"What do you mean he isn't here anymore?"

Fiesi spins sharply on his heels to glare up at the sky, then instantly regrets it as an unpleasant twinge races up his leg. Wincing, he shifts his weight to the uninjured one, his annoyance flaring all the more. He lets it all spill along Rigel's thread to impale that obnoxious bluebird with fiery anger.

All Rigel filters back is a dry, unfazed blankness. I mean the boy is not there. An impatient flutter of his wings tremors the thread. Stop talking aloud to me. I am not there either, and the Cormé are likely beginning to stare.

"Like I care," Fiesi grumbles. Spite coats his tongue in a thick, faintly satisfying paste, though it's not nearly enough to improve his mood. His boots wearing a dinge into the gritty surface of Kavas's main path, he shifts back, tracing his gaze over the high-rise rooftops to locate the sun. It's already dangling into the western sky. The day has slid into a grimy afternoon, the grey atmosphere so potent he can practically taste the silty fog in his lungs. It's begun to wail through the streets in chilling gusts. His cloak yanks sharply to the side, lashing at his arm, and he bats at it with gritted teeth.

A shift of movement in the corner of his eye makes him turn. Jaci leans into the side of a building, calmly constructing a diamond-shaped ice crystal balanced atop her outstretched forefinger. He folds his arms in an attempt to pin some of the cloak against his midsection and turns his glare on her. "You can't use your magic here. We're in a Cormé town."

She casts him a slanted stare over her hand, but obliges, the ice settling back against her dark skin. It only lingers long enough to sketch out two words on her arm, large enough for him to read. Nobody about.

"That isn't an excuse." He hugs himself tighter as wind sweeps past him again, a few strands of hair blowing into his face. He doesn't bother to swipe them back into place. "Don't you think I'd be starting a fire if I could? I'm freezing."

Her lips quirk. She presses a fist to them, but he catches her snigger all the same. Heat prickles beneath his skin. "What?"

She mimics his scowl in a rather embellished fashion.

With a huff, he turns his head to the side. "Shut it. I've every right to be a little irate." He paces a line past her if only to work some feeling back into his toes. His leg continues to ache. The wound has all but closed up now beneath its icy bandage, but it's hardly healed; every slight movement is riddled with constant pain. His next step accidentally leans too heavily on it, and he stumbles, tipping sideways to catch himself on the wall beside Jaci. She momentarily abandons her mockery to grab his arm, though he shrugs her off, instead slamming his shoulders into the panels behind with his leg half-lifted.

A growl scrapes between his teeth, and he rakes a hand through his hair. "We walked all this time to get here, and it was utterly pointless."

Not pointless, Rigel offers in that helpful tone, the kind that is very much unhelpful when it comes to resisting the urge to punch something. If you have made it this far, you might as well keep following. A clipped sigh cuts between the words. I suppose I am stuck with you.

"I will keep following," Fiesi snaps back. "Whether you want me to or not. I'm just..." He pins the ground with his stare. Even without the injury, his feet are sore and throbbing from the hours of trudging through muddy woodland. "Very tired." He lets out a sigh. "It's like last time all over again."

Jaci rests a hand on his shoulder. Her touch isn't as cold as the air, and though it's not as warm as he'd like, it's something. He shoots her a tight smile, focusing on calming the twisted strands of flame until the burn in his throat retreats. "Well. You're here. I suppose that's a tiny improvement."

His fingers flex, recalling the moulded shape of a knife's hilt nestled within them. Any notion of the weapon is absent now, the will to summon it gone along with the anchoring surety that used to embed within its flaming wisps, yet it's in moments like this that some small part of him misses it. There is no anchor now. Even if the person he chases after is the same, so much else is so different. That lost, helpless feeling that has haunted him still refuses to fade. It's more than physical tiredness.

The sooner he finds Nathan, the better. It's so much easier to be certain when he doesn't feel quite so alone. Steadily resigning himself to the task ahead, he tugs at Rigel's thread again. Where is he now, then?

I do not know exactly.

You don't... Fiesi sucks in a sharp breath, curling a fist. Now he really might punch something. Aren't you tracking him?

I cannot. There's an odd kind of hesitance to the words, a wispy tremble that trickles unrestrained into Fiesi's mind, dripping into the centre of his fury until it curls into ashes. An unnatural chill swoops over his spine. He goes stiff, frowning up at the sky. Rigel very rarely lets his emotions slip. They don't even seem to exist half the time, and yet this fear is constricting, as fierce as any human feeling.

Why? Fiesi asks, tentative.

Heavy silence. Then comes Rigel's brisk, dull voice. They are likely heading to Lake Katai. Travel with speed.

With that, his presence is whisked away, such an abrupt vanishing that Fiesi has nothing but a void to clutch at in his wake. The fear lifts, but his own abrasive anxiety is quick to prickle over his skin in replacement. They? he casts into the emptiness. It drifts inward, unheard.

A nudge at his side drags him from the muddle of questions. Jaci cocks her head to the side, confused. He offers a shrug. "Rigel is being vague and ominous. It's annoying, but I think we need to leave fast."

With a nod, she loops her arm with his, her elbow creasing his cloak. He pauses, then lets her ease him off the wall and along the path. Her step quickly dissolves into a skip, sending him stumbling. He casts her a sharp look, though she's not paying him attention. Her gaze glides over the worn Cormé houses, the frosted windows and tiled rooftops, a faraway smile etched onto her face. He scoffs. "I don't know what you're so happy about. I'd think this kind of place proves how miserable the Cormé world is."

She lifts her chin, very deliberately ignoring him. The wind blows her hair out behind her in raven-black ribbons. She looks infuriatingly at peace in this weather. He can only shrink a little further into her, attempting a small, intricately controlled flame that barely breaks the skin beneath his sleeves. Those windows feel like spotlights. Even after all that's happened, his nerves still itch and whisper of the dangers of exposure.

Jaci jostles his side, their interlocked arms sliding apart. He opens his mouth to complain, but then he sees the finger she jabs into an alley to their right, and reluctantly obliges in following where she points. A trio of horses sit tied up outside a shut-up building round the bend. Excitement bounces Jaci's heels, her eyes a sparkling blue-white.

"Yes, those are horses." Limping forward, he grabs hold of her arm, jerking her. "They're really not that thrilling, trust me. Come on."

Her lips narrow, pursing together. There's a pause.

"Oh." Realisation bursts in his chest, tugging a grin to his face. "Oh, you want to steal one."

She gives an eager nod.

An air of hope lightens the pressure crushing his feet. "Fine," he concedes. "That's not a bad idea."

She's moving before he's even finished speaking, bounding along the path and coming to a swift halt before the animals. A tawny-brown one laid on the ground lifts its head at her approach. As he hurries to catch up, battling through the protests his leg offers, she stretches out a hand to its muzzle. To his surprise, it lets her pet it. Perhaps it's only flame that the beasts don't like.

The horse helpfully confirms that theory by grunting as he approaches, getting to its feet with an antsy haste. He casts it a sideways glare. "Calm down, mikros. I'm setting you free." Shifting carefully around it, he grabs onto the pole wedged beside the building's wall, using it to support himself as he searches for a place to start untying it. He's sure the other two are giving him judgemental looks. Damned horses.

The clasp of his cloak yanks sharply back, digging into his throat. His yelp is cut short. His feet slide from under him, his back hitting the ground with enough force to knock the air from his lungs.

Gasping, he tries to roll over, only for a foot to come down on his chest. Instinct drives him to reach over his shoulder for his spear, though his hand closes over nothing. He curses himself. He has no defence but his flame. He's barely had time to consider reaching for it when a blade's tip lands at his throat.

He blinks. The sword follows a familiar, broad curve, before narrowing into the enclosure of a sky-blue hilt. His gaze flicks up, and relief settles over him in a soft mist.

"Sarielle." He manages a breathless grin. "Thank the stars."

Sarielle's surprise is short-lived, her expression reforming quickly into a tight frown. Removing her sword, she steps off him, allowing him to sit gingerly upright. Another grating wave of agony crawls up his leg, and he clenches his jaw. "Hi," he adds.

She doesn't exactly look ready to greet him with the open arms of his desired reunion. "You're an idiot."

"I'm a pioneer, it seems, for you to come all this way after me." He tips his head. "Either that or you care a great deal for my safety. Which I appreciate."

He surveys her. Instead of her usual white uniform, she wears a cropped tunic woven in faded gold brown, a pale cream shirt tucked beneath it. Cloth the shade of sand wraps around her waist in a makeshirt skirt. It's as if she's chosen colours in all the echoes of yellow, dressed as faded sunlight.

"I'm after Nathan, not you." She sheathes her sword, yanking the strap's buckle tight over the folds of the skirt. "Though I'm glad you're alright, Fiesi. Get up."

She offers him a hand, which he gratefully accepts, clasping her palm as he heaves himself onto his feet. He tries to be subtle in leaning into the wall, but she notices anyway. Her gaze flicks to his leg, brows drawing in. Blood-tinged ice must be visible through the tear in his trouser. "Are you injured?"

She sounds incredulous enough to make him snort. "Yeah."

"It hasn't healed?"

Warmth spreads through him at the concern in her tone. He truly does appreciate that. "My father," he offers as brief explanation. "A Tía arrow. We had a very fun parting conversation."

She hesitates. There's sympathy in her eyes, bright and piercing, and it squirms somewhere deep in his stomach. It's fortunate that the sound of gravel crunching snatches her attention before she can say anything.

Jaci's footsteps come to a frozen stop as their attention swings her way. She lingers beside the horse, eyes wide and wary. Fiesi notices Sarielle's hand drift to her sword hilt and shoves himself away from the wall, holding out a hand. "Jaci came with me. She's on my side."

Sarielle lingers over her nod, but she does nothing, much to his relief. He doesn't have the energy to prevent a fight. "No-one else followed you?" she asks.

"No. They wouldn't come this far." He flashes her a crooked grin as he shifts his focus back to the horse's tied reins. "Only I'm that mad. Shall we get going, then?"

She bats his hand away, reaching forward to untie the knot herself. "Not quite yet. We need to figure out a plan."

He folds his arms. "I have a plan."

"Which is?"

"Set off right this instant so we can get to Lake Katai before they do." He says the words without thinking, hearing their rushed urgency, that earlier, foreign fear swelling in a tide. He bites his tongue, sending Rigel a mental shove. You're making me look panicked. I'd rather not panic just yet.

"Lake Katai?" Confusion darkens Sarielle's expression. "How do you know he's with someone?"

"I..." He shakes his head, giving up on explaining before he's begun. "I don't, really. How do you know? Did you see him?"

Her gaze slips to the side, lips pressing together rather than offering a response. It's then realisation scrubs his vision in fresh clarity, and he sees the weary tinge to her usually bright eyes, the shadow cast over her face, the tangled, frizzy nature of her yellow curls. Their ends are tucked into the back of her tunic rather than spilling out over her shoulders. She extracts a strand now, twisting it over her finger in a somewhat anxious motion.

He frowns. He's not sure he's ever seen Sarielle upset; it's difficult to tell if this is merely his imagination. Even so, a final question trips out after the rest in the silence she leaves. "Are you alright?"

She startles, brushing back her hair. Her hands gravitate towards the reins instead. "Fine." Another glance up, and the weariness has been replaced by a wry smile. "Don't you start worrying about me."

"I wasn't," he mutters, wrenching his gaze away from her. She's plenty capable of dealing with her own problems. He doesn't need to care.

Even so, he struggles to summon the willpower to press her again. It's only when all three horses have been untied, Sarielle leading two while Jaci bounds over to help with the tawny-pelted one, does his curiosity burn fiercely enough to let him give her a nudge. "Where are we even going if you don't want to chase him yet?"

One of her horses gives a disgruntled whinny, shifting away from the sound of his voice. He almost misses her reply. "We need to fetch my father and Dalton before we do anything." She quiets the horse with a pat, pausing on the street corner, before beckoning him out onto the main street. "They're hiding out with a local woman. She said Nathan's travelling with a girl."

"A girl? Who--" His thoughts knock into each other, the first half of her explanation trampling over his initial question to burst out at his lips. "Wait, you brought your father? The advisor guy?"

Her stride quickens. He's sure he sees her grip on the reins she holds tighten. "He chose to come."

Fiesi groans, dragging himself along after her. His limp is beginning to feel rather pronounced. "Great. Now there's three of you." His fingers have begun drumming on his side. "We're never going to catch up."

She shoots him a sharp look. "We got here before you did."

"That isn't fair! I'm injured!"

A hum leaves her lips as her gaze trails to his leg again. He jerks aside to avoid the sting of pity she casts him, grateful when the subject immediately shifts. "We don't know who the girl is. Apparently, Nathan said her name was Edita."

Shards of glass might as well have suddenly crystallised in Fiesi's veins, mixing in a cold numbness with his blood and slitting the breath from his lungs. He doesn't realise they've pierced him in place until Sarielle comes to a stop a few paces ahead, spinning around, the reflection of his shock warping in her eyes until it shines out as a curious kind of puzzlement.

Annoyance flattens it out. "Fiesi, the flame."

Stunned, he blinks, taking a moment before he registers the meaning of her prompt. "Oh." He looks down to find trails of flame squeezing out from his clenched fist, writhing like the tails of a gang of serpents. Sucking in a forced breath, he shoves them back under his skin, though they continue to hiss and burn. "You... definitely said Edita, right?"

Jaci slides in at his side, hand locking around his wrist to wrench him into continuing. He lets her, his focus lingering on Sarielle.

"Yes," she says. "Why? Does that mean something to you?"

His foot catches on an upturned stone in the path, lancing a fiery rod up his injured leg. He locks his jaw. "Edita Ley?"

She shrugs. "All I know is what I was told. Rovena saw them." Her head tilts forward. "Go ask her yourself."

Following her gaze, he locks onto a dark-skinned woman leaning against the side of the street up ahead. Dalton and Sarielle's father are seated on the porch beside her, although Fiesi barely registers their presence, merely offering Sarielle a nod before breaking into an ill-thought-out sprint. It hurts. He practically collapses into Rovena, grabbing onto her arm to steady himself while he catches his breath.

He stumbles further into her as she flinches back. Dimly, he's aware of the dark glint of a sword at her side, twitching to angle his way, yet the detail feels like soot buried in the depths of a ravaging fire. "Edita," he manages to gasp. He hasn't felt her name on his tongue in a little while. "What did Edita look like?"

Rovena's eyes are narrowed. "Don't I know you?"

"Perhaps from tales of my legendary roguish antics, although that's not--" Inky black strands of hair splay over his hand as he clings to her shoulder, and he blinks, gaze roaming her as he fully takes her in. The sword flashes its narrow shine at him again. Wincing, he releases her, rocking back shakily onto the support of his own two feet. "Right. You're the one from Threskeld."

"Threlkeld."

"Same thing." He musters a rushed smile and offers a hand, noticing too late the tendrils of azure fire nipping at the dirty tears in his sleeve. "Let's pretend we're meeting afresh. Hello. You can call me Finlay, your local crazy traitor. Now, you were going to tell me about Edita?"

She chooses not to take his proffered hand, although he's glad to yank it back to his side anyway. He's afraid it's trembling.

In Rovena's moment of consideration, Sarielle chips in from over his shoulder. "Just answer him. It's easier."

Rovena sighs, her sword twisting over in her hand. Her white cloak is nearly as broad as some of Ischyri's garments. "I gather you're asking because of her eyes."

"Her eyes?" Fiesi is sure his heart has leapt to his throat.

Her frown scrutinises him, clearly intended to be piercing, although it barely penetrates the buzzing rising again in his ears. "After what happened last time we met, I'm not sure you deserve to know."

An impatient growl tears from his throat. Strings of flame wind over his fingers, clumping into the loose shape of a blade. Poorly formed, yet it still holds still enough to allow him to point its tip at her chest, his insides blazing as he meets her eyes. Threat bares his teeth. "If you don't want the last time to repeat itself, you'll tell me."

"Fiesi!" Sarielle's voice is a high-pitched slice beside his ear, her grip jerking back his arm. The blade flickers with the movement. He roots himself in place, holding his stare firm.

"Tell me," he repeats. There's a desperate edge to his voice beneath the anger. Terror is a steady drip, turning each bone in his spine to ice one by one.

Some glimmer of challenge lights in Rovena's gaze. Quicker than he can keep track of, her blade swings upward, its tip latching underneath his chin and forcibly driving it upward. The cut stings. He hisses in a breath, his neck straining.

"Her eyes were black." If there's any fear in her words, it's buried deep beneath layers of steel. "All black. Similar to that friend of yours." The sword twitches, sinking into his skin. "And if you lay a finger on either of them, you'll regret ever drawing your cursed blade on me, witch."

A tight, dark coil spawns in his stomach, clenching everything tight. Frustration is the slim ribbon that wraps it. "You don't understand." His voice comes out shaky. He digs for a shuddering inhale, then wrenches himself back, enough flame clamped around the action to extract him from Sarielle's grip and the bite of the sword. It drags as it slides from his chin. He snaps a hand to the wound as he staggers back into the street, blood sticking to his palm. The knot in his stomach is large enough to choke him.

Rovena makes to advance, but Sarielle hurries to block her. Her eyes are wide. "Fiesi, you've gone pale."

The icy dripping has formed a pool by now. It sloshes back and forth, soaking him through. So much swirls within it, so many memories and stories and blind, instinctive feeling that forms a thick film over all the rest. "I think I know why Rigel is so afraid."

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

This whole middle section is gonna need so much fixing later down the line, but for now I'm simply letting it be. Fiesi seems to hate coherence and key plot points anyway, so he can suffer a bad chapter. Take that.

Now we can finally get back to Nathan and I can regain my sanity. Or lose the last dregs of it. That's probably more accurate.

- Pup