His words settle like stone; his silhouette stands against the lamplight, the golden moon casting its glow over him, vast and unyielding, as though he embodies the night itself.
Looking at him, I feel the weight of the starless sky pressing in, daring to lose myself in it.
“What worth is a life if it is not free, but bound in chains to beings who only wish to drain your blood?”
Harmon’s words hang heavy in the cold night air. He is right, and I know it. Still, my chest tightens, a resistance rising in even as if he has read my thoughts, he continues, “Stay with Elena. Wait here, and we will return for you both once everything is ready to unfold.”
I lower my gaze to the uneven stones beneath my boots. The thoughts leave all at once, scattering like ash in the wind.
Wordless. Then, with effort, I force the words out, “Would I play a major role in this mission?”
Before he can answer, I rephrase, more pointedly, “Would they be freed more easily with among you?”
His response cuts as sharply as the blade he once shattered to strike down a false god, the mont when the world needed him most. “Yes.” Yet his eyes don’t shine as they once did; they are false in color. Drained from everything, and his face darkens, as if he would carry sothing heavy on his shoulders.
The word sinks into like iron. Yes. A single truth. No room for evasion; no comfort in doubt.
I turn it over again and again in my head—if I am with them, I am of use. If I stand aside, I am only a coward. My steps pace a circle around him, Harmon’s eyes never leaving the golden moon, as if he searches for sothing there no one else can see.
Ruby. The na itself feels distant and dangerous, yet inevitable. We will ride mountain birds to reach it, and if fortune betrays us—if failure awaits us—I can still retreat. I could take Elena with , save her at least, leave all of this behind. My fists clench hard enough to ache, and in my mind’s eye, Arthur’s face appears—burning and unescapable.
This is a dilemma. A fucking dilemma.
The word echoes in like a curse, and, raking my fingers through my hair, I am restless, as flies skim across my face; each brush of their wings ignites irritation, a small fury feeding the larger one already clawing at .
Minutes pass, thought circling thought until it all spirals back into the sa conclusion. I stop, my breath ragged, my eyes narrowing at Harmon. He hasn’t moved, still gazing upward, searching in that accursed golden moon.
“I’ll go with you.” The words leave heavy, dragging the air from my lungs as they fall. I may regret them; perhaps I already do, but they are spoken, and there is no taking them back.
He does not turn to , not at first. His eyes stay on the moon for five long breaths, as if reluctant to release whatever he sees there.
Then, at last, he lowers his gaze. His face is emptied—eyes hollow, mouth slack—as if he has heard sothing he wished never to hear.
Another breath passes, and his expression shifts, life returning to it; however, his eyes still feel hollow, the spark long lost. He looks at , steadier now, “Then let’s return. You wanted to read sothing for Elena.”
His voice is calm, but I see it—the shadow of Selina crossing his features, the weight of his own mories pressing down like mine—so I walk back, together with him.
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