CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Consequences, to Tatsuya, were like the flutter of wings in a butterfly’s flight. A single decision could produce a cascade of ripples, far-reaching and wide, that altered the night and shaped the narrative. He had witnessed firsthand the consequences of his father’s folly, and the anger born from the sheer injustice of it all had made him promise the death of Kuro, shaping his every waking moment since—and though he may not have considered the implications of his decision then, he still accepted them (whatever they may be), just as he readily accepted the likely consequences should he actually succeed.

He was not stupid. He knew killing the bastard was a death sentence. The royal family's attention would be immediately drawn to him, as his action would be seen as a challenge to their authority and a means to disrupt the established order. He would become a target, public enemy number one, hunted by the forces loyal to the nobles, and should he continue to survive, be forced to live in constant caution while forever on the run.

However, the weight of the knowledge did not deter him. His determination to avenge his father, and the personal satisfaction the action would bring, far outweighed the personal consequences he would face. He understood that sacrifice was sometimes necessary for the completion of a favoured goal, and he was willing to pay the price if it meant Kuro would breathe his last.

But there was a difference between that and this situation he found himself in.

Tatsuya had intentionally killed countless innocent villagers, if not by his hands, then by his actions. He had known there would be consequences for that, even if he was more focused on his lack of guilt over it, but had not expected said consequences to occur now and in such a manner.

Upon escape from the confines of the forest, though he was on a tree to avoid immediate detection, he was greeted by the sight of Ferris and his attack dogs encircling a lone Farah—amidst a setting of scorched earth, upturned rocks, and the ruined campsite—and Tatsuya, for lack of a better term, found himself shocked. Yet, beneath the sting of betrayal, a flicker of realisation emerged: she was there only because of him, and there was no denying the happiness and warmth he felt at that.

It was obvious why the others left. None of them could hope to even trouble Ferris, not to mention the many opponents still kicking, and with Jao out of commission for the meantime; a retreat seemed a more sensible option than fighting. After all, their goal, stopping the creation of the Legend, was more important than defeating the iron elemental lord, and because Tatsuya’s action could cause a divide when unity was heavily required (and he was probably far from them when their decision was carried through), they couldn't take him with them—which made the fact that Farah had stayed behind so significant because she shouldn't have stayed back for him.

He didn't know if his feelings were returned, but there must be something there for her to do something so stupid, and that was one of the biggest reasons for his shock. He didn't think he was ever willingly vulnerable around her; he barely talked about himself, and all their conversation was centred around her. Was that enough of a reason for this, or was she so starved for attention that she jumped on the first person to show her any?

Honestly, the answer was not really important, but it got him thinking, and as his mind raced, another realisation dawned on him.

He had thought allowing his feelings for her to flourish would divert him from his path, diluting his determination and compromising his quest for revenge, and so was not willing to take the risk, but maybe that was a lie he told himself. Maybe love could coexist with his ambitions, and they could agree to support each other, to be pillars of strength, encouragement, and understanding in their respective journeys.

It was a pity, then, that all those maybes depended on her survival, and with how Ferris’ attack dogs had spoken about execution, that wasn't looking likely—which left him with two choices: turn around before he was found and go off in a (possible) hopeless search for the other members of the Wind Blades, or join the fray and be eventually captured.

Maybe they would accept him back, but then again, he would have to leave Farah behind to be captured, and that would undoubtedly further sour their thoughts on him. On the other hand, the thought of losing her was becoming increasingly unbearable, and it was likely Ferris was on his way to the capital—as Jao had said, Kuro and the other lords (plus the nobles, no doubt) would be there for some reason—so there was a chance, slim as it was, that after Tatsuya’s capture, his path would cross with Kuro.

However, he was asked not to take any action against the bastard there because of the Wind Blades’ goal, and though he was still conflicted about the matter, was he willing to sacrifice the lives of countless innocents in favour of advancing his own goal? He had already done so once. What was another?

He closed his eyes tightly and ran his hand through his hair, harshly exhaling. No, he couldn't afford to think like that. That way lay a slippery slope in which every and all actions could be justified, and regardless of his thoughts about his humanity, he knew it would turn him into a monster. Maybe it was another lie he told himself, but he believed he wasn't amoral but rather merely driven and willing to forego morals when necessary. After all, regardless of the source, he had (and still) felt guilt, and monsters usually lacked all forms of moral conscience—but he digressed.

From what he saw, Jao was severely injured, so it was possible that the plan (whatever it was, as he wasn't told) was dashed, and he was free to take advantage of the golden opportunity. Honestly, it wasn't the best justification, as the plan may not require all members to achieve, but it was enough for him, and with that in mind, he finally made his presence known—only to end up second guessing himself as he found himself quickly overwhelmed, especially once Ferris got involved.

Therefore, waking up upright, with his hands strung up with metal cuffs somewhere above his head while his legs slumped to the floor, knees bent and crooked, Tatsuya realised that he must have lost consciousness sometime during the fight. As the fog in his mind began to clear, he blinked several times to find himself in a warm, dimly lit—the only source of light was a small hole in the wall, casting long shadows across its length— cramped cell. The rough stone walls surrounded him, and as he gathered his thoughts, he noticed that its entirety moved, swaying slightly from side to side.

That realisation dawned on him that he was not only trapped but also on the move: he could feel the vibrations of the carriage that carried his cell, the clattering of hooves and creaking of wheels accompanying the rhythmic motion, and easily deduced the carriage travelled on a rough, unpaved road. They were near the capital’s gate then.

“Tatsuya?” a familiar voice said from behind him, weak and trembling but not unwelcome, even as he jerked forward in shock. “You are awake?”

“Farah?” He must really be out of sorts if he wasn't aware of another person mere inches from him. “How?” The word was packed with a plethora of questions. How did he not notice her? How was she awake before him? How did he even fall unconscious?

What had happened to him?

“Despite being on your last leg, you decided to attack Lord Ferris. It went about as well as expected.”

Tatsuya mustered a weak smile, appreciating her effort to inject humour into the situation—despite its severity making it difficult for him to fully embrace the levity—as his memory started to pierce together fragments of the moments before he lost consciousness.

She was right. Despite the fact that he was not able to defeat Jao in any of the spars they had—at least without resorting to drawing the air out of the man’s lungs—he still went after the lord and quickly paid for it.

Ferris was a mixture of the leader and Zoel, but more; someone with a better version of the former’s speciality, able to become solid iron to block every attack, and moved with so much grace and confidence than the latter it was evident Ferris had already visualised victory long before the fight began—and that intuition was immediately proven to be reality. Every strike and every movement carried the weight of assuredness, and it wasn't long before, in one decisive blow, Tatsuya was beaten into submission and knocked out cold. Defeated.

“You shouldn't have stayed back for me.” His smile faded and his shoulders sagged slightly at the admission.

“Maybe.” There was no mistaking that undertone of regret, and he slumped further within himself, blood pooling around the cuffs digging into his exposed wrists. Farah sighed before continuing, “But I did, and here I am—can’t exactly change the past, so why dwell on it?”

A pained, chortling sound escaped his lips. “You will die.”

“You don't know that,” she said.

The vehemence of her words sent the corner of his lips curling up. His head followed shortly. “Yeah… You are right.” Peering through the makeshift window, he caught glimpses of the outside world. Rolling hills and dense forests pass by, along with occasional glimpses of Ferris’ attack dogs walking or riding on horses along the road, their footsteps echoing. “Still, I'm sorry. This…this is my fault.”

“It's okay, Tatsuya. We can get out of this. Jao and the others will come and rescue us, alright? Just have faith.”

“Maybe,” he said, echoing her previous statement as he caught a glimpse of something (a fleeting shadow), and immediately, a shot of adrenaline coursed through his veins. The aftermath was not far behind—a quickened pulse and a coat of sweat covering raised goosebumps—and he bit his lip, cutting his next words with the hope his behaviour wasn’t noticed.

“I never thought…”

Was that just his imagination? No, his mind concluded, zeroing in on a familiar man, and a stirring of recognition tugged at him as he squinted to get a better look. From the distance, it was difficult to make out any features—though he noted that the man was quite tall, probably in his middle adulthood with a pale face and barely neck-length blonde hair—and stood underneath a large parasol, hands folded over an impressive chest, and next to a tanned woman of indeterminate age.

The sight was fleeting, lasting mere seconds, but it was a face he had encountered before, yet the circumstances eluded him at that moment. Who was the man? How did Tatsuya know him? And why did the man’s face evoke such a strong reaction— demanded his sole attention?

Tatsuya tirelessly scoured his memories, revisiting forgotten moments and retracing paths he had once taken. Every fragment of his past became a clue, a piece to the puzzle of that familiar visage; then, just as Farah’s voice faded into the background, it clicked—and, in an instant, a cascade of memories and emotions was triggered, and he knew. He knew who the man was.