I squatted, lifting my hands up in surrender. "Hey." I called softly, looking over my shoulder again and again. They weren't here yet. I looked again. They hadn't arrived yet. But for how long?
We couldn't stay here that long!
"It's alright now. It's over! I—I swear, I won't do anything. I swear! Please. Please let me through!" Sweat fell from my face like rain. We—
Were taking too long!
Edward's sacrifice, it couldn't be for nothing! I'd go home and take my place as Heir no matter who shamed me!
I wouldn't forget. I couldn't! He died. And I was living.
I didn't want to force them. Scare them. Step over their bones and kill them—
But the door creaked. And widened, frightened eyes peeked—
My fingers twitched. I stilled them. If I moved any farther, they'd leave me.
"Are there no more sur—vivors?" The words strangled in my throat. Survivors? In that? My tongue was like ash in my mouth.
One small boy shook his head warily. And watched me from beneath greasy bangs. "There's no one else." He flinched from my gaze. "We—we checked. While you were f-fighting."
My jaw clenched. Certainly, it wasn't me. Surely I hadn't killed that many.
My hands shook.
No. I didn't kill these kids.
The bodies littered the ground like snow; the blood and guts dripping en masse. Adults. Kids. And Beasts.
My stomach roiled. I swallowed acid. Because we had no time.
Truly, could it have been me?!
I didn't ask. And they didn't tell me.
I rose to my feet unsteadily. That small boy retreated with his hand out, protecting the others behind him.
From me.
He was young. Very, very young indeed.
"Let's…get out of here." My voice shook. I wouldn't look down anymore. I wouldn't look at it anymore.
My shame. My sin. This massacre couldn't have been done by me. I didn't do it. It wasn't me—!
The boy's eyes flickered warily. They didn't trust me. But he looked at the bloody spot where Pierre had been. And opened the door wider.
I shuffled, carefully, over those things on the ground. And left it all behind.
Because I was going home. And they were coming with me.
***
Truthfully, that wasn't the end. There were many such stories of abandoned buildings used for such purposes. Of masked villains and beasts. But it was always someone else. Someone unworthy…
It shouldn't have been my reality.
I went home. And had them follow me.
My family. A new heir was greeting the guests congenially. Jacob. His eyes…
They were bold. Empowered. And completely devoid of worry.
My father. He had already announced my death. They were already mourning me. My coffin was, of course, empty…
***
My eyes touched upon the white ribbons streaming from the sign of our House; the two guards stiffening as mourners grouped inside.
There was wailing. And sympathetic patting. Of course, the loudest were paid. And acting.
Who—died? Who were they mourning?
The boys behind me were whispering. I took them here to report to my father. They would've scattered if not for me insisting. But now?
Just who were they burying—?!
I could feel that power. It was churning inside me, impatiently, caustically waiting—
Inside. Outside. The world had kept on turning. All things considered, I suppose I was nothing.
I clenched my jaw. And walked right up to the guards. Because my house shouldn't be in mourning.
"Open the doors." I stepped in front of them boldly—
They blocked me. "Who are you to be this forward, boy?! This House is mourning its young heir—!"
"I'm right here, you dolt—! I'm not dead—!"
My head rang. Because that man, he slapped me. Kicked me. And kept on beating me.
"Disgusting! How could you think you're worthy?!" Another fist. Another flying. I coughed. And wiped away the blood. "How dare you?!"
My skin scraped against the stone. I crawled on the ground, holding my stomach. Because this amount of suffering was nothing compared to what I had been subjected to. Because they couldn't hurt me. Not truly.
I was the heir. And Father, certainly, would tell them—
A carriage draped in luxury stopped before the front gate; the crest upon it intimately familiar. The guards quickly lined up to greet him—
Father?!
His official robes were pristine. And his eyes were cold and steely. How come? From where?
I reached—
And he stepped right past me.
"Father!" I said. "Father! It's me, father!" Crawling. Begging. My knees weren't even hurting; the gravel digging—piercing—stabbing my skin—
He turned. And saw me.
My breath stilled. His eyes—!
The piercing blue was so chillingly familiar that I flinched. "Get that—" Indifferently. Coldly. He pointed at me. "—out of here." He turned gracefully. "Don't let it—" His white robe swept my dirty, unclean hand; the silk so soft it felt like air. "—disturb our guests."
"Of course, My Lord."
My voice. I couldn't get it out. He had looked—seen—observed me—!
And yet wasn't able to recognize me?
"Father…Father…" My hand faltered; the knuckles imprinted with gravel. My heart, it was sinking but I couldn't really understand what I was feeling—
Broken, bloody, my face was unrecognizably dirty. But that shouldn't stop father from recognizing me!
What was it digging into my heart? It wasn't pain. Shock. Or disbelief.
My throat swelled. My wounds stung. And my head rang and rang—!
From unadultered anger. Fury. And grief.
As his son. As his family. I was merely a stain he had to wipe clean.
***
My time as a Kysan was over. I wouldn't fight for a name that amounted to nothing.
I dragged my broken body down those steps that seemed so distant and strange. My mother. Surely she should be grieving. But I saw her briefly. Inside. And I knew.
Those tears, they weren't for me.