I take his arm and guide him toward the cells.
We pass Lila’s cell, and I pause long enough to tell her, “Sit tight. I’ll bring you food as soon as I have him settled in, okay?”
She releases the bars and stumbles back when she catches sight of the Orán.
“Is he—” Her voice breaks off.
“Yes.” I don’t soften it. “Meet Orán. The Plague Caster. Otherwise known as Pestilence.”
She retreats until her knees give out, and she collapses onto the edge of the narrow bed inside her cell.
We continue past the next empty cell. And the next.
Orán peers inside each one, relief flickering briefly across his expression when he finds them vacant. He doesn’t comment.
Neither do I.
I stop at the second-to-last cell, far enough from Lila to give her space. I unlock the door and pull the bars wide.
He steps inside slowly. Then he turns to face me.
Our eyes hold as I close the door behind him. The bars slide into place with a dull, final sound. I secure the lock.
Neither of us speaks. Yet everything between us does.
I turn away, store the key back into my pocket, and head back the way I came.
I need time alone to gather my thoughts. For now, Orán is contained, and the world is safe from him and his righteous judgment. Only time will tell which one of us is truly right in our actions.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Two Souls Worth Saving
Orán
It’s been over an hour since Eridessa left me in the cell. The woman—Lila—called out her hellos at first, trying to draw me into conversation, but I’d been unable to answer. My mouth felt sealed shut. My emotions have never been more chaotic. These feelings for this complicated woman rose faster than I could reconcile, and in a single stroke, she also leveled me with her declaration of intent—one that stands in direct opposition to my mission on this plane.
In some ways, I understand her.
Her resentment is not misplaced. Her desire to see her kind endure—my own race included, however tangled that truth may be—is an honorable instinct. One I share.
But these are not souls with clean slates.
They may be reborn, yes, but they carry histories etched into their essence. They have been weighed before. They have failed before. These are not untested spirits being offered a first chance.
They are murderers. Violators. Those who preyed upon the weak. Some harmed children. Some dismantled lives through fraud or violence. Even the most unblemished among them have, at one time or another, taken advantage of another’s desperation—and they served their time in Hell for those deeds.
That does not mean redemption is impossible.
It means redemption must be earned as this world is meeting its end.
Other realms are waiting to be shaped. New races to shepherd into existence. Heaven itself to protect. God may yet choose to remake this world, but that decision rests with Him alone. The power contained here is too volatile to risk. If it falls into Lucifer’s hands, it will be the ruin of all things.
Eridessa does not understand that.
Nor could I expect her to—not with the fragments of knowledge she’s been given, not with such a short lifetime behind her.
And yet… I cannot dismiss her perspective entirely.
