The road to the refuge seemed longer than it should have been. The convoy climbed the hillside as far as possible, but eventually, we had to cover the last stretch on foot. Every step sent a sharp pain through my leg—the wound wasn't fatal, but it never let me forget its presence. No matter how hard I tried to shut it out, the pain clung to me without mercy.
The ruler walked ahead of me, his steps light, as if he were merely enjoying a pleasant stroll in the fresh air. There was no tension in him, no exhaustion, as if the events of the past hours had never happened. In contrast, I was struggling to catch my breath, desperately trying to keep up. Not a single word passed between us, and as I glanced around, I saw that no one else was talking either. The silence was heavier than the throbbing of my wound.
The refuge wasn't particularly large or striking—just a simple, medium-sized building, barely noticeable among the surrounding hills. As soon as we stepped inside, the general approached me. His voice was matter-of-fact, but somehow, it lacked its usual harshness.
—Go inside. Take a shower, clean your wound — he said. — There's someone in the team with medical training; they'll take a look at it.
He didn't have to tell me twice. As I entered the house, I hesitated for a moment, letting the warmth of the room wash over me. The sound of water echoed dully as I stepped under the shower, finally allowing myself a deep sigh. The pain receded for a brief moment, and my thoughts drifted far away.
Then, a sharp knock shattered the fleeting sense of peace.
— Hurry up! This isn't a spa retreat — a dark-clad figure called out impatiently, though without mockery.
I quickly pulled on my black overalls, tied my hair into a tight bun, and secured my new weapons to my belt. I slipped on my black gloves as well—they always concealed my fingerprints, in case that ever became necessary. One last glance in the mirror: the exhaustion cast small shadows across my face, but I had no time to dwell on it.
When I stepped outside, a small crowd had already gathered. The usual unreadable expressions of the dark-clad figures were different now—subtle shifts revealed that something had shaken them. Some faces were harder, others weary, and in some eyes, I saw something I had never seen before: a quiet grief.
And then I saw him.
My attacker was flanked by two dark-clad guards, but not like a prisoner. They weren't dragging him, nor were they brutal, yet their grip remained firm. His face held no defiance, no resistance—only an inexplicable weariness. The expressions of the two men beside him… well, it was as if they still held onto some shred of hope.
We lined up before the ruler. He stood behind me, motionless, his face as unreadable as ever. The general was at his side, arms crossed, his expression revealing nothing.
Finally, the escort on the right broke the silence.
— Please, hear him out first.
The one on the left added:
— But before that, you need to know—this wasn't an ordinary rebellion. It was far larger and more organized than anything we've seen before. At least ten of our own died. It was closer to a massacre.
The silence was crushing.
Then my attacker spoke.
His voice trembled, but not entirely with uncertainty. He was clearly struggling to gather his thoughts.
— I didn't want this — he began. — I never wanted this…
He swallowed hard, trying to steady his fear.
— They paid me off — he finally admitted. — They deceived me. But… I didn't do it for myself. My family… my children. I wasn't earning enough, and when I asked for help, I didn't get enough. After a while, there was only one way left.
Tears welled in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.
— I know what I did was wrong. I know I betrayed everything I swore to protect. But… I was just trying to save my family.
His words hung heavy in the air.
The ruler listened to him, his face betraying nothing. When he finally spoke, his voice was icy.
— Our laws are not stories. Not fables that we rewrite out of pity. The reason does not matter—the outcome is always the same.
A silence followed, sharp as a blade. Then, even colder, he continued:
— And I know you weren't alone. There were more of you. Give me their names. Then, perhaps, you'll have the chance to see your family before your execution.
I froze.
His words were so merciless that my breath caught in my throat. The man kneeling before us, struggling to justify his actions, suddenly seemed even smaller.
I couldn't tell whether the ruler was truly that heartless or if the situation demanded it of him. But in the next moment, I realized that it didn't matter.
Because the outcome was always the same.
The wind whispered through the trees, swirling around us, as if it, too, were listening to what was unfolding. We stood in front of the refuge, the dark-clad figures silent and motionless, as if they already knew what was coming.
The ruler's voice rang out, cold and quiet, yet it settled over us like lead.
— For one year, every dark-clad soldier will lose their pay. Even those with families. Even those who have nothing beyond this service. If you say nothing, we will interrogate all of you, and every single one will lose their stipend.