Those South of the Spire may find a small plume of smoke, one fateful evening. Perhaps a camper, or some wayward traveler. It wasn’t uncommon.

Though, this smoke would last deep into the night, hidden behind the cover of darkness to the untrained eye.

——————

Hazel watched the flames silently, knees hugged to her chest. 

It was a simple fire. She had wanted to light one for some time, once she had a moment away from the wounds and shouts for help and endless flow of blood.

The flames crackled gently.

She stayed like that for some time. Staring. Until the sun’s light bled into darkness.

Unable to feel grief properly. Too numb. Too normal. She didn’t want it all to be normal. She didn’t want to have refused each of those offers she gave.

Once again, she had nothing left to blame but her own fear.

….could it have been different, if she had turned around, that day? If she talked, like she offered? If she made a better effort?

Lost in the what-ifs. The sight remained burned into her mind. Lifeless.

Maybe she would have screamed some of that emotion out, if she had the energy. But energy was reserved for those who had the luxury to treat horrible circumstances as a rare, terrible occasion.

If only it was so rare.

Eventually, she’d rise to her feet. Numbly. A bandaged palm would lift to her lips as she let out a tired huff of air; the most noise she’d made in hours.

The flame, as if on command, snuffed out.

All that remained were embers of what could have been.

[!] 

Hazel was nowhere to be found that day, after concluding her surgical procedures following Adrian and Birhane’s duel.