text: [Themes: grimdark fantasy, fantasy]
  
  This is it. This is the end. After traveling weeks to arrive here, this is how your story ends. Not with redemption or some grand adventure to share with your grandkids one day. Betrayal, the siren song of your life. Perhaps you can't blame those around you for their actions. Perhaps you're just playing the part of the fool. Jaina, a former ally. Now, greed guides her actions.
  
  Oddly enough, you don't feel hate towards the woman. Sure, you could harbor ill will against her for choosing this path. And that's just it: she chose a path and stuck with it. You did the same. There's really no blame to be had by either side. It's just unfortunate you find yourself on the opposite side of a lightning bolt. Unsurprisingly, your mind draws back to her. To the place on the bluffs you called your own. To her blanket that you laid out. To her tender lips placed on your own. Your eyes close in anticipation.
  
  ...
  
  The blast never arrives. Sudden, searing pain doesn't fill your body. Your eyes peer open. The ground lies blackened where Katia once stood, the woman herself gone from the position. After weeks of traveling, she's gone in the blink of an eye, much like entering the keep.
  
  Then, movement.
  
  Katia appears on the other side of Jaina, a shadow appearing from mist, dagger in each hand. Jaina's eyes open wide in surprise. Both blades plunge into her back, her defenses destroyed with your initial arrow shot. The sorceress collapses, the book falling on the ground next to her. Katia flashes you a smile through several strands of hair that have fallen in front of her face. She bends down to pick up the tome.
  
  "Don't be so hard on yourself. You're not the first to fall for the helpless maid act," she says.
  
  The illusions shatters. Whatever background you projected on the woman—along with the ones she told you—are gone. There is more than meets the eye with her. You shouldn't be surprised. The siren song of your life echoes in your mind. You respond.
  
  "How long? How long were you working for him?"
  
  She sighs. Regret? Not likely. Boredom, perhaps. "The entire time. Before you and I even met. I thought it would be Richter in your position, although when I saw you in that tavern I hedged my bet. Little did I know you would be so capable."
  
  "Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint you," you answer, eyes casually glancing to where your bow lies on the ground. "Where does this leave us?"
  
  "I admit I have grown a certain fondness towards you, as hazardous as it is to the profession..."
  
  You interject. "And which profession would that be exactly?"
  
  "Need you be so thorough?" Katia stares at you a moment. "Of course you do. I forgot who I was speaking to. I'm part of an...exclusive organization. Well, currently I'm just an acolyte. Nine there are. No more, no less. This book here is my ticket into a formal challenge with one of the Nine."
  
  "You would leave a trail of bodies just for a challenge?" you ask.
  
  "Please. Like you're so innocent yourself," Katia answers. She's not wrong.
  
  "It's not morality that guides the question," you say. "That book is worth a fortune. And you would trade it for an uncertain outcome. If it were me, I'd put it towards something more imminent."
  
  "Sure you would. That's why she left you isn't it? Yeah, I did my research on you. I can tell you it's more extensive than whatever rumors this sorceress found out. Our organization has eyes everywhere. Sleepers. Even in the most far out, unheard of towns, our watchful gaze is present. Your former life was a bit too secure for her, huh? No adventures into the unknown. No risk. No danger. Her life didn't end up quite the way she wanted."
  
  "...you know of where she went?"
  
  "You're not that thick-headed. Didn't you just hear me? We have eyes everywhere. Yes, I know what came of your wife's—former wife's—'life of adventure.' She settled down. Met some plain old farmer. Not exactly the thrilling life she left you for, eh?"
  
  The hair on your skin stands up. A strange feeling washes over you, similar to the one you experienced during your first battle. She...settled down. With a farmer, no less. Lies, all of it. Her reasons for leaving. Bullshit. All of it. Left the comfort of your arms for another. Lies, all of it.
  
  Your mind flashes back, not to your time with her, but to the moment when you decided to travel to Devil's Altar. For the sake of closure. Partially for Katia, partially for you. Somehow this doesn't bring conclusion to your former life. It should. The biggest question in your mind is answered, and nothing's changed. Emptiness still fills your heart. Richter's dying plea was built on a lie. Whatever grand plans you had for tracking her down, having things the way they used to be, is dissolved. There's nothing left. All have abandoned you.
  
  "Doing ok?" Katia asks, genuine concern on her face. Lies, all of it. No, she can't be trusted. Give her nothing back. I have grown a certain fondness of you. Your heart hardens, more than ever before. More than you ever thought possible. What's left for you? More hunts? Keeping yourself busy with work and drink to numb the pain? It's not a solid plan, but it's a plan nonetheless.
  
  "Just as well as I've always been," you answer. "So where does this leave us?"
  
  "Well," Katia begins. "You could allow pride to guide your actions and try to take the book from me, although I wouldn't advise that option." She flips her daggers in her hands for emphasis. "Or we both could walk out of here and go our separate ways. No hard feelings. I chose my path. Now you get to choose yours."
  
  > Humility
  "It was never about the book," you say. "The things I seek won't be fixed with a simple wish or curse or whatever the hell is inside that tome."
  
  Katia smiles. It strikes you as the first true smile you've witnessed from the woman rather than the facade she put on before. Dangerous woman, this one. "I had a feeling you might say that. I'm a student of character, among other things. How do you think I seduced you so easily?" That question is easily answered by having her look in a mirror. She flips the daggers again. "You've never been one for riches or women...however, you do enjoy a good drink, so you're not completely without sin."
  
  "You'll receive no argument from me in that regard."
  
  "Pessimism," Katia begins. "Is your other mistress. She goes hand in hand with the drink. At least there isn't in-fighting between the two."
  
  "This is it then," the words pour from your mouth. This time, they are yours. Not like when you spoke them to her. Memories. A blanket spread on the bluffs, overlooking the sea. Her warm body next to yours. Waking up to an empty vodka bottle. No hand to interlock with yours; it, instead, holds a hunter's weapon.
  
  The path is set, and there's no going back. For the sake of closure. It never comes as expected. There's not some sudden rush of feeling like that of a parent tucking you into bed. Life still moves on, with or without you.
  
  "This is it then," Katia returns your words back to you. "Where will you go?"
  
  You really have no idea. There are no ties holding you to a particular city. No employer. No lover. Some may consider that freedom. You could pack up at a moment's time and leave on nothing but a simple impulse. But still, there's something severely lacking: a sense of purpose. Some may thrive living without a sense of responsibility. Journeying to Devil's Altar was a quick fix, a ripped tunic acting as a tourniquet. Not a long-term solution. The book could be a long-term solution... You shake that thought from your mind. The path's already been chosen.
  
  "Do yourself a favor," Katia speaks again. "Learn to live outside that head of yours. There's a certain tenacity to you, a willpower guiding your actions for better or for worse. When your mind's made up, you press on ignoring everything else, tunneling on the objective."
  
  "That doesn't sound like a particularly negative thing," you comment.
  
  "No—but not every decision needs a hefty internal debate. Sometimes you just gotta pick the path and move on. Simple as that."
  
  Katia stuffs the tome inside of her inner coat pocket. She flashes you a smile a final time before heading for the staircase. Before picking up your bow, you sift through the bodies on the floor. Wherever you're headed, you'll need supplies. Besides, it doesn't look like the soldiers—or Jaina—need their equipment anymore. After taking a few military rations, tasteless but filling, you grab your bow and sling it on your back.
  
  The world is before us. The possibilities are endless. Where to go? I can think of a good place to start. Back to where it all began, to the one who put this into motion. A certain lord hired you to hunt a peaceful man with ulterior motives. You're tired of being used. You're tired of being other people's playthings. Betrayal: the siren song of your life. It's time to sing it for another.
  
  > Epilogue: The Siren Song
  A large desk placed in the center of an amphitheatre-like study. Bookshelves line the room. More accurately, the walls are bookshelves. Confident his guards are outside and he's not to be disturbed, Lord Tiras settles down at the desk, his sight becoming an ever-familiar one of thick mahogany and parchment paper.
  
  Jaina is late on her report. Sorceresses. The amount of punctuality they impose on others never extends to themselves. Ungrateful women. They think they're a higher status than they are, just because a few arcane spells lie within their abilities. Sure, they live a lavish lifestyle, but whose funds allow that? Lord Tiras'. The current sorceress in his employ is dangerously close to having that fact reminded to her.
  
  The lord sighs. The report in front of him is less than satisfactory. A certain thief has been causing trouble in his city, operating under the guise of charity. Steal from the rich, give to the poor. Lord Tiras has heard it before; it's simply a way to break the law using virtue as a shield. It's not the first troublemaker that has directly opposed Lord Tiras, and it won't be the last. Still, a demonstration is in order for the thief's eventual capture. Punishment will be imparted publicly.
  
  A dull thud. Something drops to the floor outside of the lord's study.
  
  "Jensen," Lord Tiras calls out. "What was that?"
  
  The study doors open, and the thin aide walks through. Gods, the man is shaking with fear. Lord Tiras hasn't seen him this nervous since first coming into his service. He must have bumped into one of Lord Tiras' more valuable artifacts. The Hexdarian vase, perhaps. Considered priceless to most men. Not to Lord Tiras, though.
  
  "Apologies, lord," Jensen meekly says, his head looking down like a disobedient dog.
  
  "What's the matter, Jensen? What fell?" Lord Tiras asks, his eyes narrowing.
  
  In a shower of red, an arrowhead pierces through the front of Jensen's neck. The man falls to the study floor in a similar thud that Lord Tiras just heard, although not muffled by the door. You stand directly behind where Jensen was, originally hidden by the man. You nock another arrow to your bowstring.
  
  "You!" Lord Tiras spits, recognition on his face.
  
  "Yes, me," you answer.
  
  The two of you stare at each other for a moment. Lord Tiras seems to have abandoned the graying goatee and has since allowed a full beard to grow. "Well," Lord Tiras starts. "What do you want? Money? I have enough to let you live like a king."
  
  You reply staring down the sight of your arrow. "No you don't. Last I checked, you're Lord Tiras, not King Tiras."
  
  "So what's this about then?"
  
  "Closure," you say. "Weeks ago, you sent men to kill me after I performed the job you hired me for. Why?"
  
  "I know nothing of what you speak," the lord answers with a blank face. He's good. Not good enough. Lie to yourself enough, and you'll understand when the truth is absent. There's a goddamn gaping hole where it should reside with Tiras' words.
  
  You put an arrow through his leg in response. It lands mid-thigh. His reaction is delayed. Almost a full second after impact, Tiras collapses in pain. You've got exceptional aim, surely it's good enough to hit whichever limb you desire at this range. The precision required to hit a vital artery or not is essentially a coin toss. Either way, you don't really care for the outcome. Either way, Lord Tiras doesn't survive this night.
  
  "I'll ask again," you say, pulling another arrow from your quiver. "Why?"
  
  "Damn you," Lord Tiras mumbles from the floor, both hands clutching his bleeding leg.
  
  "I've repeated myself once. I won't do so again."
  
  "Fine," Lord Tiras answers in defeat. "Then you'll spare my life?" Receiving only silence, and having nothing to bargain, he divulges everything. "Yes, I employed some men to find the cube. But I didn't know what they'd do!"
  
  "Bullshit," you reply.
  
  "Really," Lord Tiras insists. "I couldn't send my own men. That'd be too telling. I coerced an underground network in exchange for a pardon. Between you and me, I had no idea the extent that they'd go to..."
  
  "Their actions and the blood on their hands is on yours by association. When a poorly-trained dog misbehaves, you don't blame the dog. You blame the master that trained him...the one that let it off its leash."
  
  "Be that as it may, I am truly sorry for their deeds. I'll have you know, their pardon has been dissolved. Those men, the ones wearing the dark cloaks, are currently rotting in my dungeon. They are to be executed for their crimes."
  
  "Then I'll pay them a visit after our current one is over," you say. "We have unfinished business, them and I."
  
  "Go to them now!" Lord Tiras answers with much too excitement for the moment. He's used to operating from a position of power. Collapsed on the floor and bleeding from his leg, the man is out of his element. To be fair, the first time you were in that position, you didn't know how to react either, although you tried not to draw attention to yourself. A lesson you've since learned from. The same won't be true for your former employer.
  
  "I wouldn't want to be rude and leave our ongoing discussion."
  
  "It's not much of a discussion," Lord Tiras grimaces, his grip around his leg growing tighter.
  
  "I agree," you answer, putting an arrow between the man's eyes. Lord Tiras' head snaps back. In a split-second, you have a flashback to the way Silvaras' head snapped with impact, a similar motion occurring here.
  
  The lord is executed the same way in which he ordered another man's death. Finally, his deeds have caught up to him. It's only a matter of time until yours do as well. Until then, you'll continue on. You've chosen a path and will see it through. That's all a man can do. Inaction has been disregarded. Whether the correct one, whether the moral one, you've set the destination. You press on. There's not enough time to debate the wisdom in your choice. At the very least, you take solace in knowing you've committed fully.