He doesn’t say anything else as he goes to stand over the bodies.
It is a gruesome sight. Crimson liquid and parts are scattered the ground, but he doesn’t look away. He quickly scans each elf carefully and his posture stiffens, and he moves almost... reverently.
He kneels beside the first elf he killed, and begins to check the body for any weapons or supplies. He moves efficiently, removing anything that might be valuable to us later.
Then, with a careful touch, he closes the elf’s eyes and murmurs something in his language—something I don’t understand, but it sounds like a prayer.
“Do you pray for the dead?” I ask, unsure of the answer I expect.
Vann tilts his head to the side.
“In a sense. They died serving their king, and I cannot fault them for that.”
“But Arion is the enemy,” I argue. “These men tried to kill you and take me to him.”
His expression tightens, his eyes darkening for a moment. “Yes. And they were wrong, which justifies the consequences of their actions. But they weren’t evil, not in the way some like to think. They are just people, much like us. Subjects to a poor ruler, caught in the machinery of something much larger than themselves. They have families and lives outside of their work.” His voice softens. “Their families would appreciate their bodies to be handled with respect.”
I pause, taken aback by the way he speaks. He reminds me thatwar is never just black and white, that we cannot reduce those we fight into mere monsters.
He thinks for a moment, but his words seem to hang in the air. “I was like them once. Under Teo’Lihk’s rule, during the Great War. I was raised in a time of insecurity, violence, and survival. It was the reason I became a soldier. When there’s someone at the top, they create the rules—the negative ideas, the stories that fuel their followers. Most people accept them without question. And then, what?”
He looks away.
“Again, I’m not saying we’re not responsible for our actions, but I can’t help but think that bad leaders are the root of a poisonous society. They are the ones who create the environment that breeds violence and war.”
His voice drops, and I can feel his thoughts swirling in the space between us. “Perhaps something greater than me will teach them one day—though I did all I could.”
Vann stands straighter, his posture returning to the familiar composure, but his eyes remain distant, thoughtful. “We are similar in the fact that neither of us take joy in killing them, but I’ve come to understand the necessity. They were a threat, and that’s what we had to do—whatIhad to do.”
His actions speak volumes of the man he is—honorable, even in the most brutal of moments.
I find myself drawn to him. The weight of the violence is still heavy on me, but his presence offers me a strange sense of peace.
Not just like a friend.A partner.
“Would you like to close the eyes of the man you killed?” Vann asks.
I don’t know.
“It might help.”
My mind churns for a minute, and then I nod. He sets me down and I approach the elf with the torn throat.
God, it hurts to look at. I close my eyes, then kneel.
The sight isn’t better up close, and I reach out, gently pulling down his eyelids.
I look up at Vann. “Now what?”
He presses his lips in a flat line. “Now you wish him well in the next life.”
It takes me a moment, but I do. Somehow, it feels as though the wind passes through me as I say the words.
I feel… changed. Lighter.
Once finished, I stand on wobbly legs.
I clear my throat. Then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, the words slip out in enduar,“Veyán dorath vel thun.”