i can't save the world if i'm not happy anymore.

Ashe clenched her jaw. No, she didn’t believe him, why the fuck should she believe him? S.W., carved into a black shafted arrow - always the showman, Silver Wing. What she wasn’t understanding is why was he here? Why did it matter, why bother? Master was dead. The Guild was dead. Northwind was gone, everything was gone. The Assassin in Blue might as well have been gone - she felt like she should be. Felt the blackness at her back, calling her in. She didn’t take her eyes from his face, couldn’t if she wanted to. She hated the deep familiarity, and every moment of looking at him had her plunging further into the depths of everything she worked so hard to bury. Run. Run, run, run. She couldn't kill him, couldn't manage it, knew she never could, so all she could do was run, wasn't it? Never played any mind games with her, never lied to her - gods, he was relentless. He was always relentless, the insufferable prick, and she just wanted this to be over. Why now, of all times? Why here? Waiting until after she broke herself down into whatever it was she was now, waiting until she drove away her family, this family she had tried so hard to build… she had tried so hard to be something else, to be something more than the twisted husk that came slinking through that first portal. Master had seen to it that every time she was finally at the peak of some sort of happiness, he knocked her back down to her knees. Seemed that Silver Wing wasn't waiting for her to be happy, he didn't need to. She crushed it all, drove away Alistair, all on her own. So here he was swooping in with a flimsy story to try and.. what? ”I was following you.” That was interesting. Her lip feathered, and then he was moving forward - towards her. Every muscle coiled, and she took a step back as he approached, her heart thundering through her. The contract she had nearly botched.. her ears nearly started ringing as she recalled the consequences they both had suffered for her mistakes. This was a ploy. It was another one of his pieces on the board, this story, moving it forward to get in close and make the opening. Likely to kill her, retribution after she left him for dead in the king's dungeons. Her eyes blazed as he went on - of course she remembered, how could she forget to final contract the Assassin in Blue ever accepted? She remembered swiping that duck from the kitchens, right under the noses of her targets. Anyone of the seniors could have been keeping tabs. Anyone could have told him that. She nearly scoffed, nearly rolled her eyes. The reports on how she eliminated her targets were easy to find… and something terrible twisted in her gut. Very few understood her brutality, her cold and merciless kills. She didn't talk about her life before, not freely, not in a way that allowed anyone to understand, she didn't want them to. She glossed over the details, told only what she needed to. To have it pulled from her memory by Silver Wing, her former teacher… Ashe flexed a hand as a rogue crackle of lightning shot up her arm. He could have gotten the report she had given without effort. He hadn't been with her. He hadn't. Gods, why was she even listening? She shouldn't. Cut him down or run, and she knew which she would pick. If she shifted now, she could get enough of a head start. She didn't. How long had it been since she'd seen this face she was never supposed to see again? Heard his voice? Pathetic. Then he reached for her. The world stopped for a moment, and then calloused fingers brushed her arm, and every nerve ignited at once. Her breath cracked from her chest at the contact, and lightning burst outwards, flaring along her skin and wildly into the air - but while his touch was soft, it was firm, and she froze before she could flinch away. Still, everything in her tensed, roaring at her to run... but the painting. That fucking painting of the mountains and water and swaths of pine forests that had reminded her so deeply of home, where she had been born, before she lost her mother, the farm, and left for the capital. Would any other assassin but him care to remember such an absurd detail? That she had sat on the floor and stared at a painting for the better part of that night? Ashe shuddered, her heart stumbling, and she moved back, out if his reach, leaving the ghost of his hand on her arms. No. He couldn't have been there. He hadn't. He'd killed her father while she was way, worked with Master to hide it from her and make her think her father had left her. ”No,” she hissed allowed, staring with sharp eyes up at him, eyes that were now lined in silver. ”No,” she said again, her voice trembling through clenched teeth. Breath was hard to maintain now. ”You weren't there, you weren't there, silver!” He couldn't be. He couldn't have been there, because if he was telling the truth? No, it had been him, he had crushed them, crushed her. If he had been with her on her final job… then that would mean she had … she had … How many lives have you destroyed, Ashetta? How many more before your heart gives out? The assassin took another step back, and lightning was snapping and hissing wildly from her now. He was right there. Right there. Her head was shaking. Jasper. MJ. Alistair. Gods, Alistair… How deeply did he hate her? She trembled as she looked upon Silver Wing, and she wondered how much he hated her. Enough to kill her father, he had to. But the painting… ”But I never, never betrayed you.” No, no, no, no, no! It wasn't true, wasn't possible. Her teeth clenched and her magic continued on, agitated and raw. ”And if you knew all of this,” she snarled. ”Why didn't you tell me before I left, silver? Why the fuck wouldn't you tell me all this back then if it were true?” Her hands trembled. It wasn't true, godsfucking damnit, it wasn't true! Kalt ashetta it's live or die my way.