"Why don't the heroes give up?" Sarielle asked her father once.

He looked up from the book on his lap, his brows knitting a pensive expression as he pondered his response, the same way he did for every one of her questions. Curiosity, he always said, was a virtue. It was how one's mind developed, a vital tool of the youth which never failed to invoke wisdom. Curiosity was how the world unfolded. It was the way she would learn, and so she asked all she could of him in these treasured moments of his company.

She sat beside him in this particular moment, nestled in blankets and peering at him in impatient silence. The hour was late, and sleep tugged at her eyelids, but he had said he would finish the story. Her father never lied.

When the seconds became too heavy to bear in quiet, she rushed to elaborate. "It's impossible for them to win now. They're doomed to die. Why do they keep fighting?"

A slight smile curved his lips, pushing that telltale clever twinkle into his swampy green eyes -- the only feature she hadn't inherited from him. Some days she wished they matched entirely, but now she merely soaked in the look, letting it summon her own smile, though her curiosity continued to burn.

"They have hope," he said simply.

"Hope?" She frowned. "Is that enough?"

The twinkle brightened, sharp and clear as a star. "Hope is always enough, Sarielle. No hero can ever be doomed if she has hope." He slung his arm around her, tucking her into his chest, and she giggled.

"So they'll win, then?"

His brows raised. "That would be spoiling the ending, wouldn't it?" He moved the book so it lay between them, its enticing cursive words for them both to share. "Let's find out."

Let's find out.

Gazing out upon the deadly destruction that sprawls on until the horizon, her sword's hilt biting into her palm, Sarielle wishes the stars could spoil her own ending and explain to her how to proceed.

They are silent, however, their glow muted beneath the sheet of darkness. The black sky reflects in shards of glass across the street. A shattered window, shards strewn beside a shattered home. A knot ties in her stomach, clenching tighter the longer she looks.

In the wake of a disaster, there should be shouts and screams. There should be desperate voices, crying children, pounding feet as people flee. There shouldn't be silence. It shouldn't be so suffocating, so empty, so devoid of life. Some of her father's stories could paint images dark enough to leak into her childhood dreams, but this was like nothing the greatest of storytellers could have imagined. This view is a ghost, designed to haunt. It's cold.

She turns sharply, back turned to the dark horizon and eyes on the dead ground, clutching her sword so tight she fears it will break. "We aren't doomed," she says, forcing steady, determined calm into her voice. "We're never doomed if we have hope. There must--"

"What hope?"

She freezes, shooting a glance over her shoulder. Fiesi doesn't return it. He remains crumpled on the ground, head in his hands, grey cloak spilling out in a pool around him as if it imitates the withered grass. "What hope?" he asks again, quieter, the words cracking right through the middle. "Nathan is gone. Shaula will... she's..." He sucks in a ragged inhale, sounding as if he fights a sob. "I can't..."

Guilt claws upward from Sarielle's gut. She jerks her head sharply to the side, threading a hand through her messy curls. In a way, this is what Fiesi always warned them about. He's known from the beginning that this would happen. She called him wrong, thought him cruel and misguided to convince himself that such merciless darkness could ever exist, though she knew all she needed to about the foolish world of magic. Perhaps it's hypocritical, in the end. She thought herself above paying their concerns heed, and now she's paying for it.

But could Nathan really do this? Nathan is sweet and fiercely kind, and protective, and full of light, even when he pretends otherwise. He wouldn't let this happen, would he? He wouldn't give himself away when this was the price. He does what is right and nothing else.

I sense a darkness, Ellisi said. Cracks in all that is good and pure.

Yet perhaps the signs were always there, and Sarielle was simply too stubbornly ignorant to see them. Her heart aches.

"Master Kynig." Her father's voice breaks through her haze of conflict. He crouches beside Fiesi, his eyes as kind and gentle as always despite all that is dark around him. "There's no use in focusing on what we can't do. What we need--"

"Shut up," Fiesi growls, fingers raking through his hair. He's practically curled in a ball, his forehead pressed against the hard dirt.

Her father sighs softly. Jaci fidgets beside him, glancing from him to Fiesi, ice glittering dimly at her fingertips in reflection of his sparking flame. It's the only decent light source they have. The scene is painted in muted blue, the colour sharpening and fading with each of his flaring emotions. Reuben's straw-coloured hair is painted turquoise, his eyes now nearly a reflection of Sarielle's after all, hard diamond-shaded flecks that narrow as he tracks Fiesi's shivers.

The silence simmers, roughed by the crunch of gravel as he gets to his feet. "When we feel hopeless, what is the wisest thing to do?"

Fiesi unfurls the smallest amount, lifting his head enough to cast her father a glare. His eyes glow the same azure as his flame, almost seeming to give off light of their own, though the glimmer of tears dampens their harshness. His mouth opens and then closes again, lips forming a thin line. Even he's out of words.

But Sarielle's father always knows the right thing to say. He stretches out a hand. "We pick ourselves up, and we keep going. Can you do that?"

Fiesi's gaze drops as if he's lost the energy to stay angry. "What does that even mean?"

Reuben offers a soft smile. "It means getting up off the ground, for a start."

The garish light in Fiesi's eyes flickers, his jaw shifting, yet he accepts Reuben's hand without a word. He stumbles as he reaches his feet. Jaci dodges around Reuben and pounces, wrapping her arms around Fiesi's chest. He simply accepts the embrace, burying his head in her shoulder, clinging to her like a boy ten years younger shaken by a bad dream.

Some part of her thinks it pathetic, how easily he breaks. If he's truly the hero he's claimed to be in the past, shouldn't he stand up and take it? Shouldn't he be the one leading this somewhat fantastical charge of light against dark? Though the light of his flames flutters and licks through the bunched fabric of his cloak, he acts like a scared child, the one who hides and quivers and grabs onto anyone who promises to save him. It's a foolish, unfair, cynical thought, but it floats to the surface nonetheless.

She shoves it down, reminding herself of their differences, of the way he shrank to that same child under Gelani Kynig's stare. Perhaps some people deserve to break every once in a while.

Her own father rests a hand on his shoulder. Fiesi flinches, his head jerking up, though his hold on Jaci doesn't loosen. "There's plenty of things we can do, always, Fiesi," her father says, picking his way over the name with perfect precision. "What's most important is--"

"I'm not interested in your little philosophical quotes and mock advice," Fiesi mutters -- quiet but somehow firm enough to sever even her father's confidence. He twists his head, his gaze snagging briefly on Sarielle before jolting aside. "If someone has a genuine, concrete idea that isn't some nonsense about hope, I'd love to hear it."

She almost argues, but bites her tongue. Perhaps he's right. "We should search the town," she speaks up. A task gives them a focus, a distraction from Fiesi's cloud of so-called doom. She steps forward, casting aside her own doubts. "We need to see the extent of the damage. And..." She glances at the ruined house ahead, heart twisting. "We should check to see if there's any survivors we can still save."

A presence moves in beside her. She jumps, then relaxes, realising it's only Dalton. Her fingers flex. She has to force her hand to remain at her side, much as it longs to seek out his for reassurance. His nod will have to do.

"Any survivors?"

The youthful voice takes a moment for Sarielle to process. It belongs to the mousy-haired boy, the one Fiesi ran into, who now lingers at the edge of the street, wringing his hands. His eyes are wide as coins and brimming with fear. "You mean... you think everyone's..."

"Dead, yes," Fiesi bites out, dry venom splashing his tone. "Shocking, I know, given the murderous flame that just swept across everything. Be grateful I managed to keep you alive."

The boy barely seems to hear him. His fear swirls, his gasp shuddering. "My sisters," he breathes.

Before anyone can question, he takes off, pushing past Dalton and sprinting along a path to the left. Without hesitation, Sarielle takes up pursuit. The idea of recklessness flits through her mind, though Dalton's pounding feet beside her soon chase it away, a calming reassurance. She picks up her pace.

"Wait!" she calls. "It's not safe!"

The boy ignores her. He skids around a corner and launches himself towards a house still relatively intact, snatching the door's handle and wrenching it back. The door snaps clean off its hinges. He stumbles and stares at it for a moment, dumbfounded, before dropping it and leaping through the splintered doorway.

"Lena?" he calls, panic a whirlwind barely contained within the word's breath. "Everly?"

Hollow silence answers. A low gust of wind whistles through the house as if it forms a tear in reality. Still, he shouts again, moving further inside until its shadows conceal him even from the dim glow of the stars.

Sarielle's chest is tight, sympathy's teeth so sharp they slit her heart like fangs. Dalton moves before she does, though she's close behind, ducking through the entry and into the dusty kitchen. It's littered with broken bits of wood, but at least not the crumpled mess of a few streets away. She feels for the wall, fingers running over its grooves as she listens for Dalton's footsteps in the dark.

A warm, yellow light suddenly illuminates his face before her. He clutches a candle in one hand, shaking the flame from a match in the other. Trust him to be carrying matches. His coppery hair glints, though the storm in his eyes is riddled with gloom.

He holds the candle aloft, and the boy's form cuts from the shadows. He leans backward against the countertop, fingers curling into its overhanging edge, despair visible on his face. He bites his lip and jerks his gaze to the side, away from them. "They're not here."

"I'm sorry," Dalton says simply, the words clipped with emotion he's keeping held back. Sarielle can't find anything to say at all.

A sob convulses through the boy all at once. He shudders into it, feet sliding before he rights himself. "I wasn't even with them," he chokes out.

The candle's base knocks into Sarielle's hands. She hurries to take it, cradling it in both hands as Dalton moves forward to wrap the boy in a wordless embrace. He collapses into it, pressing his face into Dalton's chest as he cries. Thin shadows stretch over them both like a sticky, oppressive cobweb. The same sensation clings to Sarielle's insides. She can only stand there, stunned and oddly empty, completely out of ideas.

For so long, hope kindled by her father's advice has kept her going on the battlefield, a constant, thrumming reminder of the light left in the world. Even in the darkest moments, she could find some remnant of it to fuel her spirit. She's never known a time without it.

And yet now, standing in a shell of a home tainted by death, the only sounds of mourning and despair, there's nothing. For once, there's nothing at all.

"Cody?"

The voice is a soft, quiet strum, but it might as well have been a tremulous chord for the way the boy shoves from Dalton's arms. He whirls to stare into the darkness. Sarielle thrusts forward the candle, her heart hammering.

A small, rounded face peers out from round the wall's corner. A girl. Wavy light brown hair tumbles past her face, a few dusty strands stuck to her face.

The boy -- Cody -- rushes forward, scooping her up and crushing her to his chest. His eyes gleam with a fresh wave of tears. "Lena. Oh, Lena, don't scare me like that again."

The girl frowns, squirming. "Cody, ow."

He releases her in a hurry, grasping her hands instead. Such hazy, chaotic delight paints his face, and suddenly something is rekindled in the world, the smallest spark that Sarielle grabs hold of. A smile rises to her face unprompted. There's never nothing. Hope is always enough.

"Are you hurt?" Cody asks in a rush.

Lena's lower lip sticks out. "I scratched my arm on the window when I climbed through. It's bleeding."

A soft, breathless kind of laugh emerges from Cody. He pats her head, ruffling her hair despite her pouty scowl, a grin poking his lips upward. "It's so good to see you." His head turns, gaze no doubt scouring the rest of the dark house. "Where's Everly?"

"I don't know. I was getting mushrooms from the woods. I thought she was waiting at home." Lena tugs at his wrist. "What happened, Cody? Did the monster come back?"

His smile turns grim. "I think it did." He breathes out a long sigh, pulling her into another, softer embrace. "Just... stick with me, alright? We'll be okay."

Sarielle gives a firm nod, letting the words percolate through, breathing them in to settle the tension in her muscles. They will be okay. They just have to keep going.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

And we are once again back to me suffering through a Sarielle chapter and hating everything but hey. I have Fiesi angst so I'm content I guess.

- Pup