Chapter 38 Tula
TULA
They could only take one person.
The words echoed in Tula's mind, each repetition hammering home the reality she'd known was coming but had desperately hoped for a miracle to prove her wrong.
Tony would stay. Tamira would stay. Elias would stay.
And she would leave them all behind, taking her child to freedom while condemning them to continued captivity.
"Tula." Areana's voice was gentle. "Say something."
"What is there to say?" Tula's voice came out flat, emotionless. She felt hollowed out, scraped clean of everything except the guilt that was crushing. "I'm leaving. They're staying. That's the reality."
"It's the only option that keeps everyone safe." Areana put her hand on Tula's shoulder. "Including your child."
"I know." Tula did know, but knowing didn't make it hurt any less.
"Tony is going to blame himself. He'll think he should have seen how desperate I was. Should have known something was wrong. He'll torture himself wondering what he could have done differently."
"Yes." Areana didn't try to deny it. "He will. But maybe his grief will be so believable that we could stage his suicide shortly after yours. Perhaps we won't have to wait years to extract him."
Hope flared in Tula's chest but also panic. "Promise me that you will be there for him, making sure that he doesn't actually kill himself."
Areana smiled indulgently. "We are speaking of Tony here. He will never actually do it, but he will milk the sympathy for all it's worth."
Tula couldn't help the hysterical laugh that bubbled up from her wounded chest. "You're right. I wonder how many of the ladies will invite Tony to their beds to console him." She sobered. "I feel so bad for Tamira and Elias. It's like I'm stealing their chance of freedom. It's so unfair."
"Nothing about this situation is fair," Areana said. "But fairness isn't what we're optimizing for. We're optimizing for survival. For saving who we can save, when we can save them."
Tula looked down at the ocean below, imagining the fall she'd stage in three days. The extraction team waiting in the darkness. The long underwater swim to the submarine. Freedom purchased at the cost of everyone she loved thinking she'd chosen death.
"I don't know if I can do this," she whispered.
"Of course you can." Areana's arm came around her shoulders. "Because you must. Because you deserve to live without fear of your child being taken away from you. Because you deserve freedom, even if others can't share it yet."
"Yet." Tula latched on to the word. "Do you really think they'll extract the others eventually?"
Areana was quiet for a long moment. "I think we can make Tony's suicide believable, and it will actually look better if it happens shortly after yours. Regrettably, Tamira and Elias will have to wait a long time."
It was a great comfort to believe that Tony could be extracted soon, but the question was whether the clan would be willing to make such an effort for a random human who couldn't even join their immortal community.
"You can't pin your sanity on the hope that the clan will rescue the others." Areana must have read her mind. "You need to make peace with the possibility that this is it. That you're the only one who gets out."
The honesty was brutal, but Tula appreciated it more than false reassurances.
"How do I live with that?" she asked.
"The same way anyone survives impossible choices.
" Areana's voice carried the authority born of five thousand years of experience.
"You acknowledge the guilt, and you choose to live anyway.
You honor their continued sacrifice by making something beautiful out of your freedom.
You raise your child with love and teach him about the people who couldn't be saved but deserved to be. "
They sat in silence, watching the ocean below. The beauty of it felt wrong somehow. How could the world be so lovely when everything inside Tula was breaking apart?
"I keep trying to memorize everything," Tula said after a while.
"If I can hold on to the small details about everyone I love, I can carry them with me.
But I'm terrified I'll forget, like I forgot so much about my parents, about Gulan, about all the people I knew back home.
Years from now, their faces will blur, and I won't remember what they looked like. "
"You won't forget this time." Areana sounded certain. "You were a child then. You are an adult now, and you will remember whether you want it or not. The guilt will make sure of that."
"Is that supposed to be comforting?"
"No. It's just true." Areana squeezed her shoulder. "The guilt will be your constant companion. You need to make peace with that. Learn to function while carrying it. Because it's not going away."
"That's bleak."
"That's honest." Areana turned to face her. "But here's what else is true: you will survive this. You'll build a life for your child. You'll find moments of joy. You'll become someone who understands the cost of survival and chooses to live anyway."
Tula wanted to believe her. Wanted to imagine a future where she wasn't drowning in guilt every moment of every day. But right now, sitting on this cliff three days away from abandoning everyone she loved, that future felt impossible to grasp.
"I don't know if I'm strong enough for this," Tula said.
"You are." Areana's certainty was unshakeable. "You're stronger than you realize."
"I don't feel strong. I feel like I'm falling apart."
"Then fall apart now, here, with me." Areana pulled her close. "Fall apart completely, feel everything you need to feel. Then put yourself back together before we return to the harem. Because for the next three days, you need to be perfect. No cracks, no hints, no mistakes."
So, Tula fell apart.
She cried for Tony, who would blame himself for not saving her.
For Tamira and the other ladies who deserved freedom as much as she did.
For Elias, whom she hadn't known for long but who had become part of their mismatched family.
She cried for Areana, who would lose her confidant and her best friend.
She cried until her throat was raw and her eyes burned, and there were no tears left.
Areana held her through it all, steady and solid, a goddess who understood the cost of impossible choices because she'd made so many herself.