Maeve was the first to move. She stumbled forward on shaking legs, her hand outstretched toward where the family had been. "They were right there," she whispered. "They were right there and then..."
Garrett dropped to his knees, his face pale as death. "I saw it. I saw them disappear. They were there, and then they weren't. Like... like they were never real at all."
August forced himself to walk forward, to look at what remained. His legs felt wooden, disconnected from his body.
On the ground where Corwin, his wife, and Orin had stood, there were clothes. Three sets, still arranged as if bodies filled them, but empty. The father's worn tunic and patched trousers. The mother's simple dress. The boy's small shirt and too-big pants that he would have grown into.
A small wooden toy lay beside them—a carved rabbit that Orin had been holding when his mother picked him up. The mother's necklace, a simple cord with a smooth stone. The father's boots, still laced.
All warm. All empty.
Kael knelt beside the clothes, his weathered hand hovering over them but not touching. "The Silent Hunt doesn't leave bodies," he said quietly. "It erases. Removes you from existence itself."
"What does that mean?" Lyon asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Are they dead?"
"Worse than dead," Kael replied. "Death leaves a corpse, a memory, a place in the world where you were. This... this is erasure. As if you never existed at all."
"But we remember them," Maeve said desperately. "We know they were here. That has to mean something."
"Does it?" Kael picked up the wooden rabbit, turning it over in his hands. "How long until we forget their faces? Their voices? How long until even the memory fades, and it's like they truly never were?"
The camp had gathered slowly, standing at a careful distance, watching in horrified silence. Parents pulled their children close. Some were crying. Others just stared in shock.
August stared at the empty clothes, and the whisper in his mind returned, soft and cold: This is the price of choosing. Remember it well.
"Three," Lyon said suddenly, his voice sharp. "We tried to sacrifice one to save many. And we lost three."
He turned to face the gathered crowd, his young face hardened by rage and grief. "Three lives. A mother. A father. A child. Gone. Erased. Because we were too afraid to risk ourselves."
"We did what we had to do," someone protested weakly from the crowd.
"Did we?" Lyon shot back. "Or did we just choose the easy cruelty instead of the hard courage?"
No one answered.
Mara's mother held her daughter close and looked at the empty clothes with a look of horror and guilt. Her husband was next to her, and his face was gray.
The other boy's father had his son on his shoulders and held his legs tightly, as if he would never let go.
And then, as one, they all turned to look at August.
He stood there, blood still drying on his face from Corwin's attack, staring at the proof of his failure. He had suggested the plan. He had convinced them it would save the camp. And now three people had been erased from existence.
"Murderer," someone whispered from the crowd.
"Child-killer," another voice added, louder.
"He brought this on us," a third said. "The Hunt came because of him."
The murmurs grew, anger and fear swirling together into something dangerous. August saw hands moving toward weapons, saw people edging closer.
Lyon stepped between August and the crowd, his hand on his knife. "No. No more violence tonight."
"He killed them," someone shouted. "He suggested the sacrifice. This is his fault!"
"We all voted," Lyon said firmly, though his voice shook. "Every adult in this camp had a say. The blame belongs to all of us."
"He started it," another voice accused. "He put the idea in our heads."
Kael moved to stand beside August, his staff held across his body like a barrier. "The Hunt would have come regardless. The children were marked. Nothing we did or didn't do would have changed that."
"But three died instead of one," Maeve said, her voice breaking. She still held the wooden rabbit, clutching it to her chest. "Three died because we tried to choose."
"Three died because they chose love over fear," Kael corrected gently. "That's not August's fault. That's not anyone's fault except the Hunts."
But the crowd didn't care about logic. They were angry because their fear and sadness had turned into anger.
"Get away from us," Mara's mother said, pointing at August with a shaking hand. "Get away from our children."
"Leave," someone else demanded. "Leave the camp before you bring more death."
"That's enough!" Lyon's voice sounded like a whip. "Nobody is going home tonight. Everyone, go back to their tents. "We'll take care of this in the morning."
But even as the crowd slowly left, August could feel their hate like a heavy weight. He was the bad guy in this story, the face of all their guilt and fear.
The camp eventually settled into an uneasy quiet, but August knew no one was sleeping. How could they? Three people had been erased from existence just hours ago, leaving nothing but empty clothes and memories that would fade.
He sat alone by a dying fire, staring at the flames without really seeing them. The scratches on his face had stopped bleeding, but they still burned. He didn't care. The physical pain was nothing compared to the weight in his chest.
Kael approached silently, sitting down beside him without asking permission. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
"You should leave," Kael said finally, his voice quiet. "Tonight. Before they decide you're worth sacrificing too."
"I know," August replied. His voice sounded hollow, distant, like it belonged to someone else.
"They'll turn on you," Kael continued. "Fear does that to people. They need someone to blame, and you made yourself the perfect target."
August said, "I was trying to save them." The words seemed empty and pointless. "I thought... I thought we could save the others if we made the right choice."
"I know," Kael said. "But it doesn't matter if you have good intentions when families are wiped out. You're the face of this tragedy now. That's the truth, whether you like it or not.
August looked at the old man. "Why are you helping me? You don't owe me anything."
Kael's lips quirked in something that might have been a smile. "Maybe that's exactly why. In this world, people who don't owe each other anything are sometimes the only ones who can be honest."
He reached into his pack and pulled out a small bundle—dried meat, a waterskin, a thin blanket. "If you're going to leave, take these. The southern wastes are brutal this time of year."
August took the bundle, feeling its weight in his hands. "Where would I even go?"
"Does it matter?" Kael asked. "Anywhere is better than here, at least for now. Maybe you'll find a city. Maybe you'll find other nomads who don't know your face. Or maybe you'll die in the wastes. But staying here..." He shook his head. "Staying here is definitely dying."
"I don't want to run," August said.
"Then you're a fool," Kael replied bluntly. "But I respect that. Just make sure it's what you really want, not just pride talking."
They sat in silence for a while longer. The sky was beginning to lighten slightly, the eternal twilight shifting from deep purple toward its normal gray-violet hue. Soon it would be day, such as it was in this dying world.
"They were right, you know," August said quietly. "Corwin and his wife. This is on me. I made them think sacrifice was possible. That we could choose who lived and died. And now they're gone."
"You offered a solution based on limited knowledge in an impossible situation," Kael said. "That's not the same as murder."
"Isn't it?" August looked at him. "If I'd said nothing, maybe Corwin and his family would still be alive. Maybe the Hunt would have come and taken all three marked children, but at least the parents would have survived."
"Or maybe the Hunt would have torn through the entire camp," Kael countered. "You don't know. None of us does. That's the curse of this world—we make choices in the dark and only see the results when it's too late to change them."
The whisper in August's mind, quiet since the erasure, stirred one final time: You chose. They chose. The Hunt chose. This is the nature of this world. The question is: can you live with the marks you're collecting?
August closed his eyes. "What if I can't? What if these marks are too heavy?"
"Then you break," Kael said simply. "And this world breaks people every day. But you don't seem broken to me. Bent, maybe. Scarred. But not broken."
"How can you tell the difference?"
"Broken people don't ask questions like that," Kael replied. "They just stop caring."
Movement at the edge of the camp drew their attention. Lyon was walking their way, his face haggard in the dim light. He looked like he'd aged years overnight.
"The camp wants you gone," Lyon said without preamble. "They're talking about holding another vote. About exiling you or worse."
"I'll leave," August said. "I don't want to cause more problems."
"Where will you go?" Lyon asked.
"Does it matter?"
Lyon studied him for a long moment. "I voted yes," he said finally. "I want you to know that. I voted to sacrifice Orin. So his blood is on my hands too."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I don't want you to carry all the guilt alone," Lyon said. "We all chose. Every adult who raised their hand. We're all responsible for what happened."
"But I suggested it first," August said.
"And I agreed. And so did dozens of others." Lyon's jaw clenched. "My father once told me that leadership means making choices when there are no good options. I thought I understood what he meant. I didn't. Not until tonight."
He pulled something from his pocket—a small pouch that clinked with the sound of coins. "Here. It's not much, but it might buy you a meal or two in the next town."
August stared at the pouch. "Why?"
"Because you were right," Lyon said bitterly. "The Hunt would have come regardless. And because..." He swallowed hard. "Because I need to believe that making impossible choices doesn't make us monsters. And if I cast you out for suggesting what I agreed to, what does that make me?"
He pressed the pouch into August's hand and walked away without another word.
Kael stood, stretching his back with a grimace. "Well. Looks like you have some support after all. Not much, but some."
August looked at the pouch, then at the bundle of supplies, then at the camp around him. People were starting to emerge from their tents, beginning the daily struggle of survival. Some glanced his way with hatred. Others with guilt. A few with something that might have been pity.
And at the southern edge, barely visible in the distance, the empty clothes still lay where three people had ceased to exist.
"I'll remember them," August said quietly. "Corwin. His wife. Orin. I'll remember what my choices cost."
"Good," Kael said. "The day you forget is the day you become something worse than the monsters we fight."
August stood, shouldering the bundle of supplies. The whisper in his mind was silent now, but its words remained: This is the price of choosing. Remember it well.
And he would. For the rest of his life, however long that might be in this dying world, he would carry the weight of three people who chose love over survival and paid the ultimate price for it.
He would carry the marks of his choices, visible and invisible, and he would learn to live with them.
Or he would break trying.