The tenth whisper;The beast that eat the memories.

Blood on the Steel

"You were supposed to be the one man I could trust," Ethan said, his voice raw as he stood in the doorway, blood still drying on his hands.

Marcus looked up from the small table, lantern light catching the edge of the sword he was sharpening. The scrape of stone on steel filled the cramped room. "Ethan. Boy. You made it. I thought the scouts would have you by now."

Ethan stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him. His body ached from the sewers, the run through back alleys. Marcus's place smelled of oil and old leather, same as always. "I had nowhere else. After what happened... you're the only one who knows about the beast. You taught me to fight it. To control it."

Marcus set the whetstone down slow. His eyes flicked to the window, then back. "Sit. You look half dead. How bad is the wound?"

"Bad enough," Ethan muttered, dropping into the chair across from him. He winced as he pressed a rag to his side. "It won't stop bleeding. Umbra... it keeps whispering. Old stuff. Wars. But I need you, Marcus. Tell me how to fix this."

"You can't fix it," Marcus said quietly. He picked up the blade again, testing its edge with his thumb. A thin line of blood welled up. "The whole kingdom's looking for you. Big bounty. Enough to change a man's life."

Ethan froze. "What are you saying? You've got food here. A bed. I just need a few hours to think."

Marcus laughed, low and tired. "Think? Boy, thinking got you here. That thing inside you killed people. Good people maybe. You come to me covered in blood and expect me to play hero?"

"I didn't mean for any of it," Ethan snapped, leaning forward. His heart hammered. "It took over. You remember the training. You said the sword was for balance. For keeping the monster back."

"Yeah, I remember," Marcus replied, his voice hardening. "I taught you stance. Grip. How to swing true. But this? This is bigger than swordplay. Scouts are coming at dawn. They pay well for monsters."

Ethan's stomach dropped. He stared at the older man, the one who'd patched his scraped knees as a kid. "You're lying. You wouldn't. Not you."

Marcus stood, blade loose in his hand. "Wouldn't I? Look at you. Shaking. Eyes wild. That thing's eating you alive. Turning you into something I don't know. The coin they offer... it could save my shop. My family. What do you have left to offer?"

"Family?" Ethan's voice cracked. He pushed up from the chair, backing toward the wall. "I was your family. You said that after Dad died. You trained me because you cared."

"I did care," Marcus said, stepping closer. The steel gleamed. "But caring don't feed mouths when the empire knocks. They know you're here. I sent the signal. Hoped you'd sleep through it."

Ethan's breath caught. The room spun a little. "You... you betrayed me. While I slept? I trusted you with everything."

*He lies like the old kings,* Umbra whispered in his head. *Steel waits for blood.*

"Shut up," Ethan hissed, but it was to both of them. He looked at Marcus, eyes burning. "How long? How long have you been waiting with that blade?"

"Long enough," Marcus admitted, shrugging. His face stayed calm, but his grip tightened. "You dropped like a stone when you hit the cot. Snoring. I thought about it then. One quick cut. Cleaner for everyone. But I waited. Wanted to see if you'd wake up different. Stronger."

"Different?" Ethan laughed, bitter and broken. Tears stung his eyes. "You were supposed to help me fight it. Not sell me out. I killed for the first time because of this thing, and now you want to finish me?"

Marcus raised the sword a fraction. "It's not personal, kid. The beast makes you dangerous. Kingdom needs you gone. I need the gold. Simple."

"Simple?" Ethan shouted, voice echoing off the walls. He grabbed a chair leg, holding it like a club. "I looked up to you. You taught me honor. The sword isn't just for killing. Remember? You said it was for protecting."

"Protecting my own," Marcus shot back, advancing slow. "You're not my own anymore. That thing inside changed you. I see it in your eyes. Cold. Like you already crossed the line."

Ethan circled, keeping the table between them. His side screamed with pain. "I crossed it defending myself. Now you're forcing me again. Don't do this. Please. We can run together. Figure it out."

"Run?" Marcus sneered, but there was sadness in it. "I'm too old for running. Bounty hunters don't quit. You killed tonight, didn't you? Felt it? That power. Don't lie to me, boy."

"Yeah, I felt it," Ethan admitted, voice trembling. "And I hate it. I hate what it's turning me into. But I won't let you hand me over. Not you."

Marcus lunged then, faster than his age should allow. Steel whistled. Ethan dodged, chair leg cracking against the blade. The impact jarred his arms.

"Stop fighting it," Marcus growled, pressing the attack. "Let them take you. End this clean."

"Clean?" Ethan yelled, swinging wild. Wood splintered near Marcus's shoulder. "You call this clean? Stabbing your student in his sleep?"

Marcus parried, driving Ethan back toward the corner. "Better than what they'll do. They got silver chains. Cages. You think I want that for you?"

"Then why?" Ethan demanded, breath ragged. He feinted left, then smashed the chair leg into Marcus's wrist. The sword clattered but Marcus grabbed it again quick.

"Money," Marcus said simply. "Survival. You wouldn't understand. Not yet."

"I understand plenty," Ethan whispered. He dropped the broken wood and closed the distance, hands grabbing for the blade. They struggled, faces inches apart. Sweat and blood mixed. "I understand trust is dead. You taught me that tonight."

Marcus headbutted him, splitting Ethan's lip. "Good. Learn fast. The world's not for nobles anymore."

They crashed into the table. Lantern tipped. Shadows danced wild. Ethan got a hand on the sword hilt, twisting. Pain exploded in his side as Marcus kneed him.

"You were my hero," Ethan gasped, tears flowing free now. "I wanted to be like you."

"Like me?" Marcus laughed through gritted teeth, trying to wrench the blade free. "I'm just a man. Hungry. Scared. Same as you."

"No," Ethan said, voice breaking. "Not the same."

In the struggle, the sword turned. Ethan felt it sink in. Warm blood spilled over his fingers. Marcus's eyes widened.

"Damn," Marcus breathed, slumping. "You... did it. Finally."

Ethan caught him as he fell, lowering him to the floor. "Why? Why make me?"

Marcus coughed, blood on his lips. "Because... you needed the push. Survivor now. Not victim. I... I taught you that too."

Ethan pressed hands to the wound, useless. "Don't die. Please. I didn't want this."

"Too late," Marcus whispered, eyes glazing. "No safe places left. Run... boy. Alone."

The room went quiet except for Ethan's sobs. He sat back, staring at the blood on his hands. Marcus's chest stilled.

*Necessary,* Umbra murmured. *He chose the blade.*

"Shut up," Ethan choked out. "I killed him. My mentor. The one person..."

He stood slow, legs shaking. The body looked small now. Just a man. His hands wouldn't stop trembling as he wiped the sword clean on Marcus's shirt.

Outside, distant hooves sounded. Scouts coming. No time.

Ethan grabbed a cloak from the hook, pulling it over his shoulders. He looked around the room one last time. The whetstone. The blood pool spreading.

"No safe harbors," he said to the empty air, voice hollow. "Not in this whole damn kingdom. They're all waiting to sell me out."

He slipped out the back door into the night, the weight of the kill heavy on his soul. The boy who came looking for help was gone. Only the survivor remained, and the road ahead felt endless and dark.