The river flowed quietly under the light of a softening sky, its surface smooth in places and flashing where it twisted around moss-slick boulders.
Bane strode across the stones that lined the bank.
He and Chelsea had asked the villagers for a place to bathe, but the head of the village just pointed in the direction of a river and told them to leave soon.
'Well, no one can blame him, given that they were located near the empire's capital, where psychopaths and killers are common.' He shrugged.
Because of that, he left Chelsea and came here to clean alone.
He had left his coat and torn bandages folded neatly on a fallen trunk, their threads dark with sticky mucus and the scent of blood.
A breeze passed through the trees, light and cool, smelling faintly of spring blossoms and wet earth.
He moved into the water slowly.
When the flow reached his knees, he paused.
One by one, he unwrapped the bandages from his face and torso, hands steady at first, then trembling near the end.
His fingers paused briefly at the last fold across his temple before letting it fall and drift into riverstream.
He stepped into the water and went deeper, till the stream lapped about his waist.
The water was cool, not stinging, but relentless, and it made him tremble. His breathing slowed.
'Excluding my hands, it nearly feels like I don't even have skin on my body,' he thought.
For a long time, he stood still.
Across from him, low branches dropped to the surface, their reflections swaying gently beside his.
When he peered down, he was faced with warped river water, which blurred his reflection.
"Good riddance"
Then he blinked once, moved deeper in, and began to wash.
—
The capital's slums had not changed.
Bane moved silently, cloaked in tattered linen.
Chelsea was at his side, her bright hair muted beneath a ragged scarf, features dulled by her skillful disguise.
They avoided using Gia's disguise because it requires more metal pressure for her to keep it for an extended period of time, let alone for only one other person.
However, it was excellent that there was little to no oversight in the slums.
'Who cares what happens in the slums?' Despite her words, they were unable to escape the agony that surrounded them.
The district reeked of decay and old ash. Mud-caked lanes flowed with filth and rot, the smell of unwashed bodies mingling with the stinging sting of cheap whiskey and rusted metal. Children with sunken eyes stared through decaying doorways. A woman slumped beneath a collapsed awning whispered lullabies to something wrapped in cloth that didn't move.
Above them, rows of dilapidated windows gazed out like empty holes, lifeless and blind.
No laughs. There's no arguing. No dogs are barking. The low hum of pessimism sank its teeth into every wall.
Chelsea did not talk for a time. She frowned as they turned along a short alleyway. "Are we still not there yet?"
Bane's pace did not slow. "Even if I know the general location," he added, looking around the warped stone and lettering, "it's been more than a decade."
"A decade?" Chelsea blinked. "Then what the—"
She abruptly paused.
Five men emerged from either end of the alley, the most of whom reeked of beer and bravado, their faces partially obscured by grime and made up bandanas.
Their clothes hung like curtains off their bony frames, though the largest among them, a burly man with grease-stiff hair and a grin missing several teeth, looked like he could lift a horse.
"Well, well," the man sneered. "What do we have here? A lost couple? Hand over your shit, and maybe we won't break every bone in your pretty little faces."
A beat passed.
Chelsea then glanced at Bane and made a grand gesture, "Your highness."
Bane shook his head at her antics, cracked his knuckles, and continued forward.
{After ten minutes}
All five goons were now in various levels of collapse, slumped and groaning, one twitching with a boot on his face. A bent pipe lay nearby. Chelsea stood to the side, arms folded, and chewed her lollipop with deliberate disinterest.
Bane loomed over them, wiping dust off his coat.
"Right," he answered, his tone steady. "Now that we're done with the introductions, someone's going to answer a few of my questions."
One of the goons murmured something through his swollen lips.
Bane crouched, head tilting. "Don't worry. You can blink twice for yes and once for no. Let's keep it civilized."
Chelsea snorted. "You're such a gentleman."
Bane grinned without warmth. "I try."
—--
After a few minutes, the road fell utterly silent.
Bane and Chelsea headed side by side, their footfall dulled against the cracked stone and dust.
The buildings around them, which were once homes and shops, stood like hollowed husks. Windows shattered.
Doors dangle from corroded hinges. There are no voices. No wind. There was simply a lingering calm that did not feel like peace, but rather of absence.
Chelsea whispered, her eyes scanning the street.
"Did they fool us?"
Bane did not respond right away.
He came to a standstill, blinking in the low light beyond the sagging rooftops.
Then he lifted his hand to point.
Chelsea followed his gesture, and her breath caught.
Down the road, just beyond the next bend, the horizon changed into something strange.
As they moved closer.
Rows and rows of figures started to emerge.
Skeletons, thousands, stretched in crooked lines, hanging from rotted posts, bound to rusted metal, or slumped over stakes that had split through their torsos.
Some leaned against each other, arms still shackled.
Others had collapsed into dry heaps below gallows, rope still clinging to fractured necks.
A few still wore scraps of what must've once been clothes: faded sashes, rotting tunics, tatters of children's garments clinging to bleached bone.
Chelsea slowed. "What... the hell?"
"They left this on purpose" bane chuckled without a touch of mirth.
Bane's eyes didn't move from the path ahead.
His voice came low, distant. "This was one of the purge zones."
She glanced at him. "They slaughtered everyone?"
He shook his head, "Only, Men and the elderly were executed….. children were caged as experimental subjects or slaves and women…." He didn't finish but Chelsea could already deduce that their fate was far worse than those who were killed immediately.
'Does this mean his mother—' She didn't finish her idea about what tragedy might have befallen his mother.
A long quiet fell between them.
"My family was one of them."
The words felt like stones in her gut.
She said nothing else.
They walked past the last stake and entered a large crossroads where four routes intersected.
In the center knelt an erect skeleton, its bones long welded into stillness.
A dozen rusted stakes protruded from its back and sides, securing it to the parched earth in a grotesque spire. Its head sagged forward.
One arm stretched out almost protectively, but whatever it had shielded was long gone.
Its ragged garments barely adhered to it, consisting of a plain work shirt and sash similar to those used by blacksmiths. One boot remained attached to a cracked foot. The other had decayed away.
Chelsea paused a step behind Bane, her voice hushed. "Is this—"
Bane said nothing.
The silence stretched, and without turning, he murmured, "Sit with me."
She hesitated, then knelt alongside him in the dust.
He removed the rucksack from his shoulder and slowly opened it.
Small offerings were wrapped with old fabric, including salted meat, dried roots, and an alcohol flask. Simple things. Things took too long for such a brief visit.
He placed the meat near the skeleton, carefully unwrapping it and setting it next to a flat rock as if it belonged there.
Then he uncorked the flask, allowing a trickle of wine to seep into the earth at the base of the bones.
The pungent and bitter aroma of powerful liquor lingered in the air for a short time.
Bane sat in silence, his gaze locked on the skeleton in front of him, its hollow sockets angled downward, as if still gazing over something long gone.
He met that blank stare.
Then, without ceremony, he raised the bottle, drank slowly, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"…I'm back, Dad," he said quietly.