"Did you escape with one of the horses?" I ask Layla as I unlock the door.
She nods.
"We left it at the treeline once we realized you weren't home and the sun started to set." She says, releasing a small sniffle and wiping her nose.
I sigh, paying her no attention. The three follow me in and I set down my bag. Layla and Jenny both laying on my bed as Zane leans against the wall.
"I want to go make them a small grave." He comments.
I look at him for a moment, trying to decipher the emotions behind his steel gaze.
"Go ahead. It's not like I can do much to stop you." I say, turning towards Jenny and Layla.
"Now that we no longer the tree house, food is going to get tight." I tell them.
"I have no idea how to farm, nor butcher animals but I'm going to have to trust the two of you to do all that." I say, releasing a small yawn.
"And what will you do?" Jenny asks.
"Well, I don't possess any skills to do with hunting or butchering" I say honestly, "so I suppose I will go and help Zane bury our former teammates." I say blatantly.
Do I want to do that? Not particularly. But I have nothing else to do and it's not like they were all bad people, some of them at least seemed pretty honorable.
Jenny stares at me for a moment before turning to Layla, begrudgingly accepting my answer.
As Zane and I leave the hut, I release a small chuckle.
"What's so funny?" He asks seriously as we walk to my horse.
"I'm just thinking of how much of a hypocrite I am."
He looks at me, giving me a confused look.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I was criticizing Layla in my head for being scared and selfish," I admit, "but here I am, almost too lazy to bury the same people I condemned her for not caring about."
Zane doesn't answer right away. His eyes stay fixed on the shadows stretching between the trees.
Finally, he exhales through his nose and mutters a sentence."You know, it's always easy to criticize someone else. Harder to look at ourselves and see the same flaws staring back."
I glance at him, curious. "You saying I'm blind?"
He shakes his head. "Not blind. Just… human. We don't get to see what's running through someone's head when they make a choice. All we see are the consequences, and it's easy to sit on the outside and call them weak, or selfish, or cruel. But if we were in their shoes, with the same pressure, the same fear? Odds are, we'd probably make the same call."
The horse shifts, snorting. I keep quiet, and he keeps going.
"Look at politicians, military leaders… anyone sitting at the top. People tear them apart for every decision. And maybe they deserve some of it. But most of the time, the ones judging have never carried the weight those decisions bring. It's simple to call someone a coward when you're not the one who has to send men to die, or ration food knowing half a planetary system won't eat."
He glances at me then, the steel in his gaze tempered into something softer, more tired. "Hypocrisy isn't a flaw of a few people, but something a part of all of us. We can't help it. We judge without ever realizing how easily we could become the person we're condemning."
I don't respond. His words hang heavy between us, too heavy to push aside with a joke like I might normally do. And for the first time that day, I start to wonder if maybe burying the dead isn't just about them. Maybe it's about us, too.
…
The rest of our journey to the tree house was marched in silence, only the occasional neigh and snort from the horses. The air around me seemed to press down on me, filled with an emotion I could not name.At first, I wondered if it was grief, but rationally I only knew those people for less than a week. Why would I grieve over them? Was I so weak, that I'd feel emotion for someone I've never known? Yet still, the weight on my chest would refused to lift. Distress continued to know at me, and the only answers I reached were unsettling. Perhaps it was sadness, but more than likely, it was fear. Not fear of death, but fear of failure. I would be lying to say that my odds of winning this game haven't dwindled down heavily, and I am scared to know what will happen if I don't win. What will happen to me? What would the chancellor do? The thought berated my mind over and over again. It was scary. All that I'm left with are a pair of capable individuals and a brown haired beauty that I have no idea what to do with.
We reach the familiar base of the tree house and are greeted with the unfinished base of quickly made huts and low hanging lanterns.
My horse shifts nervously, sensing my tension, and I pat its neck to calm it. Zane dismounts silently, his eyes scanning over me.
"Is there anything you'd like to say?" I ask, slowly dismounting my steed.
"I'm just a bit concerned about you." He says innocently.
"You were quiet the whole ride, is there something you'd like to get off your mind?"
"You need not worry about me. I am just thinking," I say, forcing a small, controlled smile.
He chuckles softly, though there's still that edge of concern in his eyes. "Don't worry over things you feel or actions you have committed," he says. "We can't change what has already happened. Regret, guilt, fear. Those thoughts will only weigh you down. Make peace with whatever you are feeling, acknowledge it, and then let it go. Focus on what comes next, on what you can control."
I nod, letting his words settle, though my chest still feels heavy with the remnants of dread and uncertainty.
He glances at me, his tone softening further. "I am forced to trust you. I've placed my confidence in your judgment, in your ability to act when the time comes. Do not make me regret that. Not because I fear failure, but because I believe you are capable, even when you doubt yourself."
I stare at him for a moment, a little dumbfounded.
"You are a fool." I tell him, shaking my head.
"How so?"
I stare at him in disbelief.
"How are you able to trust someone in this situation we find ourselves in? At the end of the day, we both know there will only be one winner, one survivor. How can you possibly believe in someone like me?"
Zane tilts his head slightly. "Promise me just one thing, Achilles. Let us make a pact."
"A pact?" I repeat.
"Yes, but not just a normal pact. A pact of brothership."