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The shadow of Scar’s shop covered him. Moonlight reflected off the copper, right into his eyes. Grian could almost see Scar’s familiar shadow atop the mountain.
He hissed, turning back to look at the stone roof of his new home. Well, it was more Joel’s home. After all, he’d built it. These stone, grassy walls weren’t his type. He liked softer colors. Heights, and—
And people.
Grian loved people, and maybe that was why it always went wrong. Maybe, he never should have trusted Impulse, or Mumbo, or Martyn, or Jimmy.
He should have decided to be alone this time around. Should have known better than to trust other people.
Still, though… he missed it. The walls of wood and stone, still healing from the fire. The smiles and the laughs. The half-hidden sugarcane farm. He missed the sight of those greens and yellows. He knew they were waiting for him. Waiting for him to magically get another life.
They were waiting for a man who could never return.
Though… there was a second home. One he’d almost forgotten about.
A lonely desert made for two. A llama. Her soft fur matted with sand and blood. Walls of cacti and a river of lava. A beautiful home. A beautiful grave.
Joel laughed beside him. He sounded… happy. Grian wondered how long it would take for him to be in the same boat. So lonely— so broken— that the thought of an ally would make him giddy. That the idea of a friend wouldn’t shatter him.
Someday, the promise of friendship would hold him together. It would be the gold poured into broken halves. It would be— you may kill me— closure.
Today, it was the final tipping point.
It was the memory of last time— of his last life. Of a desert, of a home. Of red eyes he could trust. Of a betrayal that hurt worse than the sword in his back.
And, yet,— despite the pain and despite the tears— he came back. He came crawling back to Scar— forgiven him so easily— like an idiot. He wouldn’t be so foolish this time.
Grian knew what Scar was like.
And, yet—
Scar was like fool’s gold. Beautiful and alluring from the outside. With seven lives, he held the world’s currency in a monopoly. With seven lives, he could win anyone's loyalty.
But, the thing about fool’s gold—
(A crooked smile. “And for you, Grian. A full alliance. You can’t kill me, no matter what! And uh… you need to bring me a furry friend.” His eyes, so green, shined with a cool fury. Grian resisted the urge to attack him right there. Tear him down. Teach him a lesson. “Preferably one I can ride.”
Grian gritted his teeth, and refused the offer with shaking hands.)
The thing about fool’s gold was it always looked real. The thing about Scar was he was never real.
Not truly.
“Do you miss him?” Joel’s voice was a relief. It was a curse. Talking to Joel meant he wouldn’t have to think about it anymore— about the Southlands.
“Who?”
Talking to Joel meant he wouldn’t have to think about—
“Scar,” Joel’s voice was soft, barely audible. Red eyes met his, and he resisted the shudder that ran under his skin. An old instinct urged him to run. His body had yet to realize he was red. Hopefully, by morning it would know. Hopefully, he could smile at Joel without feeling like he was one step away from falling off the edge. Now, there would be no sand to cushion his fall. “He was my friend… yours, too.”
What could he say in response to that?
Of course, they were friends. Everyone knew that.
(“The last season is null and void.” He laughed. It hurt too much to watch the devastation spread across Scar’s face, so he didn’t look. “It doesn’t count.”
Scar laughed, just as bitter and just as defeated. “So, you mean, I can’t take you on a llama and ride you around the desert?”
Grian smiled. “Never again.”)
Joel smiled, soft and crooked. The expression was so familiar. Was it the dimples in his cheeks? How he leaned back to look toward the sky?
Was it—
Oh.
(Red eyes, empty threats, and failed traps. Was he talking about Joel or Scar?)
Grian grimaced.
“He was… a good ally. While I had him. He talked enough for both of us. He made deals, and I was there to make sure things went smoothly.” Grian smiled against his will. It was just like Scar to do that. He never changed.
Joel laughed bitterly, his red eyes fixated on the piece of copper on Scar’s house. It was blue, now. Idly, Grian wondered when Scar would wax it again. In the morning? In a week? Or, would he be dead by then? Would it stay blue until the world was destroyed?
I’ll fix it in the morning, Grian promised no one.
“He’s like that,” Grian murmured, soft. He blinked for a second, before he felt Joel staring at him. Shit. “He… he was my best friend.”
Joel hummed in agreement.
“We had this llama. We named her Pizza.” His hand lifted to his throat. A poor mimicry of a familiar comfort. Of Scar’s hands, gentle and warm. “We… lost her.”
The soft heat of his palm began to writhe under his skin. It began to burn every good thing inside of him. Everything Scar hadn’t gotten the first time.
Joel’s eyes stared at him. Uncomprehending. He didn’t know any of this. Only the two of them did. And, Scar hadn’t told anyone.
“The Red Army killed her. She was an innocent animal.”
Joel scoffed, as he ground his hand onto the deepslate roof. “They like to do that.”
His words were filled with venom. With barely repressed rage. He was missing something. Some piece of history that would make the entire story make sense. Their victory, Scar’s betrayal.
If Grian opened his mouth, he would be able to understand.
He stayed silent.
For a few seconds, they listened to the world. To the soft sounds of crickets. Of Scar’s footsteps above them. Of the breathing of the other red-lives.
“What did he do after that?” Joel asked.
“He killed them.” Grian’s voice was soft, almost soundless. There was a sense of numbness, now. Of grief. “He burned Dogwarts to its roots. He killed Ren and Martyn. He got revenge for Pizza.”
Joel’s eyes drifted up toward the top of the mountain. Dread settled in his gut.
“Why didn’t he avenge me, then?” Joel’s voice was steeped in anger— in devastation. “If he cared so much for a llama, then… then why didn’t he care for me?”
Grian opened his lips to give a response. To assure Joel that Scar did care, but… how? How could he do that to him? How could he lie to him like that?
Lie like Scar?
Lie like those red, red eyes staring up at him. A smile, so innocent and pitiable. Murmuring those damning words. Words that made him cave within seconds.
Grian wouldn’t be like Scar. He would be silent.
Though, within a minute, he would cave. To Joel’s broken expression and pleading eyes— pleading for an answer Grian could never give.
“I don’t know.” Grian sighed in defeat. In exhaustion. “I don’t know, Joel.”