The Path of Ashes

Alec remembered the smell of rain on the night his world fell apart.

He was too young to understand how justice was up for sale. He grasped his brother's hand until the guards yanked them apart, the sound of cuffs slamming shut like nails in a coffin.

Nathaniel, A gentle giant, told terrible jokes, always messed up Alec's hair as he passed by.

Was now a convicted felon.

The offense: attempted murder.

The victim: Damon Weller, Alec's boyhood friend.

Damon had appeared in court with the bruised face, shaking voice, and tears streaming down his face. He pointed at Nathaniel and said, "He did it. He tried to kill me."

Nathaniel sat there staring at Damon as if he was looking at a stranger.

There was circumstantial evidence — no prints, no gun, no motive — but Damon's family was wealthy, and the Wellers owned half the press in the city. The article came out while the trial was still going on. "University Scholar Turns Savage: Nathaniel Hayes Behind Brutal Attack."

Alec had yelled within the courtroom. Begged the judge. To hear. To believe. His mother passed out in her seat. His father cursed until security dragged him away.

Nathaniel was sentenced to ten years.

He was dead within two weeks. An "accident" within prison, they said. A food fight gone awry. Wrong place, wrong time.

But Alec never considered so. Never. And never forgot Damon's failure to look him in the eye at the funeral.

After that afternoon, Alec transformed.

He stopped speaking with friends. Stopped laughing. Stopped playing the piano — something Nathaniel had taught him.

He watched the Wellers from afar. Damon's world went on as if nothing had happened. Smiling for yearbook photos. Winning debate tournaments. Becoming the very person Nathaniel hoped to be.

Each time Alec saw his face — on TV, in the paper, on the sidewalk on the other side of the street from him — the fire in his chest burned hotter.

He discovered later — in hushed tones, through whispers in back alleys and pilfered reports from locked police records — that Damon had lied. There had been others. Other deceptions, other victims.

But Alec didn't go to the police. Didn't tell his parents. Didn't seek help.

Because justice had a say. And it chose silence.

Now, at the age of twenty-one, the same age Nathaniel was when he died, Alec was standing atop a building looking down at the Weller estate. His eyes were sharp. Cold. Alike.

He waited six years for this.

Forgiveness was a legend for the foolhardy.

He would give Damon something the world never gave his brother:

The truth.

And the destruction that followed it.

The wind bit Alec's face where he sat on the rooftop railing, watching the lights in the Weller house below ignite his way into being like candles he could extinguish. He knew the rotation patterns of the guards. Knew where the security cameras couldn't see. Knew exactly when Damon would be returning from his evening of acting for his charity, his smile glued to his face for the cameras like a makeup he no longer even removed.

Alec had waited all evening for this night.

But before he stirred, a voice called out from behind him.

"You've traveled far for a grave you haven't dug yet."

Alec didn't skip a beat. He turned slowly, already guessing who it was.

The man there was old, wrapped in a faded gray cloak, with a walking stick more symbolic than useful. His eyes were strange — not weary, but ancient. As though he'd seen too much and yet carried none of it.

"Master Irel," Alec said. "You followed me."

"I observed you. There's a difference." The man stepped closer, his feet making soft noises on the rooftop gravel. "Six years of fixation. Six years of silence. You've grown strong, Alec. But unwise."

"I'm not here for a sermon."

"No. You're here for vengeance." Irel gestured towards the mansion. "But you should know… Damon tried to make amends."

Alec's gaze grew darker. "Is this a joke?"

"He donated anonymously to your brother's cause. Funded wrongful conviction appeals. Left his father's business. The life he leads today is not the one you know."

Alec set his jaw and turned away.

"Regret can't erase what he did."

"No," Irel said gently. "But human beings like people are not fixed objects. They grow. Occasionally… they even quietly atone for their actions. Forgiveness is not weakness, Alec."

A sour smile slipped from Alec's lips. "He lied. His lie killed my brother. He let an innocent man die in a cell. You think a couple of donations and a sad smile wipe all that away?"

"No," Irel said again more firmly. "But neither will your vengeance."

The silence between them was thick with pain and history. Alec stared at his hands — the same hands that shook with Nathaniel's during storms. Now they were hard. Steady. Ready to kill.

"Do you think he really deserves peace?" Alec said.

Irel did not answer immediately. "I think you deserve peace.".

That struck something deep, but Alec pushed it down. “Peace is a lie. It’s what people tell themselves so they can sleep while monsters walk free.”

Irel sighed. “Then you’ve already decided.”

“I decided the day they buried my brother.”

He stepped past the old man, vanishing into the shadows without another word.

Behind him, Irel murmured to the wind, "Then may your path be short… and may you live through what's waiting at the end of it."

But Alec was too far gone to hear her.

He had been offered forgiveness.

And he had spat it out like ash in his mouth.

Damon stepped out of his car a little after midnight, the crunching of gravel beneath his feet abnormally sharp in the stillness. The gala had been draining — all those forced smiles and kind head nods, the backhanded compliments on how "he'd turned things around." The specter of Nathaniel loomed still in the rear of every compliment, every handshake.

As he walked toward his front door, a chill traveled down his spine. He searched the area.

Nothing. Wind.

He couldn't see the figure standing at the edge of the trees. Waiting.

The first blow was silent.

Alec didn't hit or shoot. Not yet. He hit at the world around Damon — the well-rebuilt life, the second chance he hadn't earned.

It began with an article.

Anonymous. Detailed. Specific. Accurate.

A leaked memorandum regarding Damon's testimony at Nathaniel's trial. Slogans like "inconsistencies," "coached testimony," and "withdrawn eyewitness testimony" cluttered cyberspace. Suspicions began to surface. The decades-old narrative unfolded like an open wound that never healed properly.

The financial whammy followed next.

Damon's new enterprise — a rehabilitation center built in Nathaniel's name — lost funding overnight. Investors vanished. Partners backed out silently.

Damon's name wasn't blackened, not quite — but it was smudged. Stained.

And yet, Alec wasn't finished.

He wrote a letter. No return address. Single line:

"You thought the grave would be enough."

Damon seethed at the note for what was an eternity before burning it in the sink.

He knew.

Somehow, he knew.

---

Alec watched it all from afar. He didn't feel triumphant. Not yet. The struggle inside of him wasn't finished.

Each night, he’d return to his apartment — a small, bare room filled only with tools of precision: maps, documents, photos, strings connecting names, dates, and lies. Nathaniel’s face was at the center of it all.

Sometimes, he would sit and stare at that picture.

“I’m almost done,” he would whisper. “I’ll balance the scales.”

But in the dead of night, there was doubt. Not doubt of the mission — never that — but of Damon's reaction.

Damon didn't fight back. Didn't hold press conferences to deny the rumors. He didn't run or fight back.

He apologized.

In a public interview, when asked about the rumors, Damon had responded:

"There are things I regret. I think about Nathaniel Hayes every day. If I could go back… "

Alec had thrown a glass at the wall when he heard that.

Coward. Hypocrite.

You don't get to go forward. You don't get to damage someone and then yield your way back to redemption.

But the words persisted.

Especially when Damon reached out.

A message, left on Alec's safe line, one Damon shouldn't have even known existed.

"I know you're watching. If you want to talk, I won't run. I deserve that much, don't I?"

Alec deleted the message.

He wasn't here to talk.

He was here to end it.

Forgiveness had been something given.

Now, it was just another lie.

Alec sat in silence, the room dark save for the light of the monitors. Damon's words echoed louder than he cared to admit.

"I won't run. I'm worth that much, aren't I?"

He clenched his teeth and pushed the thought away. Emotion was a distraction. He had trained long enough to shut it out.

He glanced at the photo taped next to Nathaniel's. A thirty something woman — dark hair, warm smile — with the hand of a little girl. Damon's sister, Leona, and her daughter, Mia. Collateral.

Alec hadn't intended to reel them in. His fury had always been directed one course. But what he watched happen to Damon's world, a bitter truth arose:

Damon was not breaking.

So Alec turned his aim elsewhere.

The next move was discreet — a hiccup in Leona's cyber identity, just a little to make an eyebrow twitch. Her bank accounts were locked. Her emails bounced back. Mia was withdrawn from school for "security reasons."

Within forty-eight hours, Leona had been accused of fraud. A paper trail forged down into thin air, but it was enough to ruin her reputation.

Damon showed up in person at the school. Picked up Mia in shaking hands. Spoke gently to his niece while reporters shouted out questions by the fence.

Alec watched it all, face unemotional.

This is what you did to us, Damon.

This is what it feels like when the world turns its back.

---

But one night, something happened to Alec that he did not expect.

A knock.

Not on his door — nobody knew where he was. But on the door of his memory.

He dreamed of Nathaniel.

It wasn't powerful. It was merely a memory, something Alec had locked away.

They had been in the kitchen, years ago. Nathaniel had set a grilled cheese sandwich on fire and was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe. Alec had been furious. Starving. Furious. He'd thrown a slice of bread at him.

Nathaniel had grinned and said, "You'll forgive me, right? I mean… you always do."

Those words cut like razors now.

Alec sat up in bed, dripping with sweat.

He talked into the darkness, "You forgave too easily."

But at the back of his mind, he couldn't quite decide if it was admiration or contempt.

---

The next morning, Damon made his move.

He held a press conference — no PR team, no script. Just a podium and plain truth.

"I lied," he said. "Years back, I accused an innocent man. Nathaniel Hayes was my friend. And I destroyed him. I don't seek forgiveness. I don't merit it. But I want the truth to come out — and I will live with whatever comes next."

The world lost its mind.

Some praised his courage. Others demanded his arrest.

Leona cried on TV during an interview, asking who would do such a thing to her.

Alec turned off the TV.

For the first time in six years, he felt hollow. Not because Damon had come clean.

But because Alec had struck the innocent.

And it hadn't broken Damon.

It had broken something in him.

The city was humming with scandal. Damon Weller's confession dominated every news cycle, every front page. Public opinion broke. Protests exploded outside the courthouse, demanding justice. Others wept for the courage it must have taken to admit such a sin.

But Alec didn't care about the opinion of the world.

He stood outside the gates of the Weller estate, hood thrown low, hands trembling — not with fear, but with something far worse.

Doubt.

He hadn't spoken to anyone in days. The televisions in his apartment had been turned off. Strings and pictures had been torn from the walls. Nathaniel's painting now sat upside down on the table, as if even his own brother could no longer tolerate what Alec had become.

But he was here.

He had come to put an end to it.

---

Damon was alone.

The security guards had been dismissed — Damon had insisted on it after the confession. "If anybody wants me," he told Leona, "let them come.".

He sat in his father’s old study, the walls lined with forgotten awards and hollow trophies. The room smelled of dust and regret. His eyes were fixed on an old photo: him and Nathaniel, arms around each other, faces young and bright, long before lies turned everything to ruin.

When Alec stepped into the room, Damon didn’t even turn.

“I knew you’d come,” he said quietly.

Alec closed the door behind him, the click definitive.

"I should kill you," he snarled.

Damon nodded. "Yes."

Alec advanced, his heart pounding. His dagger hung at his waist, sheathed but accessible.

"You took everything from me," Alec spat. "My brother. My family. My peace."

"I know," Damon said.

Alec curled his fists. "So why aren't you pleading?"

Damon's gaze turned to him. His eyes were not afraid. Just tired.

"Because I have begged — every night, for six years. To God, to Nathaniel's memory, to the mirror. I don't wish to be forgiven. I simply wish to be punished."

Alec took away the dagger. Steel glinted in the light of the lamp.

"I lost him because of you."

"I lost him, too."

There was silence.

Their grief hung between them, heavy and suffocating.

Alec's hand was trembling.

He had imagined this moment a thousand times. Driving the knife home. Killing him. Making the world finally right.

But here, now, he felt nothing.

No peace. No satisfaction.

Just a huge, empty hollow.

Alec let the dagger slip from his fingers.

"I thought I'd feel better."

Damon's voice cracked. "I hoped you would."

Alec's eyes welled up with tears, but he refused to let them fall.

"I burned it all for this. Everybody I loved. Everybody who attempted to get in my way. And for what?"

Damon remained silent.

Alec turned on his heel, voice hollow. "I became the thing I hated."

He set the dagger on the desk beside Damon and left.

Rain had begun to fall outside — light initially, then harder. It lashed across him as he emerged into the street, head bowed low.

He had achieved what he set out to do.

Damon's life was done.

His admission had been broadcasted.

Justice was served.

But Alec had never felt more lost.

Weeks passed.

The world continued, as the world continues. News cycles moved forward. Protests dissipated. A new scandal overshadowed the previous one. But for Damon Weller, time had doubled back into stillness.

He no longer left his home. His once immaculate mansion was now a regret's mausoleum. The bare walls. Even Leona, shamed by his disregard, no longer phoned. He did not blame her.

Day after day, he sat in the same chair in the same office, staring at the same picture.

Nathaniel and him — young, happy, unstained by deception.

Forgiveness had not yet arrived, and Damon no longer expected it.

But he was alive nonetheless.

And that, in some way, was punishment enough.

---

Alec had vanished from sight.

No one arrested him. Damon never pressed charges. He told the authorities he didn't know who had arranged the attacks — and when pressed, he just kept repeating, "It doesn't matter."

But Alec was still around. Somewhere, Watching.

He found himself one night standing in front of Nathaniel's grave once more. He hadn't been back since the funeral.

There was a new bouquet on the headstone — lilies. Damon's doing, no question.

Alec sat beside it, tracing his hand on the stone.

"I didn't kill him," he said softly. "But I didn't save him, either."

The wind stilled, cool and quiet. The cemetery was empty. Ghosts only heard here.

Alec produced a crumpled letter from his pocket — the same letter that Damon had written while incarcerated but never sent. It was kept in the case files, untouched.

It had been read so many times that the paper was beginning to wear thin.

"I loved you like a brother. And I hated that I was too much of a coward to stand up for you. When you gazed at me in that courtroom… I wanted to die."

Alec lit a match and stood over the grave as it burned, the ashes carried away.

"I wanted to hurt him," he said aloud. "I wanted him to hurt like I did."

He stood slowly.

"And he did."

A year after that, Damon opened a tiny, unannounced halfway house at the edge of the city. No camera crews. No ribbon-cutting. Simply a door and a bed for people who had nowhere else to turn.

Sometimes, a stranger would come by — a guy with a scar under his chin, who never gave a name. He'd bring in groceries. Help fix a leaky roof. Sit quietly for hours before disappearing again.

They never said much.

But one night, sitting on the porch and listening to rain, Damon thought, "If he were here… I think Nathaniel would not like either of us."

Alec did not answer at first.

And then, softly: "No. He'd pity us. Because we let grief make the decision for us."

The rain struck harder.

They sat still in the silence — not friends, not foes, just men bound together by the figure of someone finer than either of them.

---

And though neither of them spoke the words, they both knew:

Forgiveness had never been far away.

But revenge had been the easiest way out.

And they would carry that choice — and its darkness — for the rest of their lives.