“I don’t get it. It’s been two hours since breakfast was served, and we’re still not going.” Lem grumbled. “I’m done walking. Really am. The sooner we’re in that damn camp the better.”

Solera brushed his hand along the stone floor. They had found Helga’s body. They had seen Jumpy’s gauntlet. So why were they taking so long? An uncomfortable feeling crept down Solera’s spine.

“Oh, we’re leaving. Thank kismet.” Lem laughed as he stood up. “I wonder what the food there would be like. And the girls.”

Solera got up, releasing a deep breath as he did. All his worries vanished. They were going! They had bought his story, or made up one of their own. Whatever it was, now the rest of the journey could proceed in peace. No more Jumpy to kill people. No more Jakovich to rape people. And it had all been because of him, who had done what nobody else would or could do.

They were led through the thin, spidery tunnels going through the heart of the mountain and down ropes which dangled for a hundred meters until they reached the ground. The moment Solera’s feet touched solid, he looked back up. The tunnels were all but invisible again.

“Get a move on!” A soldier snapped, his gauntlet pointed straight at Solera.

Although he was taken aback, Solera quickly hurried into the line of moving prisoners. Next to him, the river was flowing down at speed, coated with whitewater foam from the constant clashing of water and rock. This was the river he had thrown Jumpy into. With that kind of force, his body should be several hundred kilometers away by now.

“Down! Sit down!” Another channeler directed prisoners into a crescent formation by the river. Solera looked at the crescent blankly. The sinking feeling in his stomach immediately returned, five times stronger than it had been before.

Standing by the river’s edge, in front of all the prisoners, was Rasmurnov and his specialized channelers. In front of him were two tarpaulins draped across the ground. Solera stared at them dumbfoundedly. Surely, those couldn’t be…

“On your knees!” A channeler brusquely shoved Solera forward, causing him to sink down.

As if he was a statue, Rasmurnov stood silently in front of the two canvasses as the prisoners were organized, his hands clasped behind his back. His face was more unreadable than it had ever been before.

All the prisoners knelt there silently. Behind them was a second, shallower crescent made up of Tornado sect channelers. The seconds dragged by, like sticks through mud. Though the river roared by in front of them, Solera felt it was the silence that was deafening.

“They say.” Rasmurnov unclasped his hands from behind his back to take on a ramrod straight standing position. “They say these clouds didn’t exist before the First War. Our western continent was the eastern continent back then, with the continent of Heaven being the center of the world.”

He tossed a smooth rock up and down with his ungauntleted hand. Solera looked at it, his eyes slowly growing bloodshot. It was the rock he had thrown at Jumpy when he had first attacked.

“Of course, the war happened, and the ocean of Heaven not too far west of us is impassable now. Some of you may have seen the ocean for yourself. Calm. Tranquil. Everywhere. But the storms lie beyond the horizon. The monsters lie beneath the surface.”

Rasmurnov brought his hand back to his side. The rock fell through the air and bounced several times across the ground.

“Men are like the ocean of Heaven. Calm on the surface, mad beyond belief everywhere else. It is clearer to those of us in the Tornado sect. The stormclouds blow in from the ocean year round, striking us with lightning and deluging us with rain. The rain makes rivers throughout our mountains. They run north through Eden to form the Azurejade Lakes in the Verdant Empire, south to form several oases in the Golden Deserts, and southeast to form Lake Avalon in Camelot. These rivers and lakes are symbols of that which works against us, of our endless tribulation. The mountains our resilience.”

He flipped a tarp open, revealing a mangled body battered beyond recognition, drenched in a puddle of its own making. Solera’s heart began to wildly thump.

“A man died tonight, his body thrown into this nameless river. I found him stuck against some branches several kilometers downstream.” Rasmurnov bent down and hoisted the body into an upright position. He grabbed the mess of black strands which Solera knew was Jumpy’s hair and tilted the drooping head up so everyone could clearly see the ruined face. The fall and the river had rendered it a formless mass of disfigured flesh.

“His name was Jumpy.” Rasmurnov let go of the body, letting it drop limply to the floor. “And her name was Helga. Both killed by someone who is harmless on the surface, but a monster everywhere else.” He removed the other tarpaulin, revealing Helga’s body. Apart from the faint shock remaining in her eyes, she seemed to be in pristine condition. As if she could sit up at any moment. Solera knew, however, that the injury was on the back of her skull. She would never sit up again.

“I am not a religious man. Quite the opposite. But even the most uncultured member of the Tornado sect knows the proper way, the respectful way, and even the sensible way to cover up a murder is to throw the body down one of the many deep, dark ravines in the area.” Rasmurnov threw the canvasses back onto the bodies and stood up.

“So let’s keep this simple and quick. Turn yourself in, murderer. I am a fair man, and will administer the judgment my directive designates.”

Blood roared through Solera’s head with more force than the current behind Rasmurnov. He had been seen through, and now the channelers were out for blood!

He was the one who had killed the both of them. He needed to turn himself in. Otherwise, all his fellow prisoners would suffer Rasmurnov’s punishment!

Right now, Rasmurnov did not in any way seem incompetent. Rather, his expressionless gaze made him seem like a sadistic demon! Due punishment? A fair man? Solera felt bitterness in his heart. What a load of bullshit. Who knew what kind of unearthly torture Rasmurnov had in store for him? Still, he had to do it. He would just be prolonging everyone’s suffering otherwise.

“It was me.” A voice rang out. It was not Solera’s.

His eyes widened. They flicked to the one who had stood up. It was the old man who had slept by him last night! Had he noticed Solera’s disappearance and connected the dots?

Rasmurnov’s gaze swept past Solera to land on the old man, several meters to Solera’s left. “Is that so.”

Solera stared in complete shock. This old man, he was willing to die to protect him! He was dying in place of Solera! What this meant... was that Solera had essentially killed this man!

“That’s right!” The old man snarled. “Those two were the worst of you bastards. Especially that one, beating little girls and incinerating young men. You’ve done a fine job, commander. A fine job raising these depraved things who call themselves human. I did the world good when I sent them to Sky, where they belong.”

Although Solera was in turmoil upon hearing these words, grateful for the old man’s sacrifice and also guilty beyond words, Rasmurnov’s expression did not change once as he listened to the old man’s tirade. He held out his hand. A specialized handed him a short knife.

“Very well, then. The punishment is death. Bring him here.”

Another specialized rolled a tree trunk over to Rasmurnov’s feet. Several Tornado sect members roughly dragged the old man to the stump.

Solera felt extremely bitter. He would live, but only because another would die in his place! He keenly regretted his decision to kill Jumpy. It had led to the death of a man much better, much wiser than him. But now that the situation was what it was, he could only accept it.

A specialized pressed the old man’s head into the stump. The blade danced across Rasmurnov’s agile fingertips. Solera watched, his eyes glued to the old man’s graying hair. Though he had never learned the old man’s name, he would never forget his face. Never forget his sacrifice. He would watch the old man die for him. Looking away would be the ultimate disrespect.

“Any last words?” Rasmurnov loomed over the man, his emotionless eyes gazing down indifferently.

The old man twisted his head to the side so he could speak. “Fuck you and fuck everyone.”

The specialized lifted the head up and mashed it back into the stump. Rasmurnov’s knife descended onto the old man’s neck. It pressed into his skin and moved back and forth, sawing deep into his neck. A pang of bitter guilt shot across Solera’s face. The old man was truly dead now. Because of him.

Blood sprayed everywhere, spattering Rasmurnov’s black clothing and the specialized’s hand. The knife continued sawing. The old man’s entire body trembled, each heartbeat sending out another geyser of blood.

A grating sound emitted as the knife carved into the wood. Rasmurnov extracted the knife out and flicked the blood off. He took out the rag he had used to clean the whip to wipe the knife. The somber, dead silence returned. Even the river’s noise seemed to have dulled. Stony expressions could be seen on every prisoner present.

Rasmurnov finished cleaning the knife and handed it back to the specialized behind him. He grabbed the old man’s head and lifted it up into the air.

“Look upon this head.” Rasmurnov slowly moved his arm to display it to everyone. “It is the head of a criminal.”

Blood dripped out of the old man’s neck. All the light had left his eyes. His face truly showed no signs of the life that had only been there seconds ago.

“His crime was lying to me.”

Rasmurnov turned around and tossed the head into the river.

“Until the real killer confesses, a random prisoner will be chosen to die every morning. Now get a move on.”