Traitor! Pt. 2

ELSEWHERE…

News travelled fast. Despite villages being relatively isolated from one another, Highcliffians made it a point to travel and trek through Highcliff’s cliffs despite it.

The exploits of Master Kael and Mistress Elisa were apparent for all to see. Repairing destroyed farmlands, securing supply chains, honoring old customs. Most importantly, however, sons and daughters came home, ready to work again. Demonkin, their own allies, apparently turning enemies was not something she anticipated. She was sure there was more nuance to such affairs, but she didn’t have the mental headspace or care to soave between the lines.

And if they were to be believed, none died in an attack the rebels initiated.

Pauline wished she could wipe the memory of being in the demons’ grasps for long. Because if she had to confront that memory, she may not be able to look at the rebellion she built the same way ever again.

“Pauline?”

The knocks on her door would not abate. Aurelia always was headstrong in whatever she did. Didn’t matter what. Was it so wrong to lock herself up in her room for days on end when your entire vision had been compromised?

She was hungry though…

The door opened promptly.

“I brought you your favorite, if that helps?”

Fried biscuits with Highcliffian olive oil and Concordian peppercorn…

“You are one hell of a negotiator.”

\\

"I… geez. From Elisa, of all people?" Aurelia looked half-disbelieving, half amused.

"Yep," Pauline muttered around a mouthful of food, sounding crass as ever. "Worst part is… I still can’t put my finger on what’s changed in her exactly."

"What, you thinking mind control?"

"No. She’s still Elisa, no doubt about that. Same posture, same tone. But it’s like… her whole worldview shifted, quietly."

"I don’t buy it. She hates them just as much as the rest of us."

Pauline shrugged. "Eh. Elisa’s always been the type to echo whoever fits her current moral compass. She just locks onto the nearest ideology that feels righteous enough."

"Bit harsh, don’t you think?"

"A better way of describing her is that she’s pragmatic, I guess." She paused, chewing. "It was still better than nothing. It’s a hard pivot, now. I don’t know where to place her."

Pauline swallowed, the last bite sticking in her throat a little more than usual. What she said that night still didn’t sit well with her. By all accounts, it should have, but… "They’ve got a point—Kael and Elisa. Whether we like it or not… they’ve moved past the little bubble we kept them in."

Standing up, Pauline walked up to her personal wall mantle. Her room was quite bare, owing to the fact she needed to be out on missions all the time. Making backroom deals, undercutting the more radical changes the Count planned to make.

She made sure everyone negotiated heavily on the side of Highcliff.

Aid or not, Pauline refused to forget what happened to Highcliff. The demons had a disgusting and barbaric culture of might makes right, and somebody needed to put a stop to that. She didn’t regret a thing she did.

The grip on her bladed num-chuks tightened.

“It’s hopeless.”

Aurelia scoffed. “And you think going to Daniel changes that?”

Pauline didn’t answer right away. Her eyes stayed fixed on the treeline, the wind tugging gently at her coat.

“I think standing by while he recruits kids to die for a fantasy is worse.”

“You used to believe in that ‘fantasy'."

“I still do,” Pauline snapped, sharper than she intended. “But not like this. Not with whatever gods-damned thing he’s cooking up next.”

Aurelia’s jaw tightened. “So what, you’re going to walk into his den and talk him down?”

“I’m going to give him an ultimatum.”

“And if you die doing it? What then?”

“I think I finally see the line we weren’t supposed to cross—and Daniel’s already leapt over it.”

Aurelia looked away, jaw clenched. “I won’t help you.”

“I know.”

Another silence passed between them.

“I won’t stand in your way either,” Aurelia added, quieter now. “Don’t ask me to watch you die for nothing.”

Pauline nodded once, resolute. “Then don’t watch. Just don’t let him drag the rest of us down with him.”

And with that, she turned toward the trees.

\\

It was as if she had never left the way the tree door opened so simply for her. As if it recognised the contents of her soul. A gust of wind swept in behind Pauline as she stepped into the safehouse.

Daniel stood at the center of the room, hands raised, voice sharp and echoing.

“They think a few half-measures and polished speeches make them heroes. That Kael’s compromise is peace? No. That’s rot. That’s rot in the root of Highcliff.”

A few of the younger rebels clapped, others nodded in agreement.

Then his gaze flickered past them. "Pauline? What are you doing here?"

Pauline stepped forward, her expression unreadable.

“Whoa there, keep it in your pants. This here’s a weapons-free holding,” Daniel continued smoothly. “A communion of peace, as you well know.”

A few rebels chuckled, tension breaking. Others watched carefully.

Daniel turned back to them. “The Obsidian Tide—as we all know—has history. And now that they’ve escalated by injuring one of our own leaders, being you, it is only pertinent that we act soon and act decisively. This has gone on long enough.”

Pauline didn’t blink. “Daniel, I’m not here to help you posture.”

“Again with the assumptions. What is your problem?” He gestured two fingers onto his eyeballs. “Do these eyebags not tell you everything? I am only trying to do what’s best for us.”

Pauline’s voice didn’t rise. “I don’t doubt that, Daniel. Indeed, you believe everything you say. I’m here to tell you and everyone here why you’re wrong.”

She stepped forward, slow and steady, gaze sweeping across the room—not just at him, but at the wide-eyed recruits standing around him, watching like this was just another speech.

“You say we need fire. But all I see is a forest fire with no plan to put it out. You think these kids are soldiers? You think sending them to die proves anything? They’ll bleed for a cause they barely understand, and you’ll still stand here convincing yourself you’re righteous.”

A few of the young rebels shifted uncomfortably.

“You want to talk about rot?” Her tone hardened. “This is rot—glorifying death, dressing it up as ‘resistance.’ You’ve forgotten what the fight was supposed to be about. It was about justice. Not mass graves. Not vengeance theatre.”

Daniel didn’t move. His smile had vanished.

She shook her head. “The demonkin are a problem. Don’t mistake me—I haven’t forgotten what they did to Highcliff. I never will. Their culture of domination, their smug hierarchy, their thinly veiled imperialism—it disgusts me.”

Her voice cracked slightly, then steadied.

“But I’m not about to build something even uglier in its place. Not when it can cause so much death.”

Silence, for a while, anyway. None of the recruits were about to badmouth one of the Tide’s founders anytime soon.

Daniel finally spoke.

“This is a life and death matter. What’s the difference between death and having your culture wiped from the face of the earth? What’s the difference between dying now and dying slowly, erased piece by piece until there’s nothing left but a smiling puppet in your place?”

Pauline’s jaw clenched. “The difference is we don’t become the very monsters we’re trying to kill.”

Pauline turned slightly, ready to leave—until a voice, shaky but loud, rang out from behind her.

“How dare you?”

She stopped.

A young rebel—no older than eighteen—had stepped forward from the edge of the crowd, eyes burning.

“How dare you say this cause isn’t worth it?” His fists were clenched at his sides. “My mom died in one of their raids. My dad can’t even walk anymore—his skin’s still peeling from what the demon patrols did to him. Are you telling me those are the types of people who should let live inside these walls? When they don’t care for life? Middletown is barely recognisable! They are replacing us!”

Pauline turned fully, gaze locking with his. She didn’t speak immediately—didn’t want to slap him down with another speech.

“You are just a dirty traitor,” the boy seethed.

The words rang out like a slap.

Pauline’s gaze sharpened, her posture still.

“Don’t," she pleaded. Unfortunately for the spymaster, he was already charging.

She didn’t hesitate.

Dropped him with a clean, swift blow.

Another got up, shouting expletives. She lunged. Elbow. Throat. Down.

Two more. One ducked too slow. The other caught a num-chuk handle square in the ribs.

She left them breathing. Bruised, unconscious, but alive. “People who don’t want any trouble, clear out.”

Wide-eyed kids who hadn’t even processed the speed at which combat can unfurl could only do one thing. The hollowness of the tree made the footsteps scrambling out the room sound like raindrops in a storm.

“Pauline…” For once, Daniel couldn’t come up with a snarky remark. In fact, he responded with quite the opposite. He had his arms crossed… as tears dripped down. “You came back only to attack your own people? What is wrong with you?”

The ever-dependable visionary of the Tide, the only one brave enough to truly stand against tyranny… reduced to waterworks?

She stood there, breathing heavy, surrounded by the bodies of rebels she had just put down—people who not long ago would’ve fought beside her without hesitation.

Her fingers flexed unconsciously, sticky with sweat, knuckles bruised from impact. Thembling like an amateur, like it was the first time she’d killed someone.

She hated how familiar the feeling was—how easy the violence had come, how instinctive the movement had been. Like she hadn’t changed at all.

A breath caught in her throat.

No one said anything. The boy on the floor groaned softly, half-conscious, and it was the only sound in the room.

Pauline turned without a word.

She walked out the door with her shoulders stiff, her head down—and as soon as the air hit her face, the tears came fast and hot.

She didn’t look back.