She was still something of a peacekeeper, really. By killing thieves, she was stopping later battles—some common folk died as well, but it just meant she wouldn’t have to come back later. It wasn’t that she disregarded those lives lost, but she couldn’t exactly linger on them. She’ll pay for her crimes at the end of this—tenfold the pain or more, she imagined, if hell was half as torturous as they say. It wouldn’t be much different from her life here, at any rate, given that this kind of existence was its own kind of hell.

It was haphazard, but Jasper knew it was the best she could do. Her group wasn’t very long, all things considered—it varied from an army to a small force. The largest she could remember it being was right after Letrela’s conquests led to the fall of a nation, where the most people saw that humanity was corrupt; during times of relative peace, people were more willing to believe that the flaws of mortals simply…didn’t exist. It was frustrating, to say the least, considering that she had to rely on others in order to give a painless death to anyone.

They were traveling to the next closest town at night; Jasper led them with vague knowledge of the direction they were going, with an actual guide walking next to her who could correct her. She heard someone walking a bit quicker to catch up, cast a quick glance behind her, and noticed one of the people she had assigned to watch for her old friend.

Jasper spoke without looking at him. “Anything exciting? I didn’t want to hear from you for another few days.”

The man spoke cautiously—which wasn’t exactly rare, given that they seemed to think she could murder them if she stared disapprovingly at them for long enough, but it was a certain tone the group only used when they knew she wouldn’t be pleased. “That group’s heading in this direction,” the man said.

“How far behind you?” Jasper asked.

“A few days,” he replied. He continued a bit hesitantly. “And—don’t get mad at me for this, but—letters are starting to be sent out with your name on them, ma’am.”

Jasper stopped walking, prompting everyone behind her to do the same after a few steps. She looked at the two people next to her. Calmly, she asked, “Do either of you have a knife I can borrow for a moment?” The one acting as a guide slowly took out a knife and gave it to her; letting out a frustrated noise, she ran the edge of the blade down her forearm just so she didn’t stab anyone else.

Ultimately, only the sleeve of her dress was harmed. As she turned to face the group behind her, she hid the knife and her arm so they couldn’t see that there was no blood. It barely even hurt, but very few imagined that she was more than a mortal being. Looking at the crowd, she still maintained something of a calm tone.

“Who said my name?” Jasper asked. She grew a bit more cynical as her mind continued to travel down its dark path. “Who said the one thing I’ve only mentioned once or twice to any of you? You’re being thanked, by the way—now the last person I’ll see before I die knows where I am! Excellent; perfect, really.” She deteriorated into something of a laugh, the situation almost feeling absurd.

No one answered her, but likely for good reason—at least one person was taking out a weapon in anticipation for her order. She had told them not to share her name—she only said it once to everyone, except for people she was particularly close to—and one of them did. She knew that, as soon as they heard, they would come. She knew it, and she was still enough of an idiot to share her name at all.

Jasper took a steadying breath and faced forward again. “…Very well, then. Feel free to leave if you won’t say it now; it won’t save you from judgment for your deeds, but at least you won’t have to deal with mine. All that means is that the rest of you have to be on the lookout. We’ll keep moving until we’re farther ahead.” She looked at the person who was initially sent out to watch the other group, saying, “Go back and tell me if they ever get less than a day behind us.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the man replied. He left from the rest of the group.

They kept on going until they made it to the next town; the group didn’t have any protests when Jasper ordered them to attack the town once they got there. Even for a place where thieves lived, they didn’t seem to fight—given the time, they probably didn’t think they would need to. It was more-or-less a massacre, but at this point Jasper was satisfied with that as long as it got the job done.

After killing all of the people who woke up and came outside, a majority of the group slipped into houses to sleep—the others joined them once the corpses were put in a place where they didn’t have to deal with them until morning, if at all. Jasper simply stood outside of the houses, being able to repair her dress with a mere thought—it was, after all, still a part of her form.

Jasper wasn’t quite ready to die; she had been evading it for so long, taking a form she never asked for, that it was a foreign concept. To a certain extent, she feared that whatever greeted her after death would be terrible—but she also knew, to that same extent, that she deserved every piece of that torture. She wondered if they still feared death; they did during those first few years, but it grew into caution after a while. She would fight them if she could, but she knew that if they had people with them, she was more likely to fall—even if their forms were weaker than a mortal’s, she would still be unable to push a weapon through the area of the heart or head.

She would find out what death felt like soon enough. And when that came…she’ll have to accept it. She held on to the belief that Iztris would be the last person she saw before she died.