Despite the growing light of day, the darkness closes in fast. It chases them in a haze, crackling cold in the air along with the staticy thickness of an oncoming storm. It growls from the depths of the sky's gloom, curled tight and dwelling within the misty shadows of the castle's crumbled remains, a live beast stalking the corner of Fiesi's eye and leaping away the moment he turns. Piles of stone bricks and fallen towers look on with the dull, terrible grace of gravestones. The crunch of grit and bits of rock underfoot might as well be bones.

Though so much of the structure appears to be caved in and torn away on this side, the castle itself still clings to life. Soon enough, he's faced with a looming archway, a gaping maw choking on a deeper, fluid-like darkness. The splintered pieces of an old wooden door, snapped and beaten until barely recognisable, spill out before it. A dizzying wave of something like nostalgia sweeps over him, a split-second memory painted with a drying, scratchy brush: Fayre's hands in his, and then the twitch in his flame, the overwhelming moment that marks the true beginning of all this. He finds himself staring at one particular spot amongst the door's ruins, sure for that brief, breathless second that it isn't quite so empty and clogged with dust. For that moment, he sees a wild tangle of black curls, and a pale, dirty face, nightmare eyes squeezed shut to hide from the sun. A  scrawny, shaking, innocent boy, all ready to stutter Fiesi's heart and to change everything.

He blinks, and the vision vanishes. He finds himself mourning it. Now everything has changed, and then changed again, and the pit of darkness is far wider than Nathan's nervous gaze.

I'll get you back, Nathan. The words harden and set in the forefront of his mind, even as some part of him gathers the senseless urge to laugh. I promise. Another drip of a promise to drown amongst the endless sea of them.

He doesn't realise he's stopped until Sarielle nudges his arm. "Fiesi."

"Sorry." He shakes his head, dispelling the cloudy thoughts, trying to empty his cluttered mind. His gaze slips upward in search of the sun, though it's hidden behind a wall of cloud. "Goodbye, daylight."

Neither the sun nor the dim winter light have the courtesy to reply. Breath held, he takes the plunge into the darkness.

The tendrils of blue light radiating outward from his flaming spear spread, slippery claws that fail to fully grasp at their surroundings. They flicker and bounce off chipped white walls, golden ribbons lying sad and limp upon floorboards cracked from so many marching footsteps. Crusted bloodstains are everywhere. Fiesi's stomach clenches, the taste of bile stinging the back of his throat. He swallows hard and carries on into the castle's front hall.

These battles he only ever heard, not saw. The storming of Polevis was a hellish period he only barely skirted; the stench of the many battles that took place is still thick and nauseating in the air. The Cormé truly could be brutal. Jaci asked why -- why they would ruin the past beauty of this city with blood and greed -- and with every step he takes, that question only grows louder, a screaming horn that echoes within the depths of his flame. Why? Why kill? Why destroy? How could anyone possibly stitch together a reason which justified this?

Again his thoughts stumble upon Nathan, and he inhales sharply. Perhaps that's the danger of it. The people who do such things without mercy, the evil ones, don't need a reason.

Shaula's destruction was equally devoid of reason. Maybe that was why she slithered her way here and now claims this place. It suits her.

His hands shake, quivering his spear. He holds it up diagonally in defence and whirls around a corner, narrowing his eyes to scan each room, careful to keep breathing, in and out, over and over. Panic is a swelling tide, difficult to keep suppressed. It saps his energy. If Sarielle wasn't by his side, azure light glancing off her curved blade and the sharp determination in her eyes, he fears he'd give into it. He longs to lean against a wall and regain his breath, close his eyes, hide from the darkness for a little while, though he's well aware that if he stops now then he will never get going again.

Shaula. He draws in a breath and lets anger's flimsy mask shutter over his expression, glueing together its cracks. "Where are you, Shaula?"

A laugh shivers from behind, and Fiesi's insides turn to biting, cobwebbed mist.

"Shaula." Nathan's voice picks through the name just the same as it always has: slow, cautious, trembling with held-back wonder and curiosity and longing. Only the slightest upward flick of the tongue at its end, the laugh's grinning aftermath, betrays that anything is amiss. "I was hoping I could get you to say it."

Fiesi's limbs are strips of wood. He desperately doesn't want to turn, more than anything, but knows he has to. Turning will make it real. His shoulders are so stiff they ache.

Nathan drops to a smaller voice, one more hesitant. "Will you not look at me, Fiesi?"

Words bundle up and choke one another in Fiesi's throat. He fights to breathe through the holes in them. "Please don't do this."

"Do what?"

It sounds so much like him. More so than the ghosts or the nightmares ever have, and it hurts, a very real sensation steadily crushing his heart. He can't tell whether it beats any longer or if it has frozen up like the rest of him. Teeth gritted against the painful threat of tears that won't stop, spear hugged close to his chest, he turns. The edge of his cloak gives a half-hearted, listless flutter. It's coloured to match the dust that seems to fill his mouth.

Weak blue light illuminates Nathan's face in frothy sea-white. Silver ribbons trail along the edges of his tight black cloak, the folds draped snugly over his shoulders and hanging only as low as his waist. The dark tunic visible beneath cinched together by a strip of silver cloth is familiar enough. His curly hair is as wild and loose as always, and his eyes gleam, speckled with all the starlight of a thousand nights. They almost seem to brighten as his pouncing gaze meets Fiesi's.

His features are soft and open, his lips just slightly parted in his question's wake. Hestitance. Fear. The ache in Fiesi's chest is so wide that he's afraid one stumble would leave him to fall into it.

"Nathan." His voice drags, rough and broken.

As if the smile can hide no longer, the corners of Nathan's mouth twitch upward, and the soft expression is gone all at once. The light in his eyes sharpens and dims. "All this time, and you still address me with lies."

He takes a step forward, the shadows that cling to him shifting their decoration. He twists them, his fingers flexing, and black flames awaken at his fingertips. They're not the same barely-controlled blaze Fiesi is used to seeing; they burn low and steady, their muted crackle eerily akin to a serpent's hiss. Frost's bitter teeth snap at the air and sink into Fiesi's flesh. He grips his spear tighter, holding it out before him as his own flames fight the urge to shrink, lashed at by the death-touched smoke they've always despised.

Jaci's twin ice daggers shriek as she draws them. She moves forward, positioned protectively half a step in front of him, sleek jet-black hair shaded indigo and flowing easily along her straightened spine. Nathan's flames are so, so much darker, and they leer at her, wandering her way. Panic sings a tuneless song in Fiesi's ears.

"Now tell me," Nathan continues, stare piercing. "What is it you fear I will do?"

Fiesi wishes his gaze would be less traitorous, yet it strays again to Jaci all the same. He's vividly aware of Sarielle and Dalton lingering on his other side, pointless Cormé weapons drawn, all too breakable. Most potent of all, a thick, hot paste pools in the pit of his stomach, reminding him of the beat of his heart, the strain in his lungs, the jittering flame of life that pulses somewhere within. The darkness feels like a sheet pressing into his sides.

He can't be smothered by it, not yet. He sucks in a sharp breath. "You know my fears well enough."

Nathan laughs again, softly to himself, at odds with the wicked prongs of his smile. "Fiesi, why do you refuse to run from me?"

"Because I'm not afraid of you." Those words have edges like a tied throng of blades, leaving the taste of blood behind on his slitted tongue. He feels like crying again, but he doesn't. His spear wavers, solid but thin, its point a fluttering wisp.

Face painted with something like disbelief, Nathan snorts. He brings a hand to his mouth as if to hold in more amusement. "Considering how many lies you speak, they are all awfully fragile."

"I'm not afraid of you," Fiesi repeats, louder, grating the words out between his teeth in steel fibre. He closes his fist and his spear, already on the brink of collapse, disperses into blue sparks. His step forward is heavy, but he doesn't fall. His heart races, but he still meets Nathan's eyes, his chin tilted up and throat sour with desperate hope. The tears finally slip free.

"Nathan," he says, picking his way through shattered shards, "if you can hear me, please. I know you're not a monster. You have to fight her before--"

"Really?" That same mockery continues to swirl in Nathan's eyes -- though it isn't truly of Nathan's making at all. It can't be. Not with how painfully harsh it is, not with how easily it shifts into bloodcurdling fury. "Are you truly so deluded that you think I am still your little pretend brother? Are you still convinced you can torment me and then love me, all to ease the selfish suffering in your soul?"

"Nathan," Fiesi pleads. The word has no sound but terror's whistle. The black flames are growing, whipping up a darkened storm, stretching outward from Nathan's wrists like a tangle of countless limbs all armed with claws.

"You would have let me die," Nathan growls, then bares a grin, delighting in the anger. His teeth are serpentine fangs. "I would have died for your cowardice."

"I didn't know you were going to die," Fiesi manages, choking on his own voice.

Eyes narrowed to slits and fangs gleaming, Nathan flicks his wrist. Dark flame gathers in his palm, solidifying, curving upward and around into the sleek shape of a bow. Its string barely flickers, miniscule strands of fire wound tight. It might as well be made of obsidian.

He drums his fingers on its surface. "Your cowardice and your lies." An arrow swirls into shape between his pale fingers as the bow lifts. His smile tweaks up at one edge, knowing. "Who should pay for them now?"

The arrow's tip wanders a short journey before pointing directly at Fiesi's heart. The bowstring draws back. A flinch jolts through his insides, jerking in his lungs, though his feet are seared in place. He stares helplessly at the tip.

Nathan hums, then sighs, relaxing the string, and bitter, unwelcome relief spills through Fiesi's veins. "Too easy," Nathan mutters.

In a movement too swift and practised to truly be him, he jerks the bow right, yanks the string and releases.

Jaci stands in its path.

An explosion erupts in Fiesi's chest. The arrow is a streak of death, a cold rod formed of evil, and it radiates petrifying fear, but in that split-second his emotions blaze far too fiercely for him to freeze. A screamed "No!" tears from his throat, and then he's diving sideways, blue flames engulfing the forearm he throws up in defence. He's lucky they come fast. His shield is still shapeless when the arrow pierces it.

His skin feels like swollen glass, shattering in an instant as the chill seeps into its cracks. The pain is lightning in his veins. His heart stutters, and he grits his teeth, shoving more and more flame from his core until its burn consumes the killing ice and tears the darkness from his blood. Control slips through his fingers like melting frost, and his grip is too weak to catch it. The fire tumbles out in roaring azure waves, so intensely hot that dizziness shudders through him, but at least it's his. It's familiar. He's not going to die.

Heat billows outward to singe the air, his flames blazing far enough to block out most of the corridor. Nathan's flickering shadow remains visible beyond them. Gasping for air he's forgotten to take in, he twists around, vision sliding dazedly out of focus for a moment before his gaze settles on Jaci. Sarielle stands just behind her, crouched in a wary battle stance despite the fear and confusion bright in her eyes.

"Run," he says, some cynical part of him laughing at the way it's fallen, the fact that these words flow so easily from his tongue and wrench at his core all at the same time. "I'll hold him off."

Jaci's gaze shines like iron, hard with refusal. Sarielle mirrors the emotion in wilder fashion. "But Nathan--"

"You can't reason with him." As if to prove the point, another raking chill cuts through Fiesi's chest, an echo of the fading touch of death. He clings harder to his untethered flame.

A dark flash passes over her expression, but she doesn't argue. Her lips pinch together in worry. "We can't just leave you to--"

"Sarie," Dalton cuts in, grabbing her wrist and pulling. "He's right."

In a baffling surge, Fiesi realises he wants to apologise. He wants to thank Dalton for taking him in when it was all too easy to abandon him, and to say sorry for the palil he's been, for all the many times he's dismissed the Cormé when they've been there for him better than a real family ever could. But there isn't time nor strength for words. He just offers a nod, jaw clenched, aimless gratitude flooding his chest.

Sarielle draws in breath like she wants to say more, but then Dalton is dragging her away, and she turns to match his hasty pace. Jaci takes a backstep and pauses, fear cracking through as the frosty hardness in her gaze melts away.

"Go," he tells her, and she obeys. Watching her leave again is harder than it's ever been before.

It's right on time. No sooner has she vanished into a branching hallway does Fiesi's shield crack right down the middle, and he's forced to whirl, both palms held aloft and shoving the heated power forward to keep himself shielded from the chilling blackness. Blue consumes his vision, flickering shades of winter sky and midnight and brightest azure. He can't tell if the tears running down his cheeks are a result of the pain in his heart or the smoky air.

Loneliness sinks like a rock, plunging into his gut and adding an extra weight to his bones. His spine shivers in knowledge of the emptiness behind him. Why did he tell them to run?

Perhaps Nathan can read his thoughts, for he laughs somewhere amongst the haze. "You will sacrifice yourself to save them, then?"

Sacrifice. An echoing hiss cuts through Fiesi, a paper-thin wind to bite at his resolve.

The flames waver. It's enough for Nathan's shadow to break through the wall they create, standing amongst the storm like a blot of ink spilled upon a glorious painting. The light shifts oddly over his face, creating shaded patterns that aren't there. His curls lift in a nonexistent stormy breeze. "How far you've come," he murmurs, his smile eerily soft.

Depth is all wrong within the flame's wild, world-shaking embrace. There seems to be acres between them, and yet Nathan's pale hand reaches out with ease, curling around a fistful of Fiesi's loose shirt. He tugs, and Fiesi stumbles. His pulse is a stampede.

Their faces are suddenly a finger's length apart. Nathan grins, and again the darkness twists, surely embedded within his cheek. Black diamond flecks of scales unfold from white skin, winding a horrible path around his right eye, catching on the mess of curls which drape over his forehead. Snake scales.

The scales were supposed to be imaginary. Fiesi has seen them a thousand times behind his own closed eyelids, but they were never real. And yet they were. This moment tangles with an unforgettable memory, ripping the steadiness from his legs.

He's back there again. Again the world burns around him, and again he can do nothing but stare.

Again the monster is here, delighted, laughing.

"A shame you will die like your mother," it whispers.

Fiesi longs more than anything for anger's sharpened knife, for its heat and its surety, but his heart is too blunt, his veins too frozen. Cold knuckles press up against his ribs, clawed nails cutting holes in his shirt and gouging the skin beneath. Fear's drum in his chest is deafening. His eyes sting.

"I don't want to die." His voice is clumsy, tripping over itself. Perhaps he'd hate it if he could hear himself speak.

Nathan yanks him closer, scaled face swallowing his vision. Black eyes swim with pleasure. "Then why do you not beg?"

"Please." He shivers. A sob lodges in his throat, but still he meets those eyes, mouth full of salt and sourness. "I'm begging you. Please."

Serpent fangs pull free in a sneer. "How pathetic you are."

The final word hitches.

Fiesi can hardly believe what he sees. A thin, white-blue dagger, jaggedly sharp at one edge, drags across Nathan's throat. Blood flows, thick and dark. Gasping, Fiesi staggers backward, surprised he has the freedom to, and swallows hard to force back another dizzy surge.

Dread drizzles the grooves of nausea. Sure enough, Jaci stands there, pale dress dulled to dust in the smoky darkness, a splash of crimson coating her hand as her knife melts below her skin. The fury Fiesi wishes he could reach for is etched out in her expression, her icy glare. She steps back, purposeful. Her second knife lengthens to a more sword-like blade. She crosses it over her chest and lifts her chin. In that moment, she looks perfectly deadly and graceful, the picture of a righteous Enkavmé.

An inhuman growl rumbles from Nathan's throat. Clasping a hand over the wound, he whirls, fangs bared. The blood drips between his fingers. He wipes it, then shakes it away, scarlet droplets scattering the stone at his feet. Black flame is already knitting together the cut on his neck, the pain barely registering in his expression before his smile snares luminous glee.

"Nice try," he says. A black knife of his own stretches from his palm, hidden just behind his back. Jaci can't see it.

No.

It whips out. She doesn't even have time to flinch before it sinks deep into her chest.

Fiesi hardly feels himself move. His feet sprout wings, the castle tilting around him at their push, and then he's skidding off balance, collapsing to one knee at her side where she falls. His flame still storms around him, desperate and useless. Blood stains her middle and trails a river to the dirty floor. Cracks already mar her dark skin, black enough to stand out with ease. Her mouth opens in search of a breath that won't come.

His hand hovers before hers, shaking, too cowardly even to let their fingers touch. Another apology ties knots around his tongue. By the time he remembers how to speak, he realises there's no point. Her eyes have gone dark.

Not again.

It's a wonder he still has tears left to cry. A shattering sound rings in his ears, the whisper of another broken promise.

"Poor little Fiesi," Nathan -- Shaula -- muses. "Left alone again."

Fiesi snaps to his feet. He feels brittle, like a sack of too-thin skin holding together scorched bones and lungs made of molten metal, but somehow the spear responds to his summons. The fire sears his palm where he holds it. He focuses all his attention on that sliver of agony, that all-consuming warmth, and dashes forward.

An obsidian staff meets the strike, blocking it. Their silent clang crackles through the air in a sheet of mist, waves that ripple through Fiesi's insides and crystallise frost to burn along with the fire.

Nathan lets loose a long, chuckling sigh of something like relief. "Finally, you fight back."

Shoving harder, Fiesi grapples to meet his gaze, ducking out from under fear's claws. "Listen to me," he grates out. "Please, Nathan, I know you're in there. You have to break out."

A darker, deadlier shadow sharpens the edges of Nathan's expression. He leans in, voice a rasp. "Noli does not know his way around the place I have put him. He will lose himself there." He grins, more diamond scales tearing free from his skin to dot the bridge of his nose. "He cannot hear you. He is gone."

Without reason, humour rattles from deep within Fiesi. He could laugh if he had the breath to. Isn't it funny, really, to have nothing at all left to lose? Nothing but his life, and somehow he's still afraid to die. Desperately afraid. The humour rolls over and over and thickens into heavy syrup.

He curls his lip back in a trembling snarl. "Then I'll kill you."

"No." All the songs of nightmares dance in Nathan's careful pause. His staff flicks to the side. "You will scream."

Fiesi slips with the motion, his feet sliding from under him, though he never hits the ground. Instead, Nathan's staff smacks into his chest and presses him up against the corridor's wall. Cold, aching stone scrapes his shoulder blades. He remembers too late to grip his spear; it disintegrates, his fingers closing over nothing. His flame wilts.

In the resulting soupy darkness, he can no longer make out Nathan's face, but he feels the black fire cut into his stomach.

Despite all the buzzing protests that beg him not to, he does scream. The sound steals all the air he has left, and with it his consciousness, wrenched in a gust of wind so quickly that he isn't prepared to lose it. He's not ready. It's too fast, too sudden, too much.

Blackness claims him in an embrace of thorns, and his flame winks out.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

Whoops haha.

- Pup