When Silver Burned: Chapter 41-42 (Patreon)

41 - Love Letter

Kalsin woke to the thin morning light sifting through the narrow opening above his bed.

He laid still, letting the world crystallize around him and slowly come into focus. Motes of dust swam in the dim half-light of the hut, the other two beds yawning empty along the walls. When he turned his head, he felt something soft tickle his chin.

A naked Ringtail laid on him, her head resting on his chest and one leg thrown over his hip. Her short hair fluttered softly as she breathed with an open mouth, looking more peaceful than he had ever seen her. Though she was tiny compared to him, her weight was curled around him enough to make it hard to move.

Kalsin let out a slow breath, too drained to do much of anything at first. He then gently slid her leg off of him, tucked her arm to her side, and slowly nudged her away by her shoulders. Ringtail stirred for a moment, mumbling something, but then rolled over to lie on her back and continue dreaming.

Kalsin propped himself up in bed, taking another bleary look around the room before his eyes returned to the woman sleeping next to him. She was pretty and, despite all the training they’d done, still softer around the edges than one would expect from a soldier. His eyes trailed down in appreciation, all the way to her belly.

Oh, hells.

Her softly rising and falling belly had a tight wrapping of cloth around it. A strip of fabric that looped around her midriff and created a barrier between him and her scar.

Kalsin watched her peaceful form in silence.

By any reasonable measure, he should have been panicking. He had completely forgotten about it last night. About scars and curses and ghosts, and all the worries that came with it. If there had been a single wrong move, if the knot around Ringtail’s chest had come loose on accident, he would be in a world of trouble right about now.

Kalsin knew all this, somewhere in a numbed part of his mind. He knew his decision last night was beyond reckless. 

But—but looking down at Ringtail, all he could think about is that she did this for him.

She knew Kalsin had a phobia of scars. She didn’t want him to be afraid of touching her. Under all that brattiness and harsh words and competitive spirit… she cared.

Kalsin sharply looked away. The bed creaked quietly as he put his feet on the floor and stood. He found his boots in the far corner and his pants thrown across the other vacated bed. He paused there for a second, thinking of Shutter and how he would never again sleep here. He then shook himself out of his reverie, pulled the garment on, and went outside to greet the sunrise just appearing on the horizon.

Kalsin leaned against the doorframe of his hut, arms folded against his bare chest. It was a cloudy morning, with Warmlight painting the sky orange and purple. The row of huts stood silent and empty, and the training yard was silent in this distance. On any other morning, a few folk would be awake by now. Cyanfish by the pot. Wardoll doing her early stretches. Crawl…

Kalsin shut his eyes for a moment. The smell of smoke still lingered in the air from yesterday, but there was a hint of rain now contemplating the idea of washing it away. Kalsin squinted up at the sky again, wishing for a storm, before he reached into his pocket to find the folded piece of paper inside.

Jack’s letter was crumpled, but her handwriting was as clean as ever. The tiny script covered the pages on both sides, and something warm and tender glowed in Kalsin’s chest just looking at the thing. For someone with so few words, his Jack sure had a lot to say.

He smiled, smoothed out the letter, and started reading.

Kal,

I’m not sure how to start this, so I’ll just tell you right out of the gate: being Clenn sucks.

Well, correction—being Clenn in the army sucks. The regiment’s a joke in some ways and completely fucked in others. We’re sorted and trained separately based on tier, strength, and ‘aptitude for advancement’—which sounds like something a bloated recruiter came up with after choking on his own ego. It’s not like I can wish any harder to turn abyss. And sure, they showed us proper ways to meditate, but beyond that it would be nice if the drills actually worked on things you could, you know, improve, via good ol’ practice and repetition.

But they don’t. Not really. We have an hour’s worth of daily weapon training, and my shield-form’s gotten worse, I swear. These past few weeks I’ve felt more like a clumsy brick wall than anything useful.

Oh. I’m also a root now. So there’s at least something of a consolation prize.

I hope things are better over at the Scarrd division. I don’t know. Maybe it’s always been like this. Or maybe the system rotted sometime in the last few years and no one bothered to clean it all up. All I know is, if one more fella greets me by asking what kind of surge I’ve got, I might actually knock some teeth out.

Anyway. I didn’t start this letter just to complain, though you know I could fill a bloody tome with that alone. There's just been... time, lately. More of it than I know what to do with. Sitting alone in my tent, marching and staring at the sky like it’s going to spell out answers. Gives a person room to think. And when you think long enough, the past likes to crawl back up on you, digging up things you never said out loud.

So, here’s one of those things: I’m sorry.

I never meant to force my scar on you. Gods, I didn’t even understand what the hell I was looking at. When the bolts started to fly, my only thought was to get between you and those crossbowmen, and then you were convulsing on the ground beneath me and I thought you were hit, and then I took you in my hands and I saw the scar—my scar—materialize on your face, and then the guards came to drag us apart, and…

Everything just happened so fast.

Fuck. Even as I’m writing this, I have to reach up and cup my jaw to confirm that I’m not dreaming. Those long years of hunting for a cure… when all I ever wanted was right in front of my eyes the whole time.

And no—I’m not talking about anything mystical. I’m talking about you, Kal.

I love you.

Been the case for some time now. I love how perceptive you are, and how you see things that others don’t. I love how you always try to guess my dumb gestures without judgement, without showing that I inconvenience you… and even if your guess ain’t exactly what I meant, we just shrug and laugh and roll with the stupidity of it all.

Being with you is never—never—a reminder of what I’m lacking. And you’re the only person who, in the long run, ever made me feel that way.

So this is my confession, now that I no longer have a scar. Now that you can kiss me without that ugly thing standing between us. The thing I could only dream of is finally possible: for us to be together as a man and a woman.

If… if you’ll have me.

Hah, look at me go. I’m getting all misty-eyed. Not the reaction you expected, eh? The thing is, I always knew you were special. Your gorgeous silver eyes, your strange way of looking at the world, and some… events happening around you that were hard to explain. There are some things that I’m purposefully not saying here. It’s not the time and not the place for that, I don’t think—it probably has to do something with your mysterious talent. You’ve already been through so much, and I don’t want to add another bucketload of trouble to all that. Later. There will be time for that later.

Hells. I can only imagine what it felt like—waking up with that fresh scar burned into your face. Crushing doesn’t even begin to cover it. You probably blamed yourself, didn’t you? Told yourself you should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve done something differently. And then you bottled it all up, like always, letting the guilt gnaw at you. Knowing that a more selfless fella—the kind they write stories about—would’ve spent his days healing others, even if he knew that there’s no light at the end of the tunnel for heroes.

I mean, the ability to cleanse Scarrd? To steal their scars onto your own body with a single touch? Oh, the spectacle that would follow. A new hope. A revolution. So many consequences that it’s practically impossible to even think about them all.

And yet… here we are.

You probably expect some sage wisdom from your bodyguard right about now. Do this in such a way, do that like so, weighing the pros and cons on the great majestic scale of morality.

On one side, there is foolish heroism. A spark in the dark that will spawn a bonfire underneath the Ember Republic. It will burn bright and sear itself into the pages of history books. A target on your back. A thousand scars you’ll drown in. Wives of your station and the admiration of millions. And likely, a quick and bloody ending for us both.

The other side is a cynical beast. It preserves the self over the will of the many. We could run away; away from the Republic, away from the Veiled, fleeing north past the Olna and Kartwist until we’re far enough away from the greedy arm of the Civil House to be able to find a quiet life for ourselves. We would bathe in the cold mountain rivers and tell stories until dawn, reminiscing about those busy days we’ve left behind.

These are the only two options we have. You’re a smart fella—smarter than me, that’s for certain, so you have probably figured this all out. And now, you’re waiting for me to give you that final push toward one of ‘em.

No. 

I don’t have the answer for this one, and I won’t pretend that I do. What I want from you, Kalsin… is to choose.

Because anything is better than what we have right now.

Ask yourself: do I want to be in the same place I am right now five years from now? Ten? Letting that bitter silence eat your soul piece by piece, it’s not a way to live. Oh, I know all about the bitter silence. Anything is better than that.

I hate to imagine you in a limbo state. Kal. Kalsin. My Kalsin. You always shone the brightest when you picked a course, hashed out a plan—and acted. Doesn’t matter in which direction.

I want you to fly free, love.

Be fast, or be reckless, or be devious—hells, be scared, if that’s what it takes—but move. I’ll follow you wherever you go. I always have.

Come prepared to that hook-shaped rock between your barracks and the Clenn camp. We’re leaving this hellhole tomorrow at midnight.

I’ll be waiting for you.

Yours, no matter what comes next, 

Jack.

42 - One Last Gift

Kalsin quietly pulled the door shut behind him, cutting off the streak of sunlight from streaming in. His steps were soft on the wooden floor. It didn’t matter, though. She was already up.

Ringtail sat on the bed, sheet pulled up to her chest, blinking blearily at him with hair sticking up in every direction. Her bare toes stuck out from beneath the covers, wiggling like the antennae of a slighted bug.

"...You're not wearing a shirt," she noted, rubbing her eyes.

“You drool when you sleep.”

She pulled the blanket up to her chin and glared at him. “I do not.” There was some prodding underneath as she covertly tried to wipe the corners of her mouth with the fabric.

Kalsin didn’t respond. He just watched her in silence.

Ringtail matched his stare, until she looked away and let the sheet fall back down to her shoulders. “You were gone when I woke up.” Ringtail’s voice was quieter now.

“I was just outside.”

A pause.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Well… good. That is, um. Good.”

Kalsin leaned down to grab Ringtail’s boots from beside the door and walked over to the bed. He placed them beside the bottom rail before sitting down. Ringtail quickly scooted over to give him some room, the bed creaking under their combined weight.

And then, as things would have it, silence crept back again.

“Sooooo…” Ringtail said, looking at him sideways. She held onto that blanket like it was a shield against the Veiled. “Did the fuck was good?”

Kalsin raised a single brow.

“What I, uuuh—ahem—what I mean to say is, did you sleep well last night?”

“I don’t think either of us slept a whole lot.”

Two weeks ago Kalsin would have never guessed Ringtail was even capable of blushing. “Cheeky bastard,” she muttered a bit more under her breath, but didn’t dispute the truth of his statement. Kalsin could still feel the bitemarks on his neck from last night. Things had gotten quite… vigorous.

Ringtail stretched, this time letting the sheet drop and pool around her waist. She stretched out her arms above her head—theatrically so—and then draped them over Kalsin’s shoulder to lean into him like a human pillow.

“Fuck. I’m beat,” she said.

“A lot happened yesterday,” Kalsin agreed absently. He felt her finger draw little circles on the small of his back.

“Mmh.”

“Say; how much of this was planned, and how much was pure impulse?”

Her head resting on his shoulder turned toward him a bit. “Whatddaya mean.”

“Condier it for my perspective. I’ve got a girl hounding me, just lightly at first, but then reaching a point where we can’t exchange a single duel without it devolving into a shouting match. Then we make up—somewhat—and fight together, and grieve together, and then argue some more.” He poked her arm wrapped around his chest. “Jumping my bones is not the next logical step in that equation.”

“Mate. Man, buddy.” Her voice was somehow pleased and exasperated at the same time. “For someone so intelligent, Ghost, you can be really dense sometimes.”

“Spell it out for me, then. Ringtail.”

She snorted and ignored his request. A tiny woman with enough pride to supply a village. “It’s Rin, by the way.”

Kalsin paused. “Your name?”

“Mhm. Rin Origáte.”

“Interesting. Kalsin.”

They both remained like that, Kalsin staring at the morning sun lighting up the room and Ringtail still in bed, using him as a climbing pole.

“I think I prefer Ringtail. Suits a little muppet like you more.”

“I think I’ll be calling you Ghost. Kalsin is too refined for a brickhead like ya.”

He shook his head. “You never surrender a fight, do you?”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you liked your women all meek and powerless. Why, the moment we go outside I shall discard my sword and shield, pick up the nearest needle, and—”

One moment she was running her mouth, and the next she gave a yelp as Kalsin hooked an arm around her waist and twisted, pulling her down flat against the bed with a soft whump. Her legs flailed once, blanket twisting with her like a poorly caught sail, before she landed square on her back with Kalsin above her.

Ringtail blinked up at him, hair sprawled across the pillow in a tangled mess.

Kalsin kept one hand beside her head, the other flat against her stomach to keep her still. “Gods,” he muttered with a low voice. “You’re exhausting.”

Her grin came slow, teeth bared like she was about to say something stupid again. “Oh, I definitely exhausted you last night. Saw the way you were limping just now, trying to spare your poor soldier. Was I bouncing too hard, eh? Eeeh?”

Through the wrapping around her stomach, he could feel the rough outline of her scar. It immediately sent an uneasy shiver across Kalsin, and he almost pulled his hand away. Almost.

Kalsin slowly leaned back away from Ringtail. But his touch remained on her slowly rising and falling belly.

It took effort. It took a damn lot of effort. Holding a white-hot branding iron would have been easier.

Ringtail’s grin slowly disappeared. Her eyes dropped down to where he was touching her, then back up to him. “I…” She swallowed. “Ghost. Kalsin. I don’t know how else we could have— I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and, you know, maybe if I helped you forget about my scar, there was a chance we—”

“Shush.”

“No, I’m serious. I don’t want to make you feel, I dunno, uncomfortable with—”

“That’s enough, Ringtail. I understand,” Kalsin said. “I do. You were being more thoughtful than I deserved. Thank you for that.”

They watched each other for a moment. Then both their eyes slipped back to the place where Kalsin's hand was resting.

“Uh. Yeah, um… Guess I’m kinda spectacular like that, huh?” Ringtail tried to joke. But she couldn’t hide the tension in her body as she saw Kalsin’s hand slowly move toward the edge of the wrapping. “Hey. What are you…” she started, grabbing his wrist. 

Kalsin gave her a look.

She bit her lip. “You don’t have to, you know… prove anything to me. You don’t like scars—that’s fine in my book. We can just pretend mine doesn’t exist, if you want. Whenever we want to do,” she vaguely gestured around the room, “this, more.”

Kalsin would have liked that, he realized. He would have liked to spend another night with Ringtail.

But he was leaving tonight. Away from the Old; from his mates, from the army, and from the retribution that would follow the moment the Civil House’s agents realized that he had made his decision.

It was a sweet fantasy, to delude himself into thinking that he could ever live a normal life. The moment he revealed his power—whether intentionally, or by accident—he would have a horde of people descending upon him to try and take him out. The Clenn recruits camping nearby. Those who followed Hadúr’s and Tűzmother’s teachings. Scarrd higher-ups who would want to keep the status quo.

The ability to heal Scarrd did not guarantee for those same people to join him. He needed a headstart. He needed to disappear with Jack and start out slow, start out smart, establishing himself one step at a time at a place people wouldn’t think to look for him.

Jack was right. He needed to act. To move.

But before that—though it was foolish and stupid and all the heroically idealistic things he had scorned his entire life… before that, he wanted to help one girl that, for a single night, had made him feel alive.

Softly, his fingers moved across her fluttering belly. They gently hooked under the edge of the wrappings that covered her bare skin. He tugged them out of the way,, and she slightly lifted herself, bracing her arms against the bed to help him do it.

Of all people, he never would have guessed it would be Ringtail he first cured by his own will.

Her stomach was just as captivating as the first time he’d seen it. Bathed in the soft light of morning, with the room still steeped in the warmth of last night’s closeness, the small scar just left of her bellybutton seemed like a trivial thing. Barely worth noticing.

And yet, to the Republic, it was everything. Based on the values his childhood had indoctrinated into Kalsin, that scar was a one-way ticket to hell.

At least, that was how it was supposed to work. But today, he was offering a rare refund—personally chauffeured by him, with the Clennlands as the final stop.

His hand hovered over her scar, hesitating once more. He looked away, down at his own bare chest, burning the image of unblemished skin into his memory. To cherish it one final time before it was gone.

He let his hand fall. The pain was quick to follow.

But this time, he was ready to peer back into the past.

<><><>

~~We ran.

My feet slammed against wet tiles, and the rain made it hard to tell what was harder—keeping upright or breathing. Vittor’s boots slipped once, but he caught himself with a curse and pushed on. The sack was tied to his back, cinched tight, and every few seconds it bounced against his spine like it had a grudge.

“Left!” I shouted over the wind.

He veered before I finished the word, vaulting the low wall and landing on the sloped roof below. I followed. Slate shingles cracked under my weight, but held.

Another rooftop, then another. We were two streets over from the pier now. The shouts behind us had faded, but we both knew better than to relax. Overworld folk valued deep-fracture pearls more than their balls. Which was the exact reason we couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this. If we got this one over the finish line, we were set for life.

The next jump was longer. Vittor cleared it first. He had already pulled ahead when I landed, knees buckling, palms scraping against the slick surface. I got back up fast.

“You good, Rin?”

“Keep moving, jackass.”

We crossed another roof, angled higher, then another. The buildings were tighter here, closer to the trade square, but steeper. More pointy towers and less of those flat-roofed warehouses I liked to tread.

My brother, in true buffoon fashion, didn’t compensate for the change in terrain. He swung around a chimney, and nearly lost his balance on the upturn. Idiot.

“Did we lose them?” Vittor shouted back toward me.

Fat chance of that. I didn’t waste time looking back. Rain came harder now, needles on my face. Wind tugged at my hood and flung water in my eyes. I wiped them with my sleeve, teeth clenched, following him past the chimney and small climb. He gave me a hand up. I grabbed his wrist and let him haul me up. I ducked around to check on the loot. The sack was still intact, thank Vadász.

“What? I’m not nearly as careless as you think I am.” He took off his floppy hat, wrung out some water, then slapped it back on.

“You can brag once we get it back to the nook,” I frowned at him. I pointed over at the next roof. If I squinted enough, I could see the ocean from here. We were so close. “Now scurry.”

Vittor hitched the sack higher on his back, sauntering over to the edge of the roof. I glanced back, trying to make out the silhouettes of our pursuers. Our timing had been good; good enough to catch sparks guarding the vault instead of that one rift fella. Rumor had it, he could curl lightning from his palm like a lasso. And my manifestation wouldn’t have been good enough to deal with that pickle.

I heard something crack.

I whipped back around, and just caught the sight of Vittor’s hat disappearing below the edge of the rooftop.

I surged forward, there in a blink and still too slow. 

It didn’t make a dramatic noise. There was no scream. Just the faint sight of something large falling in the shadow of the towers. And then a thud below. So soft in the rain you could have missed it if you weren’t listening.

I stood there, looking down. I don’t know for how long. Everything had come to a sudden stop, and if the Gods in that moment had decided to peer down, they might’ve seen a little pocket of the world frozen in time. An unimportant slice of reality that stopped flowing like it was supposed to. A chink in the mechanism.

Then the stillness broke with sounds coming from somewhere behind me. Shouts from the nearby rooftops and the echoing bark of a hound from the streets below.

For a second, I wondered if I should follow. For a second I considered what it would feel like.

I wiped a hand across my eyes. I pulled the hood deeper against the rain. And then I ran.~~