Chapter 40: A Fool’s errand

Arthur lay atop the truck's roof, the metal cold beneath his back, rattling with each bump in the road. Above him stretched an ocean of stars, vast and indifferent, their light glinting like shattered glass against the ink-black sky. The truck rolled through nothing and nowhere, swallowed by the endless dark.

'Sera's parents, huh.'

The thought coiled around his mind like a snake, tightening its grip as memories surfaced—memories he had tried to bury.

That night. That ditch in the earth. The blood-soaked battlefield where bodies lay twisted like broken dolls.

It had been his second night of war.

He was still raw then—young, reckless, and desperate. The commander was already dead, his body crumpled in the mud, another victim of the archer in the sky. She moved like a phantom, striking down the strongest among them, each arrow a death sentence.

Arthur had seen what needed to be done. And so, without thinking, he had done it.

He still remembered the way she fell—silent, like a dying star as he had run her through with a spear.

Then the darkness swallowed him whole.

He had woken alone in that dark abyss, the air thick with the stench of iron and decay. The cold gnawed at him, the pain dulled only by the crushing weight of despair. Night had already fallen. The battlefield had moved on without him, no one survived in the night.

 The war didn't care that he was still there, bleeding into the dirt.

'This is it, then'. The thought had settled over him like a funeral shroud. 'This is how I die.'

But then—

A voice, soft as a whisper in the dark.

He hadn't been able to see her, but somehow, it felt as if a light had broken through the suffocating blackness. A stranger, and yet, he had told her things no one else knew. Things no one else could ever know. A flicker of warmth in the freezing night.

And the last thing he remembered before waking to her mutilated corpse—was the promise.

A foolish, desperate promise. A string of words with no real

power, no real meaning.

"I promised to save them."

And now—despite the weight of common sense, despite the gods' wisdom that he should have learned in both of his lives—he couldn't stop thinking about it. The promise clawed at the edges of his mind, whispering in the cracks of his resolve.

Saving them was madness. More than that, it was suicide. Not just for him, but for everyone back at Fort Lanai. His mission, his future, his promise to Noah—everything would be thrown into the fire.

"Don't be a fool, Arthur," he growled under his breath.

But another voice, quiet and insistent, pushed back. The same voice that had sent him stumbling into the dark time and time again, searching for those he could save. A voice that never let him rest, never let him turn away.

Each time, it had dragged him back out. And each time, he had obeyed.

And now, it whispered again.

'She was my enemy.'

'But you promised.'

'She couldn't have believed I'd keep it.'

'But you promised.'

'It would risk everything.'

'And yet, you promised.'

Arthur clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth until his head throbbed. He forced himself upright, the cold wind biting against his skin. His heart pounded, whether from fear or resolve, he didn't know.

He exhaled, steadying himself.

Then, with the certainty of a man walking toward his own execution—he made his decision.

He was going to do something entirely, irrevocably stupid.

This was his chance. 

If he moved carefully, silently, without raising suspicion, he could slip away with them under cover of darkness. He had done more impossible things before.

Arthur exhaled, steadying himself. With a flicker of thought, he summoned the Mask of Shadows. Warmth spread across his skin as the magic took hold, and the darkness around him was banished under the Mask's abilities.

'If I fail…'

No. He wouldn't fail.

His gaze flickered downward, toward the rusted cage where Sera's family lay in restless silence. Adrian Morella sat awake, his back straight, legs crossed, glaring at the dirt like he meant to burn a hole through it with his sheer hatred alone. His wife lay beside him, stroking the boy's stark white hair with absent, mechanical motions. Her violet eyes remained sharp, darting through the darkness with the weary vigilance of someone who no longer allowed herself to hope.

Arthur knew that look.

He had worn it himself, once. In another life.

He had spent hours studying the camp—memorizing each twist and turn of the guards' patrols, the rhythm of their movements, the flicker of torchlight as they paced, the laziness of those who had grown too comfortable in their routine. Even as he had adamantly denied saving them, he had already been planning it.

Now was the moment.

Arthur shifted, settling into a crouch. Most of the guards were asleep, and those who weren't… were close.

 Their heads bobbed with exhaustion, bodies slumped against the weight of their armor.

Perfect.

He slid down the side of the truck, landing with barely a whisper as his boots met the dirt. The shadows curled around him, shifting with him, an extension of his will. He moved like liquid, pressing himself to the edges of the firelight, heart hammering, pulse steady.

Every breath was measured. Every step, deliberate.

The prisoners huddled within the cage, curled against one another for warmth. Adrian was awake, watching him.Suspicion crept into his features, tightening his jaw. The mother's violet gaze flickered in recognition. The boy—too young for this kind of horror—trembled.

Arthur crouched by the rusted bars.

"Don't make a sound," he murmured.

Adrian stiffened.

Arthur reached into his sleeve, fingers wrapping around a thin metal wire. His hands were steady. His heart was not.

"I don't have time to explain," he whispered as he worked the lock, the metal cold beneath his fingertips. "Just know that Sera sent me."

Adrian's face shifted. Hope. Disbelief. Anger.

"Sera?" he breathed.

Arthur didn't answer. He didn't have time.

A soft, almost imperceptible click broke the silence.

The door swung open.

The hinges groaned—a slow, agonizing creak.

Arthur froze.

His breath caught. His pulse pounded in his ears.

The camp remained still. No voices. No movement. The guards hadn't noticed.

He exhaled.

"Move," he ordered, stepping back.

Adrian hesitated for only a second before gripping his wife's hand and pulling her forward. The boy clung to her side, bare feet whispering against the dirt.

Arthur led them swiftly, weaving through the darkness, following the path he had burned into his mind.

Almost free.

The night stretched before them, endless and waiting.

And then—

Then—the boy tripped.

A sharp, piercing howl tore through the silence like a blade. Arthur's head snapped back, a cold spike of dread driving into his gut.

'What in the absolute fuck-'

The boy was screaming, clutching his foot. Arthur's breath hitched when he saw it.

A trap.

The jagged steel teeth of a bear trap clamped around his ankle, crushing flesh and bone. Blood pooled into the dirt, black in the dim light. It had likely been left behind by hunters, long forgotten—until now.

'Fuck.'

For a moment, the world held its breath.

Then—

"PRISON BREAK!"

The cry ripped through the camp.

Torches flared. Boots thundered against the dirt.

Arthur reacted on instinct, shoving Adrian forward. "Run!"

But Adrian didn't.

He turned back, grabbing at the twisted metal, trying to pry it

open with his bare hands. The boy sobbed, his face contorted in agony. Blood poured between his fingers, staining his father's grip.

Arthur saw the moment Adrian realized the truth.

The trap had crushed the bone. The foot was ruined.

And still—Adrian squared his shoulders, shoving his wife and son behind him. Exhaustion lined his face, but it didn't matter.

He was a broken man, but he was not a weak one.

Arthur cursed under his breath.

A guard came barreling toward them. The mother screamed, leaping back. Adrian lunged, knocking the man aside, fists swinging wildly—but there were too many.

And in that split second, Arthur knew.

He had been a fool.

He had let himself be swayed by his emotions. He had risked everything for a promise, and what had it gotten him? Nothing.

Worse than nothing.

He had risked himself, his mission, the rebellion—all for what?

A promise to a dead girl?

And now, Sera's brother was a cripple. He had only made it worse.

The moment stretched—balanced on a knife's edge.

Arthur saw two futures before him.

One where he fought. Where he tried to resist, tried to finish what he started.

And one where he survived.

Where he chose the mission over his ideals. Where he acted on thought and not on feeling.

He made his choice. This time, the right one.

Arthur turned—and attacked Adrian Morella.

The older man barely had time to react before Arthur drove his knee into his stomach. The air rushed from Adrian's lungs as he crumpled to the ground.

"Stay down," Arthur hissed, his voice low enough that no one else would hear.

Adrian gasped, pain twisting his features. But when his eyes met Arthur's—

They weren't angry.

They weren't even surprised.

They were knowing.

Arthur forced himself to look away.

The mother was next. He grabbed her roughly, twisting her arm behind her back just enough to make it look convincing. She fought, shrieking, nails raking his skin, but he ignored the sting, tightening his grip.

The boy wailed as a soldier wrenched him away, his small frame thrashing uselessly against the hands that held him. The bear trap still clung to his foot, his blood dripping onto the dirt like rain.

Arthur's stomach churned.

"Secure them!" Shouted another soldier.

Arthur didn't trust himself to speak.

He watched in silence as iron shackles were clamped around their wrists. Adrian Morella—once a noble, once a warrior—was dragged through the dirt like an animal.

He didn't say a word.

He just looked at Arthur.

And Arthur—who had faced battlefields, who had stared death in the eye more than once—looked away.

Because for the first time in a long time, he felt like the worst kind of coward.

Ram stood at the edge of the chaos, sword drawn, his massive frame casting a long shadow in the firelight. His face was unreadable, but his voice was sharp. Cold.

"Are you Arthur?" He asked, trying to see past the mask of shadow.

Arthur dismissed the mask. His mind was already racing.

"Yes, sir?"

Ram's gaze didn't waver. "What happened?"

Arthur's breath caught. For now, Ram wasn't hostile. That wouldn't last if he sensed hesitation.

"I couldn't sleep, sir. So I decided to take a walk, scout the area. I noticed movement. When I followed, I saw the prisoners escaping. I intervened. The child… he fell into a trap, which alerted the camp. When one of the guards arrived, it distracted the male long enough for me to take advantage."

Ram's eyes narrowed. "Why didn't you call for help earlier?"

"I was caught up in the fight, sir. The mother—she caught me off guard. She choked me, sir, I couldn't breathe."

Ram nodded slowly. "A good thing you stopped them. And a lucky thing, with the trap."

Arthur swallowed, his voice carefully detached. "What will happen to the boy, sir?"

Ram shrugged. "Him? We'll amputate the foot. Burn the wound closed."

Arthur stiffened.

"I can heal him, sir. I have a skill in these things."

Ram shook his head. "Not necessary. They'll be in a cage. Besides…" A smirk curled his lips. "Maybe it'll make them think twice about escaping again."

Arthur's heart plunged.

He walked back with Ram, silent and stiff, the weight of failure pressing against his spine.

Tonight had been a disaster.

No—worse.

A mistake. A weakness.

Looking back, Arthur felt like he had been in a daze. Like he had moved on instinct alone, without thought, without reason.

'What kind of idiot does what I did?'

He had risked everything.

And for what?

A promise to a dead girl.

That boy would never walk the same way again, and what's more, Adrian Morella had something over him.

When Arthur finally lay down, sleep didn't come easy.

But when it did, it came only after a vow.

Never again.

Never again would he allow his heart to rule his head.