No Regrets

The walk back to Chiselgrip felt longer than it truly was. Carrying the Harbinger to safety hadn’t been difficult for Elizaberta but dragging her from the rubble was a less easy task. Still, it was the journey back to camp that ensured her feet were aching. It was the dull, heavy ache that came with a retreat.
She supposed that she should consider herself lucky; her injuries were minor and the Dirge would live another day, despite the tactical loss. There were worst ways to end a battle.

As she came to rest beside the campfire, Eliza began to contemplate: a truly dangerous thing for the hunter to do. She had let the Grim Gest escape. She knew that she could have chased after them; they had been right there and she had failed to stop them.
Yet, to her own surprise, she felt nothing. She had expected to feel angry with herself - to feel her blood boiling at the the thought of their escape - but she couldn’t bring herself to care.
In the depths of Blackrock Mountain, there had been two choices: rescue Yier from beneath the rubble or chase after the Gest. There hadn’t been time for both and Eliza hadn’t needed to think on the matter. It had felt instantaneous and all of a sudden but immediately she had known: there was nothing more important to her than the Dirge. All other motivations fell short. It hadn’t matter how much she hated the Gest - how much she had wanted them dead - because she loved the Dirge of Teldrassil more. She couldn’t have left Yier under the rumble, not even when it meant losing her chance at revenge. Some things were worth sacrificing but the Dirge was not one of them. Eliza couldn’t imagine a world without the unit. They were her family now.

As she watched the dying light of the campfire fade, a single thought lingered in her mind. This is what Vylirion had meant. This was how it felt to live with no regrets.
In the end, her loyalty was stronger than her hatred. In the end, love was a motive more enduring than revenge.