Even with the small relief of Lena's safety, tragedy hangs thick in the air as they all file outside into the ash-grey street, encased in heavy, iron quiet. Sarielle's father soon joins them with the other two not far behind. Jaci's arm is wrapped around Fiesi's shoulders. His gaze sticks sullenly to the ground.

"What now?" Cody asks, and Sarielle realises with a jolt that he's looking at her. They all are. With a wince, she glances at Dalton. She could direct them if he wanted, but it's not truly her place.

A mingled trickle of relief and disappointment threads in her chest when he answers. "Sarielle's right. We should look around. However," he adds, tone hard, "it's dark, and we should rest, too. Jaci and I will give the town a once-over, but the rest of you should get some sleep."

Sarielle hesitates, running the words over in her mind. She frowns. "I'll come, too."

"No." He meets her gaze, stern and level, his emotion sealed behind a mask. "Stay and look after the others. We won't be long."

Are you still angry with me? The thought comes and goes, fleeting, a tickle on her tongue she works hard to swallow. It doesn't matter. Even if the rest of their regiment lies elsewhere, he's still her captain, and he's likely right. Now is hardly the time to let herself argue. And so she nods, hands him the candle, and allows the stiff silence to remain.

Perhaps this is how it will always be. Perhaps she did ruin everything they ever had. She laces her hands together, teeth digging into her tongue. It doesn't matter, not now.

Jaci slides away from Fiesi. She flashes her forearm at him, no doubt showing him some icy letters, but he merely shakes his head and slumps to the ground. There's no argument at all as she and Dalton fade into the darkness's mist, even the candle's flame vanishing as they disappear around a corner. Faint blue light fills the air once more. It's even dimmer this time.

A thin breeze keens through the silence. Cody rubs his hands together, his woollen clothes hugged tight. "Well, I'm going to collect us some firewood. The stove inside's caved in, unfortunately, but I bet I can still cook us a decent meal. I think we need that." He casts Lena a warm smile, though its light doesn't quite reach his eyes.

She nods eagerly. "I'll come." She smiles back. "Maybe Everly is hiding there, too."

Cody's gaze jerks inside, lips pinched, though he forces a nod. Reuben takes a step forward. "I best accompany you."

"Wait," Sarielle starts to say, but he meets her gaze softly, as if he knew the protest was coming.

"I can take care of myself, Sarielle." He pats his side, where his unused sword still swings, clipped to his belt. "We'll manage just fine, won't we?"

Cody offers an absent nod, squeezing his sister's hand. He straightens and re-summons his smile. "Thank you, Sir."

"Not a problem." Reuben pauses beside Fiesi to land a pat on his shoulder, adding, "Get some rest, son. Things will look brighter once the night has passed."

Fiesi doesn't reply, and so Sarielle's father heads away after Cody, weaving along a southward path. She moves to follow them, glances at Fiesi, and then freezes, caught. Her indecision lingers too long; he's already gone.

She sighs tightly. "I don't like this splitting up."

"Why?" Fiesi looks up, his eyes dark and lips twisted into a bitter, mocking smile. "All that's left of this place is the dead. You afraid of ghosts?"

Ghosts. The memory of Nathan surges forth all of a sudden: his nervous shifting, his searching gaze, black and bright with anxiety. She shakes her head and takes a seat beside Fiesi, heels digging into the dirt. It's grey even beneath the surface. "I don't believe in them," she murmurs. "But that doesn't mean it's still safe." What she really, truly fears is what rendered all those people dead, though she does her best to blind herself to that, pushing it out. If she is scared of that power at all, it must be this Shaula, this stranger of a being pulling the strings. She can't let herself fear Nathan. She's made that mistake before, and she vowed never to slip again.

"Nowhere is safe anymore," Fiesi says. A string of flame coils around his finger, illuminating his face in better clarity for a moment before it collapses in on itself. "The night might as well last forever." He squeezes his eyes shut. "Stars, I wish your father wouldn't call me son."

The last part takes her somewhat by surprise. She hardly noticed it, let alone attributed the word any meaning. She adjusts her skirt, twisting a fold over one finger as she observes him. "So you do listen when he speaks to you."

"Do I have a choice?" He raises an eyebrow at her. His hair is even more of a nest than usual, the colour of night-lit mud, visibly unwashed. It droops over his azure eyes. He sweeps it back, features set in a grimace -- the kind of expression that comes with a failed smile.

His gaze flits downward with the gesture. "No wonder you're so irritating if you grew up on all his nonsense."

"It's good advice, Fiesi."

"Right, advice. I forgot." His tone turns dark, sticky with sarcasm. He draws in a breath as if to continue, then pauses, lips pressing tight together with resignation. His flame relights on his fingertip. "I guess it's something."

She realises with a jolt how little he really looks like Gelani Kynig. All the colours appear the same -- the dirty brown, the burning azure -- but a closer look diminishes the similarities. His hair has a reddish tint in certain light. His eyes are a shade brighter. The lines of his jaw form softer, smoother curves, matching to the slight upturned contour of his nose.

"You know," she starts, not entirely sure where the trail leads, "if... things were different, I'd invite you to stay with us."

He glances at her, confused. "The world is ending and you want a sleepover?"

"That's not what I mean," she says, though she chuckles lightly, feeling the tension ease from her shoulders. "You could stay for good. Call it home, maybe."

Too much flashes over his expression to read. It finishes on a startled, tentative kind of stiffness, evasive, his folded knee bouncing. He lets out a strangled laugh. "You'd want to put up with me for that long?"

"I think I could manage." She rubs his shoulder. "I'd like it, actually. You can be alright company sometimes."

"Sometimes," he echoes, but he's smiling, just barely. He hides it quickly, wrenching his head aside to hide his expression. "Well, I... thanks, I guess." His throat bobs. "Not that it--"

He bites the words off so abruptly that she jumps. He's gone taut as a wire, ears practically pricked animalistically. "Did you hear that?"

"What?" she asks, though the word fades away before she can even finish. Movement flickers in the corner of her eye.

"Get down!" Fiesi hisses, catching her arm, and they both flatten against the street. An arrow whistles above her head. There suddenly isn't enough air in her lungs, panic a writhing beast drinking her focus. She stamps down on it.

"I said it wasn't safe," she says breathlessly.

Fiesi casts her a slanted glance. "Do you want a prize?"

They leap to their feet in unison, her sword scraping from its sheath, his fire crackling as heat roars up within it. The long, straight shaft of a spear forms in his hand, casting a wide glow. It's enough to etch out the figure crouched in a nearby alley's shadow, navy clad and glowering, another arrow nocked on his bow.

He fires, but Fiesi skids in front of her, the flames of his spear flaring outward and sparking a brief, blue-tinged amber. They consume the arrow. It shrivels into ash, littering the ground before his feet. Despite how broken he looked mere minutes ago, his stance is firm now, his magic bright and fierce. "Your weapon is useless here," he warns. "Don't try that again."

"I wouldn't be so cocky if I were you, Finlay Hunter."

Fiesi goes stiff, fire sparking with his surprise. It takes Sarielle a longer moment to recognise the voice, but as soon as the soldier comes into view, she remembers.

Fayre's plait is perfectly neat, not a strand out of place as it perches atop her shoulder. Its blonde is nearly pale as the moon in the odd lighting. She swings her legs over the saddle of the horse she sits atop and hops to the ground, a small body pinned against her chest. The knife in her hand glints the same steely grey as her eyes, its tip layered with a wicked silver, light bouncing from it to reflect off the tiny chin it latches under.

A child. A little girl.

Sarielle's breath catches in her throat. The child's face is streaked with tears, her lip quivering, innocent, unfiltered terror clear on her face. She can't be any older than six or seven. Her curly hair is short and mousy, distinctly reminiscent of Cody and Lena.

Everly. It has to be. Sarielle sucks in a sharp breath and lifts her sword, stepping to Fiesi's side. Tension is practically audible in the air, a brittle crack in her ears, wrapped again and again in serpentine strands around her chest until her lungs ache.

"I'd surrender," Fayre says plainly. She doesn't smile; her face is a mask, stony and devoid of any emotion but sharpened, determined hatred.

Sarielle narrows her eyes, readying her stance. "Let her go."

"That isn't a particularly strong argument, Lady Diraldi." Fayre twitches her knife upwards, pressing the flat of the blade to Everly's chin. The child whimpers. "You're an advisor, aren't you? Convince me."

Gripping her sword tighter, Sarielle holds it across her chest, praying her hand doesn't shake. "She has no part in this. Let her go and then we'll fight fairly."

"Fairly?" Fayre's blade-like eyes cut to Fiesi. "There's nothing fair about this fight."

"Release her, Fay," he growls, though there's a plea edging his tone. "She's just a kid."

Fayre tilts her head, malice flashing like silvery cracks in the stone. "Finally learned to care, have you?" She tuts, tugging Everly tighter to her, arm wrapped around her girl's tiny chest to prevent her from squirming. "Too late, I'm afraid. Surrender."

"No," Sarielle snaps. Fiesi's glance jolts her way, surprise and thin tendrils of fear swimming in his gaze. He might be ready to give in, but she isn't. No soldier would really kill a civilian child, would they? Are Neyaibet's workers really that sick? That kind of evil goes deeper than simple loyalty.

And yet Fayre doesn't falter, no hint in her expression betraying any kind of mercy. Her eyes meet Sarielle's coldly. "Fine. If that's really what you--"

A string of Fiesi's flame flies out, solidifying into bright blue rope as it travels, chasing away the dark. It lashes Fayre's side before latching around Everly's ankle. He pulls. Everly yelps, her feet yanked from under her, her pain and fear bright as the stars. Fayre's knife nicks her chin, then slips thankfully away from her neck as Fayre switches to clutching the girl with both arms in order to battle with Fiesi. Her teeth bare in a frustrated growl.

An arrow sails out from behind the building's corner. It's all too quick; Sarielle barely sees it before it sinks into Fiesi's chest. He cries out and stumbles, his rope's shape winking in and out. It's enough for Fayre to break free of it. She shoves Everly behind her, who trips and falls hard onto her back. Tears well in her eyes, yet the fear drains suddenly from her expression, her eyes wide as they pierce a spot upward and to the right.

The rooftop. Sarielle's gaze darts to follow, and a tangled mess of tense relief balls in her stomach. Cody perches there, sunk into a hasty archer's crouch, fumbling for an arrow. His hands shake, but his expression is sharp with fury.

She glances from him to Everly and then whirls, too much happening to keep track of, too many people to protect and not enough time. Fiesi locks a hand around the shaft of the arrow in his chest before she can reach it, his face twisted with pain. He wrenches it out with a hiss and drops it. It bounces off his foot and rolls to a stop, coated scarlet, leaving a bloody smear behind it. The blood seeping through his shirt is even redder, though quickly splashed with blue light.

Cody lets his arrow loose. It snags the Neyaibet archer's arm, and he cries out. Another shape sprints from beyond the shadows behind him, brandishing a sword.

Her father. His grip is all wrong, his slash at Fayre easily blocked by one of her knives. Sarielle breaks into a sprint without another thought, desperation like a drum in her heart, its rhythm broken and tripping too fast.

A fist curls into her sleeve and yanks. The world tips. She gasps, staggering into a spin to retain her footing, sword flying up to block another blade. A shadowed face grins down at her, shrouded by a navy hood. Matching material wraps the soldier's hands. He shoves at her sword, and she stumbles, panic spawning a disorienting kind of nausea in her stomach. She can't focus. The scrape of metal against metal is blurred as if her ears fill with water.

The soldier steps back to dance around her, steps lithe, sealing off her path to her father. Despite the victory in his smile, there's nothing offensive in his stance. If anything, it's more infuriating, more heated fuel for her desperation. She strikes. He blocks it, but as their blades tangle, she aims a kick at his side.

The heel of her boot barely connects; his sidestep is too quick, too measured. Instead, a sudden flash of pain burrows into her thigh.

The soldier shoves her back, and she falls, teeth clamped over a cry. She's been struck by an arrow. It sinks deep into her flesh, sending fiery jolts along her entire leg when she tries to get it under her to rise. She's trapped down there. A navy shape crosses in the corner of her vision -- a shadow perched on the rooftop opposite Cody, another one of Fayre's subordinates.

Her curse doesn't reach her lips, too lost in the flurry of tangled thoughts. The soldier's hilt knocks into her hand. Her sword slips from her fingers. The fear on her tongue is white-hot, crackling like lightning, far more potent than anything she's tasted before, and still she can only think of her father.

All kinds of horrific images zip through her mind. The air is numb and cold, her arm a stiff plank of wood as she holds it up to uselessly shield her face.

Azure flames caress her vision, and then Fiesi is leaping over her, his narrow spear aglow and his shoulders taut with confidence. He stands between her and the soldier, the wind nudging his cloak's edge to flutter in front of her face. She's never felt more grateful for him than in that moment. Perhaps he can be a hero when he needs to be. Even so, he's not her focus.

She does her best to twist, looking beyond him, searching. It's just in time to see.

Her father's sword is abandoned in the street. Fayre has hold of him. Her fingers curl into his shoulder like a beast's claws.

She smacks his head against the house's wall, and he goes still.

The sword wielding soldier abruptly turns on his heel and bolts. The archer on the rooftop has vanished beyond the building. Fayre tosses Reuben's unconscious form onto her horse and jumps up after him, all too quick, impossibly quick.

"Father," Sarielle whispers, though she wants to scream. Again her legs fail her as she attempts to stand, but she keeps trying, her breaths not coming fast enough. Fiesi throws her a wild glance and takes off before she can say anything else. Flames seep over his skin and trickle from his boots, his sprinting paces lit for her to watch.

A hero when he needs to be. She'd tell him that if it didn't feel as if the world is shattering.

The horse bolts. Fiesi keeps chasing, cloak streaking out behind him, magic pushing him forward. Fayre throws a glance over her shoulder, face adorned with a sneer, and a silver flash flies from her hand. The knife thunks into his hip. He trips.

The swampy, thick darkness of the night engulfs the horse, and her father vanishes along with it.

Sarielle finally shoves to her feet. The edges of her vision are clouded with pain, fragmenting all the more as she tries to limp a step, her leg a dead weight and muscles screaming at the movement. But she has to move. She can't let him go. Even as Cody rushes over and grabs her arm to steady her, she pushes him away, his voice nearly drowned out by the ringing in her ears.

"Stop," he says, and that just about breaks through. He grips her by both shoulders, stood in her path. "They're gone, miss. We can't catch up on foot, and you need to sit down."

Numbly, she nods, allowing him to ease her back to the ground. Gone. The word shivers through her. It tolls like a bell, the sound low and dull with an awful kind of finality.

Fiesi claws himself up against a wall, bloodied knife tossed to his feet and hand clapped over the dark patch of scarlet in his side. He looks back over his shoulder. She can't make out his expression at this distance, but she shakes her head, hoping it conveys enough meaning.

He's gone. Her throat feels clogged, though her eyes are oddly dry. It's strange. In some ways, she'd rather cry than sit here hollow.

She'd thought she'd lost her father once. It had haunted her in every restless night's sleep, every battle. It had hit her hardest on the day the news found its way to Chiva and the war became something even worse than it had been. But she'd had hope to cling to. She'd had a destination, a plan, a team behind her who were ready for anything. When she found him, she would protect him. They would never lose each other again.

That vow has become a flag ripped off its post and dancing in the wind. It floats away, unfulfilled, and the dark skies mock it.

Fiesi reaches her side, panting hard. He's left a red handprint on his shirt where he clutched his chest. He bounces on his heels as if eager to keep moving, though his face is so pale he looks ready to keel over. "I could still catch them if I run," he says, the words tripping out between heavy breaths. "I'll use my flame. I--"

"Don't." She reaches for a reassuring smile but doesn't quite manage. "You'll just run into trouble."

He hesitates. There's relief in his eyes, much as he tries to hide it by looking to the side. "Okay." He visibly swallows. "I'm... sorry."

"They won't kill him." She says it with more surety than she feels, praying it will convince her as much as Fiesi. "They'll want to keep him as bait for the king or... or us, I suppose. We can still save him." The word bait is sickening on her tongue, but it's better than dead. Infinitely better. There's still hope, thin as it feels.

Fiesi offers an awkward pat to her shoulder, his fingers sliding off loosely as his face twists. Despite it all, she laughs, though it's soft, the sound barely audible. "Thanks for trying, Fiesi."

He scratches at a spot behind his ear. "I do try." His eyes glint with his hasty smile. "I'll, ah... try to rescue your father, too. I will." He ducks his head hurriedly, burdened as if even the incline of a promise is too much. He steps past her. "I'll look for Jaci and Dalton."

There's nothing more to say. He walks away, and Sarielle stares out at the dark sky and the barren earth, thinking of reality, of a world away from stories and their heroes, of the smoke that buries dreams and the ashes left behind.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

The best part of ADB is actually Fiesi and Sarielle's friendship. I love it honestly. They're buddies now T^T

Although uhh whoops we lost the dad. Let's hope they can use their new teamwork powers and save him??

- Pup