The memory of death froze him to the bone. What was he supposed to do now? Deep within him, the echo of war tried to burst back into his veins. His muscles tensed up but he stayed still. His whole body screamed to pounce on his enemy, to defend himself against the trauma. But his mind fought it back. He resisted the urge to give into the primal instincts they had instilled in him in his youth. It was a different time. A whole lifetime separated them from this moment. A lifetime he had spent running away from the war, the violence, the blood, the nightmares. He had ran too far for too long so he could find peace at last. He wasn’t going to give it up.

“Sorry…” His voice shook as he tried to hide his anxiety as best he could. But it was more an effort to stay polite rather than to pretend everything was fine. “I’m gonna… I need some air. Make yourself at home.” He mumbled before he forced himself to step outside.

He clutched the barrier of his front porch and took a deep breath of cold air in. It was another time, he repeated to himself, desperately trying to remain calm. It was another life. He stared into the white horizon and hoped to drown the anxiety in silence.

He was here, he wasn’t dead. Kafele had not killed Yassine that day but he had killed a big part of who he had been. He had smothered his faith. He had robbed him of his purpose. He had crushed the belief that any of it made sense. Shattered his confidence in himself, in his Chief, in the Gods, in the war… With one swift cut from his blades, that man had cut out the mindless and bloodthirsty soldier from his heart. In a sense, Yassine should’ve been almost be grateful for it. The man he was today had nothing to do with the one he once was. And if their paths had not crossed in this way, maybe things would’ve been very different for him. He surely wouldn’t be there today and probably would’ve died at the hands of someone else as just another nameless casualty of this senseless war.

He tried to convince himself of it. Gratefulness was easier on his nerves than anger or fear. He did not want to think of the man in his living room as his enemy. There was no reason for him to be resentful, not anymore. He had no place for hate in his heart. He tried to set his mind to act normal just as he had moments before and head back in.

But before he could, he was greeted by the horrifying smell of burning flesh and the nauseating sound of sizzling meat. Before he could really process what he was seeing, he promptly turned off the fire from his fireplace in which Kafele had plunged his hands. It was clear that he did not use any magic to shield them from the flames as he recoiled with a whimper of pain. His burned skin ranged from painfully red, yellow and worryingly black. An ominous dark crimson aura slowly started to emanate from the man.

“May I heal you?” Yassine pleaded weakly as he tried to approach him.

Kafele violently slammed him to the ground, his face deformed by a horrible grimace of pain and despair. Despite the burns, his fingers gripped the handle of his axe tighty. Even though Yassine knew he was about to have his throat slashed by the same man he was desperately trying not to view as his enemy, he still refused to let it change his mind. He was not a violent man anymore and if being a careless trusting fool was going to be the end of him was yet to be determined. Seconds passed but nothing happened. Yassine looked up.

Kafele was frozen in place, his axe still raised above his head. His face had lost all emotions and his eyes were covered by a mysterious opaque dark fog. Yassine stared silently and did not dare to move. He was afraid to disturb whatever spell was holding Kafele still and keeping him alive. For a split second, he felt as if someone or something behind Kafele’s clouded eyes were looking at him. Is that…? He thought he recognised it but even still, he wasn’t sure what it was. It had something to do with what he had felt this morning when he was informed of the young Chief’s arrival. They are coming. He had heard even though no one had spoken to him and now he felt observed even though there were no eyes on him. Time seemed to stretch and when the presence finally left and Kafele’s eyes cleared up, he was calm again. He lowered his axe and slowly held out his deformed hands.

It took a second for Yassine to understand that he wanted him to heal them. He was unsure now whether he did so out of concern for Kafele or if he was following some kind of unspoken order. He was almost sure now that someone was observing them from backstage overseeing things and even though that someone had just saved his life, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Yet, he didn’t ask questions he didn’t want the answer to, and instead stayed silent and focused on his healing spell. He knew it was all bigger than him and he really didn’t want to get involved anymore than he had to. Once he was done, he let Kafele’s hands fall back to his sides.

“Coffee? Chocolate? ... Cigarette?” he offered stubbornly as if going back to simpler things could keep them away from the bigger picture.

“I’m cold.” Kafele said.

Yassine frowned. Well of course. Lighting the fire again was out of the question, so instead, he went and fetched a blanket from his bedroom.

“I’ll make us some tea. Or better, a nice grog.” he said as he came back and dropped the heavy blanket on Kafele’s shoulder.

He went back into the kitchen to boil some water and prepare their drinks. Some rhum, honey, cinnamon, a zest of lemon and milk. He filled two big mugs and sat on the ground next to Kafele in front of the empty fireplace. Part of him still wanted to offer some comfort to his guest but he knew he couldn’t say anything useful while knowing nothing of what he was going through. He simply drank his grog in silence and Kafele did the same.

“I like it.” he said in a dead monotone voice.

“Yeah I like it too.”