"That two-faced monstrous ice fox," Rhysandor cursed after getting the full picture of what went down. "Phew! Dodged that disaster!"

Nytherael nodded in agreement. His white moonlight was a wolf in sheepskin. Ilyrien acted kind, weak, and needing protection and care. In fact, he was far from fragile and had bitterness in his heart.

He crammed food in his mouth. Fighting the urge to find a bucket empty it all out. He ate his fill but kept on shoving pieces of meat in his mouth every other minute. Most of it wasn’t even chewed and swallowed as it was.

"Nmph," Rhysandor sighed, "I can’t believe you wrecked your sweet life for someone like him."

Nytherael couldn’t believe it either. Clouded by fleeting feelings of the moment, he failed to differentiate between trash and treasure and ended up losing two halves of his soul.

"You know what this calls for?"

"What, Rhys?"

"A jar of fruit wine."

Rhysandor opened another basket. Inside, there were six jars of wine. He grabbed one and handed it to Nytherael while he took one for himself.

Nytherael appreciated the wine. It was better than eating and could ease his discomforts and allow the rest of his night to go smoothly.

"Thank you."

"Thany you too."

Nytherael raised his eyes in confusion. "For what?"

"I haven’t had a drinking partner in a long time."

"I’m sure that not true. With your personality and kind nature, I figured you had plenty."

"None as comfortable as you. Cheers!"

Nytherael’s face froze stiff. He raised his jar and knocked it gently against Rhysandor’s, "Cheers." He didn’t know how to feel about the honour that Rhysandor gave him.

He chugged a few mouth fulls of the wine. The sweet taste seduced his throat and uncomfortable stomach. He ended up holding the jar close to heart, worried someone might snatch it away.

"It is simply absurd that you gave so much importance to Ilyrien. The idiot pretty much ignored you before you met Aeltharion and Sseraphis. He acted like you had to move heaven to be worthy of a minute of his... an undeserving brat if you ask me."

Rhysandor had pletty curses to let out when Ilyrien was concerned and with reason. The ice fox’s return was the turning factor that triggered all the trouble that followed his life and the dynasty.

"Come, let’s not sour the mood of the night by talking about that cursed existence." He encouraged Nytherael to eat more.

Nytherael grimaced but instantly composed his face and picked up ribs from the basket. They were cooked just right. On normal circumstances, the ribs would have hit his taste buds and left his mouth watery for more.

However, tonight, it felt heavy on his mouth, and swallowing it was like forcing poison down his throat.

He drank more wine to wash down the taste of the ribs that he had grown to loathe. The more he drank, the less of the meat’s taste remained, and relief washed over him.

"I know that everyone is expecting you to fix everything. As your friend I’d like to ask you, do you want to fix things?"

"Yes, yes," Nytherael answered absentmindedly. That was the answer he gave Yiwa the moment he woke up and one he’d repeatedly given every moment since then. But at that point, he didn’t know if he was allowed to have a different answer.

The world viewed him as a monster who ruined their lives, and they saw his return as an answer to fix what’s broken. No one stopped to ask what was there in his heart. They simply gave orders and expected him to be the obedient soldier and march on to fulfil given command.

"Yes, I want to fix everything."

He replied again. Eyes focused on a point on the bed and not focused on it at the same time. He felt afloat like he could drift into nothingness at any given moment.

"Friend," Rhysandor wrapped an arm on his shoulders and pulled him in for a hug. "I can’t begin to understand what you are going through, so I’m going to ask. Are you doing okay?"

The question brought tears to Nytherael’s eyes. "Okay?" He couldn’t remember the meaning of the word. It felt foreign in his mind.

He made one mistake, and yes, it impacted badly on the world, but at the end of the day, he was beastly too. He ached when hurt, bled when wounded, and he cried when broken.

For just one moment, he needed to feel that it was okay to be hurt. To be selfish and focus on his wounds too because how else was he supposed to fix things for others when he was broken beyond repair.

His tears wet Rhysandor’s sleeping tunic. The male didn’t complain or push him away. Instead, he rubbed Nytherael’s back to offer him the comfort and warmth he knew Nytherael needed.

"I’m a sinner," Nytherael admitted.

"We all are sinners, Nythe. None of us are saints. Point me to any beastfolk who claims otherwise, and I’ll prove them wrong."

"Y... you are just saying... saying that because you are my fri...friend."

"It is because I am your friend that I am bring honest. There’s no single soul in Lume and beyond whose hands aren’t stained with sin."

"But... there... sins aren’t as...bad... as mine," he struggled to say through his muffled cries.

"What scale have you used to decide that, huh?"

"It’s true, Rhys."

Rhysandor pressed Nytherael’s head close to his chest and held him tenderly. As though that hug could protect Nytherael from the cruel things the world had to say about him.

"The only truth is that at the moment, your mistakes seem worse than those of others. But, Nythe, that isn’t to say that you are the worst sinner in the world."

"Name someone worse than me!" Nytherael challenged him. He broke free from the hug and searched Rhysandor’s eyes for sincerity.

"Easy," Rhysandor accepted the challenge. "Ilyrien."

Nytherael found himself cracking up. He hadn’t expected his first love to be worse than him in Rhysandor’s eyes. He expected Rhysandor to name someone on death row or a murderous criminal.

"See. I don’t hear you disagree."

"I won’t. He’s the worst."

He joined in, trashing his despicable first love. And surprising, he ended up feeling better after that little laugh.

"He acted like he was the most naive beastfolk, but in fact, he was two-faced." Rhysandor joined in on the fun. "Come on, say horrible things about Ilyrien. You’ll feel better. I promise."

Nytherael raised his eyes, his mind working to come up with something awful about Ilyrien. He thought of ten off the top of his head and involuntarily tensed.

He blinked, lowering his eyes to the ground. Shame washed over his frame and left nothing untouched.

"What does that say about me who loved him?" He asked, biting his lips to prevent more tears from flooding down.

"Nythe, no."

"But it’s true, isn’t it?" He looked up at Rhysandor, pulling down the filters his friend put up to protect him. "He’s horrible, but I... I loved him. And I... I became reckless. Reckless with Aeltharion and Sseraphis in a pathetic attempt to be with him. I did that, not him," admitting the truth shook him.

"Only because he trapped you."

Rhysandor clasped Nytherael’s shaking hands and steadied them with his own. His eyes softened with love and warmth for his hurting friend.

"...I allowed myself to be trapped," he finally allowed himself to admit to the one person he knew wouldn’t judge him.

"Finally, a truth we can agree on!" A bitter voice sounded at the headrest of the bed, startling them.

Nytherael and Rhysandor turned in unison. Their soul left their body for a minute before returning to the person they caught slouching on bed behind them.