Stood upon a hilltop perch with Lo Dasi at his feet, grey cloak fluttering restlessly around his ankles, Fiesi watches the sun sink lower in the sky. His stomach sinks along with it, thick and heavy with dread. Another day gone. Has it been five now? Six?

It's all moving too fast, and he can't keep up. His heart thrums, an unnerving echo of Rigel's beating wings someplace nearby, fluttering on endlessly with a fear that never fades. Prickling flame crawls up his arms. He clenches his jaw and forcibly subdues it, determined to hold himself steady for just a little longer.

The lake glitters below. A dry, salty tang fills his jaw, though he knows the sea is miles away. This sheet of water is clear and fresh, innocent, devoid of movement. Its surface sparkles a deepening blue.

Irritation clouds his mind. It shouldn't be blue.

"This seems like a good place to rest," someone says from behind -- Dalton, maybe, though Fiesi doesn't care nor linger long enough to confirm. He's already striding down the slope.

"Nope. No resting," he calls.

They scurry after him, the little trio of earnest, good-willed Cormé. Jaci lingers somewhere at the back, silent and agreeable, not half as argumentative. A hand taps his shoulder. "Fiesi, it'll be getting dark soon. We get nothing done by marching blindly into the night."

The morning will be too late, Rigel whispers. You are already late. Hurry, please.

Fiesi stiffens. Rigel never says please. He speaks in orders, not requests. He doesn't beg.

He doesn't fear, either, and yet here they are, both choking on bitter terror.

"We have to hurry," Fiesi says aloud, quickening his pace, some unfiltered part hoping they will all fade away if he walks fast enough. Maybe he should run.

The town clusters at the bottom of the hill. A few buildings climb up the lower slopes, the path cutting a shallow, boot-worn dip into the earth between them. He skids down the last of the incline and keeps going, his head ducking. If only the quickest route to Lake Katai didn't drive him through this ragged Cormé settlement. The light is fading, but he still feels illuminated somehow amongst them, his skin on fire and his weaknesses flaring amongst the heat like darkened scars. Every tiny spark of a window is a judgmental stare, chasing him like watchful stars.

I used to want this, he realises. There's a kind of fame that comes with the sensation, a spotlight he so vividly remembers craving. Perhaps if he still wore azure, that light wouldn't seem so harsh. He'd enjoy it rather than wishing he could disappear.

The quicker he moves, the sooner he can be out again and on his way, but instead a fist curls around the edge of his cloak and wrenches him back. He stumbles and whirls around, armed with a glare.

"Fiesi, stop," Sarielle snaps. "You can't keep behaving like this."

"Like what? Like I actually want to catch up with Nathan?" He lifts his chin, fists clenching tight over the sting of awaking flame. "I'm terribly sorry for interrupting the lovely family adventure you and your father would prefer to have. I'm busy caring about something actually important."

Her expression flares, fury lighting in her gaze, and he almost revels in it. It stirs his flame and matches the ceaseless roaring in his ears. "How dare you," she hisses, prodding a finger at his chest. "You--" She cuts off sharply, jerking her head to the side, and sucks in a deep breath. Her fingers curl into a loose fist she drops at her side. "That isn't fair, Fiesi. All of us care. That's why we're here."

"Then stop holding me back."

He turns away from her, but she rushes past him and blocks the way, her stance formed of steel and irritatingly effective. The sun is beginning to set behind her, its amber light glittering in the wild, blonde strands of hair that have scattered from her ponytail and hang in her face. He sets his jaw and lets his gaze fall briefly to his feet. Maybe it was unfair. She looks as tired as he feels; dark circles line her eyes, and her sand-coloured skirt is stained with dirt, the usual faultless poise she holds cracked at the seams. She cares about Nathan more than anyone, but it doesn't mean she knows how to save him.

Uncertainty crawls across her face, dragging her hesitance into a tense pause. Her gaze flicks to Dalton, and she straightens again. "I understand the haste, but we can't charge in without thought. That's reckless. We don't know what's waiting for us out there."

Strands of flame lick at his knuckles before he forces them down. "You don't."

She exhales through her nose. "Well, maybe if you told us what you know--"

"I can't, alright?" A twisting slides through his core, tight and sickening, as if Rigel's thread leaks so deep it twines even around his thumping heart. Bile burns the back of his throat. "I can't even..." He bites down hard on his tongue, despising the sudden shaking in his hands. He looks like a fool.

And yet... Shaula. He flinches, even the mental echo of the name sending white-hot panic searing through his veins, lined in ice so cold it freezes the air in his lungs. His thoughts won't even latch onto it, and they refuse to wander. Rigel's talons drag through it, severing the strings attached to it, his wings beating with endless, exhausting panic.

It barely even makes sense, but Rigel says nothing, and the mere notion of his presence is so wild that all it causes is aching confusion.

Shaula. He wants to cry. He has to berate himself, wrestle with the urge to curl up in a ball and bury his face in his hands.

Sarielle's hand lands on his shoulder. He flinches again, unable to help it, and she retracts the touch in a hurry. "It's alright," she says, her voice too soft. It doesn't help. Stars, for some stupid, illogical reason, he somehow wishes she would hug him.

"Good." He can hear the wavering scrape of his voice, the way it cracks. Gritting his teeth, he drags his gaze from her face to the distant lake, visible over her shoulder. "Then let's go."

She moves before he can dodge around her. "No. We've been walking all day without a break, and we're all exhausted. You most of all. I don't think you've eaten since last night."

He shrinks into himself under her scrutiny. "Like you care about that."

"I do." Her gaze is oddly gentle.

Reuben claps his shoulder from behind. "Even the heroes need to rest, Master Kynig."

Fiesi winces. He wishes the clueless Cormé noble would stop using his last name; even hearing it lances a rod of pain through his leg, though the wound has thankfully healed by now. He shrugs off the put-on camaraderie. Impatience flutters in his flame, and he pins the horizon with his stare, anxiety chewing at his stomach. He really is hungry. His energy seems to be vanishing at twice the speed at present.

"But there isn't time," he says, repeating it over and over in his head until it drowns out the doubt. He drags a hand through his hair. "Look, if you all want to go back and rest somewhere, fine. I'll go alone. Rigel would prefer that anyway."

He succeeds in dodging past Sarielle this time, though she snatches up his arm before he can fully escape, her grip so tight it probably blocks the circulation to his wrist. He stiffens, stunned by the fierce sympathy in her eyes. Pity. The urge to disappear crests higher, scrabbling at his spine like a panicked creature.

"So you're doing this just because Rigel wants you to?"

His flame writhes, a phantom warmth circling his throat. "It's not--"

"You aren't his puppet. I know you can make your own choices." Her nails dig in, an edge of desperation creeping into her expression. "Please, Fiesi. Don't put yourself in danger for his sake."

Puppet, Rigel echoes, his chirp lowered nearly to a disdainful, mocking growl. You are a Tía. You simply have responsibility. Do not let her speak of a system she does not understand.

Fiesi throws up a mental wall, sealing the simmering words behind it and hoping it will shut them out. His thoughts are his own as he meets Sarielle's gaze. "I'm not doing it for him," he says.

Fire sparks to life around his wrist, flaring briefly with focused heat before fizzling out. She gasps and releases him in a jolt. Without leaving himself time to hesitate, he spins on his heels and breaks into a sprint, scrambling over the loose stones of the path as he skids around the corner.

In his haste, he doesn't see the boy until it's too late.

They smack right into one another, and the impact sends Fiesi's legs flying out from under him. He lands hard on his back with a sharp oof, winded, a jarring sensation lancing up his spine and sprawling into his shoulder blades. He hisses, unable for the moment to do anything but lie there. The sky tilts and then settles, though its smoky, puffed-out stripes of cloud seem almost to grin in mocking. He scowls back at them. Well, this is a great day.

"I'm so sorry, sir! Are you alright?"

There's a scraping of dirt and gravel, a pattering of feet, and then the boy ducks into view. He's young and faintly olive-skinned, his mousy curls bouncing into his face as he crouches to extend a helping hand. His expression is pinched, apologetic and reluctant all at once, though the sparkling worry in his hazel eyes appears genuine.

Fiesi pointedly ignores the proffered hand and sits up on his own, glowering. "Watch where you're going."

"I will. I'm very sorry." The boy's hand hovers for a second before he clearly gets the message and retracts it. His brows knit a frown. "Though perhaps you should, too."

His tone is nothing but polite, accompanied by a quickly-appearing smile, but the glint of a jab is there. Fiesi chooses not to grace him with a response and gets to his feet, turning his back to the boy with a curt swish of his cloak. His heart has begun racing, and he curses it under his breath. All he did was trip. The boy is just a Cormé. Fourteen, maybe. Insignificant. Why is the throb of anxiety suddenly so excruciating?

He takes a step, and it wobbles. The boy rushes to his side like some nervous medic, clutching his arm. The bow and quiver tied to his back sway with the movement. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm..." The words turn to ashes on Fiesi's tongue.

The balance has tipped.

The air is heavy, a burden to take in, his breaths coming strained and panicked. His skin crackles. Jerkily, his fingers jittering, he looks towards the lake, and a boulder plunges into his stomach.

Lake Katai's pleasant twilight blue has been swallowed whole. Black takes its place, surging outward, staining the horizon until it appears like a fat line of ink scratched in by hands even shakier than his. His head feels light. He's suddenly grateful for the Cormé boy's support.

It takes longer than it should to gather his voice. Too long. "Sarielle! Jaci!"

Their heads both pop around the corner first, though Dalton and Reuben aren't far behind. Sarielle dashes over, her gaze springing from him to the lake and back again. "What's happening?"

He doesn't have an answer. It's there, but he can't reach it; it's a hard lump of coal, too big to lift, his fingers scrabbling uselessly at it and coming away caked in nothing but soot. Desperation heaves through him with the force of a roaring river. All he can find to say is, "I told you we needed to hurry."

Jaci elbows the boy aside and takes his place, her skin softly cool as she wraps her arm around Fiesi's shoulders and squeezes his wrist. As a Nería, her senses are infinitely more muted than his, more rooted in the earth and in the world's molecules, but she still quivers, her pale eyes wide and swirling with terror. Perhaps she hears the turmoil of the lake's water. He wonders if it screams the same way his flame does, howling through him until its burn grows close to blinding him.

You are too late, Rigel says.

Blinking hard, Fiesi shoves back as much fire as possible, clinging to reality despite how every nerve writhes with the instinct to retreat, to hide from that encroaching black. It's getting closer. Surging outward from the lake, the darkness claws over the ground with impossible speed. Like poisoned smoke leaking from an explosion, shoved far and wide, lethal and unstoppable.

"Fiesi," Sarielle urges, her gaze expectant, searching. It hits him that she's depending on him for once. She's completely lost, and somehow she's chosen to depend on him for guidance. They all have. Jaci clings more tightly to him, his wrist stinging where ice crystallises beneath her fingers.

They're depending on him, and all he wants to do is run away.

Rigel already has. Their thread snaps taut with distance, only the barest end still dipped into Fiesi's consciousness, frayed and silent. He's only a Tía puppet, after all. A puppet who has failed this many times is easy to discard.

The darkness looms closer. It reeks of death and howls the bitter notes of fear, a monster of its own. He feels like a child.

Something. Do something. You have to be more than this.

Clenching his jaw, he plants his feet in the dirt path, forcing his spine to straighten. Azure flame flickers to life at his fingertips, and he does his best to steady it. Calm. Focus. You're supposed to be a hero.

"Get behind me," he tells the others, hoping his voice doesn't shake. "Stay close."

They obey immediately. Jaci presses into him, Dalton ducks behind with his sword drawn -- amusingly useless as the weapon is -- and Sarielle loops her arm with Reuben's, dragging him into the rear. The black cloud has shape now. It's a starving kind of flame, the kind that devours without mercy, the kind Fiesi has been dreaming about since he was nine years old.

A wispy knife tries to form in his hand. He turns it into a curved handle, melding it to fit his palm, and thrusts it forward. The flame bursts outward and solidifies, however thin, trembling in its smoulder. He can't recall the last time he made a shield. It looks flimsy.

The Cormé boy edges a step back, frozen. His eyes fix on the flaming shield. "Are you--"

"Behind me," Fiesi growls, and snatches the boy's arm, yanking him in. It's just in time. The nightmare has arrived.

The planks of the houses across the street blacken and crumble, rotting away before his eyes. The feeble clumps of grass pressed up against the foundations wither away. The sky darkens. The flame lunges for them, a beast pouncing on living prey, hungering for the warm, flowing blood in his veins.

It slams into his shield and spills out around them in a dark, snarling storm. A chill pierces his bones, scrapes his spine. Grappling for the heat beneath it, he tries to brace himself, though his legs shake. He can do this. I can do this.

If he fails, he will die.

The shield fractures at the edges, a sharp, violent shard of ice pricking at his core. He digs deep, scoops up more flame, but he's merely patching cracks, papering over leaks, and still the darkness keeps gushing forward. Trails of black sneak through his shield's determined blue. Death is sour in the air, drying his throat. Fear holds a nauseating tang. His stomach constricts. Dizziness washes over him, his face growing cold.

His feet slip backward, the grips of his boots struggling for purchase as the shield shrinks. Jaci squeezes him so tight his ribs creak. The mousy-haired boy shrinks further into him, his bright confusion and terror a distraction, clawing at his focus, mingling wildly with his own feelings.

A hand grabs his shoulder, holding him steady. Dalton. Sarielle's palm presses into his back in aid. The boy follows suit, elbowing his side and holding surprisingly rigid given his trembling. They're all trembling. The very earth must shake at their feet, breaking apart as much as everything else.

The world is shattering. There isn't supposed to be this much darkness, this much destruction. Wrongness crackles like electricity in the air.

Then fix it, he tells himself. Do something right.

Scraping the depths of his core, syphoning the very warmth from his beating heart, he holds the shield firm. His left hand joins his right, a second handle forming to spread its surface wider. With a jolt, he realises blackened cracks are crawling across his fingertips, and he pushes harder, a cry slipping from his jaw, tears stinging in his eyes with the sheer brutal force of withstanding the flickers of darkness.

His flames glow now in the premature night. They're the only light left. Panting, he clings to them. Muttered words clamber to his tongue and slide off again meaninglessly.

All at once, the black flames sputter out.

Fiesi drops to his knees within the instant. Pitch blackness closes in as his own fire winks out. He whimpers a call for it to return, and it tries, scattering restlessly as blue sparks at every bare surface of his skin.

His lungs ache as if he hasn't breathed in several minutes. He sucks in air in greedy gulps, his vision blurred and heart pounding.

Jaci crouches alongside him, tapping at his arm, but he ignores her. For the moment, he ignores everything but his own burdening, endless dread.

It happened. It's done.

It's done, and even alive, there's nothing he can do to stop it.

"Stars," Sarielle breathes from somewhere to the side, her voice not quite in focus but still dripping with horror.

"Did Nathaniel do this?" Even Reuben, in all his eternal forced calm and jollity, sounds shaken.

"I..." Sarielle's voice frays, breaking apart. "I don't know."

The earth beneath Fiesi is cut in two. Only the small ring he kneels on is untouched; the rest is grey and withered, empty of life and colour. A tear runs down his cheek and drips onto it. It's swallowed whole.

"Nathaniel?" the boy asks. "You mean he's actually that..."

"Nathaniel is our friend," Sarielle says firmly, though it sounds as if she chokes out the last word. Perhaps she's crying, too. "He wouldn't do something like this. There has to be some explanation."

"Maybe there's someone else like him," Dalton murmurs. The very concept tremors.

Fiesi drags a hand over his eyes and forces his head to lift. Death reigns over all around them. The houses are dilapidated ruins, the street blank and soil dried up, the skies above painted in a black that very nearly wipes out the stars. They claw their way through, blinking with panic and seething anger of their own. He shivers, the cold clustered in his veins difficult to thaw.

"No," he says, staring directly ahead at the disaster he was too slow to prevent. "No, Nathan did this." Black strands lash at the corner of his vision. They're not real, but their pain lingers, simmering in his skin in slits of fiery ice.

"It can't be," Sarielle says in a rush. Her words are frantic, stumbling over one another. "He wouldn't. Or he... he must've lost control, or--"

"The Nathan we know is gone now." He presses his teeth together, tears surging forth all over again. "He's given himself away. Shaula has him now." It takes every bit of his strength to muster the courage to say that name, to spit it out and hear it slither through the air, but he has to be brave somehow. If he can't even speak her name, she might as well have slaughtered them all.

"Maybe they were right," he murmurs, a sob threatening to tear apart the words. He buries both hands in his hair, nails scraping over his scalp, his fingers jerky and weak, and sags down as small as he can. He closes his eyes. "I should've killed him."

You failed, some voice in his head whispers, cycling on and on, carved in Rigel's flat tone but severed from the thread. You failed. This is your fault.

A frustrated sound tears from Sarielle. "No," she snaps. "Don't say that." He hears her hiss in a breath, her boots landing hard on the deadened earth as she begins to pace. "There has to be a way. How do we save him from this... Shaula?"

She tastes the name with caution, cradling with it an odd reverence it doesn't deserve and yet its weight commands it. Though she can't begin to understand, she says it right. Briefly, foolishly, he wonders if things would be different if their places were exchanged. Sarielle would make a perfect Tía. She would know the right thing to do. She wouldn't have betrayed everyone and everything and still ended up lost. She wouldn't sit here crying silently, afraid and grieving a boy she could neither kill nor save.

And yet he's only Fiesi, the little Kynig, the coward destined to watch everyone die. "We can't," he whispers, the words scattering like ash. "If Shaula is free, we're all doomed."

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

I honesty enjoy the vibe of these past two chapters way too much. I like it when I get to do big stuff. And the aesthetic is fun :D

Also I want to give Fiesi a hug. This uhh might explain why he did what he did in AToD :iminnocent:

- Pup