CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Redemption
Dawn had barely begun to stretch its golden fingers across the horizon when Milani took up the basket of oranges she had brought home the night before and slipped out the door. The dim candlelight flickered weakly, offering just enough glow for Blade to see her silhouette move through the room.
He had been awake for a while now, his gaze tracking her as she tended to Lenora—bathing her, dressing her, then meticulously washing the oranges before sweeping away the remnants of the night. Silent, methodical, distant.
She hadn’t spoken to him in two days.
Milani had never ignored him for this long before. Usually, he was the one shutting her out, not the other way around.
Blade wasn’t the kind of man who argued, especially not with women. But when it came to Milani, he lost all sense of restraint. He never intended to spar with her, yet he always found himself meeting her fire with his own. She had a way of needling him like no one else—not even Elder Hans at his most exasperating, not even his godfather in all his years of discipline.
A sudden crash broke through the stillness, followed by a tumbling clatter.
He was on his feet in an instant, already knowing what had happened before he saw it.
Milani lay sprawled at the foot of the steps, her basket overturned, oranges rolling wildly across the dirt like mischievous children at play. Lenora, still strapped to her back, remained blissfully asleep, unaware of the disaster.
Blade stood there, caught between amusement and concern. She groaned, struggling upright, adjusting the baby on her back as she made a valiant effort to collect the scattered fruit. But when she stepped forward, she faltered, her breath catching in a sharp hiss of pain.
She had twisted her ankle.
The irritation on her face was comical—Milani was always composed, always fierce. Watching her now, disheveled and frustrated, was a rare sight indeed.
He considered letting her suffer through it for the sake of pride but decided against it. If nothing else, this was a chance to extend an unspoken olive branch.
He crouched to pick up an orange just as she reached for the same one. Their hands brushed.
Her gaze snapped up to meet his, cool and unimpressed. With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, she wordlessly turned to another orange instead.
Undeterred, Blade scooped up the remaining fruit in swift, effortless movements, dropping them into the basket before she could grab more than a few. She huffed, lifting the now-full basket, and turned toward the gate without so much as a thank you.
Then, suddenly, she stopped.
The weight of the basket bore down on her injured shoulder, forcing her to drop it with a heavy thud.
Blade moved before he could think. His hand was on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”
She shrugged him off immediately. “Not like you care.”
The venom in her voice didn’t faze him. If anything, it amused him.
She hefted the basket once more, limping toward the gate. But he stepped in her way, arms outstretched, blocking her path.
She moved left. He followed.
She veered right. So did he.
Her patience snapped. “What game are you playing this morning, Blade? Do I look like I’m in the mood for this?”
“You’re injured,” he said simply. “Let me help.”
She scoffed. “If I dropped dead right now, you wouldn’t even flinch. So why the sudden concern?”
Ignoring the jab, he gestured toward Lenora. “At least hand her over. Carrying her will only make your ankle worse, especially with that basket.”
“I don’t need your help.”
Blade sighed. She was impossible.
Without warning, he stepped forward, fingers swiftly untying the cloth that secured Lenora to her back. In a heartbeat, he caught the sleeping child, cradling her in his arms before Milani could even react.
The cloth fluttered to the ground. Lenora stirred slightly but didn’t wake.
Milani’s glare turned sharp. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re straining your injury.”
He smirked. “Oh, so now you’re worried about me?”
She ignored the comment, reaching for Lenora, but he shifted back. “It’s daybreak. Sleep’s over.” He gave the child a small shake, coaxing her awake.
Milani crossed her arms. “Blade, she’s a child, not a soldier. Let her sleep.”
“She’s almost six,” he countered. “She should learn to wake up early.”
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Oh, I see. Is this your way of keeping her from me? Do you think I’d run off with her?”
The accusation left him speechless.
Milani read his silence as confirmation. Huffing, she picked up the basket again, muttering as she turned away.
Blade exhaled. “I’m sorry.”
She halted mid-step.
“I know what you did for me. Lenora told me.” His voice was quieter this time. “I was ungrateful. I shouldn’t have been.”
Milani turned slightly, one brow arched. “And?”
He frowned. “And… what?”
She pivoted fully now, folding her arms. “Is that all you’re apologizing for?”
“…Yes?”
She scoffed. “Typical.” Then, with all the gravity of someone delivering a divine decree, she declared, “You also need to apologize for being arrogant, insufferable, frustrating, needlessly annoying, a complete snob, and—let’s not forget—unbelievably misogynistic.”
Blade blinked. “…Wow. That’s impressive. I didn’t know I was that talented.”
His amused chuckle only fueled her exasperation.
Before she could retort, Lenora swayed on her feet, nearly collapsing if not for Blade’s steady grip on her hand.
The little girl was sleepwalking at this point. With a sigh, he scooped her up, adjusting her weight against his shoulder so she could rest more comfortably.
Milani watched him for a moment, something softer flickering in her expression. “You and Lenora seem to have bonded while I was gone.”
Blade sighed. “It wasn’t easy. I promise you that.”
Neither of them spoke as they resumed walking.
Blade reached for one handle of the basket. Milani instinctively took the other.
They carried it together, moving in unspoken sync toward the gate.
From a distance, anyone watching would have mistaken them for a couple.
And perhaps, in some strange, unspoken way, time and distance had done their work—had softened the rough edges, had blurred the lines of resentment.
Because if absence made the heart grow fonder, perhaps even theirs was not immune.
____________________________________________✍
Blade sat at the entrance of the house, his gaze fixed on the brooding sky. The wind howled through the trees, sending leaves rustling in an eerie rhythm only he could decipher. The night was young, the yard swallowed in darkness. The flickering oil lamp inside the house cast a faint glow, but it barely reached the threshold where he sat.
It was the festive season again. Christmas—the name Christians gave it. The only time he had ever heard of the holiday was during his fourteenth mission, when his target had been a priest. A man who had once been a rapist.
He could still hear the priest’s voice ringing through the grand cathedral, calling his congregation to repentance, his tone thick with conviction. “It is unholy to serve the Lord with impure hands,” the priest had declared, leading his followers to confess their sins. Yet, he had also warned them of karma—that it came for sinners, anytime, anywhere, in any form.
Blade had ensured that karma arrived that very night.
Disguised as an usher, he had stationed himself at the entrance of the church. One shot. A clean bullet through the skull. The priest collapsed before his congregation, his life snuffed out in less than a minute.
The mission was a success. Yet, something had lingered. A weight. Christmas—this so-called holy day—had forever been stained with blood in his memory. If there was a kingdom of God, he knew he would never belong in it. He was a killer, a man with blood-soaked hands. And if he had one skill, it was delivering judgment upon those who had once been sinners—men who had turned away from their past lives, only to be hunted down at the peak of their redemption. The Robes never took uncertain contracts. Every mission was a sure job. A job that could not fail. And Blade had never failed.
A voice sliced through his thoughts like a blade through silk.
“What are you doing?”
He turned his head toward the speaker.
“Nothing,” he dismissed. “Just thinking.”
“Your posture says otherwise,” Milani observed, lowering herself onto the step beside him.
Blade sighed, tilting his head back to the sky. Heavy clouds loomed, shifting into dark, amorphous shapes. The air was sharp with the promise of something unseen.
“I think it’s going to snow,” he murmured, “Considering the terrain, winter happens once every hundred years”
Milani’s eyes widened. “Snow? I’ve never seen snow before.”
Blade arched a brow. “Never?”
She shook her head. “It never snowed back in the city.”
“Then how do you know it exists?”
“My sister told me about it. Every time she returned from missions, she’d bring back melting ice and describe how it covered everything like a white shroud.” A soft smile touched her lips before her gaze drifted back to him. “I also remember it never snowed at the Citadel. And the Citadel isn’t that far from the city…”
Blade gave a slight nod. “It never has. But I’ve seen snow plenty of times. My missions took me far enough.”
“I bet you have a lot of stories from those missions,” she mused.
“You’re not wrong,” he admitted. “In fact, there’s one I remember well. It happened exactly four years ago. On Christmas day.”
Milani’s brows furrowed. “What’s Christmas day?”
“It’s the day Christians believe their Christ was born.”
“Christ?”
“The Son of the Living God,” he explained.
Her confusion deepened. “A god actually exists?”
Blade groaned, rubbing his temples. He could see her curiosity was endless. Against his better judgment, he indulged her.
“That’s not the point, Milani. Christians believe their God sent his only Son to die for them, to take away their sins. They call him Jesus. According to their holy book, the Bible, he was born on Christmas day, so they celebrate December 25 in his name.”
Milani tilted her head. “Why would someone sacrifice their only son for humans?”
Blade exhaled sharply. “I don’t know. I’m not a Christian. I don’t care. It’s a religion—an interesting one, but not for people like us. Not for those with blood on their hands.”
“So he would reject us?” she asked quietly.
“You’re missing the point!” he snapped, frustrated. “The point is, I killed a priest on Christmas day. Right in front of his congregation.”
Milani blinked. “What’s a priest?”
Blade nearly tore at his hair. “A religious leader. Someone who delivers prayers to God.”
She fell silent, but he could tell she had more questions. Thousands, perhaps. For once, she held them back.
The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy. After a moment, Blade spoke again, his voice quieter, more measured.
“That night, you asked me if a god really exists.”
She nodded so violently he almost flinched.
“I’ve heard people call him just. They say he answers prayers.” His voice cracked slightly. “But tell me, Milani… do you think a God like that would listen to people like us?”
Milani didn’t answer. Instead, she shifted closer, resting her head against his shoulder. Her heartbeat was steady, but her breathing wavered.
“I was wondering…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Could we have turned out differently? If we weren’t raised like this? If we weren’t buried so deep in this life, could we still have been… saved?”
A sharp ache lanced through her chest. Tears burned at the edges of her eyes.
The night pressed in around them, thick with unspoken questions. Neither of them had ever dared to peer too deeply into the abyss of their past. But now, it was as if they had opened a door, they could never close.
Redemption.
Was it real?
Could it exist for people like them?
