Psychro Killer: Chapter 17 - Return

As Niko limped back towards Psychro, his heart beat with a strange mixture of dread and exhilaration. Hestia and Stamatios walked quietly beside him, their expressions wary but determined. Niko glanced at them, finding a small comfort in their presence. They were proof—proof that his father had not been the monster the village believed him to be. His limp was sharp and every step reminded him of his fragile state, but the weight of this moment pushed him onward.

Psychro's dusty streets emerged over the hill, and Niko caught sight of Yannis. The older man was standing near the road, his face a mixture of exhaustion and tension. Elena had no doubt been pleading for her father to go after Niko for days. Niko’s heart lurched at the sight of him, knowing that despite everything, Yannis was still his uncle—and deep down, there had to be some form of care between them.

As Yannis’ eyes met Niko’s, the relief was unmistakable. Niko could almost see the weight lifting from his uncle’s shoulders. The unspoken worry—what if Niko had perished, lost in the wilderness?—flickered across Yannis’ face. For a moment, it looked like everything might resolve. But then Yannis’ gaze narrowed as the memories of their last confrontation came rushing back, and Niko could sense the anger simmering beneath the surface.

Yannis took a few steps forward, his face hardening. But just as he opened his mouth to speak, he froze, noticing Hestia and Stamatios for the first time. The sight of the two strangers—poorly dressed, wary yet standing beside Niko with a quiet strength—seemed to catch him off guard. The entire village had gossiped for decades about the recluse woman who lived far from town, and to see her here was nothing short of bewildering.

“Who are these people?” Yannis demanded, his voice sharp with confusion.

Niko held up a hand, trying to steady himself. "Yannis, just listen."

Yannis looked ready to argue, his brow furrowing deeper, but something about the way Niko stood—determined, almost defiant—stopped him.

"They’re Hestia and Stamatios," Niko said, glancing at the pair beside him. "They’re part of the truth about my father."

At that, Yannis’ expression shifted, a mix of recognition and disbelief playing across his features. The name, Hestia, rang clear in his mind. He had heard it whispered on the lips of those who remembered, those who speculated. A long-ago affair, an escape, the caves.

Hestia, standing with her chin up, said nothing. Her eyes flickered to Yannis, not with apology or shame, but with a resigned dignity. Stamatios shifted beside her, silent but curious.

“My father... he was... he was no murderer, Yannis,” Niko began, his voice hoarse but full of conviction. "I’ve spent months out there, searching for answers. And I found them. My father was far from perfect, but he didn’t kill anyone. Not like you think. Not like the village believes."

Yannis’ mouth opened, then closed again, clearly grappling with this information. The fire in his eyes hadn’t faded, but the confusion was undeniable. Niko took a deep breath and pressed on.

“These people... they know the truth. They’ve lived it. And I need you to understand—my father wasn’t the man the village thinks he was. He ran, yes, but not because of murder. Because he was a coward, he was foolish, and he behaved recklessly, playing with people’s futures.”

Yannis was shaking his head slowly, the weight of decades of suspicion and anger evident in his furrowed brow. "After everything—how can I just take your word for it?"

Niko smiled bitterly, taking a step closer despite the pain in his leg. "You don’t have to take my word. Talk to them. Listen to them. But I’m telling you now, Yannis—if you don’t believe me, if you don’t at least give me this... you’ll regret it. Just like you’ve regretted everything with my father."

The silence hung thick in the air. Yannis’ face was torn between disbelief, anger, and a flicker of something else—perhaps the faintest trace of relief that this could all come to an end. He turned his gaze from Niko to Hestia, who remained still, a quiet force beside him.

“Is it true?” Yannis finally asked, his voice dropping low.

Hestia met his eyes, and though it took every ounce of strength, she nodded. “Yes.”

The weight of that simple answer seemed to settle on Yannis like a stone. He stepped back, uncertain, his eyes drifting to the ground. It was all too much—decades of lies, misunderstandings, and guilt. He didn’t speak for a long while, just stared at the dirt road beneath his feet.

Niko felt the urge to rush forward, to plead more, but he forced himself to remain still. This was Yannis’ battle now—to face the truth or continue living in the shadow of old wounds.

Finally, Yannis looked up, his face weary but resigned. “Come with me,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “We need to talk... properly.”

Niko exhaled, the weight of his journey slowly lifting. He glanced at Hestia and Stamatios, the silent understanding between them evident. They had made it. Now, the real healing could begin.