Chapter 15: On His Own (2)
Some people would say that the Spell was all about balance, that it didn't choose the roles randomly but ones that attributed to the person. That there was a reason for from a person's purpose and flaws to all of the misfortunes and blessings they'd experience.
That had to be a fucking lie.
Hope felt scammed. Cheated.
'Could outright say you hate me.' Hope somberly thought as he glanced at the sky, still assuming that was where the Spell hid its fragmented self.
'It be mutual.'
Was there anyone else who hated the Spell more than Hope did?
He wasn't sure. But he felt like he was at the top of the list for it.
Hope grunted as he climbed back up the small cliff from last night's excursion. With his rifle slung over his shoulder, he used it to prop himself back up on the trackway.
Standing tall, he took in the view of the wide gray expanse that stretched as far as the eye could see. There were ways to go before crossing paths back on the main trackway, but he supposed this would work for now.
But once he marched forward, with every movement and with every stride, he could feel more and more how filthy he was. The grime on his face cracked, his uniform which soaked with blood hardened from the cold, even the strands of his pale blonde hair scratched his eyes like needles. Well, it was practically a dark-haired color at this point.
And from time to time, he could still taste the faint rotten flesh on his lips.