Hell’s end

[Rowan's POV]

We ran until our legs ached, until the sounds of battle faded into the distance, until the burning stench of blood and ash no longer choked the air. Only then did we finally slow, our steps growing sluggish, our breaths heavy with exhaustion.

The night stretched endlessly around us, the cool air stark against our sweat-drenched skin. My lungs burned, my arms felt like lead, and yet, somehow, for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself breathe.

I glanced at my companions. Their faces were a sight—Talia's eyes still wide with lingering shock, Tobias looking as if he'd aged ten years in the last hour. I doubted I looked any better.

"You look like you just ate shit," I muttered, my voice rough, but lighter now, teasing even. The tension had been wound so tight in my chest, I needed to loosen it somehow.

Tobias turned to me with an expression so flat, so utterly devoid of amusement, it almost made me laugh. "Dude, we almost got fucking blasted into a thousand pieces, and you're here making jokes?" His voice was strained, still carrying the remnants of panic, of disbelief.

I smirked, despite the exhaustion dragging at me. "You're one to talk. Who's always spewing half-baked, almost-funny jokes like a damn street performer?"

Tobias opened his mouth, then shut it, his expression caught somewhere between exhaustion and disbelief. For a long moment, there was nothing but the ragged rise and fall of our breathing, the rustling of wind weaving through the trees, the distant echoes of the chaos we had left behind. And then, without warning, laughter erupted from us—wild, breathless, unhinged.

It started as a small chuckle, then built into something uncontrollable, something desperate, something that felt like a release. We doubled over, clutching at our ribs, laughter spilling from our throats like we had lost our damn minds. Maybe we had.

Talia just stared at us, her expression caught between exasperation and disbelief. "You two are the biggest idiots I've ever met," she muttered, crossing her arms. But then her gaze flickered, just for a second, back toward the distant ruins of the camp. The laughter faded, replaced by something heavier.

"Still," she murmured, "I can't believe Father Gideon was that strong. Did you see them fight? They blasted half the damn camp into rubble like it was nothing."

The reality of it settled over us again, like a smothering weight. We had escaped, but barely.

Tobias ran a hand through his hair, the usual glint in his eyes dulled with something more somber. "Well," he said, his voice quieter now, "I really hope that woman is strong enough to finish him off. Because if not… we might be fucked."

"True to that," I started to say, but then I felt movement in my arms. A faint, sluggish stirring. My breath hitched as I looked down.

Elias.

His small body was still limp, still pale, but his fingers twitched, his breath hitched, and his eyelids fluttered. He was waking up. 

Elias's eyes fluttered open with a slow, fragile blink. For a moment, he just stared, unfocused, like he was still trapped in some distant nightmare. Then his gaze found mine, and something inside me twisted at the raw guilt swimming in his tired eyes.

"Elias," I breathed, my voice barely more than a whisper, thick with a thousand emotions I didn't have the words for. "How are you feeling?"

His lips parted, but the words that followed were barely audible, a ghost of sound. "Sorry, bro… he was… he was controlling my mind. I—I'm so sorry." His voice was hoarse, frayed at the edges, as if even speaking hurt him.

I swallowed hard, shaking my head. "No, don't," I said, the words coming out too fast, too desperate. "It's not your fault. It's okay. You're safe now… it's okay."

I pulled him closer, wrapping my arms around his small, trembling frame, holding him as tightly as I dared, as if I could somehow squeeze all the horror out of him. He felt so small, so fragile, and I hated it—I hated that I hadn't been able to protect him from this.

Suddenly we heard a large boom, a sound so loud that standing right next to it might rupture an eardrum. We all froze. A slow, silent exchange of glances passed between us—no one needed to say it aloud. We knew where that sound had come from. We knew what it meant.

Talia was the first to speak, her voice tentative, laced with the kind of hope that felt too fragile to hold onto. "It looks like the fight's ending," she murmured. No one dared respond right away. We were all hoping—praying—that the victor was the woman, the one who had stood against Gideon like a force of nature. Because if it wasn't…

Talia turned to me next. "What do we do now?"

I opened my mouth, but no answer came. What did we do now? My whole mind had been consumed with one thing—getting out, surviving. I hadn't thought beyond that. The slums, the hunger, the struggle… it all felt like it was a lifetime ago. Could we really just go back to that?

Before I could even begin to form an answer to Talia's question, a sound cut through the tension—footsteps, slow and deliberate. Instinctively, my shoulders tensed, and I turned, heart hammering in my chest.

There she was. The woman. The one who had fought Gideon.

She looked different up close—taller, stronger, but also... exhausted. Her cloak was torn, strands of dark hair clinging to her sweat-slicked face. Blood stained her arms in uneven streaks. And yet, there was something in the way she held herself, something that made it impossible to look away.

What was she doing here? What did she want from us?

Then, she spoke.

"Hello… children," her voice was smooth but heavy with exhaustion. "Can you tell me what exactly happened back there?"

Silence fell over us like a thick fog. I glanced at Tobias and Talia, but they only looked at me. Of course they did. What was I, some kind of spokesperson now?

I swallowed, forcing myself to speak. "That was Father Gideon," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I mean... the person you fought."

I hesitated, watching her carefully, then asked the only thing that truly mattered. "Can I ask you something? Did you win?"

"Of course I won," she said, her voice carrying the weight of someone who had seen far too much. "I wouldn't be standing here if I didn't."

Her tone was matter-of-fact, almost dismissive, but I wasn't satisfied. Victory didn't always mean finality. "Right… but Gideon. Is he dead?"

She paused, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly, as if recalling something unpleasant. "Not exactly," she admitted at last. "But he ran like a dog with his tail between his legs."

The words landed like a stone in my gut. He's still alive. The bastard who twisted my brother's mind, who took numerous lives like they were nothing, who had nearly turned all of us into corpses for his god—he was still out there, breathing, existing. The thought made my hands curl into fists.

Of course, I wanted to be the one to end him. I wanted to see the light drain from his eyes, to make him feel even a sliver of the terror he had inflicted. But wanting and being able to were two very different things. And right now, I was just a kid who barely made it out alive.

A silence settled between us, heavy, unspoken.

Then, Talia's voice cut through it. "We would like to thank you," she said, her usual confidence faltering just a little. "For coming to save us. Truly."

Her words felt too small for what had just happened, for the bodies we had left behind, for the weight pressing down on all of us. But what else was there to say?

"Listen," she said, her voice cool, measured. "I need you to come with me and recount everything that happened. Is that alright with you?"

Her tone left little room for argument, but still, I hesitated. My eyes flickered toward Elias, who was leaning against me, his body still too weak, his expression distant. Going somewhere unfamiliar, where I had no control, where we were at someone else's mercy again—it made my stomach twist. But did we really have a choice? Not when she was the one asking.

There was no real discussion. No weighing of options. Just the unspoken understanding that we would go.

—

The rest of the night passed in a haze. We sat in a dimly lit room inside one of the countless stone buildings of the city, our voices hoarse from recounting every grim detail of our time under Father Gideon's rule. The way he herded us like livestock. The fear that settled into our bones, thick as tar. The ones who were taken and never came back.

Every word felt like peeling off a layer of old wounds, exposing them to the air. Some things I had already forced myself to accept, but others—things I had buried, things I didn't even realize had sunk their claws into me—rose to the surface like bile.

At some point, I stopped looking at Elias while I spoke. I didn't want to see his face, didn't want to wonder what parts of this he remembered, what parts he was trying to forget.

The interrogation ended when our savior—General Vera, as we had come to know her—rose from her seat and looked at each of us with something akin to approval.

"You're all strong. Exceptional, even," she said, her sharp gaze lingering on me. "Especially you, Rowan. If you want, you can join the army when you turn fifteen. Consider this an invitation."

With that, she turned, and before any of us could muster a response, she was gone.

We were escorted back to the slums under the weary eyes of the night-shift guards, who handed each of us a set of crumpled food stamps before sending us off into the Gutter. The streets looked the same, smelled the same, but everything felt...different.

We stood there in the filth and the shadows, the weight of everything pressing down on us, exhaustion creeping into our bones.

Talia exhaled, then repeated the question that had been left hanging in the air since earlier.

"What are we going to do now?"

I glanced at Elias, at Tobias, at her. We were different now. We couldn't go back to how things were. But one thing was certain.

"We stay together," I said, my voice steady, brooking no argument. "And we figure it out."

Because the thought of anything else—of separating, of losing what little we had left—wasn't an option.

This was how it ended, for now. But the future? That was another story. One I could only hope wouldn't be as dark and cruel as the path that had led us here.