Kael caught Els before she hit the ground. But her smiling face sagged against his chest, and her limbs sagged in his arms. With trembling fingers, he brushed her auburn hair to reveal her closed eyes, her back heaving steadily in his palms.
Holding his breath, he searched for the wounds that had spilt blood on the wall. Yet, her nose was as straight as he remembered it.
He crouched, resting her back against his left arm, his right fingers parting her lips. Els couldn't have knocked out the thugs' teeth—he doubted even he could—so the ones on the ground had to be hers. But he saw two rows of unblemished teeth tightly rooted in her warm gums.
Odd. Really odd.
"Sorry, Els." A deep furrow creased his brow as he scrutinised the base of the wall.
Beside the thug's belt, the ripped patch of green dress fluttered in the wind. But when he lowered his face beneath Els' back with a guilty gulp, roughly sewn threads returned his gaze.
Not even a hole...Something's not right...
Don't tell me!
Breath catching in his throat, he gripped the hovering ledger. It instantly shed its ethereal form, the interlocking arabesques pressing against his fingers. He flipped to the first page, his eyes running over the sky-blue ink.
✦ Truth of Endurance ✦
────────────────────────────
Core: I persist.
Anchor: Memory of Nessa
────────────────────────────
Stress on Anchor: 27%
Risk of Breaking: Low
────────────────────────────
Cost: Cannot voluntarily yield.
Price: The warmth from the memories of Nessa.
The stress on his anchor likely rose because he slit the two bastards' throats when he didn't have to. He expected it to rise, to wither, and one day to break. But only 2%, while it rose by 20% when he killed Tovin and Ash? Perhaps... his mom wouldn't have wanted to see him kill them. It was the opposite here. He had to save Els. His truth seemed to agree. That, or because no unowned truths clashed with it.
Either way, he skimmed to the second half.
And there he saw it. Not the paragraph about the survivor's truth now written on the last page. The one that replaced it.
────────────────────────────
Unowned truth of Eternal Night moderately compatible with truth of endurance. Predicted stress on Eternal Night's anchor upon anchoring: 30%
Predicted price range: mental-related.
────────────────────────────
The ledger slipped from his trembling hand, hovering beside him. Silent, ethereal, recording his choices.
Someone owned a truth. Not the two dead thugs at his feet; they would have used it. Neither Tonio, who growled and tapped his foot behind him.
The teeth, the blood, the intact dress—everything connected. It was Els who anchored it... and paid the price for that power, whatever it did.
Biting his lip, Kael caressed her cheek with infinite gentleness. "I didn't want this for you. I hope... I hope you didn't pay as much as I have."
Tonio's squeak scattered his thoughts. "Slow. Find home. Kael, traitor?"
Kael turned to Tonio's narrowed eyes. Then, he secured Els on his back with a headshake. Each wasted minute increased the risk of someone seeing them. Home. Once home, he'd figure everything out with Els. But first, she needed rest. They all did. "You're right. I mean, not about the traitor... Let's leave. I know where we'll stay."
He put the patch of dress in Els' basket. Tonio reluctantly helped him put the thug's pants back. A last glance. No clues pointed to them, and no one he could see watched the alley from the rooftops.
He left the two corpses behind. Let the Black Cask wonder which gang dared. Anything but that an eighteen-year-old girl killed two men.
On the way, he picked up the bloodstained razor from the ground. The dust-laden air of the industrial district replaced the stench of fresh blood as spring began to replace winter, even though a couple of grey mounds of snow stubbornly clung to the side road of the outer slums.
Ashcoil Row was as indifferent as Kael had left it a week ago. Empty at night, or rather, this early in the morning. Thanking the residents, he slipped to the far end of the street, to the rusty shack dominating the burial pit, where the air was so vitiated from the factories' steam and the stench of decaying corpses that it seared his throat.
Between a lone copper crown and an unsold tallow candle, he found the key in Els' basket and opened the door.
"No traitor? Home?" Tonio peeked at the stone slab lying on two scavenged pipes, at the rocks that served as stools around it, at the dust-gnawed rug, and at the scaly walls. "Like mine!"
For a moment, Kael froze in the doorway. Like the room in the sewers? His lips curved into a wry smile. They weren't that different. "Get inside." Chuckling, he nudged Tonio.
Once inside, he closed the door. "Help me put the blankets on the ground. They're under the table."
With a nod, Tonio spread the holed blankets on the ground. Kael set her down and covered her with a clean sheet. His gaze lingered on her sleeping face for a heartbeat. Then, he moved toward the only room.
He knocked. "Hey, Arthur. I guess I'm back, not that I expected it myself."
Even after ten seconds, no answer. His hand tightened around the doorknob, something clawing at his chest. Arthur had to have heard him. Or...
The door creaked under his push. And he turned his face aside, his features twisted.
Arthur's rusty bed lay cold in the room, the blankets neatly folded on the damp timber. A lone shirt and pants, darkened by the slums' dusty steam, hung against a wall on which silver lacework already began to form.
Kael pinched his forehead, a tear trailing behind his quivering palm.
What had been slowly killing Arthur shouldn't have claimed his life so soon. Comparing his state last week with his mom's, he believed he still had at least two months, but...
He's... gone... I'll take Els with me to Veston. I'll help her with everything I own, so rest in peace with mom and dad.
The news pressed against the dam of determination he had protected himself with since his mom's death. But after Giovanni and Riccardo sacrificed themselves for an unstable seed of understanding to heal Tonio. After he had played the biggest role in their decisions. After he began to respect them to the point he envied their relationship, Arthur's departure made the pressure unbearable.
Yet another light swallowed by the dark waters of the slums.
He didn't know he sat beside Els, lost in grief, until Tonio wrapped a furry arm around his shoulder. Before he understood, the rat-man pulled him against his chest and patted his back.
"Sad? Kael no cry. New home. New friend."
Kael surrendered to the embrace for a minute. Somehow... it helped mend the dam, calm the storm.
Wiping his tears, he pulled back with a forced smile, but his voice wasn't as sharp as it usually was, even though he glanced at Els, then back to Tonio. "I'm good, Tonio. Don't worry. I know, why don't we set a few rules? We're in my old friend, Els' home. We'll leave for the beggar's district after she wakes up. It'll be worse; we likely won't have a roof over our heads, but it'll be safer for everyone. Remember what I asked you?"
He picked the round glasses from Tonio's nose. Without the relic, Tonio's previous features faded from memory.
Whiskers perked, and round ears twitched when the rat-man answered. "No pain. No like glasses. Bad, bad!"
Kael stashed the glasses in his chest pocket, tucking his fingers around his chin. "Over an hour. Let's say two for now. Wear them when you go out, but don't create trouble. Even better, don't talk with the beggars. Gangs seldom visit them, but we're never safe enough."
Tonio fidgeted with his dark, elongated nails. "No understand."
"It's fine." With a smile, Kael moved to the door, picking up Els' basket on the way. "I'll be back in a second. Watch over her."
Without waiting for an answer, he walked behind the old shack, at the edge of the burial pit. The jagged flank of the cliff stretched out into a dark chasm. How deep? Some adults told him it reached the center of the world, while miners assured him it was only as deep as the slums were compared to Veston.
Kael believed it was deeper. Not because of some poetic myths, but simply because the pit should have overflowed with all the corpses they threw down each year. That... or something he couldn't have considered before and didn't want to consider now.
With a headshake, he chased the images of truth wielders, anchor-ghasts, and god spawns out of his mind. His fingers gripped the bloody razor from the basket and let it fall into the pit. It clanged against the edges, the blade flying out of the dented frame. When the hungry darkness swallowed it, Kael returned inside.
One less proof.
Tonio didn't wait for him. He emptied his pockets on the table, forming a small mound of cards, ashtrays, and cutlery. The fool even took out a bottle of cheap liquor that shouldn't have fit in his pockets.
While he nodded at his heist, Kael patted the blanket on the ground loud enough to make Tonio turn. "Sleep, Tonio. We'll need strength tomorrow."
The rat-man's red eyes darted between his items and the blankets. Then, he reluctantly moved to his makeshift bed. "Sleep. Strong."
"Yeah." Kael chuckled without conviction as he took his own spot. Soon, Tonio snored beside him, but he only found sleep hours later. A nightmare-filled sleep that reminded him of what he had lost.
And what he would begin to choose losing to get out of this hell.