The smoke lingered, thick and choking, curling low to the ground as if trying to bury the aftermath. It clung to everything — stone, ash, skin. The scent of blood layered over it, sharp and metallic, impossible to ignore.
Aiden's hand pressed to his ribs, where pain still throbbed dully beneath the half-cauterized gash. He winced but didn't stop moving. He just kept looking.
The camp was silent now.
And smaller.
The old man was gone. So was the archer.
They hadn't mattered much to him. He'd met them what — two or three hours ago? One was half-drunk and gruff, the other barely spoke. He couldn't even recall if she'd looked him in the eye.
Still, there she was. Crumpled. Face tilted toward the sky, limbs awkward, blood pooled beneath her like spilled ink.
Aiden stared for a moment longer, then looked away.
He wasn't from here. These weren't his people.
But the image stuck anyway.
His gaze shifted to Lyanna.
She was moving quickly now toward the cluster of wounded near the edge of the scorched camp. Her face carried something he hadn't seen before. Not frustration, not command — panic. Sharp and unfiltered.
The most human he'd seen her.
Aiden watched as she reached Selina first, who was still unhurt, at least physically. Her clothes were singed, face streaked with soot, but she stood on her feet with her eyes clear. Lyanna barely paused, exchanged a few quick words, and then moved on.
It was the next person who stopped her.
A young man — closer to her age — lay crumpled on the ash-streaked ground. His skin was pale, blood staining the front of his torn tunic.
Lyanna dropped to her knees beside him. Her hands were shaking as she pulled him up into her arms.
They spoke quietly. Aiden couldn't hear from this distance. He didn't need to.
Whatever they said belonged to them.
The other two injured had survived.
One was the man Aiden had noticed tending to his own wounds earlier — clearly a medic. The second was a woman, her armor scorched and skin blotched red from burns. She sat slumped near a collapsed pile of blackened bedding, breathing shallow but alive.
Aiden shifted his weight, wincing as pain flared across his ribs. The wound still throbbed, sharp and deep, but manageable for now.
He moved anyway.
Slow, deliberate steps carried him toward the unnamed woman — the one he had helped during the chaos. His thrown blade had torn her attacker open, but what happened after that... he wasn't sure. The battle had blurred fast.
And honestly, he hadn't cared enough at the time to look back.
That, more than anything, was why he went to check now.
Not out of guilt. Not out of concern.
But because it bothered him — the not knowing.
He found her kneeling in the dirt, one knee down, blade resting against her thigh. Her face was smeared with soot and blood, but she met his gaze when he stopped beside her.
Silent.
Alive.
Aiden gave a faint nod. Nothing more.
She didn't nod back.
But that was enough.
In front of her lay a problem.An enemy survivor.
The same one Aiden himself had wounded earlier.
Aiden's gaze met the unnamed woman's.
"What happened?" he asked, voice low.
"He... capitulated," she responded slowly, her sword still resting loosely in her hand.
She shifted slightly and pointed faintly to the left, where another man knelt, barely holding himself together.
Wait a second... that's the one who stabbed me.He's still standing after that?
Two survivors.Both of them too broken to fight.But alive.
I don't have much to say about this.I still need to deal with the soul gathering thing. But after that window stunt in front of everyone, Lyanna's going to want answers.
I need to know how rare powers are around here.If it's uncommon enough, I can pass it off as my ability.
Aiden's gaze drifted toward Lyanna.
She was approaching now, her steps heavy.She had just finished speaking with the wounded. From the look twisting her face, she had noticed the prisoners too.
She reached them, slowing slightly at the sight of the kneeling men.
"They surrendered?" she asked, her voice tight.
The woman at Aiden's side answered coldly.
"Does it matter? We should just finish them."
"Vaena, we..." Lyanna started, but the words faltered.
"What?" Vaena snapped, cutting her off."Don't tell me you want to spare them."
"No... but we could take prisoners," Lyanna said, though even she didn't sound convinced.
"Prisoners? We can barely keep ourselves alive!" Vaena barked."We've got maybe two people left who can even stand.One of them can't hurt a fly," she added, glancing toward Selina."And the other," her eyes flicked to Aiden, "isn't even our ally."
Her words sliced through the smoky air.Painfully true.
Lyanna's main arm was injured badly enough that fighting would be reckless.The rest were barely able to breathe without collapsing.And Aiden — he was running on stubbornness and a sword wound through his ribs.
It really was just them. And two battered enemies still breathing.
Us or them.
"You're right..." Lyanna said at last, her voice quiet and numb.Her face twisted with disgust at what she was about to do.Her sword slid from its sheath, held now in her non-dominant hand.
But before she could take a step, a hand rose behind her.
"Can I offer to do it instead?" Aiden asked.
She turned, startled. Even Vaena blinked, visibly thrown off.
"Why?" Lyanna asked, suspicion creeping into her tone.
"Oh, come on," Aiden replied casually."You clearly don't want to do it. Let me spare you one more nightmare."
His tone was calm, almost too calm. Confident in a way that didn't quite fit the moment.But beneath it, something else simmered.
There's something I need to test.Something personal.
Lyanna stared at him for a moment longer.She wasn't sure what it was — the way he stood, how he spoke, how he looked at the prisoners — but something felt off.
Even after saving them, something about Aiden didn't sit right.A stranger who threw himself into the fight, offered to do their dirty work, and stood over corpses with unsettling stillness.He hadn't mourned. He hadn't hesitated. He'd killed with ease — and now he was asking to kill again.
What was his motive?
No one knew where he'd come from.Selina had vouched for him, but even that was vague.
His movements were too clean.His reactions too fast.His eyes too still.
It was like he wasn't normal.Not just in the way he fought, but in the way he existed.
Lyanna exhaled slowly, chest tight with uncertainty.But she lowered her blade.
"Just... make it quick," she muttered, stepping back.
Took you long enough.
Aiden bent down and picked up one of the fallen blades — not his, not even clean. Just steel soaked in dry blood.He stepped toward the first prisoner — a middle-aged man, hardened from experience but now afraid.
As Aiden neared, the man's breath quickened. His eyes darted, calculating and pleading.
"Wait! You don't need to do this! We can talk!" he said hastily, throwing up a trembling arm.
Aiden paused.
Not out of mercy. Not because the words reached him.But because something twisted inside him. Something off.
He waited for guilt to show up.It didn't.
No cold sweat. No nerves. Not even revulsion.
Just a silent, gnawing absence.
He should be questioning this.He should be sickened.He should feel something — anything.
But he didn't.
And that terrified him more than the blood he was about to spill.
The blade moved — swift and practiced. Too practiced.Steel parted flesh, and with it, life.
The man's head hit the dirt with a sickening thud. His body collapsed, painting the earth in red.
And Aiden stood still.
Not numb. Not shocked.
Just... still.
He stared at his blood-streaked hands.His breath remained even.His heart didn't race.His fingers didn't tremble.
He felt nothing.
And then a single, brutal thought rose like a scream:
If I'm not feeling guilt — not even now —then maybe I didn't just become a killer in this world.Maybe I came into it as one.
His gaze shifted to the last prisoner — the man who stabbed him during the battle.Aiden's ribs ached as he moved.
The man was younger.Eyes wide. Tears threatened.
He saw Aiden coming and didn't even try to run — just pressed himself back in weak defense.
"Please…" he whispered.
Aiden's grip tightened.
It always came to this.
They were monsters until they were helpless.Then they became victims.Then they cried.Then they begged.
But if Aiden hadn't acted — if he had fallen — would this man be standing over his corpse right now?
His arm moved. The blade thrust forward, clean and fast.
The man slumped forward, blood seeping out.
Still nothing.
No regret. No doubt. No heat in his chest.
Just silence.
And for the first time, real fear stirred — not of others, but of himself.
Why?Who am I?Was I already a killer?
Is this place... my punishment?
He stared down at the corpse.
Who was I, before ending up here?
"Aiden."
The voice behind him made him flinch slightly.
Selina.
How long had he stood there?
Her tone was soft, worn down.
"We're preparing to leave. Are you coming?"
She didn't mention what she saw. Didn't ask about the blood.Just stood there, waiting.
Aiden didn't answer right away.
Everyone was moving.
Lyanna and Vaena supported the injured. The medic walked unsteadily.
Selina stood alone — and Aiden needed a direction.
"I'm going," he answered firmly.
No one tied him up now.Trust — or something like it — had been earned.
But before moving, Aiden needed confirmation.
"Are there any reserves for transport?" he asked.
Selina nodded to a small satchel on her shoulder.
"I see…"
That's a problem.
They were traveling light. Too light.
He waited until no one was watching.
"Open."
The blue window shimmered softly.
He navigated to the Soul Gallery.
More slots were filled.
Po, as always.Then five more — soldiers he had killed.And one more.
Harven.
Harven's soul was almost twice Po's size.
Aiden didn't know what that meant.But it meant something.
"Aiden!"
He flinched.
Lyanna's voice.
"Close," he whispered.
The window vanished.
Did she see?
She didn't act like it.
"You're up front," she said simply, already turning.
Aiden exhaled.
Fine. Let's walk with the elves.
Maybe they had shelter. Maybe they didn't.
Either way... he needed sleep.