Summary: He didn't think it would come to this. If he had to regret one thing in his life, it would be this. Character death.
Volke was always prepared. He was efficient, he was scary. He was dangerous. He was ruthless and terrifying and probably the thing in people's nightmares. But if there was one thing he didn't want to be, it was a traitor.
But here he was.
When he had first gotten this mission, he almost refused. His face was passive, but his insides were in turmoil. Bastian trusted him. Ike, Queen Crimea… they trusted him. But there would be no chance for him once the deed was done. However, the fireman had only ever turned down one job. But that man was dead. It no longer mattered. And so, with some reluctance, the man accepted.
It most likely the worst decision of his career.
He had slipped into the mansion of Duke Fayre, Peshkatz in hand. No, he didn't want to do this. But did he have a choice? He accepted the mission. If he didn't, it would ruin his reputation. And this would become his weak link. No, that would not do. The fireman was supposedly an assassin with no ties. No weaknesses.
And now, the brunet hovered over the blond sage, Peshkatz in his hand. The blade was inches from the duke's neck. But he couldn't do it. If someone looked close enough, they could see a slight shaking in the assassin's hands.
But as the sage's eyes fluttered, the man's gut tightened.
The sage gave him a smile. He broke.
He could feel the sadness slowly creeping up on his heart. His once impenetrable mask was slowly cracking.
"Oh, the crimson assassin has come. Be not afraid, my friend. I forgive you for the deed that is to be done. I only ask you finish it quickly," he responded in a whisper.
So as the first tear slipped from the assassin, Bastian closed his eyes. And then, the blade came down.
When Volke departed, he had that valuable lesson in his heart again. He had become too close to someone again. The aching in his heart was back. But then, so was his desire to repair his mask and become the fireman again.