Page 117 of Veil of Dust

My machete cuts clean across his forearm. The steel sinks through muscle. Blood sprays out across the dirt. He stumbles backward, almost drops the blade, staggers to catch himself.

He growls, tries to swing again. It’s wild. Desperate.

I duck under it, drive my knee into his ribs. He folds in half with a grunt. I hear something crack. He drops to one knee, coughing hard.

I don’t wait.

One step behind him. A clean pivot. My boot finds solid ground.

I drive the blade into his side.

It goes deep.

He gasps. Sharp. Loud. His body jerks.

Blood pours through his shirt. I feel it coat my hand. He grabs at me, but his fingers slip.

He tries to stay upright. He can’t.

I pull the machete free.

He collapses forward, hands in the dirt, blood soaking into the ground.

It’s over. He just hasn’t admitted it yet.

He shifts, trying to roll. Trying to find some last bit of fight.

I don’t give him space.

I step in again and slam the handle of the blade into his shoulder. He crumples, face to the side, one eye open, unfocused.

“You don’t get to stand again,” I say.

He doesn’t answer. Just breathes—short, shallow, shaky.

His knife is gone now. Lost in the mud.

The fire behind me cracks again, a low snap that sends a gust of heat across my back. The smoke drifts sideways, pulling between us.

He’s staring up at the trees now. Breathing slower. Waiting for something that isn’t coming.

You thought this place would save you.

It saved me.

I lean close, voice low. “No more wolves.”

He doesn’t respond. Can’t.

I step over him. Keep walking.

This is for you, Tiziano.

I think of your voice, the way it calmed the room. The way you fought when no one asked you to. The way you looked at me like I was already enough.

You burned for this.

I’m finishing it.

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