That evening, Kaela found me on the rooftop. It was our place now, though the new, raw wood still didn't feel right, still didn't feel like hers. The physical space was the same, rebuilt with painstaking care, but what it represented had changed. It wasn't a clubhouse for three friends anymore. It was a memorial. And it was haunted by the gaping, three-foot space of air where Lysara was supposed to be.
"Master Dren cornered you, too?" she asked. She didn't sit in her usual spot. She sat on my right, where she always sat, but she left the spot on my left conspicuously, achingly, empty. We'd never spoken about it, but neither of us had ever sat there.
"Gave me the 'commander's erosion' lecture," I confirmed, my voice flat. I watched the sun bleed out behind the newly fortified western wall.
"Me too," she said, with a dry, humorless half-smile. "Apparently we're both showing 'concerning psychological deterioration.' Says we need... 'intervention.'"
"Are we?" I asked. It was a genuine question. I honestly didn't know anymore. I couldn't tell where the trauma ended and the me began.
Kaela was silent for a long time, watching the sky turn from bruised purple to a deep, cold black. "Probably," she said, her voice a low, rough whisper. "I... I don't... feel... things. Not... not like I used to. The... the loss... the numbers... from the Harvest. It... it just... it feels like data. Not... not people. And... and the violence... killing that... that cultist in Brookhaven..." She looked at her hands. "It... it didn't... it didn't bother me, Ren. Not... not in the way it... it should have." She finally looked at me, her eyes a mirror of the hollow, cold void I felt in my own chest. "Is that... is that 'adaptation'? Or... or is it... 'deterioration'? I... I honestly... I don't know anymore. I can't... I can't tell."
"Does the distinction even matter?" I asked, the words feeling like ash in my mouth. "If... if we're effective? If... if we're... we're winning? If we're... we're saving... kids? Does... does it matter... if... if we're... 'psychologically healthy'...?"
"It might," Kaela said, her voice sharp, seizing on the point. "It has to. Because... because if we... if we become... people... who can... who can kill... without... without remorse? If... if we can... make... your... choice... at the... at the bridge... without... without hesitation? If... if we can... sacrifice... people... without... without grief? Are... are we... are we still... us? Are... are we... are we still... fighting... for the... for the right reasons?"
She had named it. The question. The one I'd been running from for six months. The one that woke me up at 3 AM, sweating and cold. Was I, the Butcher of the Eastern Mountains, any different from Verinna? From Zerran? We both made the same, cold, brutal calculation. We both sacrificed children for the "greater good."
"I... I don't know," I admitted, and the words... they felt like a failure. A... a surrender. "But... but I... I know... we're... we're still... fighting... for... for human... things. We're... we're saving... kids. Not... not using them. We're... we're... we're building... a... a sanctuary. That... that has... to... to count."
"Does it?" she challenged, her voice so gentle it was a blade. "Or... or is... is that... just... what... what we're... telling... ourselves? To... to justify... what... what we're... becoming?"
We sat in a heavy, terrible, uncomfortable silence. The stars came out. The air grew cold.
"I've... I've been thinking," she said finally, her voice a whisper, "about... about after."
"After what?"
"After... the war," she clarified. "If... if we... survive. Which... which I know... Lysara's... stats... but... but hypothetically. What... what... what do we... do? When... when the... the fighting... stops? Who... who are... we? When... when we're... not... Commanders... and... and Soldiers?"
"I don't know," I said, and the honesty of it... it was terrifying. "I... I've... I've been fighting... since I was... eight. I... I don't... I don't remember... what... what peace... feels... like. I... I don't... I don't know... if I'd... if I'd recognize... it."
"Me neither," she admitted. "And... and that... that... terrifies me. More... more than... more than the cult. More... more than battle. At... at least... in... in battle... I... I know... my... my purpose. I... I understand... my... my role. In... in peace..." She trailed off.
"In peace," I finished for her, the thought... the idea... a small, fragile, unfamiliar thing, "we... we... we figure out... who... who we... are. Beyond... beyond the war. We... we help... the... the kids... integrate. Into... into society. Not... not just... train... them... for... for combat. We... we build... the... the world... that... that Lysara... died... to... to protect. We... we find out... if... if... if we can... we can be... people... again. Instead... instead of... of just... soldiers."
"That... that sounds... nice," she said, her voice wistful. "I... I hope... I hope we... we get... the... the chance... to... to try."
Before I could answer, there was a sound. Hurried footsteps on the stairs. Torren. His face was pale, troubled. He held a sealed letter.
"Commander," he said, the formal title a stark reminder of the peace we didn't have. "A... a courier. Just arrived. From... from the western territories. It's... it's urgent."
I took the letter. The seal of Brookhaven. I broke it. My eyes scanned the brief, hurried, desperate script.
Ren—
Cult activity. It's... it's increasing. Three new marked children... identified... in... in the last month. We... we secured... two. The... the third... the cult... they... they got... her. Before... before we... we could... intervene. They're... they're... they're faster... now, Ren. More... more aggressive.
We... we need... more... more resources. More... more personnel. Better... better intel. Faster... faster response. Our... our current... capabilities... they're... they're not... enough.
And... and also... there's... there's rumors. A... a... a cult recruitment... center. Operating... openly... in... in Westmarch. They're... they're not... hiding... anymore. They're... they're offering... families... money. To... to surrender... their... their marked... children. 'Voluntarily.'
Ren... some... some families... are... are accepting.
This... this war... it's... it's escalating. It's changing.
—Brookhaven Council
I read the message aloud. The words fell into the cold, night air. Kaela's face, which had, for a moment, held a fragile hope... it hardened. The soldier was back.
"They're adapting," Torren observed, his voice sharp, his strategist's mind kicking in. "They're... they're getting smarter. If... if they're recruiting... openly... offering incentives..."
"Then... then they're... they're transforming," I finished, the cold, ugly realization dawning. "From... from a... a terrorist... organization... to... to a... a legitimate... institution. In... in some... regions. A... a rival power. That's... that's... that's significantly... harder... to... to fight."
"We... we have... to... to respond," Kaela said, all wistfulness gone, her voice pure steel. "We... we send... a... a delegation. We... we establish... a... a permanent... presence. In... in the... in the west."
"That... that requires... resources... we... we don't... have," I pointed out, the... the Commander... taking over. "Personnel. Supplies. Political... authorization..."
"Then we GET... the... the authorization!" Kaela interrupted, her voice fierce. "We... we make... the... the case. A... a... a distributed... presence. It's... it's necessary. Concentrating... everything... here... in... in Verdwood... it... it makes... us... vulnerable. She... she said... that. Lysara... she... she said... that. 'A... a single... point... of... of failure.' "
She was right. Of course she was right. But... but I... I saw... the... the pattern. The... the endless... escalation. The... the war... that... that grew... faster... than... than we... could.
"I'll... I'll... I'll bring it... to... to the... the council... tomorrow," I said, my voice heavy with the... the weight... of... of another... impossible... task. "But... but Kaela... this... this doesn't... end. Does it? Every... every problem... we... we solve... it... it creates... new... ones. Every... every child... we... we save... it... it reveals... ten... more. At... at what... point... do... do... do we... admit... that... that we... we can't... win? That... that we're... just... delaying... defeat?"
"At the point," Kaela said, her voice a low, fierce, unbreakable thing, "where we actually... lose. And... and we... we are not... there... yet. Until... then... we... we keep... fighting. That's... that's what... she... would... say. That's... that's what... Zara... would... say. That's... that's what... Cade... and... and Derren... and... and all... of... them... DIED... for."
She was right. I... I hated... that... that she... she was... right. Because... because it... it meant... there... there was... no... rest. No... no peace. No... no stopping. Just... just this. Just... just the... the fight.
I looked down. From... from the... the roof. At... at our... fortress. Our... our home. The... the lights... were... were on. In... in the... in the training... halls. In... in the... in the medical... wing. Miren... Miren was still... working. The... the children... they... they... they were... meditating. Practicing... practicing their... their control. A... a... a city... of... of soldiers... a... a city... of... of survivors.
On... on my... my desk. Back... back in... my... my quarters. I... I knew... there... there were... four... more... letters. Like... like the... the one... from... from Brookhaven. Four... four more... crises. Four... four more... impossible... choices.
It... it was... the... the weight. The... the burden. The... the one... Lysara... had... had carried.
"For... for Lysara," I whispered, the... the... the words... a... a... a promise. An... an oath. Into... into the... the dark.
"For Lysara," Kaela echoed, her... her voice... a... a vow. "And... and for... for Zara. And... and CAddress... And... and all... of... them. We... we... we finish... what... what they... started."
Torren stood with us, a silent third, his young face serious... determined. "And... and for... for all... the... the ones... still... out there. Waiting. The... the... the ones... who... who don't... know... they're... they're not... alone. Yet."
Tomorrow. Another... another day. Another... another war. More... more choices. More... more weight.
But... but tomorrow... the... the network... it... it survives. It... it... it grows. We... we build. We... we try.
The... the void... it's... it's... it's still... out there. The... the cult... Zerran's... 'Master'... they're... they're still... out there.
But... but so... so are... we.
And... and... and we... we're not... running. We're... we're building. We're... we're building... her... legacy.
And... and that... that... has... to be... enough.