They had tied Gustav near the western wall, beneath a crooked tree that had long since stopped growing. The rope around his wrists was loose enough to keep him alive but tight enough to remind him what was coming.
Aros approached slowly. The air smelled of earth and salt, the wind rolling off the cliffs in quiet sighs. For a moment, neither spoke.
"You should have stayed inside," Gustav said finally. His voice was rough, almost casual. "Let Talon handle this. He's better at endings."
Aros stopped a few paces away. "You and I started the same way," he said. "We both believed in something better. What happened to that?"
Gustav smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn't reach the eyes. "It got tired. That's all. You spend years shouting for freedom and end up with nothing but more graves and a new set of rules."
He looked up at the sky, eyes tracing the slow crawl of the clouds. "I got tired of watching people die and calling it meaning. The Priesthood offered something simple, comfort, power, a quiet life. I took it."
Aros's jaw tightened. "You took it knowing who they are. Knowing what they do."
"Yes," Gustav said. "Because I wanted to stop feeling like this." He gestured weakly at his own chest. "The fear, the guilt, the hunger. You can't imagine how good it feels to stop being afraid, even for a minute."
"I can," Aros said quietly. "But that doesn't make it right."
Gustav let out a low, bitter laugh. "Right. You still talk like there's a line between good and bad. You've killed enough men to know better."
Aros said nothing. The wind carried the sound of distant gulls, the faint hum of the sea against the rocks.
"I'm sorry," Gustav said. "For what it's worth. I didn't want to betray anyone. I just wanted peace."
Aros met his eyes. "You're not wrong," he said after a pause. "I am tired. Every day feels heavier than the one before. But that doesn't change what you did."
Gustav nodded. "Then I guess that's my answer." He looked down at his hands, then up again. "Will it be you?"
"Yes," Aros said. His voice was steady now. "I'll make it clean."
Gustav smiled again, softer, almost grateful. "Then I thank you for that much."
They walked together toward the cathedral. No one spoke. The path was narrow, lined with people who said nothing, who simply watched. The sunlight was fading into the color of iron, and the sea wind carried the faint chime of the bells from the tower.
Inside, the air was still. The crowd formed a ring near the altar. Gustav knelt without being told. His shoulders were straight, his head bowed.
Aros stood before him, sword in hand, the edge glinting faintly in the dying light.
"Any last words?" he asked.
Gustav exhaled, the sound almost a sigh. "Tell them I wasn't brave," he said. "Tell them I just wanted to rest."
Aros hesitated for only a heartbeat, then raised the blade.
When it fell, it did so without flourish, no speech, no spectacle, only the quiet weight of something that had to be done.
The sound was small, a clean break of air and bone, followed by silence.
Aros wiped the blade, set it down gently, and looked at the crowd. Their faces were unreadable, caught somewhere between justice and fatigue.
He turned away and stepped outside. The sun was gone, leaving only the afterglow on the horizon, pale, uncertain.
The crowd had dispersed long ago, leaving only the echo of their silence behind. The cathedral doors hung half-open, letting the wind carry out the smell of incense and iron.
Aros sat beneath the same twisted tree where Gustav had been tied hours earlier. The ground was cold. His hands rested on his knees, his mind blank, not numb, just emptied, as if there were nothing left inside to feel.
He didn't know how long he'd been there before he heard soft footsteps approach.
Gemma stood a few paces away, her white hair catching the last of the daylight. For a moment, she didn't speak. Then, quietly:"How are you?"
Aros let out a small, dry breath that wasn't quite a laugh. "I've been asked that before," he said. "Usually by people who already know the answer."
Gemma sat beside him without another word. The bark of the old tree was rough against her back.
"I knew Gustav for twenty years," Aros said after a while. His voice was low, steady, but tired. "We fought together when the rebellion still had a name. When we still believed it meant something."
He looked down at his hands, still faintly marked where the sword hilt had rubbed his skin raw. "Now he's gone. The others are gone. Everything we built is gone. And I'm still here. I don't even know what that makes me anymore."
Gemma turned her head toward him. "It makes you someone who's still standing," she said simply.
He gave a faint smile at that , the kind that doesn't reach the eyes but still means something. "Maybe. But standing doesn't feel like much. I'm tired, Gemma. More than I've ever been."
She tilted her head, pretending to think. "Do you want me to exterminate you? I could make it quick."
Aros blinked, then chuckled softly. "No. Not today."
"Good," she said. "Because I wouldn't want to waste the energy."
For a moment, the quiet between them felt almost peaceful. The wind moved through the grass in slow waves. The world, for once, didn't demand anything of them.
Aros finally said, "We leave for Preta tomorrow. Talon's orders."
Gemma nodded, thoughtful. "Preta," she repeated, almost tasting the word. Then, after a pause: "It's strange. The voices have been quieter lately… but when they whisper, they talk about that place. A lot."
Aros looked at her, uneasy. "What do they say?"
She met his gaze, calm and certain. "That I'm not the only one anymore. That in Preta… there are others like me."
Aros didn't answer. He just stared past the horizon, where the first stars were beginning to appear, pale lights, distant, but unyielding.
"Then we'll see what's waiting for us," he said quietly.
Gemma stood, brushing the dirt from her cloak. "Don't stay out too long. You'll freeze."
Aros gave her a nod. "Go on. I'll follow soon."
She hesitated, watching him for a heartbeat longer, then walked away toward the campfire lights in the distance.
When she was gone, Aros leaned his head back against the tree. The bark bit into his skin, and he closed his eyes.
The wind carried the faint echo of the sea, and for the first time that day, he allowed himself to breathe.