You stare at the snarling pack.
Your heart races. Sand clings to your skin. The guide groans behind you—barely upright, sword hanging uselessly in his grip. The hyenas inch closer, their yellowed eyes fixed on the wounded man. They can smell death. And so can you.
There is no time to weigh the guilt. No room for second thoughts.
You take a single breath.
Then you swing into the saddle, dig your heels into the camel’s flanks, and ride.
The beast lurches forward with a startled grunt, startled by your sudden violence. Behind you, you hear the low snarl of beasts and the wet crunch of flesh. Your guide doesn’t scream. That’s worse.
You don’t look back.
The desert rushes past, blistering wind tearing at your face as you flee. Each gallop of your camel takes you further from the sound of tearing flesh, from the man who trusted you. The man who will die because of you.
But he slowed you down.
And you intend to live.
The gates of Al-Mirkat rise from the desert like a mirage given form—towering sandstone walls, domes catching the sun like burnished coins. You reach them at dusk, dried blood caking your boots, the taste of sand still on your tongue. The guards barely glance at you before waving you through; travelers half-dead from the wastes are no rarity here.
Inside, the city hums with life. Lanterns sway in doorways. Merchants cry out wares in half a dozen tongues. You drift through the streets like a ghost—eyes hollow, limbs heavy, every muscle screaming with fatigue. Eventually, you find what you need:
Shade. Food. A tavern.
The Scorpion’s Tongue is no palace. The air is thick with sweat, sweet rot, and the unmistakable char of something left too long over flame. But it’s cool inside, and your legs threaten to fold beneath you.
You sit in the shadows, your back to the wall, and let yourself breathe.
The stew is oily, and the bread hard. You eat it anyway.
You’re halfway through a bite when something stops you cold.
A flicker of movement in your periphery. A face. Familiar.
You turn—and the world stops.
Hiacynt.
He sits slouched in the far corner, nursing a cup of something dark. His once-proud posture is a memory; his cloak is torn, a fresh scar cuts through his eyebrow, and his right eye is bruised nearly shut. But you’d know him anywhere.
The man who left you to die.
Your plate crashes to the floor.
Chairs scrape back as patrons glance up—but you don’t care. You’re already on your feet. Crossing the room in five furious strides. You grab Hiacynt by the collar and slam him against the post behind him.
—Why did you betray me?— you snarl, your voice shaking. —Why did you leave me to die in the desert?!—
Hiacynt gasps, blinking hard. He looks as if he’s seeing a ghost.
—I thought you were dead…— he rasps. —We lost you. I swear it. I thought you were—
You punch him. You know he is lying. He doesn’t even look you in the eye.
Knuckles to jaw. A satisfying crack. He stumbles back, knocking over the table behind him. Drinks spill. The low murmur of the tavern rises into alarm.
—Liar.— you hiss.
The tavern master—a thick man with scarred knuckles and a tangled beard—storms between you.
—None of that in here! OUT! Both of you!—
Rough hands shove you both out the door. The brightness outside stings your eyes. Dust swirls in the fading sun. Hiacynt stumbles and steadies himself against the wall.
You face him.
He won’t meet your gaze.
—Look me in the eye!—
—I can’t.—
You draw your sword.
The sound of steel echoes in the narrow alley.
—I’ll kill you right here, right now, you dog!—
Hiacynt straightens. He doesn’t flinch. His voice is raw.
—Do it if you must.—
The blade trembles in your hand.
You stab your friend.
The sword slides through flesh like wet cloth. He gasps—one short breath—and collapses in your arms. Blood runs hot over your hands, but his eyes are calm, almost grateful. You let him fall, and the silence that follows is endless.
You don’t want another death on your conscience. You sheath your sword and say:
—The time of revenge has passed. You can go.
Hiacynt blinks at you, stunned. Your voice is quiet, bitter with restraint.
You turn away before he can answer. You don’t want to see his face.
You already know what it says.
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