Chapter 430: History Written In Blood

Rhydian;

"But your side...will hurt most."

The words repeat in an infuriating loop as I stare at Avaren.

I don’t have an immediate response to his words. Because I can’t even begin to process them. Does he mean the witches and warlocks plan to attack my people again?

What is he–What did he mean?? My arms fold across my chest as I study the blindfolded bastard sitting several feet away.

I will not look weak or scared in front of him. Yes, I am worried, but I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing that show.

"You keep talking about sides," I finally say. "Witches. Beastmen. Yours and mine." I add, and he remains silent.

"But you’ve spent this entire conversation blaming my people–"

"I have blamed no one." He cuts me off, and for a moment, I freeze. Then, I scoff.

"You just told me a war is coming because of everything that happened between our people." I point out, and this time, he’s the one who scoffs.

"I told you a war is coming because history has consequences."

"That sounds like blame to me," I reply stubbornly, and I watch a faint crease form between his brows.

"Then perhaps you should listen more intently before deciding what was meant." He replies, and I almost roll my eyes.

Right! The man who has been speaking in riddles since we arrived is now telling me to listen.

"Then explain yourself and stop beating around the fucking—I don’t have time for this." Igma snaps from beside me. Avaren slowly folds his hands together and takes a breath.

"Do you know why witches were separated from beastmen?" He asks her then, and Igma huffs.

"Yes."

"Why?"

She hesitates, but eventually answers. "Because magic made them dangerous."

Avaren’s head tilts as if weighing her answer.

"Who told you that?"

"Everyone." She replies impatiently, and Avaren goes silent.

"That’s too vague." He says flatly, and I watch Igma’s jaw tighten.

"My parents. My teachers. Every beastman I’ve ever met. Everyone." She replies, and Avaren nods.

"Exactly." He says, and my brows crease.

"Exactly what?!" I snap, and he turns his head in my direction this time.

"You were taught that witches were dangerous because they possessed something beastmen did not."

"Magic." Igma specifies, and Avaren nods as he turns back to her.

"Yes."

I shake my head then because I see what he’s trying to do, and I will not stand for it.

"Do not make it seem like beastmen hate your kind just because they have magic and we don’t! That’s not the truth." I spit, and Avaren’s lips twitch faintly.

"No?"

"No." Igma and I chorus, and Avaren laughs. He actually laughs. Like we are clueless children arguing a topic we do not know enough about.

I hate that. I hate the condescending view he has of us, and the disrespectful nature of this conversation.

I know what witches and warlocks are. They are monsters. I have witnessed firsthand the damage they can do. They are monsters. Period. This sanctimonious speech this bastard is giving will not and cannot change that!

"Tell me. Why are witches forbidden from entering certain territories?" His voice comes again, and I raise my brow.

"What sort of question is that? Isn’t the answer obvious? Protection. Your people are not allowed into our territories for protection!" I rage–Remembering the damage they caused at Gravemaw, and Avaren nods.

"Protection from what?" He questions, and I blink at him.

"Magic," Igma replies flatly.

"We do not let your people into our lands because Magic can be dangerous—"

"So can claws." He cuts her off, and I glare at him.

"That is different."

"How?" He demands, and I look at Igma—Stunned that I have to have this fucking conversation.

"Because we were born with them—"

"And witches were born with magic." He cuts me off, and my jaw drops.

I try to speak, but I can not find a response, so I shut up and just stare at him. Where is he going with all this?? What’s his point??

"You see the difference because you were raised to." He continues, and my hands curl into fists.

"Yes, I agree. Some witches were monsters." He says, and I nod in agreement.

"Well, you can’t disagree with that!" I spit, but he ignores me.

"There were warlocks who used their gifts to hurt others." He continues, and I nod once again.

"True."

"There were witches who believed themselves superior because of their magic." He adds, and my hands fly up in confusion.

"If you know all this, why then act like you do not understand why our people despise yours?" I demand in agitation, and his expression hardens.

"Because I don’t!" He growls.

It’s the first time he raises his voice, and the flames in the hall flicker as a gust of cold wind travels through the hall.

"I do not understand your people’s hypocrisy and injustice, Rhydian!" He adds, and I blink at him.

"There were also beastmen who believed themselves superior because of their strength." He spits, and I freeze.

"There were beastmen who hated witches because we could do things they could not." He adds, and I swallow.

"Your people decided to classify an entire race based on the sins of a select few! Our people seized the opportunity to display their hatred, and today, decades later, you still stand in your castles made of glass and call yourselves saints!? Have you any idea how many live syou ruined for the sake of criminals most of us didn’t even know!?" He adds, and suddenly–so suddenly, I physically feel it–All my anger dissipates...Most of it.

"We are where we are now because of your people’s hatred, injustice, and jealousy!" He rages further, and Igma’s fingers tangle into my sleeve.

"That doesn’t make sense. It isn’t that simple. You’ve gotten it mixed up somewhere. Why would anyone hate someone for being gifted?" I try to reason with him, and he falls silent for a moment.

Then he speaks.

"Why do powerful people fear anything they cannot control?" He asks instead, and I fall silent.

I have no answer, and he doesn’t wait for one.

"For centuries, witches lived separately from beastmen, because they were pushed away." He adds, and his constant victimisation of his people angers me.

"You had your own communities, you had your own lands. You weren’t oppressed. There was no need to infiltrate our lands and try to act and live like us. If your people never did that, the massacre would never—"

"Rhydian." He cuts me off, and something about his voice makes me straighten.

"Being given a place to exist does not mean you have been provided for...or given the opportunity to live properly." He says, and I remain silent.

"Yes. We had homes. Families, children, treehouses...gardens. We had trades, festivals...We lived ordinary lives." He continues, and my mind flashes to the village we passed through.

To the children laughing, the women carrying baskets...The smell of herbs. People living their lives beneath those enormous trees.

Nothing about it had looked like a hidden army preparing to destroy beastmen. They looked...like my people...Normal...carrying on with the simple desire to just...be...to exist in...peace.

"But we were suffering. Your people believed having magic gave us everything we needed, but it didn’t. We struggled to find food. Our population was exceeding the territories your people so graciously gifted us. We had to find ways to survive. Those of us bold...and desperate enough to move did. That’s why we came to your territory. That’s why we tried to blend in; my people just wanted to survive. We did not spend our days plotting against your kingdom." He continues, and my heart skips a beat.

They...they were struggling? That’s–That’s not right. They’re so powerful...they should have been able to get whatever they wanted. This makes no sense.

I glance at Igma. And I find her silent. She only spares me a glance before he graze returns to the doors. She’s less concerned about the conversation and more eager to see Alana.

That’s all she’s thinking about. I can’t blame her.

I turn back to Avaren.

"So you’re telling me your people only snuck into Beastheaven for—"

"Acceptance."

I freeze at the response.

"Acceptance?" I repeat in mild amusement, and he turns his head in the direction of the witches seated around us.

"My people just wanted to be allowed to exist without having to apologise for what they were." He adds, and something uncomfortable settles inside my chest.

"They wanted to trade with beastmen. Live among them...Work beside them. Raise their children without those children being treated as threats." He continues, and I blink at him.

"But the feud between us has existed for aeons. Each side was raised to fear the other, so why did you want acceptance?"

"Because fear does not have to become hatred." He replied flatly, and I stared at him.

That sentence burns deeper than I want it to. So deep I feel it settle into a corner I know I’ll never be able to chip off or block out.

"Then your father came." Avaren continues, and my body stiffens.

"King Wilhelm promised unity." He accuses, and I eye him.

"My father promised peace."

"He promised more than peace." He counters, his voice carrying through the hall.

"He promised oneness." He says, and I blink at him.

"He told kingdoms that every creature beneath the sun could live together. Weren’t we a part of that plan? Didn’t we deserve peace too? If he didn’t want us, he should have made that explicitly clear!" He spits, and I can hear the rage...and anger in his voice.

"He made rich promises, and we believed him." He adds, his voice softer now.

I don’t understand why those three words sound so bitter. But they do. Somehow...I feel like...Like I failed them.

"We believed your father. We trusted him. We believed that if we obeyed his laws, respected Beast Heaven’s authority, and proved ourselves worthy of acceptance, eventually we would be treated as equals." He goes on, and I stare at him.

"Things would be different if your people actually did that." I manage to reply, and he scoffs.

"We thought the same thing." He says, and his reply makes my stomach tighten.

"What do you mean by that?" I ask, and Avaren’s fingers slowly tighten.

"We waited."

"For what?"

"For the promises to become reality." He replies, and I say nothing.

"We waited for the restrictions to disappear." His voice grows colder. "My people waited for their children to stop being feared. For beastmen to stop looking at them as lesser creatures." He continues, and I swallow.

"However, as BeastHeaven grew, the segregation became worse."

"You’re saying my father lied?" I cut him off, and his response comes without missing a beat.

"I am saying your father made promises that his kingdom did not keep."

"That’s not the same thing."

"It is to the people who suffered because of them!" He snaps, and I step forward.

"You don’t know my father," I warn, and he nods.

"I know what he did."

"You know what you think he did." I correct, and despite the distance, I see his jaw tighten.

"I know what happened." He replies, and I roll my eyes.

"You weren’t there—"

"I was!" He yells, and my heart stops in my chest.

"Wh–what??"

"I was there." He repeats, and I fall silent as I stare at him.

Suddenly, the age behind his face feels different. He isn’t simply telling me something he read in a book.

He...He remembers.

"You..." I swallow. "You lived through it? The—The massacre?"

"Yes."

My chest tightens as a wave of guilt I cannot explain washes over me.

"The massacre happened because your people decided that we were not worthy of acceptance." He whispers, and the courtroom becomes painfully quiet.

"There were massacres..of witches, and retaliation."

"So...witches fought back?" I ask, with my voice suddenly not sounding like mine, and Avaren nods slowly.

"Some did."

"Some?"

"Some ran...Some hid. Some fought—And some became monsters." He answers; my stomach twists painfully.

His words sit between us, and I swallow as I think about it—Really think about it.

I think about the witches who attacked Gravemaw. The witches and warlocks who have caused trouble in our lands over the years...The people who hurt my family.

...But I also think about things I have seen among my own kind. Power being abused, children being mistreated.

Omegas...and weak people being crushed beneath the authority of stronger ones.

... Kings like Balinar making decisions that destroyed lives.

Suddenly... I don’t have the answer I thought I had.

Avaren leans back in his throne, and I look back up at him.

"You were taught a story. A story where your people were the protectors...And mine were the threat." He says, and my gaze drops slowly.

"But perhaps..." His voice softens. "...history is not that simple."

I stare at him again and draw a breath. I don’t suddenly trust him. I don’t suddenly believe every word that has left his mouth.

I still remember Gravemaw. I still remember the attack...I still remember what his people did.

But now, for the first time, I wonder if I have been doing exactly what he accused us of. Taking the actions of some...and placing them on everyone.

I hate that thought. Because it means the world I grew up believing in... has cracks.

And once you notice cracks in something...You can never look at it the same way again.

I no longer feel like I know what the truth is. I only know that whatever I was taught...

It wasn’t the whole story. And I’m not sure which side had written the truth...or how much of it had been written in their blood.