Chapter 13: The Weight of Death

For a long moment, Nyra stood frozen, the dagger still clenched in her trembling hand. Her breath came in shallow, ragged bursts, her heart hammering against her ribs. She could still feel the man's body collapsing beneath her blade, could still hear the sickening thud as he hit the ground.

Saris stepped forward, her eyes flicking to the body on the floor. "Good," she said, her voice calm. "He was going to kill you."

Nyra didn't respond. She couldn't. The world was spinning, the blood on her hands slick and warm. She wanted to vomit, to run, to escape the reality of what she had just done. But there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide from the weight of the life she had just taken.

Saris crouched beside the guard's body, rifling through his pockets for anything of value. Nyra stared, her mind reeling. How could Saris be so calm? How could she just move on as if nothing had happened?

"Come on," Saris said, standing up and tossing a small bag of coins into her pouch. "We've got what we came for."

Nyra forced herself to move, her legs unsteady beneath her. She followed Saris to the office, her mind still spinning. Inside, the ledgers were stacked neatly on a desk, bound in thick leather. Saris grabbed them, stuffing them into a sack before turning back to Nyra.

"Let's go," she said, her voice sharp. "Before more of them show up."

Nyra nodded numbly, following Saris out of the warehouse and into the night.

The walk back through the city was a blur. Nyra's mind was racing, her thoughts jumbled and chaotic. The city felt different now, the familiar streets and alleyways foreign, distant. She felt like a stranger in her own skin, her body heavy with the weight of what she had done.

When they finally reached their small room, Saris dropped the sack of ledgers onto the table and let out a satisfied sigh. "Not bad," she muttered. "That'll fetch us a good price."

Nyra stood by the door, her hand still clenched around the hilt of her dagger. The blood had dried now, dark and sticky on her skin, but she couldn't bring herself to clean it off. She just stood there, her heart pounding, her mind replaying the moment over and over again.

Saris glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "You all right?"

Nyra's voice was hollow when she spoke. "I killed him."

Saris shrugged. "Had to be done."

Nyra's chest tightened, her stomach churning. "He wasn't going to kill me. Not at the end. He was… done."

Saris turned to face her fully, her expression hard. "Then why did you kill him, Nyra? Why didn't you just walk away?"

The question hit her like a blow. Nyra opened her mouth to answer, but no words came. She didn't know why she had killed him. In the moment, it had felt like the only choice, like there was no other way. But now… now she wasn't sure.

Saris shook her head, her lips curling into a smirk. "You're not soft, Nyra. You think you are, but when it comes down to it, you'll do what needs to be done. That's the difference between living and dying in this world."

Nyra swallowed hard, her throat tight. "But I didn't want to—"

"It doesn't matter what you want," Saris said, her voice sharp. "This is the world we live in. You want power? You want control? This is what it costs."

Nyra's chest ached, the weight of Saris's words pressing down on her. She knew Saris was right, in some twisted way. But that didn't make it easier. It didn't make the blood on her hands disappear.

"I'm going to bed," Nyra muttered, turning toward the door.

Saris didn't stop her. She just watched as Nyra slipped out of the room and into the night.

The cold night air hit Nyra's skin, but it did nothing to numb the storm of thoughts raging inside her. She found herself standing on the rooftops of Halthor, staring out over the city. The wind tugged at her clothes, cold and biting, but she barely felt it. Her mind was numb, her thoughts tangled in knots she couldn't untie.

She had killed someone tonight.

For the first time in her life, she had taken a life.

And she wasn't sure she could live with it.

The weight of the sword had always felt heavy in her hands, but now, it felt unbearable. She had wanted power, wanted strength. But this wasn't what she had imagined. She had thought the sword would give her control, but all it had given her was blood and death.

She closed her eyes, the wind cold against her skin.

She closed her eyes, the wind cold against her skin. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the faint murmur of the city below—the creak of wooden carts, the distant laughter of tavern-goers, the soft hum of life going on, completely oblivious to the blood she had spilled.

For the first time since she had started her training, she wondered if she was truly ready for the path she had chosen.