Chapter 12.5:
THREE DAYS LATER - BRIARKEEP
The Rusty Blade tavern was crowded, filled with adventurers swapping stories over cheap ale and cheaper food. Lhoralaine's party occupied a corner table, their mood subdued despite successfully completing their escort mission.
Lhoralaine picked at her food, her mind elsewhere. On a crimson-eyed swordsman. On six months of distance. On the crater where forty monsters used to exist.
"Still thinking about him?" Vera, her party's healer, asked gently.
"I can't stop thinking about him."
"Maybe that's your answer. Maybe you need to—"
The tavern door crashed open.
A familiar silver-haired woman entered, her party behind her. Sirenia. Her blue eyes scanned the room, landed on Lhoralaine's table, and hardened.
"Oh no," one of Lhoralaine's party members muttered.
Sirenia crossed the tavern in long strides. Stopped at their table. Looked down at Lhoralaine with barely controlled fury.
"We need to talk. Outside. Now."
Lhoralaine stood slowly. "Fine."
They stepped into the alley behind the tavern. The evening air was cool, tinged with the smell of cooking fires and refuse.
"Did you follow me here?" Lhoralaine asked.
"No. Our routes just happen to cross. Bad luck for both of us." Sirenia crossed her arms. "But since you're here, let's settle something. Stay away from Hexia."
"No."
"Excuse me?"
"I said no. I'm not staying away from him. I'm going to find him. I'm going to apologize. I'm going to—"
"Going to what? Beg forgiveness? Try to worm your way back into his life?" Sirenia's voice dripped venom. "He doesn't need you. He's better without you."
"You don't get to decide that."
"Neither do you. He gets to decide. And I think if you gave him the choice, he'd choose never seeing you again."
Lhoralaine's hands clenched. "You don't know him like I do."
"Really? Tell me—when did you last see him smile? Laugh? Show genuine emotion that wasn't pain?" Sirenia stepped closer. "I've seen all of those things. Because I took the time. I was patient. I didn't give up when he pushed me away. I earned every smile, every laugh, every moment of trust."
"I loved him first!"
"And you threw that away! You chose someone else! You broke his heart and then left him to rot in his own misery for years!" Sirenia's voice rose. "So don't you dare stand there and claim you loved him. Love doesn't do what you did."
"I was young! I was confused! Fred manipulated me, made me think—"
"Fred manipulated you because you let him! Because you were too blind to see what Hexia felt! Too selfish to consider anyone but yourself!"
"That's not fair—"
"Fair?!" Sirenia laughed bitterly. "You want to talk about fair? Hexia spent years drowning in emptiness because of you. Turned himself into a weapon because feeling anything hurt too much. And you want to talk about fair?!"
Lhoralaine's composure shattered. "I know what I did! You think I don't live with that guilt every single day?! You think I don't see his face every time I close my eyes?! I made a mistake! A horrible, unforgivable mistake! But I want to fix it!"
"You can't fix it! Some things—"
"—stay broken, yes, I heard you the first time!" Lhoralaine's voice cracked. "But I have to try! I have to! Because if I don't, if I just give up and walk away, then I really am the selfish monster you think I am!"
Sirenia stared at her. Saw the genuine anguish. The real guilt. The desperate need for redemption.
It didn't change anything.
"Trying to fix it isn't about him. It's about you. About easing your guilt. About making yourself feel better." Sirenia's voice softened, but the steel remained. "If you really cared about Hexia, you'd leave him alone. Let him heal. Let him find peace with someone who didn't destroy him."
"Someone like you?"
"Yes. Someone like me."
Lhoralaine's laugh was bitter. "And what makes you think you're better for him? You barely know him."
"I know enough. I know he laughs at my jokes. Smiles when I arrive. Teaches me swordplay even though I'll never match his skill. Opens up about his pain when the walls come down. Holds my hand under the stars." Sirenia's voice held quiet triumph. "I know the real him. Not the memory you're clinging to."
"I knew him first—"
"And you lost him. Past tense. Whatever you had, whatever you might have had—it's gone. You killed it when you chose Fred."
The name hit like a physical blow. Lhoralaine's face went white.
"Don't. Don't say his name."
"Why? Does it hurt? Does it remind you of what you gave up? What you chose over Hexia?"
"Stop."
"Fred. The manipulator. The liar. The—"
Lhoralaine's fist connected with Sirenia's jaw.
The punch wasn't clean—desperation and rage made it sloppy. But it landed hard enough to snap Sirenia's head sideways, split her lip.
Sirenia touched her mouth, saw blood on her fingers. Looked at Lhoralaine with something dark and satisfied.
"There it is. The real you. Not the guilty childhood friend. The violent, selfish girl who lashes out when she doesn't get what she wants."
"Shut up—"
"Make me."
Lhoralaine attacked. No technique, no strategy, just raw fury. She tackled Sirenia into the alley wall, driving the air from her lungs.
They crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Lhoralaine got on top, swinging wildly. Her fist caught Sirenia's cheek, then her nose. Blood sprayed.
Sirenia bucked, throwing her off. Got her legs up and kicked Lhoralaine in the chest, sending her sprawling.
Both women scrambled to their feet, breathing hard. Bruised. Bleeding. Neither backing down.
"Is this what you are?" Sirenia spat blood. "A violent child throwing a tantrum?"
"I'm fighting for someone I love!"
"You're fighting for your guilt! For your ego! For the idea of him, not the reality!"
Lhoralaine screamed and charged again. This time Sirenia was ready. She sidestepped, grabbed Lhoralaine's arm, and used her momentum to slam her face-first into the wall.
Lhoralaine's nose crunched. Blood poured. She turned, wild-eyed and feral, and launched herself at Sirenia again.
They traded blows. Brutal. Ugly. No grace or skill, just two women beating the shit out of each other in a filthy alley.
Sirenia's fist caught Lhoralaine's temple. Lhoralaine's elbow smashed Sirenia's ribs. They grappled, punched, kicked, clawed. Both refusing to submit.
Their party members burst into the alley, finally alerted by the noise.
"Holy shit—"
"Stop them!"
It took four people to separate them. Two holding Sirenia, two restraining Lhoralaine. Both women strained against their captors, trying to reach each other.
"Let me go!"
"She's mine—"
"ENOUGH!"
The voice cut through their fury like a blade. Vera, Lhoralaine's healer, stepped between them.
"Both of you, shut up and listen. You're not fighting over Hexia. You're fighting over which one of you gets to feel less guilty about hurting him."
"That's not—" Sirenia started.
"Yes, it is. Lhoralaine feels guilty for breaking him. You feel guilty for falling in love with someone that broken. And instead of dealing with those feelings like adults, you're beating each other bloody in an alley."
The truth hit like cold water. Both women stopped struggling.
"Hexia isn't a prize to be won," Vera continued.
"He's a person. A damaged, broken person who's trying to heal. And you're both so focused on yourselves—your feelings, your guilt, your claims—that you've forgotten to ask what he wants. What he needs."
Shame crept across both their faces.
"So here's what's going to happen. We're going to heal you both. You're going to separate and calm down. And tomorrow, you're going to figure out how to handle this without violence. Because if you really care about Hexia, you'll put his wellbeing before your egos."
Silence. Heavy and uncomfortable.
"Fine," Sirenia muttered.
"Fine," Lhoralaine echoed.
Their party members released them. They stood there, bruised and bloody, not looking at each other.
Vera healed Sirenia first. Her split lip closed, her broken nose straightened, her bruises faded. Then Lhoralaine. Same treatment.
"Now go. Both of you. Different directions. Before you do something even stupider."
Sirenia left first, her party following. Lhoralaine watched her go, her throat tight with too many emotions to name.
"Come on," Vera said gently. "Let's get you back to the inn. You need rest."
"I need Hexia."
"What you need is perspective. And time to figure out if you're really doing this for him, or just for yourself."
Lhoralaine didn't answer. Because she didn't know the answer. And that terrified her more than anything.
Later that night, Sirenia sat in her room at a different inn, staring at the ceiling. Her face was healed, but her knuckles still ached from the fight.
She thought about what Vera said. About guilt. About ego. About what Hexia actually needed.
Was she really helping him heal? Or was she just trying to fix something broken because it made her feel useful?
She didn't know anymore.
All she knew was that she cared about him. Deeply. In a way that terrified and exhilarated her. And she wasn't ready to give that up.
Even if it meant fighting for it. Even if it meant competing with a ghost from his past.
Even if it meant risking everything.
Across town, Lhoralaine lay in her own bed, tears streaming silently down her face.
She'd lost him once. Through stupidity and manipulation and blindness. And now she was watching history repeat—watching another woman claim the heart that should have been hers.
But Vera was right. This wasn't about her. It was about Hexia. About what he needed, what he wanted.
And if what he needed was Sirenia? If what he wanted was to move forward instead of backward?
Could she accept that?
Could she let him go a second time?
She didn't know.
But she knew she had to try. Had to give him the choice. Had to finally, after all these years, put his needs before her own.
Even if it broke her again.
Even if it meant losing him forever.
Even if it destroyed what little remained of her heart.
The moon rose over Briarkeep, indifferent to the pain of two women fighting over a man who'd never asked to be fought over.
And somewhere in Korn Village, Hexia sat under the stars, unaware of any of it.
Training. Existing. Drowning in the emptiness that had flooded back the moment he saw her face.
Wishing, as he had so many times before, that he'd never survived that fall from the rooftop.
Because living hurt.
And he was so, so tired of hurting.
THREE DAYS LATER - AFTERNOON
Hexia was training in his yard when the message crystal appeared. It materialized in the air before him, glowing softly, pulsing with urgency.
He caught it. Felt the magic activate. Heard Sirenia's voice—strained, worried, trying to sound calm and failing.
"Rusty Blade tavern. Briarkeep. Come quickly."
That was it. No explanation. No details. Just those six words and an undercurrent of fear.
Hexia stared at the crystal for a long moment. His parents watched from the doorway, sensing the shift in him.
"Son?" Jerkin called softly.
Hexia didn't answer. Didn't turn around. Just kept staring at the crystal.
She needs me. Sirenia needs me. Something's wrong.
But Briarkeep is three days away. Three days of non-stop travel. No sleep. No rest. Just movement.
Can I do that? Should I do that?
What if it's a trap? What if Lhoralaine is manipulating the situation? What if—
He stopped. Cut off the spiral of doubt and fear.
No. It doesn't matter. Sirenia called. That's enough.
He pocketed the crystal. Strapped his sword to his back. Started walking toward the road.
"Hexia?" Marie called. "Where are you going?"
He paused at the gate. Didn't turn around.
"Briarkeep. Sirenia needs me."
"Do you want us to come with you?"
"No. Stay here. Protect the village. I'll be back when I can be back."
"Son—"
But he was already walking. Long strides. Determined. Focused.
Not running toward something. Running to something.
To someone who needed him. Who trusted him enough to call for help.
That made all the difference.
THE JOURNEY
Three days and three nights of traveling.
No sleep. No food. No rest. Just movement.
His body protested. Muscles screaming. Feet blistering. Exhaustion dragging at him like chains.
But he didn't stop.
She needs me. That's enough. That has to be enough.
He thought about Sirenia. About her smile. Her patience. Her fierce determination to see him as more than his trauma.
He thought about Lhoralaine. About what she represented. The past. The pain. The emptiness that nearly destroyed him.
He thought about Fred. About manipulation. About gaslighting. About the slow poison of emotional abuse disguised as love.
And he thought about himself. About the choice he was making. Not between two women—he'd already made that choice. But between his past and his future. Between fear and courage. Between emptiness and feeling.
I choose to feel. Even if it hurts. Even if it destroys me. I choose to feel.
Because feeling means I'm alive. And being alive? That's terrifying and beautiful and worth fighting for.
On the third night, he allowed himself a brief rest. Two hours under the stars, sword within reach, senses alert.
He dreamed of the rooftop. Of falling. Of that moment before impact when everything felt so clear, so right, so final.
But this time, the dream was different.
This time, hands caught him. Pulled him back. Held him while he struggled and screamed and begged to be let go.
And when he finally stopped fighting, when he finally opened his eyes—
Sirenia was there. Holding him. Refusing to let him fall.
"You're not alone," dream-Sirenia whispered. "Not anymore. So stop trying to be."
Hexia woke with tears on his face and determination in his heart.
He stood. Resumed walking.
The sun rose on the third day, painting the sky in shades of crimson and gold.
And ahead, on the horizon—Briarkeep.
BRIARKEEP - THE RUSTY BLADE - AFTERNOON
The tavern door stood before him. Solid wood. Ordinary. Concealing whatever chaos waited inside.
Hexia paused. Took a breath. Centered himself.
Whatever's in there—whoever's in there—I can handle it. I've handled worse. I've survived worse.
And I'm not alone. Not anymore.
He pushed open the door.
The tavern's interior was chaos frozen in time.
Tables overturned. Chairs scattered. Broken glass glittering on the floor like stars.
And in the center of it all—Sirenia, backed against the bar, blood streaming from a cut above her eye. Her sword was drawn but trembling.
Facing her stood Fred.
Older now. Broader in the shoulders. His armor was quality adventurer's gear, his sword gleaming and expensive.
But his face—his face held the same smugness Hexia remembered. The same entitled arrogance that had always grated.
And beside him, sobbing, broken—Lhoralaine.
Her auburn hair was disheveled, her eyes red and swollen. She clutched Fred's arm with desperate fingers, pleading.
"Please, Fred, just apologize! This doesn't have to—"
Fred's backhand caught her across the face.
Lhoralaine fell, hitting the floor hard. She didn't get up. Just lay there, crying quietly.
The tavern patrons watched in uncomfortable silence. No one intervened. No one helped.
They just stared into their drinks and pretended not to see.
Sirenia's eyes widened. "You bastard—"
"Stay down, bitch." Fred pointed his sword at her. "This doesn't concern you. This is between me and my woman."
Hexia's vision tunneled. Focused. Everything else fell away except the scene before him.
Fred hurt Lhoralaine. Fred threatened Sirenia. Fred needs to die.
The temperature dropped.
Not metaphorically. Literally. Frost formed on the windows. Breath misted in the suddenly frigid air. The tavern's hearth fire dimmed, then died.
Hexia took one step inside.
The floorboards cracked under his foot.
Everyone turned.
And the chapter ended with those eyes—crimson, cold, merciless—fixed on Fred like a predator sizing up prey that didn't know it was already dead.
To be continued...
The message was received. The journey was made. The confrontation was inevitable.
Now comes the reckoning.
Now comes the rolling of heads.