Bastet was blinded by the bright flash of light. It felt as if molten metal had been poured into his chest, searing through flesh and bone. His muscles seized, spasming uncontrollably as he crashed face-first into the wet soil. He couldn't hear his own groan over the deafening roar of thunder still echoing in his ears, a sound that seemed to originate from inside his skull.
He was caught. His plan, his desperate gamble, had failed, betrayed by his own oath-bound body. With trembling elbows, he managed to push his torso up to see Miara approaching, her sword dripping with blood. This was it. He was a witness. They could not let him live. Despair washed over him, cold and absolute. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to come up with a lie that could get him out of this. But her voice cut through the buzzing in his ears, cold and sharp.
"Step aside," Miara stated, her gaze fixed on him like a hawk sizing up its prey. "He's a liability."
He opened his eyes to see Kreil was between them, his gaze looking down on him.
"The alarms are sounding, historian. The only choice is our contingency. Your body, my will. Step aside."
Bastet's breath hitched. Contingency? He didn't understand, but the finality in her tone was unmistakable. He tensed, his mind racing. But Kreil's voice, rough and strained, cut in.
"I am aware. But this is important," his expression was unreadable. "What are you doing here, farmer?" Kreil addressed him, his voice dangerously soft. It felt more like an accusation than a question born of confusion. Bastet stared up at him, trapped. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He couldn't think of a lie. And he couldn't possibly confess.
But as Kreil watched him, his blue eyes narrowed. A slow, terrible understanding dawned on his face, followed not by rage, but by a flicker of something much darker—a kind of grim, almost amused recognition. He let out a short, humorless laugh that scraped against the night air. "Betrayal… That's the rhyme." He turned to Miara, his posture suddenly weary, his voice low and laced with a dark irony. "Fitting, isn't it?"
"You don't really think that he's the one, do you?" she stepped forward, her patience clearly gone. "Step aside, historian."
"No," Kreil said, planting himself firmly between Miara and Bastet, his voice ringing with newfound resolve. "Look at him, Miara," Kreil scoffed, his voice gaining intensity. "A survivor of a Cleansing. He is brought here, of all places. A battle erupts, forcing him from his cell. And finally, he betrays me. And now he is here, their meeting complete."
The words made no sense. How could Kreil know about the betrayal? His presence here was unlikely, but not impossible. How could he be this certain? And it almost sounded like despite that, he was advocating for him? Bastet's eyes sent a throb through his head every time he moved them. It was as if they were scraping against his skull. His throat was dry, but he managed to cough out a few words. "Let me go with you!" All he could do was plead, and he was not the kind of man to be ashamed of doing so. There were more important things to worry about, things he had to accomplish.
"And you would have him take your place?" Miara stared at Bastet with terrifying intensity. "Have you gone mad? He's a stray dog with an oath burned into his soul," Miara countered, though a flicker of doubt crossed her face.
"We wrote the first line of a couplet, Miara. And a lonely verse cannot bear that name alone. It cannot exist by halves, and so the rhyme was compelled into existence! And this is it! The second line! Betrayal answering betrayal—the symmetry required to fulfill the promise of the first!" he took a step closer to her, his eyes blazing as he gestured at his daughter. "And it worked! She has drawn him here, to this exact moment! Miara! Is this not what you are here for?" He grabbed her shoulders, his eyes pleading. "The alarm bells are ringing, and the flare they sent up will lead them right to you. Head west. I'll be the one they find here, I can buy the time you need. So let him take my place."
"Is that really the kind of line you were looking for, historian?"
"It's the kind I deserve," Kreil dug his fingers into her shoulders. "Don't make this harder, Miara," he pleaded, his voice rough. "You'll need a diversion. So at least leave me with enough time to say goodbye."
Kreil crouched by his daughter's unconscious body. He pinched her cheek and pressed his lips on her forehead. It was to be a short goodbye. They were running out of time. But as soon as he touched her skin, he found himself so reluctant to let go. If only fate had been kinder to them, perhaps she could have been just a regular girl, and he, a good father. But he had to fail her. "I'm sorry, Lily." a tear rolled down his cheek. "Stay strong," words were stuck in his throat, but he forced himself to speak despite the fact that Lilian was not awake to hear him. He prayed for her fortune, reciting every charm he could think of, just in case there was still something up there that could hear him.
Finally, he stood and turned to Bastet. His eyes held the raw, desperate plea of a man facing his end. "Take care of her. Promise me you will."
And it was only then that Bastet finally understood. He wasn't planning to meet them later. This was it. For the daughter he clearly loved beyond measure, and for him, who he had somehow deemed essential. Another debt, heavier than any chain, settled onto his shoulders. He met his gaze, holding it as he gave a single, deliberate nod. "I promise."
Kreil's resolve seemed to crack. He looked back at his daughter, his voice becoming a rushed, thick whisper. "She's a bit stubborn, put up with it. She wakes up early and gets hungry fast…" He trailed off, his hand hovering over her hair, not quite daring to touch. "She acts older than she is, and is in love with the world."
"Got it," Bastet said, his own voice hoarse.
"Don't tell her the truth about me. It isn't time for her to know." Kreil turned his back before reluctantly saying "and when she finds out the truth one day, the whole truth, please be there to tell her I'm sorry. Despite how deplorable it may seem."
"Historian! That's enough!" Miara growled out.
"Come on, Miara, you know I don't like it when you call me that." He smiled. "At least call me an artist, one last time."
Miara deeply sighed and closed her eyes. "Only one request at a time, historian." She approached Bastet and helped him get up on his feet. "I'll take him."
Kreil curled his lips into a half smile and lightly chuckled as he waved his hand. "So be it, Celestial. This is farewell." He stopped to take one last look at Lilian before shifting his gaze forward. He ran east. If he took even a glance back, he felt that he would be overwhelmed by the desire to stay.
"Kreil!" Bastet raised his voice. "Thank you."
***
The distant light from the bonfire was smothered by the expanding night. It was tragic, Kreil thought, how when nothing fought against it, the darkness would always come naturally. The faint wind brushed against the river's surface and with soft waves it whirled, shattering the moon's glistening reflection. Carving his way through the thick grass, he ran to the bridge. He had to be far away from them if this was to work. Otherwise, he'd be putting them in even greater danger. He was scared, but that was okay. He was upset, but that didn't matter. All he had to do was move his legs fast enough to not have time to think. He finally ran into someone. His heart was beating fast, and he was drenched in sweat.
"Who goes there?" The Wesian asked while gripping the handle of his weapon.
This was it. It was time for him to give his life up. Would this be in the best interest of Wesia? Kreil almost laughed. Her escape was in the best interest of the whole world, and Wesia, for all its arrogance, still had to live in it. He looked down and lightly shivered. Tonight, he was afraid of the hollow figure that the moonlight stretched from under his feet. Ever faceless and empty, he felt like his shadow was gazing back at him. When you die and lose what you are, what happens to you? It was terrifying to think about it. If tomorrow his daughter looked up at the sky and said that her father doesn't love her, would he still love her from somewhere to be proving her words wrong? He bit his tongue and gripped his thighs. He remembered her laughing as she tried to catch a frog by the creek, her red hair a bonfire in the sun. He would never hear that laugh again.
Kreil popped the wooden plug off the leather flask, and brought it to his mouth. He knew the secret of how berserkers turned into those unstoppable monsters. Camael's Tears made you burn through your entire life force at once, killing you in the process. It would hurt so much that he would lose his mind, so there would be nothing left for Ariadne's oath to bind. This was it. He closed his eyes and gulped down the liquid. His teeth were clattering, and his knees shook, but his expression quickly warped into a pained grimace. A dark veil fell over his mind as he shouted, and with the last bits of his being, he apologized to his daughter one final time.
A mighty roar burst out and parted the ground beneath him, digging a shallow hole. The Wesian was blown away but managed to stop his body from slamming into the church behind him.
Another beastly roar escaped Kreil's mouth. He slammed the Wesian with the back of his hand which sent him flying at least fifty feet backward. He quickly ran up to the limp body, a monstrous grin twisting his features as he grabbed the Wesian's head and squeezed. Tighter and tighter, he increased the pressure on the skull until it burst.
A panicked voice screamed for backup, and Kreil turned and chased after its source. He caught up in an instant, and before the woman could react, he grabbed her and slammed her against the ground, snapping her body in half. He threw what remained of her, and with a loud boom it crashed into the bridge and collapsed it. He was swarmed by more attackers as the city went on high alert. The ground suddenly parted and swallowed him whole, but the stone walls easily crumbled as he sliced them with his claws. Multiple fireballs flew at him, but he withstood the heat. With a bright flash, a single vein of lightning seared his flesh. He flung himself at the one who hurt him, but the Wesian dodged and swung his axe, sticking it deep in Kreil's shoulder. But it was not a problem. The closer to death that he got, the faster his life force would leak. It would only make him exert more power. Blood gushed out as he ripped the axe out and hurled it at the Wesian, ripping his body apart.
The sound of battle made more Wesians flock to the fray. But he prevailed. He caused chaos as he broke through their formation. He fought there too and was not bested. Not an ounce of reason remained in him, but he somehow knew that he must hang on and fight to the last breath. The flesh was missing from his right arm, exposing a fractured bone. Very little hair was left on his body, and he was smeared in blood. He was surrounded by the enemy, but nobody dared to attack him. They would retreat when he got closer and slowly wear him down. Multiple swords were sticking from his back. But there would be no grand exit, nor any antagonist to take revenge on. As his life force was running out, he gradually slowed to a halt and released his final breath. And thus, Kreil the historian had lost his life.