29 king of ashes.

Damian found her leaning over a railing, staring down at the city.

The cold night breeze whipped her red hair back, revealing a stoic face wrinkled in consternation. She hadn't realized he was there yet, and she was muttering something under her breath—but he figured eavesdropping wasn't nice, so he pretended not to hear.

This particular part of town was rather popular with young couples and tourists, resting on a slight hill as it did. From here, you could see down over the northern suburbs of Rosweiss, and follow the River Rose snaking through the city like an inky ribbon until it flowed into the literal darkness of Tenebrae. 

Clouds were rolling in over the city from the west, threatening rain.

She stood under a lamplight, the Flame-blessed glow enhancing her vibrant hair. 

Despite the deep creases in her face, she still looked as youthful and vibrant as he'd remembered. There were several benches at this observation point, but the pair of them were alone. It wasn't terribly late, perhaps seven o'clock at best, but the onset of winter drove most sensible people inside. The few passersby hurried on, tugging their coats tight against the biting chill.

She wasn't wearing anything to protect against the cold. Evidently, she hadn't stopped to grab anything from the closet before making her break into the freezing weather.

Damian sighed and cursed him.

With a polite clearing of his throat, so as not to startle her, he dropped onto the bench nearest her and leaned forward. The dark hood drawn over his face obscured his hair and features, while the thick cloak—now pleasantly dry—kept the breeze at bay.

"The city's beautiful at night, isn't it?"

He asked as though he was making small talk with a stranger. In a manner of speaking, he was. 

The red-haired woman glanced at him briefly, her blue eyes flicking up and down, appraising him in a single instant. 

Exactly how I remember you.

"I suppose."

Her reply was suitably standoff-ish, but he hadn't expected the conversation to come naturally. He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his inner breast pocket, then glanced up at her.

"Do you mind?"

"Be my guest."

"Thanks. It's been a long day."

Damian lit the cigarette with the tip of his finger, and took a long, pleasurable drag. Every time was like the first—as though he'd been sleeping and only now woken up. He exhaled, smoke twirling towards the starless sky.

"Something on your mind?" he asked, taking another drag. When she looked at him askance, he gave a small shrug and added, "Never hurts to get things off your chest."

She turned her gaze back towards the city. Neither spoke again for a long moment, and it seemed like she might just walk away and fade into the night once more. Just when Damian thought he might be condemned to see her retreating back for the last time again—she spoke.

Her voice was quiet and hesitant, and far softer than he'd remembered.

"I…lost…someone today. Someone I should have protected. Someone I was supposed to protect."

The gentle breeze caught her words and stole them away, but Damian heard her all the same. He held the cigarette between his fingers, ash falling to his feet.

"How's that make you feel?"

"Like shit. Worse than shit. Like I'm useless."

Frustration mixed with sorrow in her voice. She was gripping the railing, her knuckles turning white. Her jaw was clenched tight, and she forced the next words out as though they physically hurt.

"Why bother sparing me if I can't pay it forward?"

Her words were meaningless to a stranger, but Damian understood her. He took another drag on his cigarette, considering his words carefully—more carefully than he had years ago.

"A life for a life? Sounds too narrow-minded to me."

"Excuse me?" 

She rounded on him, her eyes blazing brightly. 

Damian let out a low chuckle. Of course, it wouldn't make much sense to her. To her, he was just a stranger in the darkness, a man smoking a cigarette on a bench, offering his ear to her troubles and unsolicited advice in return.

He waved his right hand, the cigarette tip leaving behind a trail of ash and smoke.

"Forgive me, that was harsh. I meant that there's more we accomplish in our lives than simply trading them away. If you took the place of the one you lost today, your debt would be repaid, but you could lose someone else tomorrow without knowing it. And what good would that do? You'd still have failed in the long run."

She opened her mouth to argue but stopped. With a loud huff, she leaned back against the railing and folded her arms defensively.

"And what the hell do you know about me anyway?"

Her penetrating gaze burned into his face, her brows furrowing in confusion.

Guess it's time to get moving.

Damian dropped the cigarette and ground out the tip beneath his heel.

"I am just a king of ashes. Nobody important, really." 

His knees creaked as he stood. With his left hand—the one bearing the flaming ruby of the Roswald lineage—he pushed back his hood.

Her mouth fell open in shock. Her left hand twitched, perhaps readying an invocation. But he still had an overwhelming advantage against her. After all, she was nothing but the Captain of the Flameguard—barely an insect compared to the power of an Angel.

"I'm sorry, Lynn."

Damian slammed a clenched fist into her stomach, driving the wind from her lungs; with his other hand, he sent a burst of Cinders through her spinal cord. Not enough to kill her, but enough to disrupt the natural circuitry of the Flame in her body.

With a slight groan, she slumped forward into his grasp, unconscious. 

Gently, he laid her down on the bench. He pulled off his coat and laid it over her, lingering a moment longer to observe her sleeping face.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

Damian looked down the street. An uneasy feeling had settled into the pit of his stomach—a feeling that he was running out of time. He set off at a brisk walk that turned into a jog, and then a sprint.

He couldn't be late to his own murder.