Chapter 26 – The Other Side

He drank.

He drank to forget. He drank to bury all the pain that was tearing him apart inside as good as a thousand blades. He drank to numb his senses. To quiet his raging thoughts.

He drank to disappear in the shadows of the night, until sunlight bled into the next day.

Another day he would have to face without her.

Another day where he would now have to carry the formidable weight of what he had done last night.

He drank to wash away the stench of her off his skin. To erase the sinful touch she'd left on his body, like gaping wounds that burned and seared him to the bones with shame. He drank in punishment, for the terrible mistake he had made, now inked into his flesh like a dark brand.

He drank in misery, hoping to drown the anger that plagued his blood like poison, knowing there would be no redemption for him anytime soon.

He drank. Because it was easier than missing her.

Two months. Two months since she'd been gone. Two months since she was ripped from his life, plucked away by the cruel hands of fate. And her silence hurt him more than any blade he had ever felt, a dagger permanently lodged between his ribs. It drove him to the edge of his sanity. It tormented him so much it kept him awake at night, his wounded mind reeling to try and understand why neither Dim-Dim nor her had tried to contact them ever since the storm, even if only for a few seconds.

It was like she had just vanished. A beautiful ghost melting into some liminal space where he could not reach her. Like she had just blinked out of existence. Abandoning him.

He drank again, glowering at the flames before him as helpless fury simmered beneath his skin.

He had managed to put enough space between himself and the village's tavern, the torches of the dirt road barely visible in the distance as he sat in his own little bubble of light deep in the forest, a miserable campfire keeping him company while he licked at his wounds, buried in shame and grief.

They had departed from Bollnah that same morning, the belly of the Nomad already full of provisions to last them for weeks, but Firouz had needed to stock up on some specific material for his new experiments so they ended up docking at a nearby neighboring port which could provide what he sought.

No one had protested against it, least of all himself.

The crew had been on edge all day, continuously tossing him pointed glances to quietly chastise him for what he had done, their gazes sharper than steel, judging and almost pitying him. So he more than welcomed the respite of land just to get away from them all.

He just wanted to be left alone.

He drank again, the swig of whisky burning his throat while the feeble flames before him licked at his legs with their punishing warmth.

As much as he fought against it, his foggy mind reverted back to the previous night, retracing all the damning steps he had taken to his downfall…

"Might I be bold enough to demand a tour of your ship, Captain?" she asked, a seductive smile tugging at her colored lips. "It's not every day you get to visit the legendary Nomad."

He took her hand even though he knew he was falling straight into a trap, a formidable weight pressing on his chest while he did his best to avoid the crew's disapproving glances.

But still he led her down below deck, releasing her hand as quickly as he could when the door closed behind them and they were out of sight, her alien touch prickling his skin like needles.

This was all wrong and he knew it. He was walking on quicksand and sinking faster than he could breathe, deeper and deeper, unable to claw his way back out.

He made polite small-talk, showing her the galley where they ate, the cargo-hold where they kept all their provisions, explaining how the inside of the ship was laid out and the purpose of it all, while in return she politely feigned to be interested in anything he had to say, the look in her eyes feral and hungry.

But still he fought against its daunting pull, even if the tight noose coiling around his neck was slowly stripping him of his common sense with every second that fled by.

He finished his tour by briefly pointing down the hallway where the personal cabins and sleeping quarters were situated, and then stood awkwardly by the door that led back up deck.

"Not as impressive as you thought it would be, huh?" he jested lifelessly, his gaze looking all around the galley for purchase, anything not to look directly at her.

"It depends…" she purred warmly, taking a step closer to him like a wicked siren ready to claw at his soul, her hand resting on his chest, her face angling inches towards his. "Which one is your cabin?"

He shuddered, warning bells blasting inside his head. "Shirez…"

"Stop talking, Sinbad," she whispered. "You think too much."

Then she silenced him with her lips, kissing him fervently, eager and demanding, invading his space and guiding him down the hallway before he could resist.

He was drowning, the longing inside him exploding like a storm as he kissed her back despite his heart cracking in his chest like glass with every step he took, heading straight to his downfall. His mind blurred at the edges, his primal lizard brain focusing only on what he could touch, her supple body melting against his as he parted her lips and his tongue danced with hers.

Choirs of alarm rippled on his flesh, thrumming inside his bones as he miserably circled his arms around her waist, whispers of doom echoing in his head like ancient wards bursting to dust.

Out of reflex his feet guided him to the door of his cabin, his back hitting against the old wood, but then a sliver of sanity sparked through him, igniting in his blood like a desperate flame, and he pushed her hand away before she could tug on the latch, instead deciding to pull her with him in the shadows of the hallway until he reached the guest cabin.

If he stepped into his own room, her memories would be there to grind him to cinders, the walls haunted by her presence, her belongings, her scent…and he was certain he would hear her heartbroken ghost scream at him in betrayal, cursing him into oblivion for the unworthy man he was proving to be.

He shattered a little bit more inside again, the pressure in his chest nearly choking him, but Shirez was already pushing him through the threshold of the guest cabin, and together they stumbled inside, shutting the door closed behind them.

Her hands were everywhere then, on his chest, down his arms, around his neck, sliding beneath his shirt until he gave in and pulled it off, tossing it in the darkness as he leaned back against the small writing desk in the corner of the room.

He was losing his mind, his grip on his broken reality slipping through his fingers like water while she kissed him feverishly, her nails digging into the nape of his neck. He pressed her closer, desperate to silence the tempest of anguish and shame that was boiling in his blood and pulsing in his ears as she guided his hand to her breast, urgent and wanting, the thin fabric of her lilac dress leaving little to his imagination.

He tore at it, opening it down the front, her bare flesh burning the palm of his hands as he swallowed her whimpering moan in the darkness of the room and mapped her supple curves, shutting his eyes close as he willed his frayed mind to summon a broken illusion, one to set him on fire as he explored a body he did not know. But even his dreams could not conjure up what she would feel like, her touch forever lost and unknown, and he felt his heart crack a little bit more at this cruel truth.

While his blood pulsed beneath his skin with rising torment, ripping him apart with longing, Shirez broke away from him, languorously taking one step back to catch her breath while her fingers went up to her shoulders, slow and deliberate, pulling the straps of her dress down her arms until the fabric fell at her feet in a ripple of silk.

Dark eyes fixed on him then, with shameless need and hunger as she stood before him completely bare, round breasts rising and falling to the rhythm of her winded breath, waiting for him to claim what she was willingly offering.

He swallowed hard, drinking up the alluring sight of her while his heart trashed inside his ribcage like a thunderstorm, his own need stirring up and heating his blood. This was his opening, his chance to walk away and never look back, to break Shirez's heart and protect the one that meant the world to him. The one he would kill for. The one he would forfeit his soul for.

But she was not here.

Two months.

It had been two months and still she remained silent. Hiding in the shadows somewhere far away. Ignoring him.

Abandoning him.

Leaving him alone to face the darkness of the world without her.

He was drowning. The shackles of temptation coiling around his neck. And he was too much of a coward to fight back.

He looked at Shirez, olive-skinned and dark-haired. Everything she wasn't.

And he surged forward, his soul shattering inside him into a million pieces as he sealed his miserable fate.

He kissed her roughly, allowing his hands to roam everywhere on her exposed flesh as he took charge and backed her up against the far wall of the cabin, pinning her beneath him while she arched her back and grinded her hips urgently, searching for friction where she needed him the most.

He pressed against her in return, his own desire building and rising, but he had no intention to make this last any longer than he had to. He just wanted release. Anything to fill the gaping hole she had left behind in her wake, this crushing emptiness inside him that kept growing and filling with terrible darkness.

Shirez's fingers were already working on the clasps of his belt, expert and quick, and when she touched him at last with a heated hand, he thought he would black out right then and there, a grunt escaping him as he shook all over, overwhelmed by a sensation he hadn't felt in far too long.

He tore his lips away from her, catching his breath and casting about for fragile self-control, but just as he managed to rein in his thundering heart, he watched as she fell to her knees before him in the darkness, the heat of her lips and mouth nearly ripping him apart where he stood.

He braced his arms on the wall in front of him, drowning and gasping for air, his entire body coming alive and betraying him. He tried to concentrate on the tiny ebbs and swirls of the old wood that spanned mere inches before his eyes, but it did little to calm the tempest brewing in his blood. He was barreling straight into oblivion.

When he could bear it no longer, he drew her up with urgency and pinned her against the wall, forfeiting his foul for good, feral and desperate, capturing her moans with his mouth until he had to rip himself away before it was too late, pulling out of her heat just as his vision whited out…

His hand tightened around the neck of the bottle, the rage pooling inside his chest like a roaring river, destructive and devastating, filling him with the unbearable need to punch something until his knuckles bled and the pain was all he could feel.

He had traded a few seconds of bliss for a lifetime of bitter regret. A mistake he would never be able to erase. The touch of a woman he would never be able to wash off his skin, the shame and the guilt inked right into his flesh. A curse he had conjured upon himself like a drunken fool.

And now the crushing emptiness inside him had returned with a vengeance, biting and clawing at his entrails and at his bones, feeding on his longing and his misery.

A hunger that would never leave him until he found her again.

Even if he had lost her all over again last night.

A flutter of wings plucked him out of his brooding darkness as Dermott landed on a high branch above him across the fire, squawking down at him wrathfully.

Shame swelled inside him at the sight of her faithful companion, but he quickly looked away and glowered at the flames. "I know you're angry with me, but I'd rather be alone right now."

The hawk continued to glare down at him, unimpressed, and then he caught sight of a shadow walking towards him amidst the tall trees, with twigs and dry leaves crunching under its steps. He tensed momentarily, but then quickly recognized his brother as his mighty stature gradually emerged from the darkness with a heavy frown knitting his bushy brow.

Dermott had led him straight to him, as if the two of them had decided to gang up on him and corner him in the night to scold him like a misbehaving child.

But Sinbad quickly leveled his haunted gaze back on the fire and took a chug of whisky. "If you came to give me a lecture, I don't want to hear it."

Doubar paused on the other side of the crackling flames, his silence heavier than any mountain as he towered over him severely, his blue eyes flicking to the bottle in his hand. "What are you doing?"

Sinbad almost snickered at the question. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

Heavy seconds swirled in the air between them as Doubar appraised him wordlessly, the weight of his judgment almost palpable, but still Sinbad stubbornly refused to meet his eyes.

After a moment, his brother pushed at a fallen log with his boot, and with no invitation sat across the fire from him, fixing him gravely and carefully, as if he were a wild animal that might unexpectedly lash out at him. "We need to talk."

Sinbad shook his head and took another hearty swig of whisky. "I'm not in the mood to chat."

Doubar continued to fix him, unnervingly serious and solemn, his bearded face creased with dark concern as seconds trickled away, like a curtain of cold rain pouring between them.

He would not leave, that much was clear, at least not until he got the answers he had come to find, answers to questions that Sinbad was far from ready to address at the moment, the wounds still too fresh and too raw, still bleeding in his soul. But he could sense his brother would leave him no choice tonight.

"Why did you do it?" he asked at last, plain and simple in the shadows of the night. "Why did you bed that harlot?"

His fist tightened around the bottle, his heart spasming in his chest. "Same reason I'm drinking myself into oblivion right now."

His brother fell quiet at that, allowing his grim words to sink into the flames that wavered and hissed between them like snakes. Until his next question cut into him like a blade.

"Does it help?"

Sinbad clenched his jaw in the darkness, the painful hollowness inside him roaring like a beast trapped in a cage. They obviously both knew the answer to that, but it mattered little to him at the moment, and he drank again in wordless defiance as Doubar watched him miserably, looking almost desperate to trigger a reaction out of him, to see him snap and break and lash out.

But Sinbad stubbornly remained silent.

"It won't bring her back," his brother stated plainly, trying to push him to the edge once more.

But Sinbad continued to glare at the fire, still refusing to speak.

"If this is how you decided to mourn her, I-"

"She's gone, not dead," he cut him off harshly this time, correcting his poor choice of words in the coldness of the night.

Doubar looked down sheepishly, mulling his thoughts over before amending his statement carefully. "If this is how you decided to mourn her absence, I do not condone it." His voice took on a sharper edge then, admonishing him in the firelight for what he had done.

And then he waited. For a response, an explanation, a justification, a confession…

But Sinbad had none to offer, the painful words stuck in his lungs like stones, heavy and dark and suffocating. He had no excuse for what he had done, the sinful deed forever inked in his flesh and in his mind, to plague his dreams and turn them into nightmares. He had been weak, the insufferable longing lodged deep inside his heart since the storm robbing him of his sanity until he had nothing left to hold on to but primal needs and feral urges.

So he had given in. Forsaking his honor and his heart.

He could admit to that out loud right now, give his brother what he wanted to hear and be done with it, but as Doubar watched him severely in the thick shadows of the night, he chose the easier road once again, one where he could toss out the blame on someone else like a coward.

"I don't think she's with Dim-Dim," he declared gravely, the unexpected statement catching both Dermott and his brother off guard.

"What?" Doubar frowned in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Sinbad swirled the bottle around in his hand, something black and foul rising inside him. "Remember our trip to Hell about two weeks ago?"

Doubar blinked at him, growing more and more puzzled while Dermott squawked in interest. "Aye."

"I paid Methana a visit before we left, and asked her to contact Dim-Dim," he explained slowly, meeting his brother's rivetted gaze in the firelight. "It worked, partially. I saw him for a few brief seconds but I couldn't speak with him. The magical connection was too difficult to sustain." He paused, sipping at the whisky in an attempt to calm his coiling nerves. "But it wasn't Dim-Dim I wanted to see." He glared down at his wrist then, clenching his jaw while his mind replayed the cursed storm of light he had witnessed on Methana's ancient mirror. "My bracelet interfered, and the magic shifted, somehow, to a different location."

Doubar had leaned forward in his seat, raptly listening to his tale like the hawk above him. "Where? What did you see?"

Sinbad shook his head angrily and looked away, his haunted haze surfing on the shifting shadows of the woods as he remembered the sinister trees he had seen. "I don't know, it happened too fast. It was dark…A forest, maybe."

"Did you see her?" his brother urged, his blue eyes wide with concern.

But Sinbad merely glowered into empty space. "No."

Doubar deflated, rocking back in his seat while his eyebrows drew down in rising confusion. "So…you believe she's not with Dim-Dim, because of something you're not even sure you saw?"

"It's been two months," he snapped heatedly, the words spilling out before he could stop himself. "Two months and we've heard nothing from her."

"We've heard nothing from Dim-Dim either," Doubar quickly countered. "Communicating with magic is a hard thing to do, you know that."

The air shifted then, an invisible tension coalescing above their heads like dark smoke as Sinbad locked eyes with him, a dangerous mix of pain and rage blending in his core. "But she can do it."

The fire popped and hissed at their feet and Doubar blinked, a sudden flicker of understanding flashing on his features as he sat straighter in his seat, watching his brother in a new light as everything seemed to dawn on him at once. "You're angry with her."

Sinbad gritted his teeth and drank again, the strong liquid burning down his throat. He had said too much, and now his brother was reading him like an open book.

"So you bedded that harlot to punish her?" Doubar asked sharply, his voice rising in outrage across the flames. "This is what-"

"Of course not!" Sinbad cut him off darkly in protestation, his own voice growing louder in the night.

"Then why did you do it?" Doubar demanded gravely, his blue eyes rooting him in place like stone.

But Sinbad had no answer to provide, his hand clenching around the neck of the bottle for purchase while black clouds of misery collided inside his mind. He could not find the words to describe the formidable void that was filling his chest since the storm, a terrible void that had become even wider and deeper after his encounter with Methana, with that wicked little voice deep inside his head that kept whispering that something was wrong, that Maeve was not with Dim-Dim…

"I failed her," he said at last, the words almost torn from his mouth. "Dim-Dim took her away because I couldn't protect her." He drank miserably, the edges of his mind slowly fading away with the strong ale, his senses beginning to dull.

He saw Doubar's shoulders sag in the darkness, with deep sorrow washing over his bearded face like a wave. "Sinbad…"

"I should have saved her," he nearly growled, his rage swimming to the surface once again like a restless spirit.

"You jumped overboard into the raging ocean! What else could you have done?" Doubar shook his head stubbornly, trying to dispel the dark morass of guilt that tormented him. "You think she's blaming you for what happened? That she's punishing you by remaining silent? Wikken Hells, she would tear the world asunder to return to you if she could." He leaned forward towards the flames then, as if to mark his words and make sure he could hear him correctly in the night. "Wherever she is—and I believe she's with Dim-Dim—she simply cannot contact us."

It should have reassured him, his big brother's comforting words, trying to bolster his fragile faith and assure him that everything was fine. That it wasn't his fault. That she was safe. That she was simply unable to contact them.

But it didn't. The debilitating sense of alarm he felt within his core still burned like a thousand bonfires, a constant thrumming in his bones like some ancient warning, as if he was miles away from where he was supposed to be.

He wanted to protest and argue, to be the devil's advocate and list all the possible 'what ifs', but Doubar was already speaking again, staring at him fixedly in the firelight.

"You're heading down the wrong path, Sinbad. Maeve may not be here to tell you you're being an idiot, but I will."

Her name spoken out loud stung him, like a needle prickling at his skin. He was tempted to take another swig of whisky to drown the sensation, but a hefty fog was already seeping into his brain, making it more and more difficult to think straight and keep his shield up, which his brother kept knocking down relentlessly.

He wiped a weary hand across his face, feeling his iron resolve slipping away like sand through his fingers.

"I know what I did was wrong. I know I messed up," he admitted miserably, his gaze flicking to his brother's eyes unabashedly for the first time, vulnerable and raw. "I'm angry all the time, Doubar. I'm angry at everything. The ocean, Dim-Dim, myself…Most of the time I want to rip the world apart with my bare hands."

Doubar held his gaze fully, bearing the painful weight of his every word. "I know."

"No, you don't," he protested darkly, suddenly feeling like he was choking, trapped in the small bubble of light from the campfire. He stood up abruptly, surprisingly steady on his feet as he stepped away from the flames, just enough to turn away from his brother and face the shadows of the trees, his blood filling with poisonous agony. "Anger is the only thing that keeps me going right now. If I allow myself to feel anything else, I'm going to break."

Silence engulfed them at that moment, descending upon them like a heavy cloak while his words hung in the air ominously like some terrible truth.

He simply did not know how to miss her.

She had crawled under his skin like some thorny vine, and now he couldn't pry her away, couldn't get her out of his system without bleeding himself dry.

She had been gone for two months, the gods only knew where, and her ghost haunted him at every turn like a baneful spirit. If he was right, if she was not with Dim-Dim after all, then it meant she was somewhere in the world, somewhere where she might be in danger, somewhere he couldn't protect her, and that terrible possibility made his entire body tense up like a whip ready to crack.

He prayed to the spirits and the gods that he was wrong and that his brother was right, that she was truly safe and sound with their old mentor and out of harm's way, but still he could not shake the crippling feeling that she wasn't. That something was wrong.

But either way, wherever she was, right now the only truth he knew was this: she hadn't contacted him in two months, and her silence was tearing into his soul like blades.

It drove him mad, his brain obsessively trying to make sense of it over and over again, wearing it down like the edges of an old coin.

Why hadn't she contacted him?

She knew how to use magic for communication. He'd seen her do it before. So why wasn't she doing it now? Why was she leaving him in the dark like this?

He closed his eyes painfully, wiping a hand over his face again to try and shake his thoughts back into place, the whisky corroding the gear in his mind as fractured images of the storm flashed before his eyes, his name falling from her lips with a scream before the darkness of the ocean swallowed her, cruelly robbing them of everything that could have been…

His brother was right. He was angry with her. He couldn't help it, the nasty felling spilling from his heart like a blight. After everything they had gone through together, the least she could do was give him a sign and a few scraps of her time. He deserved that much.

Or did he?

The more his wounded mind dwelled on it, the more doubt crept into his brain like a wicked demon, taunting him and picking apart every little moment they had ever shared, every word, every look, every touch…Had he been blind all along? Had he forfeited his heart and his soul to her like a fool? Had she truly cared about him at all? Had she-

He couldn't think straight anymore. His head was spinning like a dark storm, plagued with her memories like a ghost haunting his soul to torment and chastise him. But he knew he had no right to resent her. Her silence wounded and angered him, but he had no right to turn his own grief and his own longing into blame towards her. Even if it was so much easier that way. So much easier than missing her…

"So what are you going to do?" his brother asked quietly, yanking him out of his painful thoughts. "You cannot ask me to stand by and watch as you self-destruct and sabotage your relationship with-"

"What relationship?" he whirled around, not knowing whether to laugh or snarl at the treacherous word. "There is no relationship, Doubar. There never was."

"You and Maeve both know that's not true," his brother countered levelly. "At the festival of Bakar, you-"

"Without words I have nothing!" he nearly shouted this time, his composure slipping away like leaves blown in the wind and exposing the root of his internal suffering. "I have no claim on her!"

Doubar watched him in the firelight, raw helplessness spreading on his features like a pale veil, his own composure seeming to crack a little in the night, as if for the first time since the storm he could truly measure the depth of his brother's pain.

But Sinbad could not bear the devastating look in his eyes, so full of sorrow and powerlessness, so he turned away from him once more, facing the shadows of the forest like a lost soul.

"Without words I have nothing…" he whispered again in the night, suddenly overwhelmed by a tidal wave of regret. "All the things I should have said…"

He shut his eyes against the crushing emptiness that surrounded him, choking him while a carousel of memories spun inside his head and he pinched the bridge of his nose in misery. But still the memories flashed in his mind like broken dreams. The evening on the beach after the battle of Skull Mountain where he had held her in his arms…the Festival of Bakar where they had danced under the stars…the night of the storm in her cabin where she had been so afraid…

"She knows."

His brother's voice drifted to him across the campfire, plucking him out of his gloom.

"Whatever it is you didn't say," Doubar repeated softly. "She knows."

But Sinbad shook his head with bittersweet regret, staring blankly ahead into the dark, his heart painfully beating in his chest. "Without words it's not enough."

He turned around then, miserable and defeated, like a soldier crawling back from the battlefield. His mind was frayed and his senses were blurry, but still he chugged down a sip of whisky before sitting back heavily in front of the campfire, glowering at the flames with fading strength.

His brother remained silent, watching him closely, and Sinbad could sense that his composure had shifted somehow, the disapproving and admonishing older brother slowly trading his place for a quiet listener, calm and observant, searching for a way to help the poor drowning soul that sat before him.

"Why don't we head to Basra to speak with Caipra?" Doubar offered tentatively. "Maybe she can contact Dim-Dim…"

He tensed momentarily at the mention of Caipra, glancing up to meet his brother's gaze, his greyish blue eyes brimming with sadness and hope while Dermott squawked in approval above him from his perch up in the tree.

Sinbad had thought about the old sorceress about a thousand times in the past two months, battling with himself over and over again about whether to seek her out or not. At best, she would provide him with the answers he so desperately sought, but he had the nasty gut feeling that Dim-Dim's wife would prove to be as elusive as her husband.

And he had no more patience for riddles and mysteries.

He wanted answers. Plain and simple.

But if Caipra was anything like Dim-Dim, then he feared he would waste a trip.

Still, it was worth a try. He had nothing left to lose anyway.

So he gave his brother a small nod of agreement, but then he remembered the invitations they had received a few days ago before docking in Bollnah.

"We have Aiden's wedding to attend first," he pointed out, his mind drifting to his long-time friend and former captain, whom he used to sail with as a cabin boy.

"Aye," Doubar nodded in the firelight, his own thoughts probably revisiting the same distant memories.

Twenty years had passed since those old times…

When he had embarked on Aiden's ship back then, he had lost Lee a couple of months prior, her tragic death driving him to become a sailor as fast as he could, to learn how to master the ocean's unpredictable temper and sail through her merciless storms unscathed, fervently swearing that her treacherous waves would never steal anyone from him ever again.

Aiden had taught him everything he knew. About sailing. About life. About love...

He had taught him to be brave, honorable, hardworking and kind…

Like Dim-Dim and Doubar, he had been another father figure who had shaped him into the man he had become, a man of the sea, of adventures, of honor, and without him he never would have become the Master of the Seven Seas.

But of all that didn't matter anymore, Sinbad thought miserably as grief swelled inside his chest like a dark cloud, his fingers suddenly itching to touch the Celtic pin he always carried in his pocket since she had left, a token he hadn't dared touch since last night lest he committed a sacrilege.

Nothing mattered anymore.

He had failed.

The ocean had won again and history had repeated itself.

And now he would have to face Aiden with the ghost of another woman hiding in his eyes.

"Perhaps he can help, too," Doubar prompted optimistically. "He has connections everywhere. Maybe he knows someone who might be able to contact-"

"No," Sinbad protested firmly. "I'm not bothering him with this on his wedding day."

"He cares about you like a son," his brother quickly argued. "I'm sure he'll-"

"I said 'no'," Sinbad repeated darkly, shooting him a warning glare across the flames before catching himself and leveling his eyes down on the ground, his voice becoming tired and hoarse from the whisky. "We all have burdens to bear," he murmured painfully, his heart clenching in his chest like a fist. "Losing her is mine and mine alone to carry."

Embers floated up in the cold air while the fire popped loudly between them, filling the gloomy silence of the night for endless minutes as Doubar grew somberly quiet.

When he finally rose from his seat to tower above him, his own voice was weary and pained. "You're not alone, Sinbad," he replied hauntingly, his small blue eyes sad beyond measure. "We all lost her that night."

The silence that followed his statement was as thick as the shadows around them, heavy and suffocating like an impenetrable veil.

His brother's words echoed in his ears like deafening bells, realization hitting him square in the chest like an invisible blow as he watched the mighty sailor retreat in the darkness of the woods, leaving him alone to brood in the poor firelight.

He had been so lost in his own grief that he hadn't even pondered about how her abrupt loss might have affected the rest of his crew, each of them equally allowed to mourn her just as much as he was and yet he had been blind to their pain. Whatever she had meant to him, she had meant something to his crewmates as well, and the place she had once held amongst them as a friend must have been brutally emptied by her sudden departure, a void left behind in her wake. But he had paid little attention to his companions' wellbeing lately, too busy struggling to navigate the bottomless depth of his own grief…

Yet another failure to add to his list, he thought miserably as he glanced up at Dermott still perched on a high branch before him, a tight knot of guilt coiling in his throat at the notion that her faithful companion was surely suffering just as much as he was, and that he had carelessly twisted the knife into the wound with his actions last night.

He opened his mouth to speak, searching for scraps of salvaging words to utter but they all remained stuck in his lungs, and with no compassion to spare him the hawk flew off into the night to follow after his brother, vanishing in the shadows of the forest.

Left alone in the punishing silence of the dark woods, defeat and shame washed over him like waves once more, his eyes anchoring on the fire before him for purchase. But the heat from the flickering flames did little to comfort him.

Instead they taunted him, stirring up a spark of anger that ignited in his chest like thunder, and he abruptly tossed the bottle of whisky in the fire, the flames bursting upwards with a fierce roar.

With his blood filling with despair, he glared at the small blazing storm, feeling his pulse thump with the rage he knew so well, familiar and strong, while his fingers reached for the Celtic pin tucked in his pocket. The golden trinket felt heavier in his palm tonight, as if it was carrying the weight of his shameful betrayal.

His jaw clenched as he studied the delicate swirls of the knotted pattern for the thousandth time, his thumb gently tracing the small ridges he knew by heart in the dimming firelight. Would she ever know just how deeply she had fractured his soul? Carving herself a place in his life, only to be ripped away so violently?

He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, hoping to banish the weight of remorse that painfully filled his chest, and as the flames at his feet slowly dulled and the darkness of the cold night seeped into his bones, he found himself praying she would never have to meet the man he was becoming.

"We are buried in broken dreams

We are knee-deep without a plea

I don't want to know what it's like to live without you

I don't want to know the other side of a world without you"

The Other Side – Ruelle