191

191
Lester pov

The first thing I smell is smoke. Not the one that warms a camp and not the one that curls from a kitchen chimney in the morning, heavy with the promise of bread. This is the other type - bitter, greedy, one that eats.

I stare out across what’s left of the village - bones, soot, blackened beams that used to hold up walls. Ash drifts like snow, catching in my lashes. It coats everything - my boots, coat and even my lungs.

Even the wind tastes like fire. No one speaks behind me, the scouts know better than to ask questions so they stand like statues at the tree line, as if proximity to my silence might rot them too.

I step forward, the crunch under my boot is sharp - not wood or dirt. I look down and the corner of my mouth twitches. It’s bone I’ve stepped on - small and definitely human, maybe even a child.

The sound it makes is sickening so I add more weight onto the bone and look around myself just to see that I’m standing in the middle of a grave no one dug.

He was here, that’s the part that burns the worst. Arvin was here, damn it.

They saw him - a week ago, ten days, maybe, but that doesn’t matter. Time means nothing anymore, not since the bond was severed and the quiet crept in and stayed.

Ever since his voice vanished from the inside of my skull like it was never there at all everything has changed and life in itself doesn’t matter to me anymore. At least not like it used to many ages ago.

He was here - that’s all that matters.

They described him as a boy - pale, cold, shaking like a scared little rabbit. Some of the survivors claim he asked for food and shelter but didn’t stay long and didn’t say more than necessary.

Arvin didn’t speak much.. Hearing that was like a dagger to my heart that refuses to beat unless he’s around me and it hurts worse than anything. Not his silence, but what it means, because Arvin was never truly quiet.

At least not with me, not really. Even when he was angry, he was loud, even in the way he bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from yelling. How he cursed under his breath when he thought I wasn’t listening. He had a thousand ways of speaking, even when he didn’t say a word.

But not now, not anymore. He’s not speaking because there’s no one left to listen.

I keep walking until I notice something in the distance and get closer to it, then stop. The well is half-collapsed, a body leans against the stones, charred down to the shape of a question mark. One arm is melted into the brick, the other still clenched in a fist, holding something scorched and small.

One of the scouts crouches down beside me, not too close. “My Prince… there’s something in his hand.”

I shoot him a glare and he flinches but what did he expect, I have eyes too, I can see it very clearly, there’s no need to act like I’m blind or stupid. “Then take it out,” I say.

He swallows, then reaches in with a blade, prying it loose. It’s a scrap of paper, still intact, somehow, protected by the curled fist of someone who died trying to keep it safe. The ink is smeared, the edges singed, but I can still read it.

He’s not yours.

My vision goes white, I don’t say anything, I just stare at it.

I keep reading the note over and over again until I break and rage blinds me. I kill the scout with my bare hands. I don’t bother to do it cleanly, not in the same manner I do in war or how I used to do - with blade and control.

No, this time it’s loud, driven by raw rage. This is fingers to throat, pressing, pressing, pressing until he stops moving, until his mouth opens but nothing comes out, until the blood vessels burst in his eyes and he goes slack under me.

My men watch and say nothing because they know this isn’t about Tavin. It’s about Arvin, fuck, it’s always about Arvin.

After I drop the body, I sit beside what’s left of the fire pit and light it again. I don’t need the warmth of the fire, but I need the flame to trigger my memory. Then, I throw the damned note into the fire and watch it burn into nothingness.

And as I watch the fire, I say his name. Once. Twice. A hundred times, until the name no longer sounds like a word, only a promise.

At night, I manage to fall asleep and dream of him. He’s not the man I knew - his eyes are pitch black, his mouth is stained red and his hands glow with something that isn’t magic but feels like it, something older, and something so very wrong.

He doesn’t run from me, only watches me from close by. Then, he smiles, the look on his face twisted and foreign as he whispers, “why didn’t you let me go?”

For the first time in my lifetimes, I wake up screaming.

As the next morning comes, my scouts find another note. I read it three times before the words make sense. “You should’ve let me go.”

It breaks something inside me that I didn’t think was still intact and I laugh. Gods help me, I laugh, but the sound leaves me like glass is being forced down my throat.

When I finally calm down, I toss the note away and burn the village. I finish what I started the day before, letting the flames swallow what’s left of it still.

My men try to stop me, one of them puts a hand on my shoulder, I don’t look at which one, I just break his fingers to get his fucking hand off me. Nobody but Arvin can touch me.

“Let it die,” I whisper. “All of it. If he touched it, it’s mine. And if it’s mine, it burns.”

Once there’s nothing but the ash left, I command my men to keep moving and in no time, the day passes and we find caves where we lay for the night.

I spend the entire time laying, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. I might have fallen asleep, might have not, but when I blink and look to my side, Theos is sitting near me, or I think he is, but it’s hard to tell these days if what I see is real or not.

“You look like hell,” he says.

I blink. “You’re not real.”

“No,” he agrees. “But I’m the only one who’ll listen.”

“Go away.” I grumble and look away.

“Can’t,” he says. “You called me.”

I snort out a laugh, “I didn’t call anyone.”

“You did. Every time you said his name, you called all of us.” Theos, or the illusion of him insists.

I close my eyes and release a shuddering breath before I whisper, “what do I do now?”

Theos tilts his head. “Find him.”

“I’ve been trying.” I hiss through gritted teeth.

The old fool only chuckles and mutters. “Then try harder.”