Page 33 of Orange Tundra
The guards who were with me that year were corrupt, especially the Red Guards and their leader. Not all, but most were. Part of my mission was to rid those guards, and rid the freedom fighters of their leaders who were using their members in forming a gang. I set the freedom fighters free, some were now living in Crix's cozy little place by the lake.
It was bloody, I was positive I killed innocents during that year long mission.
The memories flooded back as I stood there—those months hunting down the corrupted Red Guards one by one. Each night, I'd track another traitor who'd sold information or betrayed our tribe. My blade made quick work of them, earning me the name "Red Shadow" for the crimson trails I left behind.
The final night was the worst. I'd cornered the last group of corrupt guards in their hideout, which doubled as a meeting place for the so-called freedom fighters. I didn't hesitate—couldn't afford to. I cut through them methodically, bodies dropping as I moved from room to room.
When I reached their leader—a towering figure with tribal marks of the northern clans—he was waiting. Unlike the others, he knew how to fight. His blade caught me across the face, slicing deep enough to tear away the artificial skin grafts my adopted fathers had applied years ago.
As blood poured down my face, the leader stared in shock. "You're not Nim," he'd whispered, recognizing my true features beneath the reconstruction.
"No," I'd answered, driving my blade through his chest. "I'm the one who protects him."
I'd stumbled from that place, my face half-restored to its original form, no longer the perfect mirror of Nim. It took months of recovery and additional procedures to remake the mask I wore to this day.
But in those bloody moments, my secret had been exposed. I wasn't Nim's twin—I was his engineered guardian, designed to be sacrificed if necessary. I had fulfilled my purpose, but at the cost of knowing I'd likely killed those who might have been innocent alongside the guilty.
So now I'm faced with one of the remnants of my past.
CG's face twisted with confusion and anger. He knew, and his crew knew, what was being unsaid. "You expect us to believe that? The leader of the red guard didn't looked like you!"
Ah, so those who survived to tell the tale knew what happened.
Clit nodded. "I was there. Simrod dedicated himself to the cause, sacrificed much to protect the heir and uphold peace."
Murders of disbelief and awe rippled through the crowd. The narratives they'd held onto were unraveling before their eyes.
Brynn approached cautiously, her gaze searching mine. "Sim?"
I met her eyes, vulnerability creeping in. "There were... things I hoped to leave behind. I didn't want my past to define who I am now."
Nim stepped beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Sim has always acted for the greater good, often at great personal cost."
CG looked between us, his hostility fading into uncertainty. "Then... all those missions..."
It wasn't exactly a secret that I had more missions than Nim. After all, I was the "spare" royal heir.
"Were to prevent greater bloodshed," I finished. "I won't pretend my hands are clean, but I did what I believed was right."
A heavy silence settled. The mercenaries shifted uncomfortably, their convictions shaken.
Finally, CG sighed heavily. "Perhaps we've been misled."
I nodded. "We all have ghosts. But right now, we share a common goal."
CG looked at me for a long time, hoping to find any malice or signs of lies. But he won't find any.
Finally, he extended a tentative hand. "Truce?"
I considered for a moment before clasping his forearm. "Truce."
Relief seemed to ripple through the camp. Conversations resumed, albeit with a new undercurrent of respect.
Brynn took my hand, squeezing gently. "Thank you," she whispered.
I offered a small smile. "For what?"
"For trusting us," she replied.
