Cold Embrace

“If you catch him, kill him on sight! The High Priestess has perished!”

Kael’s feet carried him through the vast undergrowth, making quick work of the shrubs and branches that hindered his path. His bare feet plead for mercy against the rough terrain, urged on by his wild heart and frightened spirit.

Cowardice had never been an attribute typical of Kael. Until now, the only situations he’d considered running from could be easily understood as logical and quite reasonable. When faced by a human-eating ghoul or a five-headed hydra, any sane man would hear ‘category three monster’ and turn on their heels and flee. But not Kael. Even with his neck in death’s thirsty jaws, he’d find a way to claw back out again.

It was uncharacteristic for him to take flight, but he’d also never been faced with a conviction of murder before. The hurried shouts and cries of his hunters ravaged close behind him. With the vibration and rumble, he could almost feel the hot air of their breath and the pressure of their intent to kill.

Thick smoke of extinguished flames gave birth to a visual cover, obscuring him enough to avoid any projectiles or sly incantations. But there was one catch when it came to good luck, it always ran out.

As his adrenaline drew him to a clearing, the reality of his situation seemed to sharpen into focus. Beyond the little land left was the steep pit of a decayed valley, and an endless drop into the shadowed chasm below.

The rain had done very little to hide the scarlet staining across his clothes.

“Kael, stop.”

The familiar sound of the boyish voice behind him forced his legs to a full halt. Beneath his skin, the ligaments begged for relief: to give in and falter, to finally forfeit a battle. Pride held up his limp body like a crutch, and he was unable to pinpoint what forced him to turn around.

Short, silver hair flattened in the rain, framing the withdrawn shell of his closest friend standing before him as his sword hung loose in his grasp. Nico.

If he were making a list of people he didn’t want to see right now, Nico would most definitely be number one.

When he first ventured down the path of sorcery at seven, he’d looked up to the eight year old at the top of the class. Nico had been such a solemn child, a permanent frown weighing down the corners of his lips. To most, he was uptight and tedious - a forlorn son to a loveless father. For such a young student, he was uncharacteristically mature, even more dedicated than those years above him.

Unfortunately, young students, especially those from wealthy origins, don’t deal too well with same-age prodigies. As the skill gap grew, so did the resentment of others.

But Kael wasn’t like the other students. He’d never grown up in riches, had the town at his beck and call or been coddled by maids and servants. Nico was like an idol of dedication, and the pair found solace in each other’s company.

Now, it seemed as if they would never be close like this again.

A tall man stepped out of the emerging crowd, followed closely by a servant and umbrella covering. The noble, Phlox, had always seemed to resent his existence, but Kael supposed he finally had a legitimate justification.

“Just look at him! You should have seen his eyes. Clear as a firefly in the night,” Phlox jeered at him, clutching a closed fan tight to his face as he spoke in dramatics. Kael’s face tightened and soured. He’d been there when all blades had turned his way, and he knew how it looked, but what Phlox was implying was nothing short of disgraceful. A bold-faced lie, and a dangerous one, at that.

One hour ago, when Kael returned to his dizzied consciousness, Phlox had been among the very first at the scene, commanding guards and officials alike. Onlookers craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the scandal, whispering exclamations of grandiose macabre. Kael, slumped on the floor, drenched in red. The beloved Priestess, lifeless.

If it weren’t for the blood, she could have just been resting. Part of him expected her to sit up and begin discussing with the crowd: she was always diplomatic like that. When commonfolk came begging to her, she’d oblige with utmost sincerity. Offerings and coins paled in comparison to a wrinkled smile and warmed heart. Despite the crowds she drew, the Priestess never hid away and locked up her abilities. It was as if even in death she feared becoming a hindrance to others, lying as peaceful and mature as ever.

Kael and Nico frequently insisted that she be a little more selfish. If it benefited someone else, she would give up even the clothes on her back.

But now she lay there. Unmoving and unwilling. There was nobody she could help now.

“It's not true. I’m not a demon,” Kael pleaded, facing the hostile jury that cornered him hostage. The faces that reflected back at him in the moonlight were practically unrecognisable: unified in their emphasised disgust and anger. Just one day ago, it would’ve been preposterous to imagine him standing on trial like this. Then again, a day ago the Priestess had been full of colour and life.

It was the voice that spoke up next that stabbed the most.

“Kael. You’re covered in blood. If it wasn’t you, just give us an explanation. Please. Give me an explanation,” Nico stared back at him, restrained grief written all over his face. He wondered if the heartache they shared was the same. The Priestess had been slaughtered, and a line had already cracked between them. What arrangement had his facial features contorted into when he first saw her body? Kael didn’t really want to know.

But he did know that Nico was right. His memory prior to the witch hunt was frail and clouded over, like it had been stolen away from him. As he rummaged through events compartmentalised in his brain, nothing beyond the waking dizziness could be plucked out.

“Did you honestly think the High Priestess could hold feelings of love for you?” Came the voice of an angry official. Kael didn't even know him, and yet he projected out these strange interpretations. Tired fingers drew into tight balls at his sides and he fought to contain his anger.

That wasn’t right. There had never been a romantic foreground to their relationship with each other before. This wasn’t a love crime at all.

Why was everything being rewritten this way? He’d fought tooth and nail to crawl out from the gutter and become someone worthy of the word ‘hero.’ It was being washed away in an instant - absentmindedly trickling off the cliff edge like that person had never existed at all. A bloodthirsty, lovelorn demon? It was harrowing how little impact his efforts had really made.

“Love? No, we weren’t–” But his objection was promptly silenced.

“Or was it that she couldn’t accept your disgusting demon form?” Another voice piped up.

“How have I become a demon so suddenly? I’ve lived alongside you all my whole life! How could I have hid it all those years,” Kael objected, a miserable amusement creeping its way out of his throat. His heart throbbed so hard in his chest that he wondered if it might rip right out.

“Don’t let him talk his way out of this. He’s covered in her blood, her manor was set alight by his sword, by his very own Inferno sigil!” Cried out the same voice.

By his own sword? The organs in his stomach seemed to drop, shrinking back into themselves as they weighed up the possibility. Thinking of it, Kael noticed its absence from the halter tied to his waist. His Inferno sigil was his own development. Could anyone else even cast it?

Consciously, even with a knife to his throat, he would rather lay down and die than hurt the Priestess. But unconsciously, would he behave the same? At his core, he couldn’t be sure that he really had played no part in her death. Dread sank down through his veins, pumping weighted hatred and anger through the vessel.

The earth before him began to swirl and distort. Serrated tendrils of agony crawled across the surface of his skull like barbed wire. As the rainfall graciously pattered on, it masked the pitiful stray tears that leaked from his eyes. His tattered soul yearned to lament the Priestess, to lament the person he knew and the person he might be becoming.

If what the crowd said was true, Kael would strike his body down himself.

“A human with a taste for blood is no different from a demon,” Phlox spat in disgust. Affirmations of agreement erupted amongst the crowd, like a public vote for his execution. Given the circumstances, Kael wouldn’t have voted in his favour, either.

He’d nursed wounds, hunted down evil, suffered through battles for causes he barely grasped, and for people he barely knew. But what had it amounted to? In such a critical moment, he couldn’t find a single word to defend himself with. His reputation had meant nothing at all, even in his own perception.

What was the purpose of it all? What had it all been worth?

At last, his heart turned its meek head towards his sole living friend.

“Nico…” He tried weakly, but the man had already turned his back.

It was better this way, better for the other not to witness any more loss.

Slow, weary steps carried his figure forwards. Kael peered into the void, grateful that nothing stared back. And finally, he took flight.

As his body felt the pull of gravity, his eyes shut for the final time, engulfed in death’s cold embrace and empty kiss. A conclusive apology left his lips in a whisper.

On an inconsequential day, the minor hero became a disgraced beast and plunged a thousand feet to his death: becoming nothing more than dust and ash and molten rubble.