All good things must end. It was a common saying, one that Jarrah had become increasingly familiar with. He had to remind himself of it when he first joined Broken Fang on their journey to T’karamatu – even then he knew his stay was temporary, just a mean to an end. He reminded himself on their first night in the wilderness when they laughed around the campfire, knowing full well he may have to betray them, may have to send them onto the next life should they get in his way. He was glad it had not come to that. He had managed to secure the dungeon's treasure for the revolutionaries, for the good of all Purgatory. Nevertheless, their journey had finished and so had the good times with Broken Fang.

  They sat in a listless grey room. There was a single window, long and narrow. It was too thin to climb through and it let in little light, but that did not stop Jarrah from seeing the haggard look on everyone’s face. Even Eddie who advocated for leaving the kid behind from day one looked like the father of a soldier who never came home. His face was a stoic facade, so unmistakably weak.

  There was once a dream deep inside Jarrah that he would take to his grave. One of travelling with them again. Taking the boy on quests with Eddie, Rowan and Aria. Watching him grow over the years and teaching him everything, they knew. However, that was a dream and as Jarrah sat in their cell, he realized it was a foolish one. Worse yet, he never said goodbye to the kid who had lightened their lives. Bastard of a boy he was, the nights were somehow warmer with him around, an adopted child of all of them. Now he was dead. Cast to eternal damnation. Jarrah had a hard time believing it, the words that came from the bishop’s lips not quite forming in his brain. The bishop - John, he had introduced himself as - sat across a steel table and pushed a small clay urn. ‘His remains. May you do with them as you see fit.’

  Jarrah snapped. He pushed up out of his chair meaning to lunge across the table, squeezing the old man’s bony throat, drawing the life out of him, but Eddie stopped him. A not so gentle hand on the back of Jarrah’s own neck pushed him down. The old bishop did not react in the slightest. John’s hair was a wisp of white, struggling not to be blown away and his eyes were the pale blue of a shallow lagoon. By his side were two of the Crimson Clergy. Tall emotionless figures in all red, only a gleam of the eyes shining through a slit in their hoods. They too, did not react to Jarrah’s attempted lunge, as if they were only there on display. Only through haze did he remember that those guards should be feared – especially without his weapons. They did not seem it, but if they ordered to, they could break him over their knee.

  Jarrah laughed, he could not help it. ‘So what, you killed him, just like that? He was a child!’ When the words left Jarrah’s mouth, he realized how ridiculous that statement was. Like the church would even wince at killing children. That was the very reason he joined the revolution. The only thing this had changed was Jarrah now believed the revolutionaries were not radical enough.

  We have the halo now. Jarrah thought, looking deep into those pale eyes. Your time will come soon and where will you go? Not heaven.

  The old man coughed into his fist. ‘Yes. He was a threat.’ John looked into his open fist, grimaced ever-so-slightly and wiped his palm with a hanky in the other hand.

  ‘How? How was that kid possibly-’

  ‘Jarrah,’ Aria cut in. Her lip quivered and it looked like she would say more, but she only shook her head.

  ‘How can any of you sit through this?’ Jarrah asked, now looking at his old comrades.

  ‘What’s done is done,’ Rowan said, but he never met Jarrah’s eyes.

  A coward through and through. Doctors always are. The big and powerful church said a child must die, so we all stand by and watch.

  Aria leaned over the table, her dishevelled hair spilling over her face. She pulled the urn into her embrace and fell back down, cradling it like a mother. ‘I want to remember Alek by his face as I taught him spells, not by your childish outburst. Rowan is right, what is done is done.’

  So much rage was bubbling inside Jarrah. His eyelid twitched. He went to scream, but only air escaped.

  John cleared his throat. ‘Remember we are all children of sin here with the goal of repentance to earn our seat in Heaven. There will be opportunities for you all moving forward and the Church is always happy to provide guidance-‘

  ‘There are no more opportunities for-’ Jarrah tried to cut in, but John kept going.

  ‘However, that boy was a threat to all good citizens of Iscariot, of Purgatory. An agent of a demon who if left alive would take away other’s chances. His life could not be risked.

  ‘How could you possibly know he was a- an agent for a demon?’

  ‘When he awoke for questioning in his cell he was extremely violent and unwilling to cooperate. He rambled of demons and whispers. When asked if he hears whispering he answered, and I quote: “And what of it, you ugly fucker. Let me out of these chains.” He proceeded to threaten members of the church with “cutting their dicks off and sticking it up their own ass” which contributed to the decision to execute him. As you would understand anyone who receives whispers is of the highest threat to all living in Purgatory and must be swiftly extinguished.’

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  ‘Except if they work in the Church,’ Jarrah said.

  ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,’ John said. ‘Now I am a busy man so I will be moving this conversation along. As for your mission, the Church considers it complete and thanks you for your service, especially for the detail of the fractured odium.’ John snapped his fingers and the red guard to his left produced a burlap bag the size of a melon that he thumped onto the table. ‘Here is your payment, the full century of lifespan in one-year chips despite your failure to retrieve the item at the bottom of the dungeon. Consider it additional compensation for your loss.’

  A few years for his life? Jarrah almost tried to leap over the table, but what good would killing this smug asshole even do? He needed to wait, bide his time and ensure the revolution wiped out the Church, snuffed the life out of every single member.

  ‘What of the odium?’ Eddie asked. ‘Will you send a team to exterminate it?’

  ‘That far in the wilderness it is not a threat so we will let it be for now. In future we may consider an expedition to reclaim the… dungeon you found. So interesting it appeared to look like a cathedral, but we assure you that could not have been the case.’ John patted the bag of lifespan again. ‘If we decide to attempt that, we will certainly look at hiring your party as well-paid guides.’ He stood up, brushing down his black cassock to his knees. ‘Now I must be going. You all are free to leave and the Church looks forward to working together in the future. Just make sure that next time you find a child in the wilderness, you leave them there.’ The old bishop and the two crimson clergy left the room, with the door wide open behind them. Their clacking boots echoed off the walls until they were nothing but a faint tapping over the horizon of sound.

  Broken Fang sat still for what felt like eternity. Eddie finally made the first move. He snatched the burlap bag and untied the string around its neck, bathing his face in dazzling white light. He poured the chips onto the table and arranged them into four even piles.

  Are we serious? A member of this party has been killed in cold blood and you are handing out money. But even Jarrah could not resist the seduction of those blue ringed, ivory chips. A hundred years, a fortune. He almost licked his lips. He felt greed boil within, but disgust floated at the surface in a layer of grimy oil. But I could do so much good with a hundred years, Jarrah told himself and almost believed that was truly how he felt.

  When Eddie went to Rowan and handed him his share, the doctor accepted them wordlessly. A few were absorbed immediately, the wrinkles in Rowan's face fading. He looked ten years younger and still had a modest fortune in his hands. A fresh wave of disgust washed over Jarrah’s body. It was blood money! He wanted to scream. He wanted his share.

  Aria was no different. While still holding Alek’s ashes she accepted his forgone life. How many of those coins come from Alek himself? Did they milk his lifespan before executing him? Almost certainly.

  Jarrah wouldn’t accept. He would show them what morals looked like since they had clearly forgotten.

  Eddie scooped up the third pile and offered it to Jarrah. Its light seeped into his skin and- its disgusting light, a stolen soul. Jarrah held out his hands and twenty five years piled onto his palms, some slipping directly into him. Rejuvenating, de-aging. So full of power.

  Jarrah wanted to throw up, to cry and beg Alek for forgiveness for he was weak. But Alek was already gone. I should throw it all away, cast out the lifespan I absorbed. But Alek was already gone. It's not like accepting it now would hurt him, he was already in Hell. He smiled. Alek would have wanted us to move on, not wallow in despair. Jarrah knew this to be true. There was zero doubt in his mind. He would want this, wouldn’t he? Alek would want Jarrah to avenge him. He would want the revolutionaries to overthrow the Church no matter what and jarrah could use Alek’s lifespan to achieve this.

  ‘I- I need to go,’ Jarrah said. Already he could feel the bile climbing up his throat. He shoved the lifespan tokens that weren't absorbed into his inner coat pocket and stood up, the stool shrieking as it grinded over the tile floor.

  ‘Where will you go?’ Aria asked, her voice was soft and calm; sedated.

  ‘Back to-’ he nearly slipped, saying the revolutionary village, ‘my rebirth city, Canania.’

  She nodded absentmindedly.

  ‘What about yourself?’ Eddie asked her. He was yet to accept his prize sitting on the table and to Jarrah’s disgust he found himself near-salivating at it. Surely Jarrah deserved it more than Eddie, but Jarrah turned his gaze away. He had already accepted too much.

  There was a long delay where Aria said nothing, looking in a daze, but eventually she found the words. ‘Iktan to study with the Arcane Order.’ She looked down at the white chips in her hand. ‘That was always the plan after-all.’

  Eddie nodded. ‘I’m glad. Rowan?’

  He shook his head and then laughed in a depressed, self-deprecating way. ‘I never think ahead. I never-’ He scrunched his fists into white balls, his eyes wavering then suddenly everything released in him. He just slouched back and shook his head again.

  ‘I’m headed back to the Ravine,’ Eddie said. ‘Someone has to scatter Alek’s ashes.’

  ‘Back towards the odium?’ Jarrah asked.

  ‘If I don't face it soon, I’ll forever live in fear.’ Eddie’s hands were shaking, but his eyes were resolute.

  ‘I’ll join you,’ Rowan said, ‘if you’ll have me.’

  Eddie smiled. ‘I could never refuse.’ Eddie looked around the room, meeting each member of Broken Fang in the eyes for the last time as a party. ‘Then this is goodbye, we were well met.’

  Aria couldn’t respond, but she nodded. Water welled in her eyes, but never spilt.

  ‘Aye,’ Jarrah said, ‘well met indeed.’