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“Orpheus, you of all people don’t get to sit this thing out! You’re part of it! More than any of us, you owe—”

Owe?

“—Enough!” From a nearby tree, two birds darted from their branches, swooping away towards the pasture where Nightmare grazed.

Red stood stiff, lips pressed tight, brows drawn so close together a wrinkle had formed between her dark eyes.

When Orpheus spoke, his voice was quiet. Firm. “I refuse to be used as a political pawn. I’ve spent my life being manipulated and now that I am free I will never allow that to happen again. I don’t want to be a symbol. I don’t want to help build some new world order. I want to live the rest of my life with the man I love and maybe” —he cut off, words stuck in his throat, what he wanted to say intangible despite how clearly he understood how he felt— “maybe saving the world wasn’t enough to make up for what I’ve done, but I won’t live in guilt. I won’t allow others to use that guilt against me. I won’t.”

Heat stung his eyes, flared across his face. Anger didn’t always make him cry but Orpheus recognized the corner he’d been backed into. That Red was the reason hit harder than it ought. He understood her argument. Knew where her mind was and where her plans were headed, and he couldn’t honestly accuse her of using him like Lore had. Red’s intentions were good, but that didn’t mean Orpheus had to play a part. Not if he didn’t want to. Not when he had already sacrificed so much for a second chance.

“I paid for my mistakes. I paid more than enough.”

Red remained silent when Orpheus swept past her. She didn’t call out or chase after him when he stalked up the steep incline of the hill towards the congested fairgrounds. He plunged into the crowd despite the shiver of discomfort. Lost himself to the bustle of people here to watch the man he loved ascend a throne Orpheus had helped create, to forge a future he had ensured existed for them at all.

And he’d never regretted anything more in his entire hells-damned life.

Chapter IV

The Fairgrounds

Amongst the rabble of the fairgrounds, Orpheus fought the urge to flee.

He’d thought it’d help, losing himself to the crowd. Instead, he stood at the center of a chaos he couldn’t contain, powerless to stop the thousands of people who had come here to lay claim to something he hadn’t known he’d wanted and now couldn't bear to give up. They cavorted through a maze of color and sound, voices rising and falling, a racket that put the buzzing inside his head to shame.

Like a city of flags, the fairgrounds stood tall. Colorful tents were stitched together in a rainbow of blues and oranges and yellows and greens, the current of the crowd sweeping him into a maze of sights and smells and the occasional stench. All around, people laughed and shouted, fathers carrying children on their shoulders while shoppers paused at stalls to browse every kind of anything for sale or trade. Shoes, shirts, hair combs and knives—one person was selling firearms while another the kind of swords he’d only seen in storybooks.

Even the scent of animal hung strong. Cages of baby bunnies and kittens and dogs were crowded by equally young children, giggles warring with sobs each time a parent had to tell them, ‘No we can’t bring the bunny home. Yes, we can come back to pet it again later’—doing little more than sending their child into a tear-soaked death spiral.

But Orpheus didn’t miss the signs that not all was cogent. Raised voices turned to angry shouts when a deal went wrong, or an outright fight started. Tension crested and flowed in waves, crashing through the noise to batter at Orpheus’ edges, his natural nervousness harrowed to the point of affliction when a child tore across his path and made him trip.

“Watch it!” he snarled, a second before a big man barreled into his shoulder.

His heart leaped into his throat, fingers coming together to snap before he realized the man wasn’t attacking him—he was chasing the child.

“Thief!” he bellowed, shoving past Orpheus in the direction the boy went. “Get back here, thief!” The vendor disappeared into the milling bodies while the crowd closed in as if nothing was amiss.

This is what we saved? Orpheus hung his head, allowing the crowd to sweep him up and funnel him towards a destination unknown. These are the people I gave everything up for?

It wasn’t a fair thought, but it also wasn’t entirely unfounded. Orpheus had seen the kind of people the Empire harbored. Not all were bad, but when the literal world they fought to survive within had been trying to kill them for generations, it left little room for kindness, generosity, or compassion. These were learned skills that came out of a support system, one the Empire was only now discovering.

That’s how Fenrir can help. Even if Orpheus would rather he didn't. Even if, in his selfishness, he wanted to keep all those things about Fenrir for himself. Too late for that.

His teeth were grinding by the time the crowd’s current began to hemorrhage and Orpheus discovered himself deposited within a large open area of wooden banquet tables surrounded by a thousand grabbing hands.

Food overflowed in abundance, tables stacked with platters of what Orpheus recognized as Vera’s contributions. Crusty breads sat beside saucers of herb butter, honeycomb, and jam. Where cured meats were pre-sliced and arranged in clean lines, olives and dates and dried peaches acted as a colorful frame. And then there were the sweet cakes. Little palm-sized pastries stuffed with fruits and cheeses, some powdered with sugar while others were lacquered with seeds. Peanut butter plopped atop plates stacked with the freshest harvest, strawberries standing out bright, rhubarb a deeper shade but no less popular.

It was more food than Orpheus had seen in his life. An over-abundance that set his stomach to growl at the same time it made him feel sick. Hands grabbed what they could without heed of the mess they made. Plates dripped and bowls spilled as what had once been a meticulously built display became a battleground.

And something about that didn’t settle right. This voracious hunger revealed far more than the emptiness of a person’s stomach. The embedded need to take was a nature not easily broken. Orpheus knew because he’d nurtured similar impulses his whole life, though never to this level.

This is what they do, rose from the shadows of his thoughts. In all ways, this is their nature.

His breath had thinned by the time he broke free of the crowd.

Two blue-coated guards glanced his way but didn’t stop him when he stepped over the rope fencing that separated the fairgrounds from a private staging area currently being used to store additional crates of foodstuffs. A few guards patrolled the stacks, others stationed at the perimeter, though not so many to really call the area under guard. They all ignored him, Orpheus breathing better now that he wasn’t blocked in by what seemed to be every person who called the hells-damned Empire home, here to lay claim to the man he loved without consideration for what that meant to him.

They’re going to tear us apart, he thought desperately, stalking past a stack of crates filled with live chickens, their chuckle a laugh that followed him long after he’d left the storage area behind. They’re going to take him for themselves, just like that food.