He hadn't expected the princess's to come calling so quickly. Abigail maybe, but he hadn't.

He supposed it made sense, though.

Charlotte had shown them that she could deliver. Now it was their turn to do the same. All relationships, even those of pure interest, were based on trust.

And trust was built slowly and painstakingly. Link by link.

Between them, well, the forging would be even slower and more laborious. If they ever forged anything at all.

But he had hope.

The man who had knocked on their door stood before them, silent, standing straight and steady, waiting.

He didn't seem to know who they were. For he didn't find it difficult to hold their gaze.

Beyond the suited man, there was a long vehicle waiting for them.

It was called... Desmond didn't know what it was called.

Well, he knew it, he was sure he had heard it several times. But he couldn't remember. The thing is, only the royal family had a vehicle like that.

At least in this part of the world.

If they doubted the veracity of who had invited them, well, there was the proof.

He hadn't doubted for a moment, though.

Abigail had remained silent until now. As if she was waiting for him to say something.

Well, he couldn't blame her.

She had made a decision on the ship. And he had gone against that decision fervently. They were here...on a whim of his. Although whim was a bit of a harsh word, he'd thought it through better than that. But...

But he didn't blame her, is what he meant.

He didn't blame her for not voicing her opinion, if it was a no, when he had ignored her so far.

In fact...

Lately, he'd been challenging her too much.... wasn't he?

"Okay. Let's go."

They went down the stairs, got into the vehicle. The two of them in the back, the man in the black suit and the driver of the vehicle in front.

The vehicle was started.

It didn't matter at all, but, as if to distract himself from more troubling matters, Desmond got to thinking about the name.

What the hell this damn thing was called. He couldn't manage to remember, though.

He was embarrassed to ask.

Didn't want to appear ignorant.

They couldn't see the driver or the other man. There was a wall between them, with a hole in it... a small window, which looked like it could be pushed aside.

They wouldn't listen. And Abigail wouldn't judge him for not knowing.

Still, he preferred not to appear ignorant in front of her.

They could talk about something else.

About... anything... Speaking of not remembering, he couldn't remember what they had been talking about before they were interrupted by the knocking on the door.

Desmond took a deep breath. He put a hand to his chest.

He was nervous, and he needed to calm down. No good came from being nervous.

"Are you all right?" Abigail asked.

"I'm fine. I'm fine." He didn't know why he bothered to lie, when it was so obvious.

Anyway.

"Desmond... maybe this isn't the best time to talk about it. But if you want to," she shrugged, "well, you know I'm always on your side."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"In the capital, I saw you... affected. An expression I've never seen on your face. And your eyes... You were trembling. And you looked like you were seeing something different. Maybe I'm wrong, but I think that's weighing on you, isn't it?"

Desmond opened his mouth. He closed it shortly after.

He was going to say no.

But actually, being honest with himself, he couldn't say no. He wasn't thinking about it.

Not exactly. But... it was like a weight on his mind.

Just like Abigail had said.

Weight.

He was piling on more and more weight. Until he couldn't bear it and would sink, unable to walk any longer, surely.

He should let go of that weight to face what awaited with his full potential.

Easier said than done, though.

"It's silly," Desmond said.

"If it affected you that much and still affects you, it's not silly. I know what I can do for you...is very limited. But I'd like to hear you out."

"It's just... It's really so silly, I'm ashamed for you to even listen to it."

Abigail put her hand over one of his, wrapping it around hers, squeezing. So that was her answer.

Good.

Okay. Okay, then.

Desmond took another deep breath.

"I saw that woman. Do you remember? "It was a rhetorical question, so he went on without waiting for Abigail to answer. "With a child in her arms. What was left of him. Of her... There wasn't much left of her either, but she kept looking for help for her baby. And the sounds. The screams. The roar of the flames. I confused them."

"What do you mean?"

"I mistook them for human beings. It's embarrassing to admit, but I felt guilty. I felt... like I'd done the same thing they did to me ten years ago. But of course they are just animals. They don't count."

Abigail squeezed his hand tighter.

Desmond sank deeper into his thoughts, shrank back, as if fleeing from something, from some creeping truth. She rested both hands on his chin.

"Desmond. Look at me."

He looked at her, of course. Fixedly. Right into her eyes.

He had told her to look, so he had no choice but to look.

She wanted him to listen, so Desmond would listen. Even though he had the feeling"

"On this side of the world and the other, we are all the same."

That he wouldn't like to hear it.

Desmond's breath cut off as if he'd been punched hard in the chest.

He couldn't believe what he had heard. He was still...trying to process it, but surely there was nothing to process, no really, surely he had heard wrong, yes, that was the only explanation, how could it be possible that Abigail of all people would say something like that

those of the empire were nothing more than beasts

animals that had to die like animals it was not possible for them to be equal it did not make any sense for them to be equal

what had happened before had been a mirage in the desert

it made no sense, sense, sense

"That's the truth," Abigail said, very softly.

But still her voice had the strength to crush him.

What was she talking about? They were animals, they had killed

his family

and they were the ones who

had separated him from Abigail in the first place!

What are you talking about?

Nothing was coming out of him. Nothing was coming out of his throat. Like it was sealed. Stuck.

"There is no difference. They both believe they are right. And they both consider their enemy inhuman. But, in reality, there is no difference.

Desmond felt like he was drowning.

He felt like he was falling, falling, falling, falling

through a wind tunnel.

What is this? What is this? What's going on here?

I feel sick, something's wrong, I feel sick, something's wrong.....

Wrong!

"Stop here." It took him several seconds to realize that those words had come from his own throat.

The vehicle kept going, ignoring him.

It didn't matter.

Desmond stepped out of the... whatchamacallit, while it was still moving. Before he knew it he found himself on his knees in the middle of the street. Throwing up in a bush.

The first thing he had found. The only thing he had found, in fact. It was either that or do it in the street, straight up. Well. It's not like he cared. He stopped vomiting. Soon after, however, he retched and vomited again. He was expelling nothing but gastric juices, now. No matter how much he vomited, he didn't feel better. Quite the contrary. Desmond was going from bad to worse and, and, he was in free fall. Yes. That was it.

Hands on his shoulders. He turned around abruptly, alarmed.

So abruptly that his head snapped back. He had to put a hand on the floor, in fact, to keep from falling to the side.

Abigail.

Abigail had exited the vehicle as well, coming after him.

Of course.

The vehicle was behind her. It had stopped as well. And.... around...

People. Murmuring.

Stares that pierced him like knives.

He wanted to be anywhere but here. Any place.

He didn't belong here.

That was what every look and every murmur seemed to say. Desmond didn't belong here or anywhere. And if what Abigail had said was true.... If what she had said was true, then....

They were right, weren't they?

"I'm sorry," Abigail said, "I shouldn't have said anything. Not now."

Desmond was silent.

He had heard very well. Abigail meant it.

He was thinking about what if Abigail was right. But when had he ever questioned whether Abigail was right?

That was out of the question, of course.

Abigail was right.

With a few words, he'd knocked down walls he'd erected brick by brick over the years. Continually expanding them without end.

But they had been torn down so easily, so quickly.

He supposed they had been nothing more than air, after all.

Just hot air.

He was led into the interior of the vehicle. The door was closed behind him. No, them.

And, slowly, then with more speed, the vehicle started up again.

That wasn't helping him much right after he violently vomited, of course. But they weren't going as fast as before, he realized.

They were going slower. Because of him.

But they were going.

"Are the people of the Empire not just animals?" he asked when he mustered the strength to open his mouth.

"No," Abigail said, simply. "I thought you were aware of that. That you were repeating Albion's propaganda to make things easier for yourself. Now I see I was wrong."

"But they... What they did that day ten years ago... No, all the time... They're not..."

"They strike, it's true. They kill a lot of innocent people. They commit atrocities. Albion is no different in that respect."

Desmond shrank back in reaction, as if her words were attacks. He had a knot in his stomach.

He wouldn't vomit again, though. He wouldn't throw up again because he had nothing left to throw up. Not one bit.

"I don't want to hurt you, Desmond. But that's the truth."

"So... what have I been doing all this time? All my life?"

He remembered Laura dying, against the trunk of that tree.

He remembered her poisoned words that before had seemed to him nothing more than the ravings of a hopeless lunatic.

But, if those of the Azure Empire weren't monsters, then she had been right, hadn't she?

And so, he was no more than....

(a monster)

Desmond put his hands to his head, clenching tightly. He began to tremble.

"They're as human as you are," Abigail repeated, "but that doesn't mean you did anything wrong. It's all a matter of perspective. There is no path in life that allows you to be 'just' and not hurt anyone.

"I..."

"They attacked, and you fought back. All the time. The nature of the enemy makes it no less true that this is a war for existence. That it won't end until one side is dead. If it ever ends. You're not a bad person, Desmond. You're not a monster."

"But that woman and her child... And all the people... All the... The innocents... If what you say is true, then I've done nothing but pay back what was done to me. Over and over again."

How many times had he justified himself by telling himself that his enemies were nothing but animals?

Too many. And now those moments were coming back to him in a waterfall.

He was drowning under that waterfall.

"You never had a choice."

"Defeating my enemies, that's the natural thing to do. Self defense. But them, the civilians..."

Abigail gripped his shoulder hard.

So hard that she almost broke it.

"Listen. You have no reason to feel guilty now. You thought the Empire was your enemy, didn't you? That it was a matter of survival? And that all its citizens desire your extermination?"

Desmond nodded his head slowly.

"Well, all those things are still true. So you can breathe easy."

At that he could think only one thing: what was the last time I breathed easy?

——

They were led to the princess.

She was in the throne room, on said throne, proving that for all practical purposes, as much as her title was princess, she was a queen.

Desmond noted that she was alone.

Not a single guard was watching her.

Desmond would say that at least none were visible to the naked eye, but with his skills, he could be sure that there were absolutely none in the throne room. Hiding or not. Of course, that wouldn't have been done at ease. He was sure the princess had had a hard time convincing them to leave them alone. A calculated risk, his mind whispered to him. To make herself look vulnerable. Willing.

But she was dangerous herself. He couldn't forget that, even if she didn't look like it, even if she was even younger than he or her companions. Abigail had told him what she saw the princess do on that shore. How she saved them. She didn't strictly need bodyguards. She could fend for herself.

"I'm glad to see you again. I was worried you were going to leave without looking back."

"You were worried about your kingdom, mostly," Abigail said.

"Yes. Most of all. I have never gone out of my way to hide that fact. I will not force you to show the respect I am accustomed to. In fact, I even find it refreshing. "Charlotte stood up "But I would at least like you to believe my words.... In fact, I thought we were done with that yesterday."

"Why did you call us?" Desmond asked quietly.

He wasn't looking at Charlotte directly.

He was looking rather down at the floor, deep in thought, very quiet.

"In half an hour or so, I'm going out on that balcony," she said, gesturing with her hand, "to make a speech. That was in the plans even before I learned of your existence. I would like you to come with me. To give a different speech. To give us hope. And a demonstration."

"But?"

"But nothing. If you don't think it's a good idea, I'm not going to force you. I don't really have the power to force you anyway. I'd like to, that's all. But it's in your hands. That's what I want. You have about half an hour to make a decision."

He didn't need to glance at Abigail's expression to know that she liked the idea as little as she had liked coming here in the first place.

He wanted to give in to her.

After what he'd been through on the way here, what Abigail had told him....

The least he wanted now was to stand up in front of a huge crowd and feign strength. So he wanted to comply with Abigail's wishes.... wishes he hadn't even checked yet, by looking at her, or through her words because she hadn't said anything yet. Neither outwardly nor inwardly.

But...

He wasn't sure it would be the right decision.

Charlotte had called them and "asked" them for this. So could they really refuse?

He supposed so… Just because they refused to obey his orders once, didn't mean she would relent in her efforts to make use of them for the greater good. So they could decide freely, according to what seemed best to them... And they were, well, two halves of a whole. They had to come to an agreement. But at least they only had to pay attention to their own views and priorities.

That, at least, was now clear to him.

He turned it over in his head.

He felt guilty, but... No matter how many times he turned it over, the answer wouldn't change.

It wouldn't change... what felt right to him.

He looked at Abigail. No, she wasn't happy at all.

He had to... he had to come to terms with that. And move on anyway. For the sake of the present he dreamed of. The present that would also be a blessing for Abigail.

That's right. I'm doing it... all for her...

And I don't have to worry about anything and anyone else.

Desmond could bury too...

He could bury that sunken face, those unseeing eyes, and what was left of the baby whose life he had stolen before it could begin in the dark depths of his mind.

And keep walking forward into the future.

(They're all dead, they're all dead)

(but I'm still here)

(I'm still alive, so...)

Desmond shook his head. Feeling... half dizzy, again. Not to mention that he hadn't managed to get rid of the bad taste in his mouth and throat, even though he rinsed and drank plenty of water before he got here. That didn't help either.

"Okay," Desmond declared. "I'll do it."

Abigail grimaced when he spoke. But at the same time, she didn't look surprised. Desmond felt bad for making her anticipate that he wouldn't listen to her. But at least he wasn't doing this out of selfishness. Quite the opposite, in fact. He could apologize for all this later. In the not too distant future, when they could be happy and at peace, and none of this mattered anymore.

Charlotte smiled.

"I'm glad to hear that. Abigail?"

It annoyed him that Charlotte would say her name so casually. As if Abigail was just some random person. Because she was so much more than just an ordinary person. She was a goddess. She was everything. Desmond was calling her Abigail, now. Not just mother or goddess or some other embarrassing thing. But... Well, he was an exception. Anyway, it was an irrational feeling, one way or another.

His mother simply shook her head in response.

"Okay. So you're okay, then, with doing a demonstration, Desmond? I mean... Can you do it? Just like that. How long would it take... I don't want them to panic, they've seen someone die for real."

"Not long. I'm rested. Batteries recharged. And yes... I'm ready."

Desmond took a deep breath.

"Soon it will be time."

Desmond walked toward the balcony door. He was going to lean his back against it, cross his arms and wait for the moment to come.

However, Abigail stopped him, placing a hand on his chest.

"I understand that you don't want to..." The words died in his throat.

"I'll do it," Abigail said, curtly.

"You? Why?"

She didn't understand. This sudden change of heart. And why she was pushing him out of the way. No time to think.

"Because I am reasonably sure of the limits of your regeneration, and that "the demonstration" shouldn't be a problem. But I'm not one hundred percent sure. I don't have limits. And I'm not a betting person. Not with you, definitely. So I'll do it."

Desmond bit his lip, thinking.

That she would die in front of so many people.

That she would suffer and expose herself for him.

Because he wasn't capable of taking no for an answer.

"If I insist on this, will you?"

Abigail nodded her head.

"There's no way to get you to change your mind?"

She shook her head.

"All right. Then I won't."

"What?" That was Charlotte's reaction, not Abigail's.

Abigail just... seemed to silently accept it.

He turned to the princess.

"I'm sorry, but I can't do this. Not like this."

"But... if you made that decision, it was because you believed... you think, it's the right thing to do. That you agree with me. Don't you?"

"Yes. But there are more important things than the right thing to do."

Charlotte had no answer to that.

She closed her eyes softly, stayed a long time thinking.

"All right. I guess it can't be helped. You can go then."

"I'm glad you're so understanding. Goodbye, your majesty."

Feeling as if perhaps that had sounded like mockery (it hadn't, had it?), he turned and walked out of the throne room accompanied by Abigail, who looked pleased.

Desmond felt out of place among the wide, elegant and ornate corridors of the palace. This was as foreign a world to him as walking the streets of the Empire had been, especially in the capital.

He didn't belong here.

It showed, and everyone he met along the way could see it too. Both important people and servants.

"Desmond?"

"Yes?" He didn't stop walking.

"I didn't expect you..."

"That I would choose you over her? "It sounded like an accusation. He supposed it was, that it was accurate in both directions. "Mom, I... I only think of you. I might not always make the best decisions, but I'm here because I think this will be the best thing. For both of us."

"I know," Abigail replied, softly. "What I wanted to say is... thank you. Thank you for listening to me."

Desmond nodded.

"No. It's not like you listened. You still think I'm wrong, don't you? But you didn't... you just didn't want to see me suffer."

Desmond swallowed.

"That's right."

"I've been suffering for a long time," Abigail said, lowering her voice even more. Desmond wanted to turn around. To look into her eyes, and see what was there, what was in her expression. However, he held back.

For thousands of years, said her voice inside his head. I am used to being hated.

To suffer and die.

"I know. But that doesn't mean you have to suffer. Someone like you doesn't deserve to suffer. You deserve to be happy. And that's what I want to do. That's... all I want to do. "Desmond turned away, suddenly. Abigail was forced to stop so they wouldn't collide with the same abruptness. I..."

He couldn't talk discreetly just anywhere, like Abigail. He grabbed her by one sleeve and dragged her into an unoccupied room, at least temporarily. Desmond closed the door behind them and stood with his hands on the door.

Maybe it would be better this way.

To say what he was going to say, without looking at her.

Yes, probably. Without seeing her expression. Without seeing how she changed. The story she was telling.

"Maybe I'm a madman, a monster who doesn't even deserve to dream of happiness..."

"Desmond. Don't talk about yourself like that. Please."

It might have been easier, but that didn't make it right. It didn't justify his cowardice. Desmond took a deep breath and turned around. He stared into her eyes. Not looking away for an inch.

"I may not deserve it," Desmond said, "but you do. And I won't rest until it comes true. I may not be a good person. But I at least want to be able to repay you for what you did for me."

Even if that was the only thing of value he could achieve in life, at least he needed that.

To stay sane.

A goal, a mission to follow.

At least he needed that.

"When I saved you that day, I did it because I wanted to be saved myself. I wanted and still want this pain to end."

Desmond felt uncomfortable.

He already knew that. He was satisfied with that, it explained why he of all people had been saved, while so many others had died. That is, for no particular reason. He had been lucky.

He was satisfied with that. But he didn't want or need to hear about it again.

It was no use. And it made him... uncomfortable.

He didn't want to hear about it anymore. He had heard more than enough. But Desmond clearly had no choice in the matter.

"But it's in the past." Abigail put a hand on his shoulder, gently. "Listen to me. Listen to me. I care about you. You want me to be happy? I want you to be happy. I don't know how to do that, for too long, I've only really cared about myself. But I want to try. And I want to..."

Never had he seen her so vulnerable. Insecure.

"I want to start by not talking about yourself like that. Please, Desmond, you've done nothing wrong. You're not to blame... for anything. Okay?"

Unable to look away, as if mesmerized, Desmond nodded.

He had always viewed himself in a bad light. He had kept going, kept running, for the sake of a past that was like heavy chains. For revenge. For love.

These were all external motivations, not motivations connected solely to himself. He himself was not enough.

Because he was nobody.

He was... a walking corpse.

Still, he believed that he could do what she wanted. Not for himself, of course. But for Abigail and the concern in her eyes.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, mom. I promise you. With all my strength.”