CHAPTER 114: CARING

Charon frowned as he crossed under the iron city gates. Their twisting metal rods reached towards the black, overcast sky.

A flicker of red lightning briefly lit them up, highlighting the bleak material they were made from.

’Alastor converted even the metal.’

He didn’t need to wonder about what would happen if he tried to do the same to a person; he had seen it firsthand. They were annihilated completely, with nothing left to salvage.

’That was probably the better fate. Only the gods know if Ceris or the others retained their sentience. I’d hope not, I’d rather be dead than live a life as an unwilling slave machine, strapped to my master’s side to do whatever he wished.’

As they walked over the cobbled streets, Charon couldn’t help but recognize parts of the town from the visions.

’I remember the militia retreating this way, Alastor’s men chasing them down without mercy. Some of those men were just teenagers, about my age.’

It wasn’t hard for him to imagine being one of them, randomly being readied to fight an enemy you knew little about.

That’s what Charon was doing in the living realms, after all. He might not be fighting a demi-god, but the Elves were worse in every way.

At least Alastor had a clear goal to his actions; he wanted freedom.

He ran his fingers along a windowsill. Dust clung to his skin, coating it. He rubbed his fingertips together to clean them, the particles falling. The shutters were open, revealing a basic interior.

A dining table, a few chairs, and a small kitchen. Bowls and utensils were stacked in the sink, their wood the same color as the rest: black and gray.

It was easy to envision a family sitting at the table to share a dinner.

The longer he stared, the stronger the image became. Shadows flickered in the corners, stretching into shapes. He thought he could almost hear the scrape of chairs against the floor, the laughter of children running in from outside, even the warm voice of a mother urging them to wash up before the meal.

For a fleeting moment, he smelled food, like roasting potatoes and a gravy on the verge of properly thickening, before the illusion collapsed, vanishing just like the inhabitants had.

His chest tightened.

Were these memories the mist was feeding him, or was he simply forcing ghosts into existence because he couldn’t stand the emptiness? He couldn’t decide which possibility unsettled him more.

They moved further down the street, each home with the same story. Abandoned, hollow, and waiting, as if their occupants could return at any moment.

Charon caught glimpses of scenes behind the doors: soldiers tearing families apart, blood spilling on doorsteps, black smoke rising. The visions weren’t constant, just flashes, but they lingered behind his eyes long after they were gone.

He pulled his robe tighter and pressed on, his brain struggling to ignore the shouts he had heard so vividly.

It wasn’t limited just to that first vision, either. Voices from the slaughter at the stones, or even Achlys’ fight with Alastor, bled into the town, filling gaps he didn’t even know existed. His breath came in short bursts as he fought to ignore the pain and suffering that was suffered here.

’It’s not real. This was centuries ago; the souls are long gone. Stewing on it now is just making things worse for myself. I’ll see things like this all the time when I get back to the Noctis Vrex. I need to learn how to control my emotions better.’

It was strange how much he cared. Emerius had complained he was too apathetic after killing all the Clayton soldiers without remorse, yet now he was losing his composure over random people he had never met in person.

What was stranger was how it grew more intense when he stopped to consider it all. The emotions filled him up and threatened to spill out, stemming from a part of his brain he couldn’t pinpoint.

It was as if the emotions weren’t even his own, but someone else’s.

’It can’t be Achlys’, she looks fine. The Warden wasn’t like this when we first came through, either, so what could it be...’

His thoughts stopped as they arrived at the foot of the temple, where everything had gone down.

Before Charon knew it, he was standing where Alastor had killed Ceris. The onyx ground was clear of any blood, yet he was certain he could find it if he looked long enough.

This time, Achlys reacted, her eyes glazing over as she lay on the ground, her hands feeling the stones. She scraped the back of her palm along the floor, her misty form parting wherever contact was made.

Charon wasn’t able to stop his question from leaving his mouth, his tone pointed and accusatory.

"Why didn’t you help them?"

She answered without looking up. Whether that was due to shame or laziness, he didn’t know.

"I was weakened from a previous fight. I heard their prayers clearly, and yet I knew there was little I could accomplish. Had I arrived, my brother would have wounded me further, allowing his domain to spread."

Charon balled his fists as he looked down at her, unsatisfied with that response.

"What about that final battle? You told him something that ended it all. Why couldn’t you have said that sooner, before all of this happened? Do you know how many people lived here, happy to praise you and depend on your protection?"

She rose without exerting effort, her body simply rising into the air.

"I traded information for lives, a bargain I never should have made. If you believe me happy with brokering that trade, you are a fool. Should I have known the truth of his machinations, I would have gladly set the entirety of the River Acheron alight rather than allow him the opportunity to reach the living realms."

Achlys had always sounded somewhat sad, but now she was positively destitute. Every word dripped regret and pain, the kind that marked your soul forever. In a way, it reminded Charon of Wallflower.

Her words were cryptic, too cryptic for him to give them much weight. He looked up at her, his eyebrows knit in a restrained anger.

"That’s what I’m talking about. You’re so flippant about people’s lives here. It would be one thing if they were soldiers, but they weren’t. There are regular citizens living their daily lives, just wanting to pass on in peace."

She whirled on him, an accusatory finger raised.

"Do not speak that which you do not know. The people of this realm have had their opportunity at life and were found gifted enough to merit a second chance. I do what I must for the greater picture, my father’s design. Everything else is secondary."

Charon paused, his eyes widening slightly as he considered her logic.

’Isn’t that what I said before? People here have had their chance; what happens next doesn’t matter as much. Am I really saying I disagree with that already?’

He scratched the back of his head, a scowl growing on his face as he realized that his position hadn’t changed.

’Then why do I care about this realm so much?’

He reflected on the people of the Fort and whether he really cared about them. Outside Wallflower, he didn’t, and even then, she was a mild consideration. Nowhere else seemed to matter, so he once again questioned how much he cared for the realm’s citizens entirely.

’I don’t, only about the people who died here, and at the stones. The land that created the Dead Lands. Why would they matter to me any more than anyone else?’

It was a confusing situation, made worse by how it was actively harming his relationship with his summon, who also happened to be a demi-god.

Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself down and prepared himself to apologize.

The moment he worked up the strength required to ignore his pride, he heard a familiar voice calling out to him from down the street.

"Charon?"