The pain no longer bothers me. It grates at the edge of my senses, fills my bones with lead and seeps the clarity from my vision, but I can't bring myself to care. My feet keep moving regardless, the world sliding by even as it heaves and buckles beneath me.

Pain is a shield. It's easier to cling to, a more fitting tool to beat back everything else tangled in my heart.

It isn't long, however, until my body snatches control from me. Dizziness washes upward from my toes, and I pitch forward, barely catching myself with trembling hands. The grass and dirt blur together. A sick, burning feeling scales the back of my throat, threatening to trickle into my jaw. I swallow hard, locking my teeth together against it, letting it roil in my stomach instead. I'm reluctant to breathe despite the ache in my lungs.

A sob convulses through me, sudden and violent enough to break free. I squeeze my eyes shut against the threat of yet more tears. I've cried far more than I have right to.

What a pathetic idiot I am.

I can't stop seeing her face. In that moment where everything shattered, when some sense broke free of the muzzy cage I thrust it into, when I registered the look in her eyes. Shock. Fear. Horror. Certainly nothing close to love.

What convinced me she would ever reciprocate? I thought I was past this, thought I'd found some deep pocket to shove those feelings into lest they burst out and hurt her. But I've hurt her anyway. All because, for one brief second, I allowed myself to be selfish and careless. I deserve to pay for it.

As if in response, cold, serrated agony barrels through my chest, scraping at every inch of my skin's underside. The urge to scream claws up my throat, withering away before it can climb high enough. Instead I merely fold in on myself, panting through clenched teeth, my elbows pressed to the earth as my fingers rake through my hair. Pain might be a shield, but this one has edges far too sharp to hold upright. The very thoughts in my head seem to jitter with the effort.

Without prompting, Sarielle's image rises again, and this time I lunge for it. The ghost of her lips brushes over mine. Perhaps what I hate even more is how perfect that sensation felt. How wonderfully right everything seemed when I cradled the soft, gentle curves of her face in my hands, felt her touch shiver through me, my heart dancing to the tune of a bird's whispered song. Love. I'm not sure I quite understood its full meaning until I tasted its sweetness in my mouth in that moment. It has turned sour now, a thick, guilty paste that sticks to my tongue.

"That kind of love is dangerous," Rovena's warning echoes in my ears, ringing with truth. Perhaps it's fitting. Danger is what I've always craved, deep down. Is there truly any difference between a roaring blaze and the soft, perfect warmth that tingles in Sarielle's skin?

Cold sweeps in to fill the hole. A brittle, crawling weakness sails through my limbs, dragging at my skull and dimming the light that seeps through my closed eyelids. A broken sigh drifts out, tripping into a whimper. Right now, I might welcome the numb emptiness of sleep, despite the nightmares waiting to steal any scrap of peace twined with the notion.

Unless today is the day I finally die. Do the dead have dreams?

"Nathan."

The voice is distant, but it strikes loud and clear through my mind, jolting me from the darkness's jaws. Shakily, I unfurl, prising open one eye. Paled by winter as the light is, it still seems blinding. I squint into it, searching for a figure to pair with the sound.

The rattle of my breathing is nearly loud enough to drown out the second whisper. "Nathan?"

Even so, nothing could wash away the easy recognition that shoots through that voice. Wrapping my middle with one arm, I prop myself up with the other, struggling to get to my feet. "Sarielle?"

Only the wind responds, fluttering the fallen leaves that gather around me. They crunch under my boots as I stagger forwards. The forest is spinning. Pain splits my senses beyond use. Pressing a hand to my head, I force myself to keep moving, her name riding my tongue soundlessly.

Maybe it's selfish still, yet I can't ignore her call. At the very least, I need to apologise again. Over and over, for so many things. Perhaps most of all for the truth, the knowledge that all I really want is to bury myself in her embrace again and let her take the burden of my tears.

"Sarielle?" I call again, more hesitant, clutching for the side of a tree as I scan the forest. It flickers in and out of focus, the skeletal tangle of branches blurring together. Something prods my side, and I whirl, only to find a dangling twig as the culprit.

Was I simply imagining it? It is a stretch to believe she'd come after me after what I did.

A heaviness sags my stance, weakening my knees until I'm fighting to remain upright. I can't breathe through the weight of the ache in my chest. "Sarielle," I try again, my voice thin enough to be shredded by the breeze.

"I'm here, Nathan."

Blinking hard, I snap to face the direction of her voice. In that fraction of a second, I'm sure I see a flash of white and gold, there and gone.

I don't have the energy spare to speak her name again, yet I somehow dig up the ability to move. I can't tell how fast I tear through the forest, but it feels as if I sail upon the tide of a whirlwind, a wild, desperate scramble that carries me along. My pulse stumbles out of time with my feet. A sharpened ache spikes through my chest, fierce enough to burst out in a cry, yet I push through it, my gloved nails digging into my tunic. I can only just feel their presence against the skin beneath.

Then something foreign slams into me, and I gasp, my lungs filling with shockingly fresh air.

Another step, and I halt entirely, frowning down at myself. The pain has all but filtered away. I feel it again after a second, the persistent, steady thrum that I've grown used to, yet nothing more. Startled, I spin around.

There's nothing visibly unusual about the trees I've left behind -- their shadows are the same, their bare branches, the clustered undergrowth cowering in the shade beneath them -- yet a strange tingle runs over my skin. The barrier. It rushes back in all at once, carrying with it a wave of rationality. Of course. I must've fought my way to the other side of the barrier.

The distant whine of panic awakes in the back of my mind, steadily growing in volume. Fear laces my bones along with it. I'm outside of Aorila. I'm alone. Can the others find me here?

Maybe the regiment is camped nearby. Carlin or Harper could help. I whirl a full circle, searching for some incline of familiarity.

"Nathan!"

With that one shout, it all drains away. There's terror in Sarielle's voice, and it shoots alarm into my veins, shoving me into a proper run before I've had the chance to consider it. "Sarielle!"

My hand passes through empty space at my side. My dagger. I left it in Izar's cabin. Silently, I curse myself, my legs aching as I push them to move faster.

"Nathan."

A hand snags my wrist. I yelp, nearly tripping over my own feet. Ice floods my chest. I yank at the grip, panic lashing at my muscles until I lay eyes on her.

I go weak all at once. In the short clearing I find myself in, Sarielle's golden hair is aflame with sunlight, glittering as much as her summer-blue eyes. I wobble on my heels, and she catches me, her hand sliding further up my arm as she pulls me into her chest. Stiff, I stare up at her. Senseless adrenaline trembles through me.

"I..." I watch her slight smile quirk wider, still struggling to catch my breath after my sprint. "I don't understand. I thought I heard--"

She shushes me. Her hand trails upwards, brushing up my cheek before running through my hair. "It's alright," she says, her voice tender, hushed. "Calm down. You're safe now."

My skin prickles with gentle warmth in the aftermath of her touch. An instinctive smile tugs at my lips, though I keep it pinned down, my gaze dropping to the golden bird emblem sewn into her tunic. I'd pull away if she wasn't holding me so tight. "I'm sorry." I swallow hard. "I shouldn't have... have kissed you. It was selfish and wrong and I--"

"Nathan," she says, her tone firm enough to dart my eyes up to meet hers. Her smile hasn't diminished. "You did nothing wrong."

My breath hitches. That stray curl dangles beyond her ear, swaying as if it taunts me. It swings out further as she tips her head down. Her face is lit in a perfect rosy glow, her eyes sparkling soft and beautiful, her touch so carefully gentle as she cradles my face. Her smallest finger taps at my chin, urging it to tilt upward. Dazedly, I oblige. All else seems to vanish, the ground leaving my boots behind until I'm sure I float, only her arms to secure me.

"Nothing at all," she adds, closer now, close enough for the quiet breath of her words to tingle with warmth. She pulls me in further.

Some logical part of me is expecting the kiss, but shock rocks through me all the same.

For that one, silent spec of a moment, it's all as perfect as I remember. Sparks race through my veins, washing that tingling warmth throughout every inch. The pain is meaningless. The gloves seem to drift away. My eyes flit closed with the pleasure of it. And then it registers.

She tastes of death.

It's bitter against my lips, leaking an ashen scent into my lungs. I snap my eyes open only to find her staring back at me, matching horror painting her expression.

We jerk away from each other in unison, and only then does terror truly set in.

Void-black lines slash her lips. They're already crawling outward, hissing cracks weaving over her face, down her neck, beyond the rounded collar of her tunic. She gasps shallowly, her touch sliding away. Her eyes glaze over. She sways, and I dive forward, struggling to get my arms around her.

I'm not strong enough to hold her upright. My legs fold beneath me, knees hitting the earth, though I'm numb to the impact. All I'm aware of is her pressed against me, her chest cradled in my arms, the frost that coats every inch of my skin. She's cold. Sarielle shouldn't be this cold. I can't breathe through the chaos in my chest, the crazed fluttering of panic, the sinking, leaden weight of something far worse.

Her hand curls around my wrist, her fingers trembling and clumsy, feeble as she tugs at me. The cracks splinter the back of her hand, breaking apart her rosy skin. They're everywhere. Her eyes are darker as they lock on mine, the colour of her hair dulled and dusty.

"Nathan." Her voice is so small. "Stop it."

"I'm not..." The words break. I suck in a sharp breath, hot tears stinging my eyes. "I'm not doing anything. I--I promise. This can't--"

"Stop it," she rasps. Weak, dying anger ripples across her blackened expression, rolling through me like a peel of thunder. Fear strikes through its centre. "You're hurting me. Please."

I don't understand. Confusion whirls me into a daze, though I grapple for the empty void where my flame should be regardless, my mind's grip sliding over nothing at all. There's no stir in my core, not even a spike in its ache. I can't be doing this. It doesn't make sense.

And yet those are my markings. Those cracks belong to me.

That choking scent of death can only be of my making.

Thin trails of darkness bleed into Sarielle's eyes. I clutch her tighter, desperation clouding my vision as much as my tears. Her lips tremble as she parts them. "Please."

"I can't," I manage to say. "I don't know..."

The pools of black fill in, solid, colourless. Her loose grip on my wrist falls away.

"Sarielle," I plead, though I barely finish the name before she goes limp in my arms.

Empty silence settles in the air. It yawns in my chest, a deeper void than anything I've ever known, black and cold and unfeeling. No. The word echoes over and over in a frenzied buzz in my ears before it finally struggles its way to my lips. "No."

This can't be happening. I can't lose her.

I can't.

"Sarielle?" My voice is so tiny amongst the vast nothingness I've become encased in. Gently, shakily, without ever truly registering it, I lay her on the ground, her head lolling to the side. The black, glassy surface of her eyes stares blankly up at me. Sickened horror coils in my stomach. Is their true colour still hidden beneath there? Will their sky-blue shade return if I beg hard enough?

I'm begging now. Every fibre of me trembles with my desperate prayer, clawing at slippery hope. I'm waiting, I realise. I'm trapped in darkened silence, waiting for her gaze to brighten again, for her light to chase away the cracks, for her arms to wrap around me and her warmth to soothe the chill in my bones. I want her to shield me from the sting in the air. I want her to whisper again that I'm safe.

And yet the time slides by unbroken. The quiet remains.

A wild burst of energy jolts through me. Grabbing her shoulders, I shake her, the movement fervent and frantic, too harsh for her and yet my hands refuse to soften their touch. "Sarielle," I say again, louder, fiercer. "Sarielle, please."

A sob claws its way up my throat, turning my pleas to dust in my mouth before I can utter any more. Fisting her tunic, I collapse against her motionless chest, pressing my face into it to smother my crying. "I'm sorry," I manage, shuddering from the weight of the words despite how feebly they emerge. "I'm so sorry."

This is my fault. It has to be. Only a monster would do such a thing.

Sarielle is dead, and it's all my fault.

In the corner of my eye, metal glints. Her sword, jutting out of the sheath splayed at her side, blinking at me in the pale light. Shifting forward, I reach for it. Its hilt is smooth, its sky-blue colour accented all the brighter by the black contrast of my gloves as I curl my fingers around it. A grinding scrape drags through the silence, jerky and uneven thanks to my shaking.

It seems an age before I finally hold the sword up above my head, still half-leaning over Sarielle's body. A cutlass, she called it, a weapon stolen from pirates, bathed in the blood of its previous owner. The blade grants me little more than a scratched, blurred reflection, a meaningless mix of black and white. I stare at it regardless. A stirring awakes within the hollow in my chest, steadying the broken beat of my heart, a cold, hard numbness that washes over all else. Certainty tightens my grip.

I once promised that if Sarielle died, I would burn it all. I would hunt down whoever committed such a crime and tear their soul from their body. I would set the world alight and find justice in the ashes.

I no longer have the power to cause such destruction, but I can set one thing right.

My arms aren't long enough to point this blade at my heart. Instead, I turn it, fingers trembling as they adjust, and rest its curved edge against my throat.

Calm settles the turmoil of my thoughts. Breathing out a deep sigh, I close my eyes, the darkness behind them soft and peaceful. She wouldn't have wanted this. I know that. She would hate me for it, but I can't seem to make myself care. What's the use in living for her when the stars have already claimed her soul?

The only path I see is to follow her.

The blade isn't as sharp as I expect as I press it into my skin. The deeper I cut, the duller it seems, the pain sliding from my grasp. It's far from enough. A hiss scraping between my teeth, I shove the blade harder, only for my fingers to lose their grip and close over nothing at all.

My eyes fly open just in time to see the final fragments of the sword fade away, the distorted mirage of curved metal flickering into view before vanishing. My chest heaves with my gasp, blunt shock spilling through me. My gaze snaps to Sarielle, and another ripple nearly knocks all remaining air from my lungs.

She's gone.

"No," I breathe, lunging for the empty space where she once lay, palms flat against the grass. It's untouched, unmarked, blades swaying listlessly in the breeze as if they were never covered in the first place. I can't tear my eyes away. I can only stare downwards, panting, lost to the storm in my mind.

Was it an illusion? Did I imagine it all?

I can't bring myself to laugh. It doesn't feel right. I can still sense her lips on mine, her arms around me, still taste the bitter darkness of the pain I caused. My face is wet with tears. And yet I can't make sense of any of it.

"Fascinating."

Every inch of me stiffens. The fangs of fear gnaw at my insides, spiking adrenaline into my veins. Still breathless, I flip around, arms aching as they keep me from collapsing onto my back.

For a brief moment, I pray I'm wrong, that I've mistaken someone else's voice for his, yet there's no doubting the figure that emerges from the thicket before me. His tunic is as black as the afternoon shadows, the silver ship sewn into his chest riding upon dark, dark waters. The green thread edging his sleeves is almost too colourful in comparison. Dull, flat eyes of a similar shade bore into me.

My heart pounds, urging me to run, yet I can't seem to find the strength. I grit my teeth instead, my nails digging into the dirt.

"How readily you jump at the chance to throw your life away," Harlow adds, musing. "Does she really mean that much to you?"

"Where is she?" I bite back, papering anger over my bewildered fear.

He shrugs. "Still hidden away in that prideful little town. Perfectly safe, I imagine." His brows draw in a touch. "Cormé aren't the only people that barrier was made to keep out."

The ground seems to tilt and rock beneath me, shifting my grip on it. It's impossible to tell if Harlow is lying. His expression is permanently set in a blank, passive kind of boredom, every twitch of emotion awkward and difficult to read. With those senses eluding me, I can only clutch at logic instead, though my mind reels enough that it takes time for me to lock a grasp on it.

Ligari drifts into my thoughts. Her Jeía magic allowed her to create illusions. She used them to show me the image of my past self, surrounded by the flames that consumed Aorila's ruined parts. Harlow could easily have the same ability.

"You tricked me." I mean to growl the words, but a heavy shower of relief douses the heat of fury. "So Sarielle... she's..."

"Alive, yes."

He casts the notion away, dismissive, yet it flows through me in the shape of cool, soothing water. She's alive. She's okay. I close my eyes for a moment, letting loose a shaky exhale.

It snaps away with the hard return of Harlow's voice. "I didn't intend for such a dramatic scene, but it seemed the most convenient way to extract you."

My glare is back in an instant, piercing him with all the fire I can muster. "Leave me alone."

He moves forward another pace, then two. My muscles tense, braced with the desire to get as far from him as possible, and yet my bones are leaden. I can barely flinch. "Do you not feel freer now you're out of there?" he asks.

I clench my jaw against a true response. It was suffocating inside Aorila, but that is nothing compared to the dread seeping into my soul at this moment. "How can I be free when you're here?" I snap.

His next step brings him to my side. Slowly, he bends down, meeting my eyes. The spark in his gaze doesn't properly catch the light, flickering in some warped imitation of pity. "You're suffering, Noli."

My skin crawls. "It's Nathaniel."

"Nathaniel," he corrects. His voice is soft as Sarielle's whisper, and yet so different, so much emptier. My name sounds hollow. It knots my stomach, squeezing tighter as he touches his thumb to my cheek. It takes a moment longer than it should before I succeed in jerking away.

"I wish it didn't have to happen this way," he murmurs. "I hope this will change in time."

"Leave me alone," I grate out.

He hums, thoughtful, watching me. His hand grazes my cheek again, and this time I'm not quick enough to move. Darkness swallows my vision. Fluttering panic surges upward, spiking in my pulse, though it is quickly subdued by the gentle suggestion of exhaustion. It's too easy to fall into.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

I'm sorry but I'm also not. If I feel pain then you must suffer with me.

- Pup