In the forests outside Dewville, three birds appeared.
One bird burned all of its feathers to make an everlasting lamp, keeping watch over the forest, day and night.
Another weighed the sins of creatures that enter the forest. It had a scale that always tipped to one side. That way every judgement would yield a clear verdict.
The third punished wrongdoings with a mouth that could swallow any creature in one bite.
There are rumours that a terrible monster dwelled in the forests of Kazimierz.
"I had the prudence, and you had the unhesitating action. We helped each other with our strengths, and we could just live on by dealing with matters at hand back in the day. Maybe those were the days when we could laugh and lament the most, and carry out our lives just like that. But now we've come too far to go back—so did you, and so did Charles' Office."
"To meet my death by the blade of a friend…"
"Expelling everything I've absorbed until now won't be a simple feat. Could you leave me be while I do that? I'm asking you as a dear friend. …If you still consider me a friend, that is."
Roland woke up with a start, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The nightmare still clung to his mind like a shroud, its vivid images replaying themselves in the dark corners of his consciousness. He could still feel the weight of the sword in his hand, the resistance as it plunged into Olivier's chest, the spray of blood hot against his face. He could still see Angela's wide, startled eyes as the blade swept cleanly through her neck, her head falling from her body in a grotesque arc.
He sat up in bed, his sheets damp with sweat, his heart pounding like a war drum. The room was dark, the only light a sliver of moonlight filtering through the heavy curtains. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, trying to shake off the lingering vestiges of the nightmare. It wasn't the first time he'd relived those moments in his sleep, and he doubted it would be the last.
As he wandered the halls of the landship, he found himself drawn to the bow, seeking solace in the open air and the vast expanse of the sky.
The night was cool, a gentle breeze rustling his hair as he stepped out onto the deck. The stars above twinkled overhead apathetically.. He leaned against the railing, staring out at the horizon.
"Can't sleep, huh?" a voice drawled from behind him.
Roland turned to see W, that belligerent Sarkaz mercenary, leaning casually against a nearby support beam. Her eyes glinted with a mix of curiosity and mischief, and her trademark grin was firmly in place.
"What's got you up and about at this hour?" she asked, her tone light but with an undercurrent of something darker.
"Just needed some air," Roland replied, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. He didn't trust W, and her presence only served to heighten his already frayed nerves.
W tilted her head, studying him intently. "Bad dreams, huh? I can relate. I get those too, sometimes."
Roland didn't respond, turning his gaze back to the horizon. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken tension.
"You know," W continued, her voice taking on a mocking edge, "for a mercenary, you sure seem green. Let me guess, all those kills, and you still can't cope with it?"
Roland's grip tightened on the railing, his knuckles turning white. He could feel the anger rising within him, a dark, simmering fury that threatened to consume him.
"Careful, W," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. "You don't know what you're talking about."
W's grin widened, clearly enjoying the effect she was having on him. "Oh, but I think I do. I've seen your type before. All tough and stoic on the outside, but inside? Just a scared little boy."
Roland's eyes flashed with anger, but he forced himself to remain calm. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing him lose control.
"The Smoke War," he said, his voice steady but filled with bitterness. "They didn't tell us much. Just who to kill and where to go. We were pawns, nothing more."
W raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. "So, you're saying you just followed orders? No questions asked?"
Roland nodded, his jaw clenched. "We didn't really have a choice. It was kill or be killed."
W laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. "And here I thought you might have some spine. But no, you're just another puppet, dancing to the tune of your masters."
Roland's hand twitched, the urge to lash out almost overwhelming. But he held himself back, knowing that any violence would only play into her hands.
"You don't know anything about me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You don't know what I've been through."
W's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, her playful demeanor slipped, revealing a glimmer of something more dangerous. "Oh, I think I know enough. I know you're haunted by your past. I know you can't sleep because of the faces of the people you've killed. And I know that deep down, you're afraid."
Roland's heart pounded in his chest, his breathing shallow and rapid. He could feel the darkness closing in around him, threatening to swallow him whole.
"And what about you, W?" he shot back, his voice filled with venom. "How do you cope with all the blood on your hands?"
W's grin returned, though it was tinged with a hint of something colder. "I embrace it. I thrive on it. Killing is what I do best, and I don't lose any sleep over it."
Roland shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "You're a sicko."
W's smile widened, and she took a step closer, her eyes locked onto his. "And what does that make you, Roland? A hero? Or just another killer, like me?"
Roland's gloved fists tightened, his body tense and ready for action. W noticed the movement, her eyes flicking to his hand before meeting his gaze again. Her instincts, honed from countless battles, screamed at her that she was treading on dangerous ground.
"Now this one," she thought to herself, "depending on what I say next, will murder me immediately."
The tension between them was palpable, a thin veneer of civility barely restraining the violence that simmered beneath the surface. W could feel it, a tangible threat that made her heart race with both fear and excitement.
She held up her hands in mock surrender, her grin never wavering. "Easy there, big guy. No need to get all worked up. I'm just having a bit of fun."
Roland's grip on his sword tightened, his eyes burning with barely contained rage. "Watch your mouth, W. You don't know what you're messing with."
W chuckled, taking a step back. "Sure thing, boss. Wouldn't want to make you angry."
She turned to leave, but not before throwing one last barb over her shoulder. "You know, for someone who's seen so much death, you sure do have a soft heart. Maybe that's why you can't sleep."
Roland watched her go, his body trembling with the effort of keeping his anger in check. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but the memory of her words lingered, stoking the fires of his rage.
As W disappeared into the darkness, Roland turned back to the railing, staring out at the horizon once more. The stars above continued to shine, indifferent to the turmoil within him. He knew he couldn't escape his past, couldn't undo the things he'd done. But out here, in the stillness of the night, he could at least find a moment of peace.
...
Folinic's breaths were ragged, each exhale punctuated by a scream that tore through the sterile air of the containment unit. Her fists came down again and again, pummeling the writhing, grotesque form of the larval False Hydra. The creature's pale, slimy flesh gave under her relentless assault, its unsettling, eyeless visage contorted in what could only be described as a silent scream.
"You killed Atro!" Folinic's voice was raw, cracking under the weight of her grief and rage. "You took her from me! I swear, I'll end you! I'll kill you, again and again!"
Blood, viscous and dark, splattered across her face and clothes, mixing with her tears. Each strike seemed to fuel her fury, her movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. The larval form of the False Hydra thrashed beneath her, its body convulsing in response to the brutal punishment it was receiving. Its multiple mouths opened and closed silently, as if attempting to voice the suffering it endured, but no sound escaped its horrific form.
Outside the containment unit, the Doctor watched in silence, his expression unreadable behind the shadowed lenses of his mask. The scene before him was one of raw, unfiltered emotion. But within his mind, another voice spoke, a whisper from a past self that was both familiar and foreign.
"This creature... its ego may hold memory-modifying effects," the voice mused, cold and calculating. "Imagine the potential. Once we reach Londinium, we could use it to help Theresis activate the shard. Catch Kal'tsit unaware. Finish what we started." He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the voice, the haunting specter of his former self.
The Doctor's gaze remained fixed on Folinic, her screams echoing in the confined space.
"Folinic," he called softly, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of her rage. She didn't hear him, her focus entirely consumed by her vengeance.
Her fists, bruised and bloodied, continued their relentless assault. Each strike was accompanied by a guttural cry, a manifestation of her anguish. She saw Atro's face in every blow, felt her friend's absence in every heartbeat. The False Hydra had taken someone precious from her, and in that moment, she was determined to exact her retribution.
"You won't take anyone else," she vowed, her voice breaking. "I'll make sure of it. I'll kill you!"
"Folinic, stop," he said louder this time, his voice firm yet gentle.
She paused, her body trembling with exhaustion and emotion. Slowly, she turned to face him, her eyes red and swollen, her knuckles raw and bleeding. For a moment, she seemed lost, her rage dissipating into a void of sorrow.
"Doctor... I..." Her voice faltered, and she collapsed to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably.
The Doctor stepped into the containment unit, his presence a calming force amidst the chaos. He knelt beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It's over, Folinic. You don't have to fight anymore."
She clung to him, her tears soaking through his coat. "I couldn't save her, Doctor. I couldn't save Atro."
He held her tightly, offering what comfort he could.
There was once a poor passenger, stranded between dimensions.
Most will never realize that this person ever disappeared.
Well, the transport company would know, but they'll simply pretend that the passenger never existed.
Lost and abandoned, tossed out like trash, having no place left in the City.
This wayward passenger wandered, slipping through a gap, into the thin, mean place between worlds
This time, something else was there.
Now, this wanderer continues to walk forward, filled with a terrible purpose.
A yawning void sat where it's mutilated face once was.