They made it back to the camp in silence, the air thick with the scent of blood and damp earth. Char walked with his arms wrapped around himself, though he wasn't sure if it was to keep warm or to stop his hands from shaking. Benjamin moved slower than before, and when Char finally dared to look, he saw the dark stain spreading down the old man's side.
Benjamin grunted as he lowered himself onto a fallen log by the fire pit. "Damn bandits. Thought I was done getting stabbed thirty years ago."
Char swallowed hard, the image of the fight replaying over and over in his mind. The way the blade had sunk into the bandit's skull. The sound. The way the woman's body had gone limp in an instant, the light in her eyes snuffed out like a candle in the wind.
His stomach twisted. He wanted to throw up.
Benjamin must have noticed, because he sighed. "First time seeing a man die up close?"
Char didn't answer. His hands dug into his arms as he stared at the fireless pit.
"Don't dwell on it too much, kid. You did what you had to."
Did I? Char wanted to ask. He hadn't even really fought them off. He had run, and if Benjamin hadn't shown up, he'd be dead—or worse.
His throat tightened. His first real fight, and he had been useless.
Benjamin shifted, wincing, and Char noticed how the older man was paler than before, sweat glistening on his brow.
"You're hurt."
Benjamin snorted. "Noticed, did you?"
The blood was seeping through his tunic, an ugly wound slashed across his ribs from one of the bandits. Char felt a sharp jolt of panic—he hadn't even realized how bad it was in the heat of the fight.
Before he could spiral, something clicked in his mind.
The healing stone.
He had bought it with Tess before the Keep Valcian raid, on a whim, thinking it might be useful. He hadn't even remembered it until now.
Heart pounding, he fumbled through his bag, hands shaking as he pulled out the small green-glowing crystal.
Benjamin eyed it, unimpressed. "Waste of a good stone."
"You're literally bleeding out," Char snapped, more harshly than he intended.
Benjamin raised a brow but didn't argue.
Char pressed the smooth, warm stone to the wound.
The glow pulsed, then flared.
Benjamin tensed as the light sank into his skin, spreading like ripples in water. Char watched as the wound began to knit itself shut, the torn flesh sealing, the blood fading.
It lasted only a moment.
Then, just as suddenly as it had worked—
The stone crumbled to dust in Char's palm.
Gone.
Benjamin exhaled and pulled up his tunic, checking the wound. Where there had been an open gash, there was now only faded pink skin, as if the injury had been weeks old instead of minutes.
He let out a low whistle.
"Guess I owe you one, kid."
Char wiped the dust from his hands, still feeling hollow.
"It's fine," he muttered.
Benjamin studied him for a moment, as if weighing something.
Then he reached out and clapped Char on the shoulder—firm, grounding.
"You did good today."
Char wasn't sure if he believed it.
But for now, he let himself pretend.
*
Char sat by the remains of the fire pit, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them. His body ached from the fight, but it wasn't the pain that sat heavy in his chest. His mind felt raw, stretched too thin, like a wound rubbed over and over until it bled again.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there, staring at the dirt, hearing it all again.
The clang of metal. The short, sharp gasp as the bandit woman crumpled. The smell of blood.
Benjamin had been quiet since he healed up, watching Char from where he sat sharpening his knife. The old man had changed since earlier in the journey—less gruff, more careful in his words.
"You keep sittin' like that, you're gonna make yourself sick," Benjamin finally muttered.
Char blinked, but didn't respond.
Benjamin sighed. "After a battle, we used to just talk. Sometimes just to say what happened out loud. Didn't matter if it made sense or not—just helped to get it out."
He paused, then added, "Kept us sane."
Char let out a dry, hollow laugh. "I don't think talking is going to make this any better."
"You'd be surprised." Benjamin wiped his blade on a rag. "Valkar War. Thirty years ago. I was young, back then—young and stupid, like all soldiers. Thought I was invincible."
He exhaled, shaking his head.
"First battle I was in, we lost half our men in an hour. First time I saw a friend die, I just—froze. Stood there, lookin' at his body like it'd get up if I stared hard enough."
Char swallowed, his throat dry. "And what happened?"
Benjamin snorted. "Got a nice scar on my leg for my troubles." He tapped his thigh, as if to prove a point. "Bastard took me down before my captain hauled me out of the mess."
Char glanced down at his own hands. They were still faintly red—from gripping his knives too hard, from the dirt, from…other things.
"It didn't stop, you know," Benjamin continued. "The killing. The blood. We had to keep moving forward, no matter how much it burned in our heads. But we kept each other standing by talking. If we didn't talk, it ate us up."
Char's fingers curled into his palms.
Just talk.
He opened his mouth—then hesitated.
How much could he say?
What was he even supposed to talk about? That it wasn't just the fight that was weighing on him, but everything?
The last two weeks had been nothing but blood and running and fear.
The sound of Marrow's body hitting the floor after being gutted.
The way Edmund had cut through people like they were nothing—how close Char had been to dying that night.
And now this.
More bodies.
He pressed his palms to his eyes. His breath hitched.
No.
No, not now.
Not in front of Benjamin.
His shoulders shook anyway.
His chest tightened.
A sound escaped his throat before he could stop it.
His vision blurred, and suddenly, he couldn't stop it. It came in waves—silent, at first, then worse. His breaths stuttered, hitched, and before he knew it, he was crying like a child.
He hated it.
Hated how weak it made him feel.
His fingers dug into his arms, frustration burning through the shame.
"Gods," he choked. "I—this is so—"
Benjamin didn't say a word.
Didn't mock him.
Didn't tell him to stop.
The older man just sat there, watching the fire pit, letting Char fall apart in peace.
The tears eventually slowed, but Char still felt raw, hollowed out from the inside. He rubbed at his face with his sleeve, embarrassed, but Benjamin still hadn't said a word. The old man just sat there, whittling at a piece of wood with his knife, letting the silence settle between them.
For a long time, Char didn't speak.
Then, before he could stop himself, the words just started coming.
"I don't know what I'm doing," he admitted, voice hoarse. "I don't think I ever have."
Benjamin didn't react, just kept listening.
"I wasn't—" Char hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I wasn't supposed to be in all this. I had…a normal life, before. A boring one. And then suddenly, I was in a city I'd never been in before, being chased by people who wanted to kill me for things I didn't even understand."
The memories came faster now, tumbling out of him.
" Almost got killed—twice now. Before, I had to pretend like I knew what I was doing, but I didn't. I still don't." His voice wavered. "I've spent every day just trying to survive. And now I've seen people die right in front of me."
His stomach twisted. He could still see them when he closed his eyes. The way the man had twitched after being stabbed through the head. The way the woman had stared at him, wide-eyed, slumped over on the ground with a stabbed throat.
"I thought—" He exhaled sharply. "I thought I'd be okay with it. It's not like I had a choice. If I hadn't fought back, I would've been the one lying in the dirt instead. I know that. I know that."
Benjamin finally looked up. His expression was unreadable.
"But?" he prompted.
"But it still feels awful," Char admitted, voice shaking. "I don't—I don't want to be the kind of person who just accepts killing, even if I wasn't the one doing the act."
Benjamin studied him for a long moment, then let out a low sigh. "No sane person does."
Char swallowed, clenching his fists.
"I don't think I'm strong enough for this," he whispered.
Benjamin snorted. "Kid, no one's strong enough for this. We just figure it out as we go."
Char gave a bitter laugh. "That doesn't help."
"Didn't think it would." The older man leaned back against a rock. "But you made it this far, didn't you?"
Char looked down at his hands.
"…Yeah," he murmured.
He had. Somehow.