The walls of the inn closed in around Ana like the relentless hands of her past. She sat hunched at the rickety table, the dim light from a flickering candle casting shadows that danced in mocking mimicry of the ghosts she tried to drown. The small room was a cage, its bars made of memories and regrets, each one more confining than the last. A half-empty flask dangled from her fingers, its contents swirling like the thoughts that churned within her.

She lifted the flask to her lips, the liquor burning a path to the center of her unrest. Her other hand traced the scarred surface of the table, feeling the roughness of old wounds echoed in the lines of her palm. Across from her, Caden sat in silent expectation, his presence a mix of patience and intensity. The candlelight illuminated his earnest expression.

Ana broke the silence, her voice rough like gravel. "I gave the orders. Thought it was the only way." She paused, the words hanging between them like unfinished accusations. "Too many lives lost. And for what?"

Caden leaned in, his gaze never leaving her.

"They called it a massacre," Ana continued, her tone raw and unsteady. She saw the scenes as clearly as if they played before her—the clatter of a sword hitting the ground, the screams that split the night, and the ghost of Ethan falling all over again. "I called it a mistake."

The past bore down on her, heavy as the wooden lid of a coffin. Ana set the flask down hard, the thud a punctuation to her confession and the silence that followed.

She shifted in her chair, the wooden legs scraping against the floor with a sound that grated against the taut fabric of her nerves. The unmade bed loomed in the corner, a reminder of the sleepless nights spent chasing memories through the maze of her mind. The candle flickered, its light weak but persistent, casting fresh shadows that joined the ranks of those already gathered.

Ana watched Caden's reaction, her eyes tracing the line of his brow as it furrowed in concentration. The boy's presence was incongruous in this place of grief and self-reproach, a splash of hope against the dim canvas of her thoughts. His silence was a question, hanging in the air like the smoke from the candle.

Ana’s lips twitched, forming a humorless smile. "You wanted to know," she said, the bitterness in her voice a brittle echo of her pain. "Now you do."

Caden's gaze was unwavering, his young face set with a spirit that made him seem older than his years. "I want to know everything," he replied, his words steady despite the weight they carried.

Ana sighed, the sound filled with the weariness of old wounds torn open anew. She picked up the flask, the liquid inside sloshing like waves against a foundering ship. The sharp tang of the liquor matched the sharpness of her memories, and she swallowed both with practiced familiarity. "Not much more to tell," she said, her tone hollow but resigned. "I gave the orders, and then the orders gave me this." She gestured to the room, the movement encompassing not only her surroundings but her very self—a woman marked by the choices she had made.

The candle guttered, and for a moment it seemed as if the flame would die. But it flared back to life, burning with renewed vigor and throwing Caden's shadow large against the wall. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his posture intent and unguarded. "Ana..." He spoke her name with a mix of compassion and urgency, as if the word itself was a lifeline.

She met his gaze, her expression raw and unfiltered.

Caden continued, his voice gaining strength as he spoke. "You're not the same person you were then. People can change. They can learn from their mistakes." His earnestness was a stark contrast to the cynicism that clung to Ana like a second skin.

"You think you know me, boy?" Her question was almost a challenge, but beneath the hard edge lay a softer plea—a plea for absolution she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe in.

He shook his head, freckles shadowed by the candle's light. "Not yet. But I want to. And I think you want that, too."

Ana looked away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. The past was a specter that refused to release her, its grip tightening even as she struggled to shake it off. She turned the flask in her hands, her thumb tracing its smooth surface, her thoughts as turbulent as the liquid inside.

The memory of that night surged forward with relentless clarity, each detail searing itself into her mind like fresh scars. She saw the clamor of battle—the swift movements of soldiers she had sent to their deaths, the chaotic blur of blades clashing in a storm of metal and flesh. She heard the shouts of panic, the cries of the wounded, the terrible silence that followed when all that remained was loss.

And Ethan. Ethan's face, twisted in disbelief as he fell. His trust, as real and as fragile as life itself, shattered beneath the weight of her decisions.

Ana blinked, trying to dispel the images, but they clung to her with a tenacity that was both familiar and unbearable. Her breath came shallow and quick, each inhale a battle against the ghosts that crowded the air around her. The walls pressed in closer, their embrace as suffocating as it was intimate.

Across the table, Caden's presence anchored her to the present, a buoy in the sea of her despair. She forced herself to focus on him, on the reality of his presence, on the unwavering intensity of his eyes as they searched hers for something she was afraid to give.

"It wasn't supposed to be like that," she said at last, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Caden nodded, encouraging her to continue, his own breath held in silent witness to her struggle.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way," she murmured at last, her voice nearly lost in the dense silence of the room.

Caden inclined his head, silently urging her to continue, his measured breathing echoing the gravity behind every word.

"I believed..." Ana began haltingly, as memories rose from the depths of her mind alongside a familiar, sardonic undertone. This time, Ethan's voice was unmistakable and direct: "I believed it was the right thing, but now look at it—it's all gone to ruin! A fatal mistake. Your mistake." His words cut through her confession, the bitter irony clear.

Her admission fell like a long-hidden secret finally set free, alleviating some of her burden even as it deepened the ache within. And then, almost cheekily, Ethan's commentary rang out for her to hear: "And hey, while you're wallowing in regret, how about mentoring a fresh batch—an apprentice, perhaps? You always did think you could use some company in your calamities." His remark, laced with irreverence, wasn’t hidden deep within her thoughts this time; it spilled out, a sardonic aside meant both to mock and to prod.

The silence that followed was heavy, a stubborn guest cloaking the scarred table. Ana let it settle, uncertain whether it offered solace or retribution. With her head cradled in trembling hands and auburn hair spilling through her fingers, she seemed to be wrestling both with the past horrors and with Ethan’s relentless, candid interjections.

"You don't have to do this alone," Caden finally interpose, his voice tentative yet firm enough to break the oppressive stillness.

At his words, Ana jerked her head up, her eyes scanning his face for any sign of the betrayal she so feared. Instead, she found only genuine sincerity—a soft resolve that barely registered the sting of Ethan’s latest inner remark: "Oh sure, lean on him. Not like he'll be around to pick up your slack when your little apprentice inevitably messes up."

"You can't help me," she shot back, desperation and stark warning mingling in her tone. Even as she spoke, Ethan's voice murmured for everyone to hear, "Saving you? That kid will be your undoing before you know it."

Caden met her eyes steadily. "Maybe I can't," he admitted, "but I can try. You don't have to face this alone." His words echoed like a refrain, weaving their way into the tangled corridors of her doubts—a fragile thread of hope countering Ethan's cynical asides.

Ana shook her head, as if to banish the vulnerability sparked by Caden's caring words and the timing of Ethan's sarcasm. "Go easy on me, kid," she retorted with a reluctant smile that fought through her reservations. "I've been cynical long before you ever saw the light." Even then, the familiar voice of Ethan chimed in clearly: "Cynicism suits you, especially when you’re too stubborn to admit you might actually need someone—maybe even a kid—to share the load."

A warm grin broke over Caden's face, his cheer a burst of daylight after endless night. "Well, you've still got a few good years left in you," he said sincerely.

Reaching once more for the flask, Ana steadied her hand. As she lifted it to her lips, for a moment she almost perceived Ethan lurking at the periphery—a spectral smirk accompanying his continuous stream of sarcastic commentary. "Keep drinking, Ana; maybe it'll dull the edge before he starts to be your burden," he remarked audibly, his tone both derisive and oddly affectionate. With a muted sigh, she took a swig; the liquor's burn scarcely rivaled the fierce blaze of buried emotions it momentarily soothed. Carefully, she set the flask down, its hollow thud marking the quiet build-up of resolve.

Beside them, the candle had dwindled to a fragile flicker, its flame dancing perilously as though daring the encroaching darkness to silence it. Yet it persisted—its stubborn glow resolutely defying the gloom. Ana’s eyes drifted from that wavering light to Caden's unwavering gaze, absorbing his silent promise.

The suddenness of it all was like a cannonball, blasting through Ana’s mind as Ethan's voice crescendoed within her skull. "This one won't last," it mocked brutally, "and when he's gone, you'll be alone again—blaming yourself for the fallout."

Ana's hands flew to her temples, her entire head resonating with the ceaseless barrage. The physical impact matched the emotional weight, and she writhed under the twin assault. "Enough!" she shouted, the room spinning in her vision as she sprang to her feet with a force that sent her chair clattering backward.

Caden jumped up, his face a mix of concern and shock. The raw intensity of Ana's outburst seemed to leave him unsure of what to say, but he finally whispered, "I'm sorry," before backing away and slipping quietly through the door.

The room fell silent in his absence, save for Ana's ragged breathing as she stared after the boy. She slumped back down into her chair, the full weight of loneliness crashing over her like a suffocating wave.

"I'm nothing but a ghost to you now. Is that it?" Ethan's voice prodded with an edge sharpened by bitterness and longing.

Ana squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the tears that threatened to spill. "You're not real," Ethan's voice cut through the room with scalpel-like precision. "Not real? Perhaps. But I'm as real as the mana you absorbed from me—an imprint on your soul. Or did you think magic didn't leave its mark?" His words dripped with knowing derision, an accusation wrapped in cruel jest. "Accept it, Ana. I’m here because of you. Because of what you've done."

Ana's head snapped up, eyes wide with horror and disbelief. Her mind raced to reject his claim, but a chilling certainty settled over her like a shroud.

The voice that had haunted her since his death—the relentless echoes she could never escape—Ethan.

Her heart clenched with a yearning so profound, an ache so deep, that she gasped for air. She missed him—his laughter, his presence, the way he made the world feel less bleak. Her hands shook violently as she reached for the flask again, desperate to drown out the brutal truth he’d left behind.

"Ethan," she murmured brokenly, his name a tangled whisper of pain and longing. "I miss you." The words escaped her lips like a confession, raw and vulnerable.

Ana drank deeply, recklessly, each swallow a futile attempt to silence the torrent within her. The alcohol burned its way through her veins until she felt its numbing tendrils coaxing her toward an unsteady oblivion. Her mind reeled, a dizzy whirl of emotion and memory blurring into one indistinct cacophony.

The room spun in lazy circles, the dim light smearing across her vision as exhaustion and alcohol took hold. The chaos dulled to a low hum, distant and muted, as Ana sank further into its dark embrace.

Slumped forward with arms crossed on the table, she let the heaviness pull her down, her mind slipping beneath the swollen tide of herself at last.