The smoke lingered, thick and choking, curling low to the ground as if trying to bury the aftermath. It clung to everything—stone, ash, skin. The scent of blood layered over it, sharp and metallic, impossible to ignore.
Aiden's hand pressed to his ribs, where pain still throbbed dully beneath the half-cauterized gash. He winced, but didn't stop moving—just kept looking.
The camp was silent now.
And smaller.
The old man was gone. So was the archer.
They hadn't mattered much to him. He'd met them what—two-three hours ago? One was half-drunk and gruff, the other barely spoke. He couldn't even recall if she'd looked him in the eye.
Still... there she was. Crumpled. Face tilted toward the sky, limbs awkward, blood pooled beneath her like spilled ink.
Aiden stared a moment longer, then looked away.
He wasn't from here. These weren't his people.
But the image stuck anyway.
His gaze shifted to Lyanna.
She was moving quickly now—toward the cluster of wounded near the edge of the scorched camp. Her face carried something he hadn't seen before. Not frustration, not command—panic. Sharp and unfiltered.
The most human he'd seen her.
Aiden watched as she reached Selina first—still unhurt, at least physically. Her clothes were singed, face streaked with soot, but she stood on her feet, eyes clear. Lyanna barely paused, exchanged a few quick words, then moved on.
It was the next person that stopped her.
A young man—closer to her age—lay crumpled on the ash-streaked ground. His skin was pale, blood staining the front of his torn tunic.
Lyanna dropped to her knees beside him. Her hands were shaking as she pulled him up into her arms.
They spoke—quietly, closely. Aiden couldn't hear from this distance. He didn't need to.
Whatever they said belonged to them.
The other two injured had also survived.
One was the man Aiden had noticed tending to his own wounds earlier — clearly a medic of some kind. The second was a woman, her armor scorched and skin blotched red from burns. She sat slumped near a collapsed pile of blackened bedding, breathing shallow but alive.
Aiden shifted his weight, wincing as pain flared across his ribs. The wound still throbbed — sharp and deep — but manageable, for now.
He moved anyway.
Slow, deliberate steps carried him toward the unnamed woman — the one he had helped during the chaos. His thrown blade had torn her attacker open, but what happened after that... he wasn't sure. The battle blurred fast.
And honestly, he hadn't cared enough at the time to look back.
That, more than anything, was why he went to check now.
Not out of guilt. Not even out of concern.
But because it bothered him — the not knowing.
He found her kneeling in the dirt, one knee down, blade resting against her thigh. Her face was smeared with soot and blood, but she met his gaze when he stopped beside her.
Silent.
Alive.
Aiden gave a faint nod. Nothing more.
She didn't nod back.
But that was enough.
In front of her lay a problem —
an enemy survivor.
The same one Aiden himself had wounded earlier.
Aiden's gaze met the unnamed woman's.
"What happened?" he asked, voice low.
"He... capitulated," she responded slowly, her sword still resting loosely in her hand.
She shifted slightly and faintly pointed to the left, where another man knelt — barely holding himself together.
Wait a second... that's the one who stabbed me.
He's still standing after that?
Two survivors.
Both of them too broken to fight.
But alive.
I don't have much to say about this.
I still need to deal with the soul gathering thing — but after that window stunt in front of everyone, Lyanna's going to want answers.
I need to know how rare powers are around here...
If it's uncommon enough, I can pass it off as my ability.
Aiden's gaze drifted toward Lyanna.
She was approaching now, her steps heavy.
She had just finished speaking with the wounded — and from the look twisting her face, she had noticed the prisoners too.
She reached them, slowing slightly at the sight of the kneeling men.
"They surrendered?" she asked, her voice tight.
The woman at Aiden's side — answered coldly:
"Does it matter? We should just finish them."
"Vaena, we..." Lyanna started, but the words faltered halfway out.
"What?" Vaena snapped, cutting her off sharply.
"Don't tell me you want to spare them!"
"No... but... we could take prisoners," Lyanna said — but even she didn't sound convinced.
"Prisoners?! We can barely keep ourselves alive!" Vaena barked, voice sharp with anger.
"We've got maybe two people left who can even stand.
One of them can't hurt a fly," she spat, glancing toward Selina.
"And the other..." her eyes flicked to Aiden, "isn't even our ally."
Her words sliced through the smoky air.
Painfully true.
Lyanna's main arm was injured — badly enough that fighting would be reckless.
The rest were barely able to breathe without collapsing.
And Aiden —
Aiden was running on stubbornness and a sword wound through his ribs.
It really was just them — and two battered enemies still breathing.
Us or them.
"You're right..." Lyanna said at last, her voice quiet — almost numb.
Her face twisted with disgust at what she was about to do.
Her sword slid from its sheath, held now in her non-dominant hand.
But before she could take a step, a hand rose behind her.
"Can I offer to do it instead?" Aiden asked.
She turned, startled.
Even Vaena blinked, visibly thrown off.
"Why?" Lyanna asked flatly, suspicion creeping into her tone.
"Oh, come on," Aiden replied, his voice oddly casual.
"You clearly don't want to do it. Let me spare you one more nightmare."
His tone was calm — almost too calm. Confident in a way that didn't quite fit the moment.
But beneath it, something else simmered.
There's something I need to test.
Something personal.
Lyanna stared at him for a second longer.
She wasn't sure what it was — the way he stood, how he spoke, how he looked at the prisoners — but something about Aiden felt off.
Even after saving them, something about him didn't sit right. A stranger who threw himself into the fight, offered to do their dirty work, and stood over corpses with a stillness that was hard to read. He hadn't mourned. Hadn't hesitated. He'd killed with ease — and now he was asking to kill again.
What was his motive?
No one knew where he'd come from—just that Selina had given him a job. And even then, she hadn't really explained why him.
His movements were too clean. His reactions too fast. His eyes too still.
It was like he wasn't... normal.
Not just in the way he fought, but in the way he existed.
Lyanna exhaled slowly, chest tight with uncertainty.
But still, she lowered her blade.
"Just... make it quick," she muttered, stepping back.
Took you long enough.
Aiden bent down and picked up one of the fallen blades — not his, not even a clean one. Just steel soaked in dry blood. He stepped toward the first prisoner — a middle-aged man, hardened from experience, but with fear plainly etched across his face.
As Aiden neared, the man's breath quickened. His eyes darted, calculating, pleading.
"Wait! You don't need to do this! We can talk!" he said hastily, throwing a trembling arm up as if that would stop the blade. His legs were ruined — running wasn't even an option.
Aiden paused.
Not out of mercy. Not because the man's words reached him.
But because something inside him twisted — something off.
He waited for guilt to show up.
It didn't.
No cold sweat. No nerves. Not even revulsion.
Just a silent, gnawing absence.
He should be questioning this.
He should be sickened.
He should feel something — anything.
But he didn't.
And that terrified him more than the blood he was about to spill.
The blade moved — swift, practiced. Too practiced.
Steel parted flesh, and with it, life.
The man's head hit the dirt with a sickening thud. The body collapsed soon after, painting the earth in shades of red.
And Aiden just stood there.
Not numb. Not shocked.
Just... still.
He stared at his blood-streaked hands. His breath remained even.
His heart didn't race. His fingers didn't tremble.
He felt nothing.
And then a single, brutal thought rose like a scream inside his mind:
If I'm not feeling guilt... not even now...
Then maybe I didn't just become a killer in this world.
Maybe I came into it as one.
His gaze shifted to the last prisoner — the one he'd already wounded in the chaos of battle.
A deep ache flared in Aiden's ribs as he moved, the pain reminding him exactly who had caused it.
The man.
Younger.
Eyes wide.
Tears threatening to spill.
The man saw him coming and didn't even try to run — just pressed himself back, one hand feebly raised in defense.
"Please…" he whispered.
He pleaded?
Aiden's fingers tightened around the hilt of the blade.
It always came to this, didn't it?
They'd be monsters until they were on the ground — bleeding, helpless.
And then they became victims.
Then they cried.
Then they begged.
Then they tried to shift the guilt onto him.
But if Aiden hadn't acted—
If he had fallen—
Wouldn't this same man be standing over his body right now?
Wouldn't he have struck the same way?
His arm moved. The blade thrust forward, clean and fast.
He didn't pull it out.
The man slumped forward, blood seeping around the steel lodged in his chest.
Still nothing.
No rush of regret.
No tremble of doubt.
No heat in his chest.
Just... silence.
And for the first time, fear did rise — not of the enemy, not of the world, but of himself.
Why?
Who Am I?
Was I really already a killer? Even before I got here?
Is this place—
—my punishment?
He stared at the corpse.
Who was I, before ending up here?
I need to know…
"Aiden."
The voice behind him made him flinch, just slightly.
Selina.
How long I stood here?
Her tone was soft. Worn down.
Exhausted.
"We're preparing to leave. Are you coming?"
She didn't say anything about what she saw. Didn't ask about the blood.
Just... stood there. Waiting. Her eyes downcast.
Aiden didn't answer right away.
Everyone around him was moving with slow, heavy purpose.
Lyanna and Vaena each supported one of the injured. The medic walked on his own, barely steady but upright.
That left Selina — and possibly Aiden — to carry what little gear remained.
Not that there was much. Most of it had burned.
I... should go.
Yes. I need... something. A direction.
"Yes, I'm going," he answered, forcing his tone to sound firm.
There was no longer any need to tie him up.
Trust — or something like it — had been earned, at least from Selina.
Maybe even from Lyanna.
The others? Too hard to read just by looking.
But before they moved, Aiden needed confirmation.
"Are there any reserves for transport?" he asked.
Selina nodded and gestured to a single satchel slung over her shoulder.
Small. Pathetically so.
"I see…"
That's a problem.
We're traveling light — too light. If not for the injured, we wouldn't be bringing anything at all.
He waited. Waited until everyone was focused on their own tasks.
Until no eyes were on him.
Then, in a whisper:
"Open."
The blue window shimmered into existence — smaller than usual.
Quieter. As if responding to his intent to stay unnoticed.
He navigated quickly to the Soul Gallery.
The screen shifted, filling the space with small glowing squares.
More were filled now.
Po, as always.
Then five more — the ones Aiden had killed, either in battle or after it.
And one more.
Harven.
Aiden stared at it.
The soldier souls were small — almost flickering. They varied, but none were significant.
Po was larger — noticeably.
Above average, if this system even had a standard.
But Harven...
Harven's soul was nearly twice Po's size.
He didn't know what that meant — not yet.
But it meant something.
"Aiden!"
He flinched, snapping his gaze up.
Lyanna's voice — sharp, from behind.
"Close," he whispered, and the window vanished in an instant.
Please tell me she didn't see.
She didn't act like she had. Her face was unreadable.
"You're up front," she said simply, already turning back to the others.
Aiden exhaled.
Fine. Let's walk. Let's move with the elves.
Maybe they have shelter. Maybe they don't.
Either way... I need sleep.