It had looked so bright. The starshade had been found; everyone had wanted to live again; he had spoken to Luxa… it had looked bright. Hamnet had not wanted to be the guide — he had not wanted to associate with any more harbingers of war. He had not wanted to associate with any of the old. It would only be a short time before they would attempt to drag him back. To make him do harm again. But he had been the guide. And he had been surprised. And at the end of the day, he— he had started to open his mind again ever so slightly. To let himself think of all he had left behind.
Now the cutters come pouring in. They will not turn back. They are relentless. Some say the cutters are blindly loyal, that they have no sense of individuality and are thus emotionless and without agency. That is a gross oversimplification. When a cutter cares, a cutter cares deeply, for all cutters care. And these cutters care — they care to destroy the starshade and the warmbloods with it.
Hamnet freezes. The soles of his feet grip the ground like a lifeline. Ripred is barking orders. He mentions Hamnet. He mentions Hamnet like it is matter of fact that Hamnet will fight. Like Hamnet can fight.
"You are fighting, right?" Ripred asks.
"I— I—"
Hamnet will fight, sometimes. He will fight when there is no other option. When his and Frill's backs are against the wall. When it is kill or be killed— oh, how he loathes those words. Kill or be killed. Regalia's mantra. His mother's favorite maxim. The words that she had told him, calmly and coldly, time and time again. The words that had played over and over as he lay in the darkness of the dungeon. It is kill or be killed, Hamnet. It is kill or be killed, so you have no choice but to kill, and if you have no choice, do you have any fault?
He has all the fault. He had run away knowing all too well that he held the blame. That there was no rule that made all this harm justified. He had to run — what else could he have done?
"The cure is at stake. Think of it as a way of redeeming your past actions. Think of it as a way of saving your son. Think of it as any way you like, but arm yourself or get out!"
If you have no choice, do you have any fault?
Yes. Yes, he does. He had sworn to do no more harm. So rather die. So rather run into a death trap.
The sea of red creeps ever closer. A quarter of the starshade is gone to their jaws. So many will die if he does not fight. So many will die if he does fight.
Kill or be killed.
That is why he had run.
Because he could not find a solution.
"Yes. Yes, I will fight," he says but does not quite feel the words in his mouth. His back is against the wall. All warmbloods may die if he does not fight. But then, what if it is not true? What if it is all for naught?
If your backs are against the wall, open the gates.
It will be for the greater good, Hamnet.
It is kill or be killed.
He had run from all that. He had run all the way to the jungle, hoping to leave that dilemma in the dust.
It still found him.
Frill touches his neck with her head as he grabs his old sword from the bag at her side. She hisses at him. Hamnet is no Hazard, but he gets by in Hisser. "It is time. For Hazard."
So he fights. He fights because he does not know what else to do. He has tried to find reasons so many times, and each time it has led to more heartbreak. He does not know if he is in the right. He will never know. The cutters fall before him, all chopped-up mandibles and legs. He fights with all the strength he can summon. It is not as much as he could once. But he fights. He fights until his feet sink into the purple slime secreted by the cutters, until his skin turns numb and his blood runs freely. I have to get back to Hazard, he thinks. We cannot leave him, too.
The cutters still overtake him. They push him into the ground and tear open his gut, climbing across his body towards the starshade. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Frill on the ground. She is still. She died, too.
So much death. So much harm. And what for? The starshade is gone.
There is a hole beneath his ribcage. He touches it with one hand. It turns wet.
He had wanted so badly to tell Hazard that he and Frill would be back. That they would not leave him alone. But Hamnet could not. He could not so many things. He could not stop the horrors and the harm.
A hand clasps his. A familiar face above him. "Judith… Judith…"
It has been far too long. He should have come back. Just once. But he could not have. He wanted to. He wanted to see his sisters again. His father, his friends. His niece. Even his mother. But he could never have. Never.
He could not have stopped all the harm. He is not wise enough for that. He did not know how to find a way, so he ran instead. But the war followed him. All this harm.
"Yes, it is Judith. I am right here," says the familiar face.
"Hazard… Promise me… he will not be…" Oh, let his boy live in a world where he should not be burdened with what tore his father apart. "…let him be… anything but a warrior."
"I promise," promises she who he can always trust to carry out his wishes. Who will try to be on his side.
Hamnet dies.