It's well past noon when someone finally decides to knock on my door. I perk up and creak open the door just a sliver, faced with the Headmistress staring me down in the peek of my doorway. Her dark purple blouse and thin black skirt make her ooze with authority that the grim reaper has.
"Miss Arima. It's a pleasure to see you awake before two o'clock." Her comment is rife with displeasure. Surely she wanted me to wake up as she got to the door, just to scold me. She extends a hand, opening the door further. Her face pops with shock as she notices all my long hair is naught, left behind only by the shoulder-length cut I gave myself. She doesn't say anything of it, instead urging me to follow her. I listen, still in my unitard and tutu from last night. Down the hallway and through the school halls, people continue to stare at me. Everyone keeps their tongues to themselves, but I watch the cogs in their minds whirring into overdrive. What was so confusing about me cutting my hair? Was it just how sudden it was to everyone else? I guess I am known for my long hair, and not that it's gone, people just didn't know how to react. Headmistress pulls me to her side and her hand creaks over my shoulder, extremely bird-like with her nails like talons and her hands dry and thin.
The door to her office is wide open, and I can see Antoinette sitting in one of the two chairs. I catch her glancing back at me, her face curling in surprise as well. Sitting in the free chair, I refuse to acknowledge her presence. Her hair is neat and straight today and her outfit feels much more formal than necessary. Her white blouse, blue pencil skirt, and black coat just aid in making her look like a twat. I sit down next to her, keeping my gaze out the window. Fakir isn't here and it's probably for the best, since I need to keep my head and thoughts straight. It would probably cause Antoinette to howl and play victim even more than I know she already will.
Samiel seats herself in her own chair, the loud metallic squeak of the legs against the ground grating against my ears. "So ladies, I assume both of you understand why you're in here." Antoinette perks up, her eyes ready to wetten and burst with tears at the drop of a pin. I nod my head.
"Yes ma'am," I acknowledge.
"Ma'am, if it's alright with you," Antoinette interjects, her voice a little quaky. "I want to say something to Ahiru," Samiel stares at her a moment, a long sigh leaving her lips before allowing it. Antoinette hiccups, and I watch her turn to me, faking that pretty smile I once thought was genuine. I'll be damned if she isn't a good actress. "I'm so sorry, Ducky. I didn't think it would have to come to this. I just wanted you to be safe."
The heat of anger boils even further in my stomach. I just stare back at Samiel as soon as she's done talking. She reluctantly stares back at Samiel, ready to start.
"Ahiru, I'll talk to you first. What about Antoinette's story do you find false?" Samiel points her pencil at me.
"What about it? Everything," My arms prickle with anger and betrayal. "I've never slept around, I've never been with her brother, I've never wanted to date anyone."
"Oh Ducky, there's no need to lie," Antoinette reaches out to rub my arm, and I swat it away.
"She told me that after her brother got expelled, I needed to make up for it because it was my fault. I got him expelled on accident, he touched me without permission!" Heat starts to boil in my stomach, tears begin to blur my vision. I grip onto my arms. "It makes me feel sick everytime I have to remember it, and I never asked for it. I never wanted it." My voice cracks and I finally muster the strength to wipe the tears from my eyes. My chest stings with exasperation. The exhaustion of having to relive those moments near him.
"And, in relation to the sexual interactions?" Samiel doesn't seem fazed by my tears, just asking more questions as the sound of her pencil scrawling becomes a hazardous pet peeve to me now.
"I've never slept with anyone. I've never even kissed anyone. I'm not interested in that." It feels hard to blatantly lie, but I try and put myself before spring break. It wasn't a lie back then.
"So you've never interacted sexually with a student or a teacher?" Samiel asks, curtly. I gulp.
"No, ma'am." Samiel turns to Antoinette, now starting to interrogate her. I tune it out though, there's nothing I want more than to tune it out and forget why I'm here. I hear mention of "protection," and "she's lying," but it's just noise to me now. Whatever she's saying is nothing but noise and drivel. I want to escape this nightmare.
"Ahiru? Do you remember this incident?" Samiel asks, and I freeze. What was she talking about? What incident could she possibly be referencing?
"What incident?" I nervously shift.
"You and Mister Andor 'sneaking away' from a secret room in the teachers hall in the middle of the night?" I feel my heart throb in my chest.
"Oh, that…" I try to come up with a lie, a good enough lie to convince her. "I have nightmares a lot. And I was telling Fakir about how bad they usually get. He let me stay in that room so in case they got really bad, he could help me."
"Why does Antoinette say she saw you and Mister Andor kissing in secret, then?"
"Because she's lying. That's why. Look, if you're accusing me of having a relationship with Fakir, then I'll just be expelled." I stand from my seat, starting towards the door. Samiel's bitter eyes sink daggers into my back as she demands me to sit back down.
"Miss Arima, there are no accusations here. I'm simply trying to get to the bottom of this putrid rumor and make sure I didn't falsely expel a student. Now if you would kindly stop acting like a petulant child, that would be appreciated." Her tone and authority drag me back into my seat, my feet suddenly anchors to my thoughts.
"Why are you asking me about things that have nothing to do with Wayland then?" Samiel seems a bit taken aback by my question. "You have witness testimony. Fakir was directly in front of me when it happened."
"I just want to make sure that Wayland didn't have any false sense of entitlement. If you were promiscuous, or in any other sexual relationships then it may have-"
"Even if I had sex with a million people, that doesn't give him the right to touch me when I dont want it!" I finally scream at the top of my lungs, anger having boiled well over what I should have let it. "It's my body! I didn't want to be touched, and he kept touching me! That's evidence enough that it wasn't okay." I stand up, leaving without another word. Tears are spilling down my face as I feel my chest practically convulsing with hiccuping sobs. Neither Samiel or Antoinette seem to make an effort to come after me and I hope they don't try to. I walk into town, past the thickening trees and into my open field.
With the kind embrace of the cool shade beneath a large oak, I cry loudly. Snot and tears dripping down my face as I let every bursting angry cell spill loose. I didn't deserve to be treated like a criminal when I was the survivor of that crime. I wail and whimper, and even as my feathered friends surround me and snuggle into me, I still feel pathetic and lonely.
The air is still warm, it's still positive and inviting but I feel uninvited. Having those accusations thrown at me just stung far more than any slap to the face ever could. I wipe my face as soon as salty tears stop dripping down my cheeks, taking large and long breaths. The spring air finally starts to feel nice as I calm myself down. It doesn't make everything okay, but that's okay for right now. Miss Canary perches herself on my finger and I lift her close to my face, snuggling her into my shoulder. 'I'm probably going to get kicked from the school.' I remind myself solemnly. I want to be a prima ballerina so badly, but am I willing to sacrifice my dignity for that? Am I willing to pretend that what Wayland did wasn't that bad for a chance to be a famous ballerina?
Before I can even answer myself, I watch the foliage and such start to rustle and part from the other end of the valley. Slinking back into my own section of trees, I watch cautiously. Victor and his comrade come through, and I sink further into my small neck of the woods, quietly trying to listen into their conversation. Their voices manage to slightly echo in the empty valley.
"The girls haven't made as much as they should have this time around. Something is going on in town." Victor's friend growls, sitting in the grass as he pulls out a long cigarette.
"It's just a dry season. Once the holiday is over, our girls will start rolling back in cash. Plus, I've heard my little duckling is finally back from wherever she ran off to," Victor responds, still as slimy as she remembered him being. "She's gonna make a pretty penny once she's broken in. Anty swears she's still a prude, but I think Way copping a feel may have loosened her up a little. Broken her spirits a bit," The two men chuckle and I feel my stomach sink as I start creeping away. I watch my feet as I avoid snapping any branches or tripping over anything, before starting to run back towards town. I didn't want to put up with this right now, I'm too mentally exhausted. I run faster and faster before I feel myself collide with something, tumbling to the ground hard. It's a few moments of groaning and rubbing my head and neck before peering up at the familiar dark hair and eyes.
"Fakir!" I whimper, embracing him tightly. All my tears have long since been dried and left, but I still hiccup sobs into his torso. He hesitates, softly stroking my hair as I'm snuggled into him.
"Is everything okay?" He peels me away for a second, just as baffled by my hair as everyone else. "What happened to your hair, Duckling?" His fingers climb up my back and through my hair, pulling through the wavy strands, just to confirm it was, in fact, that short. I shrug my shoulders, pulling it horizontally as if to reconfirm it to both of us.
"I did it. Do you like it?" I sniffle, still smiling weakly. He cups my cheek, smiling back and pulling me close.
"I do." Fakir stands me and himself up, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword which I just realized is on his hip. "But while I would enjoy being sentimental with you right now, there's other matters I have to tend to." He starts pacing back towards the valley.
"What do you mean?"
"I saw… something. I need to investigate." His tone is low and serious. I nod, not pushing much further. I know better than to do that now, Fakir knows what he's doing, or at least I assume he does. Cautiously, we tiptoe back into the shadow of the valley, where the couple of men had turned to a large group of men and women within the minutes I was gone. I keep my place behind Fakir, watching the group laugh and shout words mingled with obscenities.
His hand is on his blade as he starts walking out into the field, almost as if he was just going to practice his swordplay. Something about him seems so intimidating and yet approachable. He catches eyes with Victor and I watch the two slowly approach. Victor is cool and suave where Fakir is cold and civilized, both equal to a degree but starkly different. Victor opens his arms as if to hug an old friend, though Fakir is quick to pull out his blade.
"Don't act like we're friends." Fakir bares his teeth, grimacing at the blond. Victor places his hands back in his pockets, still smiling at Fakir.
"No need to be so prudish, I know why you're here." Victor's eyes and mine match for a second, before Fakir steps in front of his vision, blocking us from seeing one another. "You've got her on a tight leash, don'cha?"
"This isn't about her. This is about my students that you've systematically grooming and pimping."
"Woah woah woah, big guy. Those are some big words for someone in your position. I know what you two have been getting up to," Victor pushes Fakir's shoulder aside, smiling at me as he begins walking closer. I scamper back, only to halt at Fakir whipping his sword against Victor's chest. The air feels still as Victor turns to glare at Fakir again.
"Whatever you're implying, you're wrong." Fakir's hold on his blade tightens. "And you need to leave my students alone."
"Answer me this, fucker." Victor pushes away Fakir's blade, reaching into his pocket. "What's so wrong with playing with little girls?" Victor grins, watching Fakir pull back to swing. Victor pulls out a small handgun from his pocket, pointing it at Fakir.
Both men stand, just eyeing the other and waiting for the first move. My legs are jittery and practically compelled to move, to do something, anything! I need to protect Fakir, right? I need to help him, that's what people who love each other do. I bolt up and weave between both men. I press my body against Fakir, pulling him back further. I can hear Victor chuckling.
"Ah, so the little girl comes out to play, does she? She does have fancy you, if I remember our conversations right." Victor's free hand reaches for my hair. "Ducky, you cut your hair so short, didn't you? You look like a proper woman now. I bet it feels good to nail her, doesn't it, big guy?" Fakir swings his sword again, but Victor's handgun poises closer to me.
"Don't you dare hurt her." Fakir pulls me closer into his chest and I feel his nails dig into my back, physically begging to keep me closer.
"Don't get your panties in a twist. I'm not going to hurt her. Honestly, do you know how hard it is to fuck a corpse?" Victor tugs my hair, and suddenly I'm outside my body again. I watch myself scream and curl closer into Fakir. The sounds are far off, like an outsider looking in. The pressure and sound of the gunshot, the feeling of weakness and limpness. Watching Fakir fall to the ground as the hip of his trousers start to turn dark red, letting in spread downwards as he crumples to the grass, clutching onto the wound, his sword no longer at hand. I feel unable to move as Victor pulls me to the ground, his hands creeping underneath the long see-through skirt, pulling away at the unitard. I fall still, unsure and scared of what to do. I can't move, I can't feel.
Everything is blurry and horrifying as my tears cloud my view. I hear the unbuttoning of pants and the chorus of cheers on the other side of the valley. Something burns. My thighs are sore and my insides feel like they're tearing apart. I can't even attempt to move as my body just locks up. And then I feel it after only a few seconds; a warm and wet splatter on my stomach. It doesn't stop though. Victor hasn't pulled away from my body though.
Looking down, there's the tip of Fakir's sword scraping against the skin of my stomach. Victor doesn't attempt to move or even emote. I watch the sword pull back, releasing from his spine as a cascade of blood pools on top of me. Still underneath him, I watch his once sparkling manly smirk, his handsome and grand features, turn pale and hollow. Fakir pushes his body off, and there's a spark of energy back in my legs. I scurry upward, fixing my skirt and helping Fakir to his feet as Victor's mob starts bolting for us. Even while Fakir is limping behind, we manage to creep into the forestry, slipping away from the main trail. Despite the large group of people, they don't stray too far from one another. Fakir groans in pain as I rest him on the cold and dew stained grass. His pained smile still warms my heart. He pulls his shirt off, ripping the sleeves off, starting to pull his pants down. I can see the full wound. The entrance and exit look so clean. Shot from such a short range, I guess that would be the case. Still, seeing the bloodied wound makes my heart sink.
"Can you sew?" Fakir asks, his voice quaking. Applying a bit of pressure with the sleeve, I nod and keep my hands firm on the wound. He winces, letting out a sharp grunt. The sound of feet scuttling back into the valley quiets both of us. The creeping feet on the pathway, the hushed voices of Victor's mob, sniffles and sobs whimpering out of their lips. Genuine sympathy for such a horrible, ingenuine man. No one notices us, not a soul even brushes close to where we are, that I can see. We don't take any chances, still. Pulling deeper into the thickening forest and further from the wailing mod, I rest Fakir against a shaded tree as soon as we're out of their earshot.
"Aniela, I need you to sew this shut before there's an infection." Hearing my name coming from his groggy and pained lips is something I can't pinpoint my feelings on, but I just nod. I'm not going to argue with him while he's bleeding out. My hands are trembling furiously as I tighten the makeshift tourniquet around his leg, listening to him breathe in sharply through his teeth. I apologize, though he shakes his head. He knows that I'm not enjoying this sight or what I have to do now. I stand him up again, limping closer into town so we can at least try and find some help.
"Go to the blacksmith." Fakir demands, sharply inhaling again as the cobblestone streets come into view. I don't question him, running across the eerily empty streets towards the familiar building. Knocking on the door, I swallow down my fear as best as I can. Fakir shouts at the door, with the ounces of strength he has left, pounding his fist louder.
"Karon! It's me! Please, it's an emergency!" The sound of footsteps from inside and the quick pulling of both of us in is frightening. The door latches shut behind me before I can even register where I am entirely. It's a dusty and box riddled place, stirring at our feet as Fakir and I both cough intensely. A large man with greying hair helps me haul Fakir into a private backroom. His soot-lined clothes tightly cling to his thicker body structure as he heaves Fakir onto one of the semi-clear surfaces.
"What happened, Fakir? What's going on?" Karon looks over him, feeling his thigh around the tourniquet as he watches Fakir squirm and shout.
"I was shot, please just get her some sewing supplies!" Fakir demands through his pained whimpers. Karon looks me over, before nodding, running upstairs as quickly as his legs allowed. I nervously ask Fakir how he knows the blacksmith.
"He's my foster father. Look, I'd prefer we chat about this after I'm not crippled and bleeding out, okay?" He barks, and I wither back.
"You're right," I jolt back, before feeling Karon stuff my hand with a small sewing kit. Fakir pulls back the wound up sleeve, the dried blood crumbling onto where he laid. His leg is bright red, pulsing, but no longer bleeding. The wound is still open, Karon and I can see through it. Fakir holds above the wound, asking for something to grit his teeth with. Karon leaves, coming back with water, alcohol, and three small towels. I remind Fakir it's going to be very painful. He nods, gripping his leg until his knuckles are white. Karon gingerly places one towel on Fakir's forehead, the other in his mouth. I take a deep breath and drip some of the water onto the towel, starting to clean the outside. Fakir bites down on the towel already, and I can see the beads of sweat already dripping.
After cleaning as much blood as I can with the towel, I pour the rest of the water inside and around the wound, watching Fakir try not to shake or move. Tears are already in the seams of his eyes, and I feel terrible. Unscrewing the bottle of alcohol, I gently dab the towel against the putrid smelling liquid and start pressing it against the open wound. Fakir screams into the towel, biting down as hard as possible with sweat and tears pouring down his face. My heart throbs as I apologize, trying to disinfect it as fast as possible. Karon strokes his hair, trying to calm him down. Fakir's knuckles are pale as he continues trying to grip. I pour it down through the wound, disinfecting it even more. Fakir screams again, the towel looking like it's going to tear at any given second. I finally pull out the needle and thread, my shaking hands somehow being precise enough to loop the thread through the eye.
"I'm going to start on the count of three, okay?" My hands tremble as I hold onto Fakir's quivering leg, peering up at his pained face.
"Do it now!" He drops the towel from his mouth, Karon dabbing his forehead free of sweat with the other one. "It's not gonna get any worse than this."
I listen, my hands tightly holding onto his leg as I pull the needle through the tanned skin, watching droplets of blood spill as it's pulled through the other end. Fakir groans and wails, but I know I have to keep going. I keep threading until the hole is closed on the one end, knotting the thread to keep it in place. Fakir turns himself flat on his stomach, knowing I have to do the other side as well. My hands shake less now, knowing exactly what I have to do, as I repeat the suturing process. He heaves and wheezes, and I can hear the whimpering sobs with each pull of my needle through his flesh.
As the knot finally hits his skin, and the wound is completely closed, I watch Fakir let out the longest possible sigh, wiping his eyes free of tears and his face free of sweat. I put the supplies away, having everything finally hit me now. Placed into my own body again, I can tell it's been hours since I was in the field, the sun now hidden well behind the town and its hills. Karon picks Fakir up, nodding towards upstairs.
"Young lady, I might need your help opening his door." Karons voice is marginally softer, as I watch Fakir start to drift off. All that pain and restraint must take a lot of strength. I bolt up the stairs, following Karon through the rather small flat above his shop. We stop in front of one of the four doors in the cramped hallway, swinging it open for him. Inside is no more than a bed, a small desk and chair, and a bookshelf with little space aside from that. Still, Karon fits himself inside as he lays Fakir down on the small bed and watches his foster son fall asleep. As both of us walk slowly back downstairs, there's a strange silence hanging in the air. He invites me into the back, pulling aside a small chair next to an equally small table. I accept, smiling as I sit down.
"I'm sorry you had to see him like this," I murmur, anxiously fiddling my fingers as Karon prepares some hot water for coffee.
"You have nothing to worry about. Fakir is always doing something to harm himself, unintentionally albeit." Karon sits down in front of me, leaving a rusted silver kettle on the stove. "Now, can you tell me what happened? Anything at all?"
I nod, recounting the most important details excluding only my own gaps in memory. The kettle whistles, and Karon stands, moving it aside and filling two cups with coffee grounds and hot water. Handing me one of the mugs and sitting back down, I can see how torn he is.
"That boy sure does like getting into trouble." He chuckles, taking a swig of the black unfiltered coffee. I weakly laugh as well, trying to drink the hot grinds and water mixture. Karon recounts distant memories of Fakir as a young child getting into all kinds of trouble, still drinking his coffee every couple sentences until he places the mug down completely. I smile, politely trying to sip past the grinds to taste the bitter strength of the coffee. It's difficult, but entertaining to see a man still so lighthearted.
"And then there was one incident," Karon leans back in the chair, smiling brighter. "He came home, his chest torn open. It was deep enough I swear I coulda almost seen the cartilage. Couldn't have been much older than sixteen when it happened, and he said to me 'Dad, I know that I'm really hurt, but I just saved someone from getting hurt even worse, so please don't lecture me this once.'" Karon smiles at me even brighter, his hand patting the space over his heart. "And let me tell you, that boy really struck a chord that day. Never did say who he saved, but they must've been special. It was that day, I knew he was going to become someone's hero." I feel my lower lip quiver a bit. As tears try and drip down my cheeks, I manage to muster the courage to hold them back. Fakir constantly puts himself into danger, puts himself in harm's way just to make sure someone else doesn't have to suffer.
Karon lets me spend the night, mostly for my own safety. I wasn't going to deny him anyway, the world outside the doors of the blacksmith's home seems like a deathwish. I snuggle up on the chair with a blanket Karon had given me. He apologized for not having anywhere else, but it honestly doesn't bother me that much. I have slept in worse places and the fact he was kind enough to let a stranger stay in his house was enough for me.
I realize, after a couple hours of just sitting in that chair, everything I'm wearing is coated in a thick layer of dried blood, both Fakir's and Victor's, though it doesn't bother me. The thick scent of blood is already numbing to me, practically unnoticeable. Still, I stand and make my way towards the kitchen sink, turning on the cold faucet. I try and peel off the caked on flakes as best as I can, before starting to drench my once beautiful black unitard and tutu in water, cascading it in bright red and pink streaks from where the blood dripped. It isn't very important that it stays clean now, I realize, but I want to be clean for my own sake. Staring down at the floor, I realize the blood is just pooling below, making my legs streak with red threads of diluted blood as well.
I hear the fumbling of legs down the creaking stairs, and start drying myself off with one of the towels strewn about. It seems to just smear the blood, in all honesty, but it's better than being sopping wet. I sit back down in the chair, throwing the blanket Karon gave me back over myself. The air is suddenly filled with the scent of alcohol and blood again, and I start for the stairs as the feet become shakier.
"Fakir, you can't get out of bed right now," I watch as my dark haired lump begins struggling to step down the stairs. "You need to rest until you're all better."
"Aniela…" He whimpers my name again. I stroke his hair, taking him back up into the small room and laying him down in his bed. "Please don't leave… Please stay in here tonight…" His voice cracks in a hushed whisper. I pull his blankets over him, pulling out the chair from his desk and sitting upright in it.
"I won't leave, Fakir. I promise I won't." I smile at him, taking his hand and kissing it very softly. He squeezes mine, weakly smiling back. There's a long and peaceful silence, the only sound is that of Fakir's laboured breaths.
"Your name suits you," Fakir says, calm and collected. I look over at him in the dark, the bare outline of his face and torso almost invisible in the darkness.
"What, Ahiru?"
"Aniela. It's Polish. Do you know what it means?" I shake my head, and Fakir smiles.
"My mom always told me that I was her angel, so I assume it's something along those lines."
"Graceful, angelic, and merciful. A divine being, essentially." Fakir sits up, holding his weight on his elbows and forearms. I can feel him staring at me, those green eyes wide with intrigue and his smile curled to one side. I smile back, knowing he can't see it. My hand cups his cheek, and I stroke the hair away from his face, feeling his statue-esque features. The small creases and smile lines of his cheeks, the sharp point of his jawline, the smooth feel of his olive skin.
"Why would any of those things suit me?" I ask, brushing my fingers against his lips. He takes my hand gently, pressing my knuckles back against those soft pink lips. Laying back down he finally responds.
"You're an angel, in some ways. A clumsy and anxious angel, but an angel nonetheless." I can feel a smile curl across his lips, watching him reach out in the pale moonlight to stroke my cheek. I lean my head down, pressing his forehead against mine. The warm intermingling of our breaths makes me shiver. "You're kind and beautiful. You stand up for yourself and others when you need to. You always mean well, no matter what you do. You might not be mature for your age, or the prettiest girl in the room, but that smile is all I need to know you're all that I ever wanted." His voice is weak and sleepy, drifting between conscious and unconscious. I kiss him gently, watching him fall fast asleep. The purity in his voice. I can't help but feel tears finally shed.
I am someone's idea of perfect for once. I stroke his hair for hours before watching the early sun rise in a show of red and orange streamers, dancing away the deep purples and twinkling yellows of the night sky. A pas de deux between two equals. My stomach turns and I realize I haven't eaten for an entire day. I feel my insides cramp and practically scrunch together, begging for something to eat. I leave Fakir to sleep, walking down the stairs quietly.
As I finally make my way down to the little kitchen I tried to sleep in last night, I realize there's still blood on the floor, in the sink, and on my clothes. I sigh, starting to wipe everything down again. It isn't until Karon pats me on the shoulder that I stop and turn around, faced with a Gold Crown male's uniform.
"No need to soak in that blood all day. Just change and we can clean this mess later." He bellows. I accept the uniform into my tiny hands, smiling gratefully. After a few short minutes of me struggling to wash the blood off my skin, and wiggling helplessly in the oversized uniform, I show Karon who smiles.
"You seem to be good to go. Why not show Fakir his old uniform is being put to good use?" Before I can protest, Karon walks me up the stairs and into Fakir's bedroom. He and I make eye contact and I smile at him, pulling the sleeve up to wave at him. Fakir giggles as he leans against his wall, trying to push his flushed face into the hard surface. I roll up the sleeves and pant legs a bit more, hoping to not drag anything, giggling back. Fakir continues to laugh until Karon hears a knock at the door.
As he leaves, I open my mouth, ready to say something when Fakir hushes me. He's listening closely to the walls. The door creaking open as Karon greets someone. Samiel's voice reverberates through the cracks, and both Fakir and I know this is the end of the road.