It could have been hours, it could have been minutes, I did not know and did not care. The servant had returned with a potion… then more potions. Now, each one was but a dribble, no more than a drop in a cracked cup. I felt the price of such indulgence, too, as every draught weakened me further, draining Health even as it fed the Mana within, only to then be countered by more Health potions. A vicious circle, one’s body at war with itself. Sleep whispered promises of easy release, the Rest skill beckoning with soft temptation.

  Then came Vincenzio, pale-faced, his expression uncharacteristically soft, sympathy and understanding painted in shadows across his normally inscrutable face.

  “What is it?” One spoke without much interest, barely clinging to civility.

  He regarded me in silence, his face ashen, an unsettling contrast to Aelayah’s earlier vibrance. “They will tell you this is meaningless,” he said, his tone almost offhand.

  One spared him a glance, barely lifting one’s gaze from Enkidu’s side. “And what of it?” One rasped, voice thick and frayed.

  “They are wrong.” His shrug was casual, but his words carried weight. “This struggle has meaning, every second you carve out for him. It is defiance against those who would seek to put you beneath them, your rebellion against the Divines.”

  A hollow laugh left one’s lips. “What good is meaning if it leads nowhere? What use is the futile struggle? Tell me, Vincenzio, do you have an answer?”

  Vincenzio’s gaze held steady. “This answer is for you to find,” he replied, his voice softening. “One cannot save this man. But what you seek here, well, that must come from within. But let this day give you reason. Another one, at least, to help do what must be done. Remember our accord.”

  One’s gaze fell, searching the flawless marble floor for answers that weren’t there. “You, too, wish something more from me?”

  “Yes, but not all for me. Our accord is important, but one also wishes something for you,” he sighed. “One wants you to find the meaning for yourself. That is the fire that will hold back the curse of the years. But one cannot lead you to it.”

  I scoffed weakly, the sound bitter. “Spare me this mysterious talk. Will you tell me next that death is merely the next stage? That all things have a time? I do not need cliches. And there is no need to worry, I will fulfill our accord.”

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  “Sometimes, that is all we have,” he replied, almost regretfully. “We are mortals, not gods. We chafe against their yoke, struggle for freedom. Not every choice we make is a good one, but they are ours. One thinks one has overstayed and will leave you now to your vigil and contemplation.” He placed a small case by Enkidu’s bedside, filled with blue and red potions that gleamed in the dim light. He bowed to the ailing warrior before slipping away, leaving me in silence.

  One could tell at a glance that the potions were worth a small fortune. The Health potions were as dark as clotting blood, the Mana potions a deep, brooding blue like the ocean’s depths. Vincenzio had left me a princely gift for my rebellion against the Divines. And more than that, unlike so many others, he believed me about Iasis’ visitation.

  But I could linger here no longer. I had glimpsed the trap lying in Iasis’ conditional forgiveness, and the choice before me was cruel in its simplicity. I weighed Enkidu’s life against my quest for eternity. Cold, clinical, one ran every simulation of the future, each one ending in the same bitter truth. Either choice was a pitfall, but I could only lean into the one that would cost me less. Damn Iasis and her cunning conundrum.

  Enkidu would die. Yet I would honor him with the grandest of funeral pyres. If I could not strike Iasis herself, then I would strike her servants. The Adventurer’s Guild… I would tell all of the dark conspiracies that had taken root there.

  Not for Salahaem or its politics, but for one’s own satisfaction. I would make a point. Selfish though it was, Vincenzio’s words had kindled a spark within me and galvanized me to action.

  I would tear the Guildmaster apart, and Kaila too, with my own hands. To spite the dark goddess, I would dedicate their deaths to her hated sister. A judgment, and an arbitrary one at that, based on nothing more than the strength of my weapon arm.

  It fit the nature of this world. It was the natural and inevitable conclusion. But first, I would rest. Rest and welcome the dark dreams that would claim me as sleep purged my systems of the toxins running rampant in my body, the accumulated slurry that was burning me from the inside out. Detachedly, I realized that it was a miracle that I was still breathing.

  I looked at the food on the bedside table, removed my gauntlets so that I might more easily wolf it down. Caring nothing for the flavor, I ate bite after bite, shoveling it down, fuel for the fire. After days without sustenance, my body craved food. A hunger, a normal thing that was all-consuming. Calling the servants for more, I ate and drank the watered wine. They served me nervously, knowing that to displease me would be to entertain death.

  Unlike the Lady Aelayah, they knew their place.

  With each bite, I began to grow more hale, even as Enkidu’s breathing grew more labored. Any man could tell that he did not have much time now. Soon they would sing his dirge, but I would make sure that he did not cross the Shallow River alone.

  I would rest now. Rest even as my friend died so that I might mete vengeance out in the name of a false goddess. It would be fitting that I would be doing so in the name of justice.