Imiko had vanished, as the little thief was wont to do. I shouldn't call her little, by then she was already taller than I, but I always have. Hardt gathered as many spear hafts and axe handles as he could find and snapped them to make kindling. Then I set them ablaze. I could tell by the feeling in my gut, I only had a few hours, at most, before I rejected the Source again, and I had one more thing to do with my fire before I allowed that to happen.
Leaving the shelter and the little fire I had started, I crossed the amphitheatre and once more made my way to Silva's body. The cold turned her flesh a pale blue that matched her lifeless eyes. I settled down next to her on the ground, my left leg splayed out before me, and waited for my courage to show up. After a while, Hardt sat down across from me. He had a new coat, larger than before, and pulled it tight around him, his breath misting as he puffed it out.
"Aren't you cold?" he asked as he handed me a small stoppered bottle.
"Pyromancy keeps me warm." It was mostly true. I wore the same cured leather armour I had been wearing for days. If you have never worn the same clothing for an extended period of time, let me assure you, it becomes a part of you, like a second skin stuck in place by spilt blood and sweat. Underneath the armour, I wore serviceable trousers and a blouse that was stained with blood in dozens of places. I should have been freezing, but I was used to the cold. Ssserakis was darkness and fear and ice, and my body was a frigid place even at the best of times. The Pyromancy Source was a little fire inside, and I used it to warm my skin, but the cold from the horror possessing me would never melt. "What's this?"
"Rum," Hardt said with a smile. He had his own little bottle as well. "You'd be amazed what you can find on a soldier's body." The amphitheatre was littered with the dead. They were all there because of me, and yet the only corpse I made there was Silva's.
We both sipped at the rum in silence for a while. It was sweet, spiced, and fiery all at once, with an odd fruitiness to it. I liked it and the feeling it put inside, but I would have preferred wine. It was foolish really; I knew I had an hour at most before I would be throwing it right back up.
"Josef is alive," Hardt said eventually.
It was probably the one thing that was keeping me going. Well, that and the promise of power. "How do you feel about that?" I asked.
Hardt sipped at his bottle again. His eyes were on Silva, but his gaze went through her. I wish mine could have done that, but she was all I could see. "I'm not sure. He killed Isen. He tried to kill me, and you. We befriended him, cared for him, and he betrayed us."
"I betrayed him first." A hard thing to admit. Just a few years earlier I wouldn't have been able to. The truth, of course, is far more complex. We had been betraying each other for years, back and forth. I was just the first to not forgive.
"You didn't try to kill him," Hardt said.
"I did kill him."
"That wasn't you, Eska. That was Yorin. And Josef didn't die."
I shook my head, the rum turning bitter in my mouth. "He did die. And I killed him. It was my fault he was there, my choice not to bring him along. If I had tried harder to convince him… If I hadn't pushed him away… I killed Josef. I killed Isen." I paused, hating myself, the words festering inside like an open wound. I forced them out and my voice broke with them. "I killed Silva."
"Eska." A big hand gripped hold of my shoulder and Hardt turned me a little to face him. "You're not responsible for the actions of others. You didn't kill them."
"Silva..."
Hardt let out a sigh and drew his hand back. "You didn't kill the others. And she didn't give you a choice."
Some arguments are destined to go nowhere. Hardt would always excuse my actions, and I would never give up my guilt. It was mine. I had earned it, and I'd be damned before I let anyone take it from me. Even him.
"Do you want to kill Josef?" The question needed asking, but I feared the answer.
Hardt didn't reply right away. He had to think about it. That added weight to his answer, made it more certain. An answer in a moment is fuelled by passion and is likely to change as emotion wanes. But an answer given after a pause so long it becomes awkward… well, you know that answer has been considered. You know there is thought behind it, consideration. That's an answer that has been reached with both head and heart.
"I don't want to kill anyone, Eska. That doesn't mean I forgive him. I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive him, even if you can." Hardt drew in a deep breath and shook his head, his eyes distant. "But I don't want to kill him, nor even see him dead. I'm not sure what form justice for murder should take. Maybe he deserved to be down in the Pit, but then maybe so did I." It dawned on me then, perhaps I was not the only one drowning in melancholy. We both fell into a comfortable silence, each sipping our rum.
"It's not a secret I didn't like her," Hardt said eventually. "I didn't trust her. But I saw how she made you smile. I guess it confused me a little… or… maybe it felt like a betrayal of my brother?" I didn't bother to point out that I never loved Isen. "She made you happy. And that's something worth mourning, I suppose."
I sniffed and wiped tears away. When I opened my mouth to speak, I almost choked on my sadness. No words came out.
"I blamed her for Kento," Hardt continued. "I know that isn't fair. I know it was your choice, but I blamed her all the same. Perhaps if I had been able to look past that, I'd have seen a bit of what you saw in Silva."
When Hardt looked at me, I broke. "I tried to find her, Hardt," I squeezed the words past my closing throat and the tears running down my cheeks. "I tried to get Kento back. I demanded it. She's gone. Mezula said…"
"Stop," Hardt snapped. He shook his head. "I don't want to know, Eska. I can't hear it."
He was right. It was my shame, my torment. I had no right to burden him with the knowledge that my daughter was dead. It was a weight I had to shoulder alone.
You're not alone. Ssserakis' words were a comfort, though they probably shouldn't have been. No doubt the horror meant to frighten me, but I found strength in the assurance of its company.
"The longer you leave it, the harder it'll be," Hardt said, his voice soft and comforting like a distant rumble of thunder.
I nodded and Hardt stood, offering his hand. I ignored it and instead crawled closer to Silva, bending down over her face and whispering my final words to her. I won't share them with you, nor anyone. Those words, my heart and soul poured out through a whisper, are private. Suffice it to say I choked on them, my final goodbye to the woman who opened my eyes to love. Even Ssserakis withdrew, allowing me a moment of true privacy. I placed a final kiss on Silva's lips, and with it I breathed out fire.
When I drew back, Hardt helped me to my feet. His indomitable support was something I have come to rely upon, and I needed it then more than ever. Together, we watched the fire I breathed into Silva consume her. A localised inferno burning my love to ash. Something hardened inside of me as I watched her burn. I can't truly explain it. I can say only this, a part of myself burned along with her.
"What do we do now?" Hardt asked me as we watched the funeral.