Solo The Ghosts of Riverfall

[Hirem]

OOCI'd like to give a shout-out to Sal Mander for inspiring this noir-lite romp with his, The Death of Sal Mander.

22nd of Winter, 514 A.V.

Trouble lurked in Hirem’s mind, a sense of unease that would not abate no matter how much he tried to comfort himself.

Trouble first began the night Hirem met the young child Timothy, in the street outside the Rat Hole. Up until that point, he had only ever heard whispers of what poverty in Riverfall looked like, but had never actually seen it up close. Up until that point, he had been completely unaware of any real problems that might exist with the Akalak society. From his perspective, Riverfall was an industrious, prosperous community, with a strong work ethic and a peaceful people. It was not his idea of a utopia, but compared to the hive of corruption that had been Ahnatep, and from what rumours he had heard of Kenash, Riverfall gleamed like a diamond in the bright Cyphran afternoon. Even the lowest of Rivarian - the kind that frequented the Rat Hole, for instance - were more respected by Hirem than the thieves that plagued the Pillars of Dust. And, of course, the beauty of the city could not be denied. Even on the chilliest of winter nights, when Hirem could not stand the temperature and fled indoors whenever possible, he found time to admire the majestic Suvan and the austere beauty of the city’s architecture. Whenever he pictured his homeland and its crown jewel, Yahebah, he pictured a settlement marked by Yahal as something special, something that must be preserved. Riverfall was much different; it demanded the god’s attention, scaling the side of a cliff that none would dare climb, let alone settle. For that, the Benshira admired the entirety of the Akalak spirit.

But after seeing the starved face of Timothy stare at him from across the street, with no parents or guardians in sight… Hirem wasn’t so sure.

Disturbed by the encounter, he tried to pass his feelings of alarm off as belonging solely with Tim and those haunting green eyes of his. The Benshira continued his daily routine without much change, thinking that he had at least managed to help one poor urchin off the streets… but now that his eyes had been opened to the idea, the unsettling news continued to attack him. He heard whisperings in the Rat Hole of the other waifs that plagued the docks, heard of the rash of thefts by children during the summer. He saw eyes staring at him from dark alleyways when he did his daily exercises, saw shadows of the poor flickering from building to building. These encounters were not constant, and according to the talk in the Rat Hole it was rare to see an impoverished person in Riverfall, but Hirem couldn’t get them out of his head. ”Where can these people go?” He finally asked of the tavern goers at the Rat Hole, approaching anybody that looked like they might give him an answer. Finally, one hard-drinking member of the Kuvay’Nas gave him an answer. ”They leave the city,” the Akalak murmured, wiping his mouth clean of ale. ”We are no charity that leeches may affix themselves to. Those that cannot work, must leave. Everyone pulls their own weight here.” Hirem, shocked, continued. ”Even the children?” The guard only responded by nodding his head gravely. The Benshira was stupefied by the answer. In Yahebah, those that cannot provide for themselves, are provided for. No one is turned away; no one is deemed unfit of Yahal’s mercy. To think that the poor are pushed into the wilds, exiled from this sanctuary and left alone in the Sea of Grass…

Even the children.

Finally, the nature of Yahal’s message when he sent Timothy to Hirem had become clear.

[Hirem]

It was the twelfth day since he had first met the young boy, and he woke up that morning determined. He had no shifts at the Rat Hole scheduled, leaving him a free day to do with as he willed. Ignoring his usual routine of heading down to the beach and performing a bell-long run, Hirem instead head to the nearby market and purchased a meal for himself. It was the same meal that he would pick up any other day - a bowl of soup and a preserved apple from the summer season - but he did not intend to eat it today. Today, Hirem would go hungry. Slipping the bowl tightly under his arm and slipping the apple into his sleeve, the Benshira made his way to the docks of the city in the early hours of the morning, enjoying the crisp winter air. He was still cold, unbelievably cold, in the Rivarian winter, but he had grown to enduring the lightest of it. In the distance, the sun had not yet risen over the horizon, but the sky was lightening to a deep, reserved blue. There were few that braved the streets at this hour, and his journey down to the docks was a quiet, solemn affair. He descended from the opulent, grand second tier to the denser first tier, and from there, descended into the warren of buildings that surrounded the actual docks of the city. Here the Akalak influence was no longer so prevalent, and the homes of Rivarian foreigners sprung up all around. Here, Hirem was determined to find the ghosts that had been haunting him without reprieve.

And he searched for them.

And searched.

And searched.

He looked in every alleyway, checked behind every corner, stooped underneath every archway, and checked down every path. He ventured into places he never thought existed in Riverfall, and combed through the streets for bells and bells. The whispers that had caught his attention earlier, the faint shadows that stalked through his imagination… none made themselves apparent. The poor of Riverfall know how to shield themselves, Hirem figured, for the Kuvay’Nas would see the streets rid of them. By mid-day, the city had grown much more alive with activity, and Hirem was still getting no progress with his mission. The soup had grown cold despite being tucked away next to his body, and the apple had nearly slipped out of his sleeve several times now. He was despairing of finding anyone, but resolved not to give up anytime soon. Yahal, I know you watch over my path now. Lend me another sign, if you would be so kind. Guide me to the wayward, the lost, and let me see some method of providing for them. Lead me to the lost members of your flock, and let them know the -

His prayer was interrupted when two very small shadows collided into his side from around the corner.

It was a testament to his sheer bulk that he was unfazed by the hit, merely taking a step back and holding the soup bowl tighter to his side. ”Are you alright?” He asked of the tiny two figures that had bumped into him, standing at his waist and wearing large, burdensome rags. The hoods they wore prevented him from seeing their faces, but from the way they wobbled uncertainly in place, both looked fazed by the collision. Then, before he could blink, suddenly they were racing down the alley again. ”Wait!” Hirem called, stepping after them. One of the children just kept running, but the other - a boy, judging by his stance - glanced over his shoulder, curious. Before he could escape, Hirem tossed the apple at the child. Hungry eyes instantly spotted the airborne fruit and the boy sprinted to catch it, stopping in place once he did so. His companion, a girl, hissed and wheeled about to catch him.

Jogging up to the arguing pair, Hirem dropped to a knee. ”I’m not going to hurt you - ” he began, but the girl wouldn’t hear of it. From underneath her dark hood came a wad of spittle, landing directly on the Benshira’s cheek. ”Come Tarik!” The muffled voice cried, the girl always pulling on the boy’s sleeve. But Tarik did not move, too obsessed with the apple in his hands to care whether or not he was caught by the scary dark giant.

”So,” Hirem began, smiling warmly. ”You are Tarik,” he pointed at the voraciously eating boy, ”And your name is…?” He was prompting the girl to work with him, but the only answer she gave was a sullen stare. Her features were dark, tanned underneath the hood, with big green eyes staring up at him…

Wait…

I can’t believe this.

”You… you are Nadia,” he gasped, thinking of the girl that he had travelled to Riverfall with in the spring. At the sound of her name, Nadia’s eyes shot wide open and she swiftly began back-pedalling away from her fellow Benshira. The sweet, happy girl that found me out in the Burning Lands, the one that excitedly chirped about the lamb I had rescued in the desert… this is what she’s been reduced to? He called out to her. ”Nadia, where are your parents? Your Tent? Where is Hisham?”

She had no answer for him.

”Hik!” Leaping to his feet, Hirem raced down the alley after her. The bowl of soup tumbled from his grasp and shattered onto the street, ceramic pieces exploding across the ground as the soup lay spoiled. He paid the matter no mind, fixated only on figuring out what in all of Mizahar was going on. But for all of his strength, he still was no capable runner, and the little girl moved much faster than him. ”Nadia! Come back!” He yelled in Shiber, hoping the language would coax her to stay. ”I am no threat to you! Let me help you!”

She, again, had no answer for him, and disappeared into the city.

Meanwhile, little Tarik finally seemed to have caught wind of Nadia’s intentions. The mousy-headed boy raced by Hirem, shaking his head all the while. ”Sorry!” The boy said as he passed by. ”Nothing personal!”

This left Hirem much the same way as before: standing in the middle of an empty street, staring at the backs of ghosts that were swallowed up by the city.

[Hirem]

52nd of Winter, 514 A.V.

The next day Hirem returned to the docks to search for Nadia, but found nothing. He couldn’t find one whisper of her or Tarik, and indeed failed to meet anyone that needed charity. Frustrated, the Benshira returned home and offered up a prayer to Yahal, begging for the god to return the little girl and boy to him, so that he might see them to a safe haven before the Kuvay’Nas evicted them from the city. The day after he went to the docks and, just like before, found nothing. And the day after that, nothing. And the day after that, nothing still. It took him another three days of searching before he came across another poor soul: a young Svefra named Wayland, who was so skinny the wind might have picked him up and carried him off at any moment. Hirem shared with Wayland a piece of salmon, and promised to bring more the next day. But once again, when he returned to where he had met the little Svefra, there was no trace of the child ever being there at all. They don’t trust anyone, Hirem grew to realize. Living in constant fear is not the way these children should find Riverfall. There has to be something more I can do for them. But he couldn’t just dump them off at the Sanctuary and expect Kavala to take care of the problem, nor did he want to; this was a task Yahal had entrusted Hirem with, and Hirem would carry it out to the best of his ability. So, whenever he got the chance, he ventured to the docks with food in his hands, searching for the ghosts of Riverfall.

Searching for Nadia.

He finally stumbled upon her trail late one evening after a trip to the Alements. While returning to the Kulkukan from the tavern, a small number of olives in his hand, Hirem caught sight of a small little bundle of rags folded up by the street corner. He might have thought it a pile of clothes, had the little bundle not been breathing and sniffling in a quiet, tender voice. The night was growing dark very swiftly, and it strained his eyes to look so intently, but eventually the Benshira spotted the distinctive body of a child hidden underneath all those rags. Shivering, Hirem quietly approached the bundle and kneeled down beside it. Taking a deep breath, he let out a gentle, ”Shh,” reaching out to place a hand on the child’s shoulder. To his surprise, the child - a boy? - did not try to escape his grasp, but actually seemed to accept it. Nodding slowly, Hirem then reached out and felt for the boy’s hands. They were terribly small and extremely cold, and he could not help but wince as he dropped the olives into them. ”There.” He murmured. ”Eat.”

Sniffling, the boy gave a quiet murmur of agreement and sat up, scooping the olives into his mouth. He was wearing a tight hood overtop his head, but underneath the brim… ”Tarik?” Hirem asked. The child shuddered, then slowly nodded. ”What are you doing out here?”

Tarik, his voice soft, shook his head. ”Waiting for Nadia,” he breathed.

”And why are you waiting for Nadia?” The Benshira was afraid of the answer, but asked after his kin anyway. Please, Yahal, do not tell me one of your own has come to harm.

The look that Tarik gave him broke Hirem’s heart. It wasn’t a look of despair; it was a look of resignation. ”We were following this sailor that just came in to the city… he had a big pouch on his belt, we thought it was full of coin… but before we could catch him in the streets, he went to this big tavern filled with people.” The boy rubbed his nose on his sleeve and cleared his throat. ”I didn’t want to follow him in there, but Nadia kept saying she was gonna. I kept telling her no, but she wasn’t listening. Then she just ran in there without me. I waited outside for a while, and it got really dark. I was gonna go in myself, but then - ” And here the boy stuttered into nothing, staring down ashamedly at the ground.

”Tarik?” Hirem questioned, gripping his shoulder. He tried to keep the panic from his voice, but failed. The boy started to cry.

”This big man came out with her, pulling her along behind him. I ran to hide, but I heard her say, ‘Tarik!’ She was crying real bad, and then I heard the man slap her, and she got quiet.” Tears poured down his cheeks. ”I woulda done something, but he was really, really…” The rest was unintelligible blubbering.

Hirem’s heart had grown cold by then, and it was difficult to breathe properly. Stay calm, son of Rapa… stay calm… Struggling to think beyond frightened, panicked thoughts, the Benshira pushed himself to his feet. ”Which tavern, Tarik?” The boy did not hear him, so Hirem leaned down and stared him in the eye. ”Look at me,” he commanded, as sternly as he could manage. Still crying, Tarik finally opened his eyes wide and looked back at Hirem, quivering with fear. That’s my fault, he thought, regretting every moment of this, but feeling that it had to be done. ”Which tavern, Tarik?”

”The - the Rat Hole,” he squeaked.

”Take yourself off the streets,” Hirem ordered, withdrawing to his full height. ”And find someplace warm. It’ll be cold tonight.” With that, the Benshira turned about and raced down the street, hurrying to the distant Rat Hole.

Hoping beyond hope that Yahal wasn’t testing him.

[Hirem]

It took him half a bell to get down to the Rat Hole, which normally was good time if he was starting his run at the Alements. But tonight, Hirem felt that he was too slow, too sluggish, his damned feet not moving fast enough. Every tick he wasted was another tick the stranger dragged Nadia farther and farther away into darkness, where she may not be found again. His heart was racing up his throat and down the bones of his legs, making every step thunder back up his bloodstream. Faster, faster. His lungs felt crushed within his chest and he ended up gasping for air, but still Hirem raced on, convinced that if he wasn’t relentless, he was doomed to failure. Yahal guide my steps and see me safely to her, and may he show mercy to the man that has her now. For I will not. Finally, panting, the Benshira caught sight of the bustling tavern and hurried inside, managing to barely escape the first snowfall of the evening.

Inside, the Rat Hole was experiencing an excellent night for business. Every table was packed, every chair was occupied, and every inch of the floor was covered in stomping feet and fallen mugs. At first all the Benshira could make out was a sea of heads and clustered limbs, and he stood at the door hopelessly lost. He wanted to cry out for Nadia even though he knew she was not there. Finally, he caught sight of Ardan standing near the bar, his mighty arms folded, and, for once, was happy to see the head bouncer. Pushing through the crowd, not bothering with courtesy given the circumstances, Hirem ended up shoving his way over to Ardan’s side. The bouncer greeted him coldly, but with a hint of a smile on his face. ”Hirem. What are you doing here?”

The Benshira was out of breath, but struggled to speak nonetheless. ”There was a - a girl inside the tavern, no more than ten. She - ” Groaning, he braced his hands against his knees. ”She’s from Eyktol, like me. Has bright green eyes. She came in here, and then someone took her away.” His windpipe seized up then, forcing Hirem to double over.

Ardan raised an eyebrow. ”And?”

Hirem couldn’t believe the statement. ”I need to know who took her!” He hissed.

Bemused, the head bouncer took a deep breath. His chilling eyes glanced away from Hirem and at the rest of the tavern, watching the crowd, scanning it for impurities. Hirem had no idea what was going on in Ardan’s mind, but decided that asking more questions wouldn’t help his case. Instead he waited, impatiently, for the man to speak. Finally, Ardan gave a slow nod. ”I think I remember what you speak of. I only saw the girl for a moment before a man got up from that table,” he pointed to the far right corner, ”grabbed her by the arm, and left. I might have thought more of it, but she called him ‘Father’ when she finally noticed him, so I didn’t bother inquiring after them.”

Hirem blinked. ”What?”

Father?

Ardan nodded, his smile growing. ”In fact, the man looked like you. Had your eyes, I mean -the Benshira eyes. His were bright blue.”

Hisham. Shaking the thought from his mind, Hirem glanced over to the table Ardan had indicated. Unlike the rest of the tavern, the sailors - they looked Svefra,anyway - here looked sullen and downcast, muttering quietly while they drank their ale. Thanking the bouncer under his breath, the Benshira dove back into the tavern crowd, a new sense of urgency powering his every step. Though people cursed his passage and called out slurs at him, he brushed them all by, single-minded and frantic. His pulse escalating, he reached the corner table and slammed his hands down upon it. ”I’m looking for a man with bright blue eyes, just left with a girl in his tow. Who is he? Where did he go?”

Nobody answered him. One Svefra was old, with a balding head and solemn gaze. Another was young and fresh-faced, looking overly serious and staring nervously at Hirem’s waist. The last, who was not Svefra at all, merely stared at Hirem and did not betray anything on his worn, leathery face. All of them were united in keeping quiet, with nary a taunt escaping from their lips as Svefra were wont to do, which helped convince Hirem that they knew exactly who he was speaking of. Growling, the Benshira leaned close and stared them all down. Anger emboldened him, made his words sharp and the table shake from his grasp. ”The first man that speaks gets to keep his tongue. If you are hiding something from me, I will let the Kuvay’Nas have it from you - they don’t tolerate violence against women, even girls - after I am finished. Speak.”

There was a nervous moment of silence that the three sailors shared. Finally, the one with the leathery face let out a groan. ”Get lost,” he said, pushing himself off the table and preparing to stand.

Before he could rise fully, Hirem reached out and slammed his fist hard on the man’s wrist, pinning it to the table. The man let out a cry of pain that was, thankfully, lost in the noisy din of the tavern. ”I said speak,” Hirem whispered, grinding his knuckles deep against the man’s bones.

The old man had enough. ”Stop it!” he cried, shaking his head vigorously. ”It isn’t petching worth this! I’ll tell you.” He motioned for Hirem to sit down, but the Benshira refused, keeping his attacker restrained against the table. Biting his lip, the old Svefra then sighed. ”Look, he’s just some Benshira sap that was looking for cheap work on a sailing vessel. He came to me with some sob story about how he had lost his ‘tent’ while travelling through the Sea of Grass and had nothing left to his name, save a daughter to feed. I thought it was just another example of why travel can only be done at sea, but I didn’t tell him that. Told him he could sail with us for a time, make a decent wage to get back on his feet.” The man shrugged. ”Anyway. We’ve been here since mid-day, the Benshira with us, but he was drinking the whole time. Slurring about his wife and his kid and his ‘Peanut’ scrolls. He was just going out of his mind. When the girl came in, he cried out that it was his Nadia, told us he was going to whip her into shape and take her back to Eyktol. So we, uh… we let him go.” The tale dwindled to silence, the old man looking uncomfortable and scratching the back of his neck.

Hirem was at a loss for words. He stepped back from the table, releasing the cursing Svefra, and tried to summon the ability to speak. ”You let him go.” Was all he could say.

”Yes,” the old man answered.

”You let him go.”

The Svefra raised his brow and glanced at his companions. ”Yes…?”

Finally, Hirem exploded. He threw his hands up in the air and grit his teeth together, eyes full of rage. ”You dumb pieces of shyke! You benachags! May the locusts eat your eyeballs and spread you across the filth of Hai itself!” The Svefra didn’t know how to respond, but Hirem didn’t give them a chance. He raced for the door, sweat thick on his brow, heart stuck in his lungs. Nadia is alone with her father. The thought should have calmed him, thinking of what he knew of kindly Hisham, but instead it made his stomach curl into a tight, anxious knot. Tarik said he hit her. The old man said he was drunk. And this city, and everyone inside of it, has been going crazy for the past two seasons. No doubt Hisham’s succumbed to the same madness. No doubt he is drunk enough to fulfill his promise to Nadia.

On the way out of the Rat Hole, Hirem stole a cloak that had been hanging beside the door, fastening it about him as he burst into the street outside. The snow was coming down thick now, and the sky was dark, completely featureless.

Into the night, Hirem hurried, racing to save Nadia’s life.

[Hirem]

Hirem ran.

It was all he could think of doing, carrying himself forward out of Riverfall and into the snowing wilds. It was all he could want to do, hurling himself towards a child in need, left alone with someone that seemed unstable. It was all his body could manage right now, pushed to the limit and growing colder all the while. The snow was fierce, it was everywhere, and the night’s winds threatened to swallow him whole.

And as he ran, questions sprang to mind. Questions about Hisham, about what in all the Ukalas could have happened to such a kind man, the picture of Benshira hospitality, to transform him into the drunk the sailors spoke. Little did they know that when Hisham spoke of his ‘tent’, he spoke of his entire world. Wife, parents, grandparents, cousins, friends… all lost to the Sea of Grass. It was probably the fault of the glassbeaks, or Zith, or some other confounded menace that plagued Mizahar. Nothing can excuse his behaviour now, though. No parent should ever strike their child. He also had questions about the Kuvay’Nas, about why he had not already encountered Hisham on the way out of Riverfall. The harassment of children is forbidden by Rivarian law, yet I have see no sign of the pair. Shouldn’t the guards have stopped them by the gates? But ever since this strange malady hit Riverfall, the Kuvay’Nas hadn’t been doing their jobs properly. Many of them no longer cared about the upkeep of the law, some of them even going so far as to break it. And, finally, Hirem had questions about Yahal, about whether or not he had chosen Hirem to save Nadia, or to observe the tragedy to follow.

Lord Yahal, Lord Nysel. I am marked by your benevolence, and now I ask you: help me. Please.

Finally, Hirem could run no more, and collapsed to his knees. The impact with the ground was harsh, rattling his bones from the foot to the neck. A cold gust of wind blasted directly into his face, blinding him with snow and making him shield himself from the elements. The cloak he had stolen helped protect him from the worst of the gale, but the snowstorm was still coming down thick. Hirem had run a bell south of Riverfall, down the Kabrin Road, heading towards the border between Cyphrus and Eyktol. There was no way Hisham could make the journey in a single night, but with the man as drunk as he was, good ideas were not going to be in plentiful supply. It was all Hirem could hope for, to find some sign of the pair on the road before the night got too dark and the snows too steep. Even now, Hirem could scarcely make out the road from the grassland. There was a fire in his lungs that would not die, and every muscle in his body spasmed painfully. He was too far away from the city now, too far away from safety, too far lost in this dark and deadly night…

”Naaaaadia!” Came the howling cry, making Hirem’s ears perk up. The sound brought a chill to the back of his neck, and the Benshira tried to spot where it originated from. Did I dream it? He wondered, feeling the exercise was hopeless. Where can she be? Then, just as he was about to dismiss the cry, there came another, ”Naaadia!” This time, the scream definitely came from the plain to the right of the road. The voice was distinctly male and, even more telling to Hirem’s trained ears, distinctly drunk. Hisham! The Benshira thought, throwing himself to his feet and hurrying towards the shouting man. I’m finally on the trail! His feet plunged through bitterly cold snow and came away freezing, his teeth chattering together, but Hirem was too determined to let the weather bog him down. Like a thundering bull that would not stop for anything short of a stone wall, he pushed his way through the grass, the snow, and the wind…

And finally came upon the sight he had been dreading all this time.

There was Nadia, a little doll made of rag and tanned skin, fallen in the snow. Her face was thrust out of its hood, covered from cheek to cheek in bruises, her bright green eyes staring terrified up at her father. She was backing away as fast as her little arms could manage, stuck elbow-deep in the snow.

There was Hisham, stumbling towards her, his cheeks red and his complexion ruddy, a knife tightly held in his right hand. His breeches were pulled down around his ankles, and it was a miracle he could walk straight through the heavily-piling snow. ”Nadia!” he shouted once more, wobbling from side to side. ”You can’t run, little girl! You’re all I have left!”

Hirem did what came naturally: he charged straight for Hisham.

Surprisingly, the drunk heard his approach and turned around at the last moment, slashing his knife around in a clumsy arc. The sharp blade grazed Hirem’s shoulder and managed to draw blood, causing him to cry out in pain. The attack was also enough to make him lose his balance, making him tumble haphazardly towards Hisham. Banging his head on his opponent’s shoulder, Hirem toppled dizzily into the snow, while the drunk ended up falling the other way. A great explosion of snow once more blinded the Benshira and made him roll uselessly through the snow, unable to stand when he couldn’t tell which direction the sky was in. I’m winded, he realized after a moment, his chest feeling horribly strained. I didn’t give myself enough time to prepare for a fight. He moved to get up…

When suddenly a great weight threw itself on top of his chest, cracking one of his ribs. Once again, Hisham had surprised him by recovering quickly from the initial attack, the drunk now pushing Hirem further into the snow. At some point his breeches had slipped completely off and the man now fought half-naked, his drunk senses numb to the chill. ”Useless bastard,” the drunk was muttering under his breath. “Stupid benachag.” Hisham drew the knife up and prepared to plunge it deep into Hirem’s chest, but Hirem curled his hand into a fist and threw it, as hard as he could, into the drunk’s face. It managed to connect with his cheek and sent him tumbling back to the ground, the recoil with the man’s cheekbones making Hirem shout out loud in agony. He could barely see straight or think straight, but at the very least he had given himself room to stand. Wobbling, the Benshira did so, searching for the drunk with blinded eyes.

A kick came out of nowhere and connected with his gut, forcing him to buckle and fall to his knees. Swearing, Hisham came at him again, hoping to return the favour and punch him in the face. Thankfully, training from the Tuvya Sasaran finally came in handy, and Hirem managed to block the blow with his forearm while also jabbing down at the man’s stomach. The attack, hard and fast, managed to stun Hisham with its intensity. While the drunk stepped back, paralyzed, Hirem seized his opportunity and lunged, hurling one tightly-clenched fist up into the man’s jaw. There was a satisfying crack as the bones dislocated, and Hisham gave out a long, tortured scream. The knife came once more at Hirem, but the attack was lazy and had little power behind it; he caught the arm mid-air and wrested the knife free from his fingers. His weapon finally removed from his grasp, the drunk saw little point in further fighting and let himself fall backwards in the snow.

Leaving Hirem towering above him, knife in hand.

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind in that instant.

It is done. You have won.

It is done. You have won. Now end this.

You cannot ‘end’ this! The fight is over! The man cannot defend himself! You’ve won!

You’ve won, yes, but what does that gain you? The man yet breathes. The man that hurt his daughter, betrayed his god, and is an affront to his people yet breathes. Correct that.

He is Benshira, like you! He saved you when you were in your darkest hour! You cannot take justice into your own hands! Let him live, please! The girl needs her father.

And what kind of father will he be now, after being driven insane with grief? There’s no telling how permanent the changes are in him. He might never recover. While he breathes, Nadia is not yet safe.

Let him live.

End this. He deserves to die.

Let him live! Give him the chance to change!

End this. No one deserves to live like this.

No one deserves to live like this.