The Price of Treachery

The Warden rarely brought outsiders to the Temple of Shadows. The few who passed through its gates carried with them an air of finality, as if they had come to seek answers to questions they weren’t prepared to ask.

This time, it was a man named Taro. He wore a heavy coat, its edges frayed with time, and carried himself like someone who had seen much but learned little. I watched him from a distance as he approached the Warden in the training yard, his voice low but urgent.

The Warden listened, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. I couldn’t hear their words, but something in the Warden’s stance told me this was no ordinary visitor.

After a moment, the Warden turned and beckoned me. “Come,” he said, his voice curt.

Taro followed us to a clearing just beyond the temple grounds, where the ground was uneven, scattered with jagged rocks and broken branches.

“Do you know why he’s here?” the Warden asked me.

I shook my head.

“Taro has come to ask for absolution,” the Warden said, his voice flat. “For a betrayal.”

Taro’s face twisted, and he stepped forward. “I had no choice!” he pleaded. “They would have killed me if I didn’t give them the map!”

The Warden turned to him, his gaze sharp as a blade. “And so, you betrayed your brothers to save yourself.”

“They were just mercenaries,” Taro said, his voice trembling. “They weren’t like you.”

The Warden’s jaw tightened. “And what makes you think you’re worthy of redemption?”

Taro hesitated, his eyes darting to the ground. “Because… because I regret it.”

The Warden’s hand shot out, grabbing Taro by the collar and pulling him close. “Regret?” he spat. “Regret is the echo of cowardice. It changes nothing.”

He released Taro, who stumbled back, gasping for air.

“Is he not deserving of a second chance?” I asked, the words escaping before I could stop them.

The Warden’s eyes flicked to me, his expression a mixture of anger and disappointment. “Tell me, apprentice,” he said, gesturing to the jagged rocks at our feet. “If this man placed one of these stones in your path, and you tripped and shattered your leg, what would you do?”

“I would remove the stone,” I replied cautiously.

“And if he placed another?”

“I would remove it again.”

The Warden stepped closer, his voice lowering. “And if he placed one while you slept, so that you fell and never walked again?”

I faltered, the weight of his words pressing against my chest.

“You see,” the Warden continued, turning back to Taro, “treachery is not a single act. It is a habit of the weak. A man who betrays once will do so again, for he has learned that his life is worth more than his honor.”

Taro opened his mouth to protest, but the Warden silenced him with a glare. “You speak of regret, but you came here seeking forgiveness—not for them, but for yourself. You betrayed your brothers to save your life, and now you betray their memory to ease your guilt.”

The clearing fell silent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Finally, the Warden pointed to the horizon. “Go,” he said. “There is no place for treachery in the shadows.”

Taro hesitated, but the Warden’s gaze did not waver. Slowly, he turned and began walking away, his steps heavy with shame.

As I watched him disappear into the distance, I turned to the Warden. “Will he survive out there?”

The Warden’s eyes remained fixed on the horizon. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “The most dangerous thing in the masculine world is treachery. It is a wound that cannot heal and a shadow that never fades.”

I nodded, though his words left a bitter taste in my mouth. Somewhere deep inside, I wondered if Taro could truly change—or if the Warden was right.