoms that plagued him when in the red forest. More than likely it had to be the berries, something with the dosage. Or perhaps the essence of the berries were synergizing with his fever. Haldane wiped the sweat from his brow, hot to the touch. While at the same time his whole body was raked with a paradoxical chill. Antipyretic, possibly. Dumping in more coal to burn the fever out.

Far out of view, the extermination had already commenced. Gunshots and the faint pounding of field cannons resounded throughout the forest. Haldane had to move quicker, yet the roots kept tripping him up in his haste, not that he could move faster than a pathetic stumble.

To make the situation worse, the surrounding bone-white trees started warping like oil in water, bending impossibly without fracturing, leaves expanding and multiplying to a dizzying amount, a jungle’s worth. Haldane blinked, then all the leaves were a pale shade of blue. His mouth was dry, tasted bitter. The ground felt like nothing under his boots rather than the spongy give of wet dirt. The gunshots, the cannon fire, came from all directions. No way of pinpointing the exact location of the sounds. He placed a hand on a tree to steady himself, take a moment to breathe; the rough bark felt like razors on his palm. He pulled his hand away.

His mind was sluggish, thoughts lurching forward at the pace of molasses. The hallucinations were getting particularly bad when he started seeing that severed hand was back in its rightful place. When he rubbed the thumb and forefinger of his severed hand, it looked and felt so real. Haldane knew it was whatever substance from the berries playing tricks on his mind. If he tried to clasp both hands together, his one real hand would only pass through a mirage. Rationally he understood that, yet the subjective was overpowering his objective. That hand was real in his mind, so solid and tangible he did not question its miraculous return. It just felt good to be whole again.

Haldane pressed forward without a bother, unaware that he was now simply wandering aimlessly. The throbbing from his stump was gone, replaced with the bliss of a whole hand that did not constantly hurt. He wandered for a while like that.

There, in the trees. Haldane crouched low, gazing up with curious yet frightful fascination. The things in the canopy appeared like large cotton balls caught in the branches from some mighty gust of wind.

No. That’s not right.

Something was teeming all over those white structures.

Humans?

He had to know, caution be damned. At the base of those trees, something was brewing in what appeared to be cauldrons. Flames were licking the bottom of the cauldrons, and when he blinked he was back there, at the Arklay Mountains, on Hadley’s Peak. Mud sloughed underneath his boots. The rain was pouring in torrential sheets. And those things…

Those things should have not been there. Those things were supposed to be dead on that peak. Haldane made sure of that. His company made sure of that. And from that day on he did everything within his abilities to prevent such an event from happening ever again. Whatever those beasts were brewing in those cauldrons, Haldane had to stop.

He yanked out the flintlock pistol from its holster and fired at one of the cauldrons. Its red viscous contents spilled out, coming into contact with the flames, igniting like he had never seen before. The crimson substance burned taller, brighter, stronger than kerosene. Although the cauldrons were placed far apart, the resulting explosion managed to spread to the others, creating a chain reaction of destruction. It splattered onto those beasts like wax, burning them like wicks as they shrieked. The trees and leaves were good tinder for incineration.

“What happened? What happened!”

“It’s that damned Hospitaller!”

Those cravenous backstabbers!”

As the crimson substance continued to consume and burn and rendered anything it touched to ash, Haldane laughed triumphantly. He laughed until his stomach hurt. He came into the red forest to preserve as much of its biodiversity as possible, and now he had unintentionally started a wildlife. The irony was terrific. He wanted to weep into his hands. But it was a necessary sacrifice. He understood Cutter now. He realized he would do anything to protect his brothers, to protect that settlement, to protect the empire.

May the fire burn the way, and may the light guide our path forward.

Haldane was at peace, even as the arrows shot into his chest. He felt no pain, only a heightened state of serenity. And as he fell to the ground, bleeding out on the dry grass, all he could think of while his consciousness faded was that he had served his order well, sacrificed everything for his brother. His only regret was that he could not deliver Potash’s letter to his fiancee. He could only hope that his brother would forgive him, if he ever met him again.