CH1417 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1417: Not Too Bad

“Why are you here?” Charms got his arms under Balshan and started moving, hobbling toward the nearest upright section of the train. “Where’s Dusk?”

“With the others — heading toward the Misty Forest.” She forced a smile, the kind that cost more than it looked like it should. “As for me — if I hadn’t come, you’d all be dead. So. Are you going to blame me for that?”

“I wasn’t going to—”

“You think I’m not suited for the battlefield.” Her voice was faint but the disdain in it was perfectly intact. “Don’t forget I’m a combat Witch. When you were still playing in the dirt, I was already fighting for my life.”

You’re injured to this degree and you still won’t let it go. You are genuinely not adorable.

But hearing that Dusk had made it clear — had left safely with Hank’s group — he felt something in him loosen.

Good man, Hank.

Behind them, the wet heaving sound resumed.

Charms looked back. The bloodstained worm was swelling again, its skin distending with fresh purpose, the cycle beginning over.

“For the love of—”

He got Balshan to the side of the train carriage and settled her against the metal. She exhaled. He began pulling magazines from his bag, sorting them in front of him in the order he’d use them, the same way his father had taught him before any engagement where the supply was finite and the problem wasn’t going to stop.

“There’s time to run,” Balshan said. “Your companions have all gone. You can still make it if you leave now — Hey!”

Her expression changed as he sat down next to the magazines.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He checked the rifle. “I can’t outrun the beasts while carrying you.”

“Then leave me and go. Run alone.”

“Is that what you would have done?” He looked at her. “In the First Army, what King Roland taught us was that we fight for ordinary people. I can’t leave an ordinary citizen behind to stall for time while I escape alone.”

Something shifted in her expression — not softness, exactly, but the particular stillness of a person receiving something unexpected.

She had never, he realized, anticipated being called ordinary.

He settled his back against the carriage. “Besides — the longer I hold them here, the safer Dusk will be. So save your complaints.”

The militiamen who’d stayed were not people he could blame for anything. They’d never been soldiers — their assignment was to deter petty theft from the train station, and the fact that they’d lasted this long against demonic beasts was, by any reasonable standard, exceptional service. They formed a loose perimeter around the position without anyone deciding they would, sharing ammunition count by glance, and when Charms began shooting, they found a rhythm together that he hadn’t planned for and didn’t need to instruct. The understanding ran between them like current.

He had felt something like it once before, beside his father in the Blackriver, in the campaigns along the Fertile Plains. The strange warmth of trusting people who were trusting you back.

At some point he stopped tracking how long it had been. His vision was blurring at the edges from blood loss — the bites in his leg and shoulder were seeping steadily, and he’d only had time for a rough wrap. Balshan was not better. She was substantially more injured than he was by most visible measures. But she wasn’t slowing. One hand wrapped in cloth, waved as a lure; the other hand bare and lethal — a single touch for the wolf-types and smaller beasts enough to start the decay, enough to buy them a few more seconds per contact.

He watched her between shots and noticed the quality of her focus. Not the face of someone in pain, or not only that. The expression on a person who has found, after a long absence, the work they were shaped to do.

She had lost something fundamental when the battlefield closed to her. It was visible, now, in how she moved when the battlefield opened again.

When the new hybrid tore its way out of the worm’s mouth, they both knew what it meant.

“Pity about those tickets.” Balshan had worked her way back to his side — slowly, but under her own effort. There was a ghost of something in her expression that might, in different circumstances, have been warmth. “Although — if you die here, at least I can rest easy knowing Dusk won’t be taken advantage of by you.”

You are truly not adorable. Not even slightly.

“Right, and I’m sure you’re equally regretful,” Charms retorted, “to be spending your final moments by my side—”

“No.” She interrupted him. “Actually, I think—”

The steam whistle drowned everything.

It came in one long, violent blast — and then the concussions started, artillery fire rippling in a line around the worm as rock and earth erupted and the horde of demonic beasts broke in confusion. Charms found something in himself he hadn’t known was left and shoved himself upright, turning toward the sound.

A column of armored vehicles had appeared on the plain — black-hulled, battery-mounted, firing without pause.

The Blackrivers. The same machines that had taken the field in the Northern Expedition.

“Do you see that?” He grabbed Balshan’s arm. “Reinforcements — the Blackrivers are here, they’re here—”

She didn’t answer.

He turned. Her eyes were closed. She was folding sideways.

“Hey.” He caught her. “Hey — wake up. HEY, WAKE UP!”

He shook her. She did not respond.


They met again two days later.

“This is her room. Would you like me to announce you?” Chief Butler Camilla of the Sleeping Spell stood outside the door with the calm of someone who had seen more fraught visitors than she could count.

“No — thank you. I can manage.” Charms bowed. The Witch Union’s residence was closed to outsiders unless specifically invited; he had shown up not expecting permission and received it so easily that it had taken him a moment to believe it.

“Please be mindful of the time,” Camilla said, and left him to it.

He let out a long breath.

The medics’ lecture from two days ago was still running somewhere in the back of his head, available for replay at inconvenient moments: She’s still breathing, you idiot — if you keep shaking her like that she really will die. Someone who’s held on through a whole fight and then finally let themselves go will pass out the moment the danger’s over. Did they teach you nothing? Emergency aid. Basic emergency aid. Are they not teaching the rail soldiers emergency aid? Why are you so upset about this — is she very important to you?

He knocked.

“Coming.”

Dusk opened the door.

“I knew it was you.” The smile arrived before she finished the sentence. “When Miss Camilla said someone was calling, I guessed right away. Thank you — for saving Balshan.”

“I think you have the sequence backwards. It was she who saved me.”

The familiar voice came from inside the room. Charms stepped through the doorway.

Balshan was sitting up against the headboard, halved by the window light — sunlight on the right side of her face, shadow on the left, her short brown hair a little disordered. She was wrapped in bandages from collarbones to ankle, head included, which should have looked dire. She looked more alert than he did, which was annoying.

“Nothing strange about it.” She read his expression before he could arrange it into something neutral. “A Witch’s body is stronger than a regular human’s in every respect. Naturally my recovery is faster than yours.” A beat. “So don’t imagine that you’ll have any time alone with Dusk.”

Every well-meaning thought he’d arrived with evaporated.

“In that case, I’ll be going.” He turned.

“You’re leaving already?” Dusk looked startled.

“I have to. Standing is bad for recovery — and as she’s just helpfully pointed out, my body is inferior in every measurable way.” He met Balshan’s eyes with deliberate challenge. “I need to heal fast so I can take Dusk out for that play before you’re back on your feet.”

“A date?” Dusk turned to look at him directly. “With me?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

Wait. That quickly?

“In your dreams!” Balshan snorted from the bed. “I’ll be up before you are.”

“We’ll see.”

“We will see.”

They glared at each other — the same standoff as always, neither willing to be the one who blinked first. Dusk stood between them and laughed — not at them, quite, but at the fact of them both still being present to argue. Which was, Charms thought, probably the correct response.

He was pulling the door closed behind him when it occurred to him.

“Hey. Before the Blackrivers arrived — what were you going to say?”

“Nothing.” Flat, immediate. “I wasn’t conscious by then. You must have misheard.”

“Right.”

He closed the door.

Inside, a small silence, and then Dusk’s voice: “What was he talking about?”

“He’s rambling.” The sound of Balshan shifting against the headboard, settling back toward the window. “Ignore it.”

The sunlight lay across half her face.

— Not too bad, all things considered.

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