Mira guides us straight across the barren, grey wasteland, veering away from the path I tread with Jaci. It involves picking our way between rotting beams, sickly tufts of grass tickling my shins, though I do my best not to look too closely at any of it. I've seen my fill. The knot of nausea buried in my stomach forces me to give in to selfish avoidance.

Even if I wanted to linger, Fiesi's hand remains clamped around mine, dragging me forwards with gentle yet persistent force. My fingers are starting to itch with discomfort. I'd ask him to let go, but I can't seem to find the strength. I'm desperate to help him, to see him happy and okay again, and if my touch provides some aid then I should be willing to lend it. At least the water soaked into the leather of my glove has finally dried.

As we reach the corner of present Aorila, I expect us to turn sharply right and delve back into the streets, but instead Mira pauses at the edge of the forest, her pink eyes flashing our way. She jerks her head in beckoning and continues beyond the treeline, the shadows of branches washing over her scarred flank. A sudden flood of uncertainty stutters my steps. Toes wriggling within the confines of my boots, I look to Fiesi.

He's staring after the wolf, confusion written plainly into his face. I nudge him. "What is she saying?"

"Honestly, I haven't got a clue." With a sighed laugh, he shakes his head. "I used to be so ignorant in all of this. I miss it. Everything's so complicated now."

A soft smile sits on my lips. "I know what you mean."

He shoots me an amused glance. "We really ruined each other's lives, huh?" His breath hitches at the end of the question, his grip tightening on my hand as he winces. "We best hurry. Mira's starting to nag me more than Rigel did."

I'm forced to break into a half-jog as we start into the undergrowth, hopping over brambles and stumbling around tree roots to prevent myself tripping. Fiesi is doing his best, but he's not a great deal of help when it comes to keeping my balance. I eventually have to yank my hand free of his grasp to maintain my footing.

The breeze in the shade here blows cool, too, rustling the leaves in a chilling breath. I try to stifle a shiver. A longing thread of thought drifts to my father's purple cloak, and I curl my fists, biting my teeth together. I'd rather be cold than bear the weight of that undeserved name.

"We're getting pretty close to the barrier," Fiesi mutters, the lightest touch of anxiety prodding at his voice. He tosses a glance over his shoulder, then at Mira. "I think I'd prefer--oh, right."

My attention settles on what he sees a split second later. A log cabin nestles amongst the bushes before us, wilting vines crawling up its creaking sides, scorch marks smudging the wood in intermittent bursts that mirror the death-marked hilt of my dagger. Unbidden, I run my thumb over the underside of my ribs, brushing the surface of that empty space. Its ache has turned dull, pulsing as if it resonates with the atmosphere of this whispering corner of the woods.

"We're here," Fiesi announces, his baffled, questioning demeanour ripping away any of the usual theatrics he might have made use of. When I glance his way, I catch sight of the azure flames that have climbed free of the folds of his cloak, somewhat absentminded in the way they lick tentatively at the air. They spin over the back of his hand as he stretches it out in the direction of the cabin. "Shall we?"

"What is this?" I ask, hearing my own breathless intrigue. "Does someone live here?"

Mira sits down beside the cabin's door, scratching at her ears with a hind paw. Her gaze bores into me, even as Fiesi rushes to answer. "Apparently. Mira seems to think there's someone waiting to meet us inside." He tips me a grin. "Or, well, you, but I get to be your chaperone. You want to go in first?"

I force a nod, my movements feeling too stiff as I head for the door. A pair of cracked steps form a porch, the planks that form them tilting unsteadily as I balance on them. Mira leaps to her feet and shoves at my waist with her head. If I hesitate, she'll knock me over. I have no choice other than to grab the handle and twist.

The door shudders, but slides open, and the taste of death pools in my mouth.

I gasp sharply, flinching back, my hand coming to my head in a flimsy shield. Mira traps my way out. She pushes again, and I stumble inside. My chest heaves with shallow breaths.

The cabin's interior is almost bare. Cobwebs cling to the corners, a pale, sticky mass that coats much of the ceiling, thin threads dangling into emptiness in places where they've come loose. Dust covers every other surface, tingeing the floorboards grey. The single window carved in the wall is so grimy that light barely sneaks through. Nothing but bleakness and gloom crowds into the pokey space, eating at the beams, etched into the walls. It's so oppressive that it takes several, itching seconds before I register the single chair positioned at a haphazard angle at the far end of the room.

I jerk as Mira slinks past my leg, my heart pounding. There's a creature perched on that chair. My gloves stick to my flexing fingers, cramped with unease, as I creep towards it.

It sits motionless. Its four thick, rounded legs stretch out across the length of the seat, ending in clawed feet that curl into the wooden seams. A spined tail drapes off the chair. Ridged scales crawl across every inch of its body, the majority of them stained an inky black, cracks and miniature fissures digging into their edges as if each one might break apart at any moment and let the frigid air spill in.

Or perhaps something beneath will leak out, the scales a fragile cage that struggles to hold it back. The ache in my chest spikes as if to second that notion.

Only the creature's head and uppermost part of its huge neck is free of the black colouring, the scales there instead shaded a smooth, greyed violet. Its head is rested on one leg, its eyes closed. Peaceful as those unmarked parts of it appear, it must be the source of this clogging scent of death.

Even so, I look to Mira. "Is it dead?"

She crouches against the wall, eyeing the creature with the poise of a wary hunter. Her muzzle shakes to and fro. It's an eerily human action, and it clearly states no.

"Then..." My gaze scans over those blackened scales. I catch my hand drifting towards my cheek, finger grazing my scar, and snatch it back to my side. Curiosity tips over my fear. I take another step forward.

A muttered, senseless curse from behind stops me. I whirl to find Fiesi, braced against one edge of the doorway, his eyes wide and bright. His knuckles have already turned white for how hard he grips the doorframe. It tremors in his grip. More flames surge over his arms, flapping wildly around his bare wrists.

"No," he murmurs. "No. I'm not doing this."

Mira moves to my side, her head raised. Whatever conversation she has with him goes unheard, but from the stare she fixes him with, I can guess how it's going. He gives a vehement shake of his head. His lips are pressed so tightly together that he appears, oddly, as if he's holding back tears.

"Stop it," I say without thinking, turning on the wolf. My gaze flits between her and Fiesi. "Leave him be. He doesn't need to come in with me."

His eyes meet mine. He sucks in a sharp breath, his hand slowly sliding from the doorframe as he straightens, though his flames are no less of a tangle. "It's alright." Hugging his cloak closer, he steps inside, anxious gaze leaping over every nook and cranny as if something might pounce from the dusty shadows. Guilt roils in my stomach. Was this how I used to make him feel, when I could still wield my flame? Is this death-infused sensation the same aura that I radiated?

I press a fist to my chest, enduring the pain that races after the thought. It's no wonder they all feared and despised me.

Fiesi reaches my side. His grey clothing melds with the dim lighting, though the spark of his flames paints him in a potent blue glow. I can still hear his careful, controlled breathing, its ragged edge. "Scales," he growls, only just audible. "Why does it have to be scales?"

"Fiesi?" I prompt, confusion and concern writhing as one.

His eyes dart my way. At least a touch more confidence highlights them now. He sweeps his hair back, then clears his throat, a careless twitch of his hand flicking his cloak so that it billows around his legs despite the lack of wind. "This was your father's Synté," he says. "Or so I'm told. Your father's Rishi Katasko, by the way, which is probably reassuring?" He casts me a half-hearted smile. "Or not, seeing as he lived in this dump, but hey, at least he's not the creepy psychopath who gave you the wonderful gift of constant agony, right?"

I bite my tongue to hold in a laugh. All the stirring feelings that surround the concept feel less heavy when he puts it like that.

Mira snarls from somewhere behind, and he jumps, his flames flaring out through the cloth that covers his shoulders. "Right. Getting off track. Ahem." Adjusting his cloak again, he shifts a little closer to the scaled creature. A long, shaky exhale fills the silence before he speaks again. "Hello, Izar. Are you alive in there?"

There's an empty, shivering beat of silence. And then the creature's eyes blink open.

A shudder laces my spine, twined with intrigue. Izar's eyes are the same rich purple as Rishi's cloak, though their light is far less than Mira's, a weary shine like coloured sunlight muffled by clouds. All the same, they pierce me instantly.

"Yes," Fiesi says on a shaky laugh. "He's alive." He exchanges a glance with me, passing over a thin scrap of reassurance. "He says hello. He..." He averts his eyes. "He thinks you look a lot like Rishi."

"Oh." I shuffle my feet, an awkward discomfort prickling my skin. A black curl of hair falls in my eyes. I toy with it as I tug it aside. "Thanks."

Quiet falls in the wake of my flat gratitude. I search Fiesi's face, but the frown his features scrawl gives little away. Off to my left, Mira's claws clack against the boards, repetitive as she paces. Part of me longs to join her.

"He's asking about the binds," Fiesi says eventually, his voice tripping over itself as if he's suddenly noticed the outward silence and is rushing to fill it. "And... other things. I filled him in. And now..." Another pause, though this one doesn't linger for quite as long. "He's asking about your scar."

His eyes cut my way, bright with his own curiosity and brighter still with fear. My fingers curl inward against the urge to touch my cheek. I choose to meet Izar's gaze rather than his, despite the unsettled tangle in my chest, though my words are for Fiesi. "It's nothing. My flame is trapped for the moment, so I... I scar. It's just a side effect." I swallow hard, shoving down the bitterness of a lie, and pounce on a sweet droplet of hope instead. "Do you know of a way to break my binds, Izar?"

Izar closes his eyes for a moment, then cracks them open again. They're far too misty for me to read any emotion in them. In the corner of my vision, Fiesi shifts, ducking his head. "He's going to tell a story," he says. "Explain how he got like this and... all that. I'll recount what he says as he goes."

"No clear answer, then?" I mean it partly joking, but I feel my heart sink all the same. If it were easy, Izar would have said right away. But then I was never expecting it to be easy.

"No." Fiesi offers me the crooked grin I was after regardless. It lingers only for a moment before he rights himself, focus alight in his gaze. "Okay. Here goes."

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

We have another Synté introduced :D As is the trend, Izar is also named after a star, this time one in the Boötes constellation, which is again in no way relevant other than star name go brr.

He's also finally going to give us some answers!! Let's hope they're some good ones.

- Pup