The closer the mountains loom, the deeper night swoops in. Above, the sky turns from blueish velvet to an inky black, patched by grey wisps that gradually clump together to form clouds. Even the stars wink in and out, as if stealing away light rather than emitting it.

Despite my demands of Finlay, I find myself drifting closer to him, fearful that his cloak will meld with the darkness and I will lose him to shadow. He becomes merely a silhouetted figure, etched with the faintest of blue outlines. As sight grows unreliable, I focus less on him and more on the repetitive tap of his step, holding the sound close and attuning to it until the wind fades and it is all I can hear.

Light is not my domain, yet I still find myself wishing Finlay had brought the lantern he carried when he first appeared in my tent. It seems to have vanished now. Whatever he did to hold back Harlow and the general stole it from his grip.

We talk very little. At the first lengthy draw of silence, I fear I have done something to offend him, but then I notice the lag in his pace and the mist of his breath and realise his focus simply lies elsewhere. He needs rest, but I don't wish to mention it. The drive with which he stares ahead suggests he will not listen.

Instead, I fill the quiet with the whirr of my own thoughts. I keep returning to Finlay's lie, but the more I replay his words in my mind, the more I find myself shaking my head. It is simply an incline that he doesn't trust me, but does not wish to admit it. The same way I struggle to speak aloud my anxiety surrounding the flame playing around my forearm.

My nails rake at the back of my hand, failing to penetrate the cold. How can I expect him to trust me when I can't even trust myself?

The fact that he stays with me is enough. I should be grateful for that, for his attempt to trust me regardless and his will to help me. He has a way to give me control. Perhaps we'll both be able to trust my flame with it safely contained.

Glancing over at him, I chew at my tongue. The desire to ask him about how he plans to achieve that, or even what exactly he meant, gnaws at my insides, but I resist the urge. Finlay is slightly bent over now, both his hands wrapped tightly around the straps of his bag as if the action will alleviate his shoulders from its weight. Tentatively, I part my hands, then hold one out to him.

"Do you want me to take that?" My voice quietens as I sense it crack the silence, ringing too loud over the empty plains.

"What?" Even his voice is brittle, exhaustion shattering its edge. My hand itches, desperate to hurry over and be of some aid. I curl my fingers back.

"The bag. It looks heavy."

He snaps upright, step growing more brisk as he twists away from me. "I'm fine," he mutters.

"You're not," I say. His breath hangs in the air, frosted pants. "I really don't mind taking it. You've been carrying it all--"

"Honestly, Nathan, I'm fine," he bites out.

I try not to flinch at his tone. He is tired. He isn't thinking. Still, a reply flees my tongue when I search for it.

Several minutes slide by, each one spent watching him, feeling the knot in my chest tighten. Soon, we are sliding under the tree cover, falling deeper into blackened shadows. The combined effort of the skeletal boughs and the steep hillside ahead blocks out all remnants of the moon's light.

Finlay said he wanted to reach the mountains by sunrise. I'm not sure how much of the night has gone by, but that time must still be a way off, and we are already at the base of the nearest mountain, more or less. Before I can change my mind, I pounce on the thought.

"We should rest here." I stop, the absence of my steps making my voice all the more obvious. At least the creak of the trees provides some background noise.

Turning, Finlay stops as well, dragging his gaze to mine. I can't even make out the colour of his eyes anymore. "I wasn't planning to rest tonight," he says. "Why, are you tired?"

I almost laugh aloud, but it catches in my throat. "No. Fin" -- I cut the word off halfway, trying out the nickname -- "you need the rest."

Immediately, he shakes his head. "I'm fine," he says again, but I don't need to examine that phrase to pick it out as a lie. "I wasn't planning to rest tonight. We need to get as far into the mountains as possible. I can't risk Neyaibet finding us."

"Aren't we hidden well enough here?" I gesture to the trees, hoping they truly are enough of a shield. "I want you to rest. You're clearly struggling."

His eyes cut through the gloom. "I--" But the protest crumbles just as he begins, and his gaze drops. "Fine. Just... we'll go a little further so I can find a good spot."

I'm not sure how he'll be able to distinguish a good spot from a bad one in the dark, but I concede a nod anyway. "Okay."

For every beat of step that follows, I trail him nervously, hoping each one will be the last. Thankfully, it isn't long before he stops and abruptly sinks down against a large tree.

"If I don't get up for the next three days, it's your fault," he says. His expression is shrouded, but I catch the smile in his tone and return it as I sit down across from him. It is good to hear something other than poorly-veiled exhaustion.

"At least you'd be rested. I'd call it mission accomplished."

The grass rustles, his bag scraping against bark as he sets it down beside him. The faint shapes of his hands meet, palms rubbing together. "It's getting properly cold now, huh?"

"Yeah, it's nice," I say without thinking, toying with a blade of grass. It wilts, and I swallow my sigh.

He laughs, startling me upright. "How many layers are you even wearing?"

I pick at the sleeve of my tunic. "One?"

"If I were you, I'd be freezing to death. Quite literally." His cloak shifts as he wraps it around himself. "Strange, that flame of yours." He pauses, and I wait for him to elaborate, but instead he leans forward and adds, "You think you can start a real fire?"

Looking down, I trace the black licks of flame around my arm, separating it into two trails and twining them both towards my hand. At least the darkness obscures them from Finlay. "I don't think it works like that."

"Oh, come on. At least have a go."

"I have," I snap, then instantly recoil at my tone. "Sorry." The flames meet beneath my knuckles.

The cell flashes at the back of my mind, the void-black blaze at my palm refusing to change its nature. There was a period in which I was desperate for some light of my own. It ended quickly, with my only achievement a sinking sense of hopelessness.

But now isn't then. I yank myself out of it before the cell's memory can steal me away.

"Then try again," Finlay reasons. "Maybe I'll be your good luck charm." Before I can argue, he is rising, hissing out a breath as his hand slaps against the tree trunk. My heart twists, but he is already committed.

The crunch of his footsteps moves him away from me, and then back again. He slouches back at the base of the tree with a sigh as he tosses something out between us.

"Fallen branch," he explains as I shift forward to run a finger over it. Rough, splintered at the side, perfectly dry.

"So I just..." I switch to my other hand, where the flames gather around my wrist, peering out at the wood. "Set it alight?"

"Preferably."

I take a tentative breath. Perhaps the wood will be the catalyst I need. I let the fire fall, racing down my fingers to blaze around my grip, engulfing the wood.

Nothing. The night remains unlit, the flames deep and black. I lift them higher, but with no result.

"See?" I say quietly, retracting my hand. "It doesn't work." I was expecting the outcome, but a pit opens in my stomach regardless.

"You're going about it wrong." There is such confidence in Finlay's tone that my gaze snaps to him instantly. He slots another piece of wood beside the first. "Fires start from a single spark. Don't focus on the amount of fire; focus on the smallest spark, on the heat you need to put into it."

A shiver snakes along my spine. He sounds as if he knows exactly what he speaks of, as if the words are practiced.

I shake off the thought, running over his advice. It makes sense. Too much sense, perhaps, but I need to focus. I pull back my flames, and in the same motion hover a finger over the wood. The smallest spark. Heat.

The memory of the sun's first flood of light rises to the surface. In that moment, my flames speared through me, sharp and painfully warm. I draw that sensation forward, fighting to ignore the spike in my pulse as I do so. The fire roars within.

I gasp as the spark slips free. I sense it more than see it; it matches the gloom. But I wait, holding my breath, as it drifts towards the wood.

It lights.

Delight thrums through me as I crouch over it, watching the single spec, its red shine. It is still mine, but it glows. It isn't dark.

A pace away, I know Finlay is watching me closely, but my attention remains on the fire. I flick my hand upwards, pulling at the heat, wrenching it out into open air.

A laugh bubbles from my lips. It blazes orange, bright, pulsing with warmth. I created that. I brought light.

"Told you," Finlay murmurs.

As I glance up, he leans further back, hiding his face in the shadows the flames cast. I shift them, increasing their flare enough to capture his expression. Amber light pales the blue of his cloak and glints in his eyes, trained on the fire. His lips form a tight line. When he notices me looking, he twists them into a smile.

Although I can't read the emotion written in the lines of that look, there is no surprise there. He expected this to work. Somehow, he knew.

"How did you--" I cut the words off, forcing myself to examine as well the shade pooling under his eyes, the one not even light can chase away. "Never mind. You need to sleep."

"No, go on." He sits up, the strained smile flashed in my direction.

I meet his gaze as sternly as I can manage. "No. We stopped to rest, and you're going to."

"Then why not carry on so we can talk?" His eyes glitter dimly. "I really don't mind, Nathan. I know you have lots of questions."

The more I think, the more questions that come, but I shake my head decisively. "In the morning. I can wait. Your rest can't."

He lets out a long sigh, though it merges into a chuckle halfway. "Fine, fine. But you have to sleep too, alright?"

I almost complain that I'm not tired, but then realise how hypocritical that sounds and merely nod. It's worth a try. If I'm demanding he sleeps, I should at least match that.

One hand curled around the edge of his cloak, he lies down in the grass, bathed entirely in the glow of the flames. "Night, I suppose."

"Goodnight, Finlay."

His eyes linger on me for a second more, then slide closed. I realise with a jolt how much younger he appears now, his skin smooth and pink in the firelight, ruffled hair draped over his face. Maybe he isn't a great deal older than me. Then again, I have little reference for age.

Carefully, I ease myself to the ground, wincing as a brown stripe trails behind my hand. There are flames dancing around it. I hadn't even noticed. The blades of grass brush against my cheek as I look past them, watching the ebb and flow of the lit fire. If I concentrate, I can sway it side to side, transform it from a crackling blaze to a simmering flicker and back again. The black flames climbing up the edge of my palm move to mirror them. Both mine, both so very different.

Eventually, I release my grip, and the change is instant. Darkness falls over the forest. I barely have a chance to rest my head on the earth before I succumb to the flooding shadows.

- ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ -

When Finlay coaxes me out of sleep, the sun has only just cleared the horizon, the clouds in the direction of the river still stained a faint pink. The sky is more crowded now with mounds of pale grey. Finlay fears rain is on its way, and so we set off almost immediately, pausing only to kick at the dead embers of my fire and retrieve a cracker each from his bag. It is just as dry, but a little less tasteless than the last I tried.

The ground soon rises into a shallow incline, but I notice that we do not travel up any of the steep passages. Finlay reassures me that this is a regular path through the mountains, a pass that should avoid any difficult travel, although it is not the main trail that many use -- that lies further east and only takes us further from our destination. From the frequent shrubbery we find ourselves clambering through, I doubt it is particularly well-trodden, but I take him at his word.

We walk in a comfortable, albeit somewhat stiff, silence. I busy myself with practicing a tighter control on my flame, summoning it around my ankles so that it flickers with every step, while being careful to lift its touch above the grass and brambles.

Every few minutes, I look up at Finlay with a question on my tongue, but every time it falls away and I return to the fire. He always seems to be occupied -- checking the path ahead, tracing the sharp points and slants of the mountains either side, scanning the sky as if searching for something I cannot see. Or maybe that is an illusion of my making.

It is foolish, really, this unwillingness to ask. I know he will answer gladly. But the words continue to falter, the invisible chain tightening around my throat.

There is a darkness in the knowledge behind his eyes, a wariness I recall as he watched my amber fire spread. Maybe I fear his answers.

Time drags by. The sun still hangs low when we reach a babbling stream, beside which he draws out two water skins and dips them beneath the crystalline surface. As he holds one out to me, his gaze meets mine.

"So," he says, smile crooked, "are you going to say anything, or are you going to keep staring at me like I'm about to explode?"

I curl my fingers around the edge of the water skin, drawing it gently from his grip. I could ask why he doesn't fear my touch, but he will only reply with another false promise of trust, and I don't want those doubts to return.

"Here, I'll make it easy for you." He pauses to take a swig of his water. "What are you?"

"I don't know," I say quietly.

"I do." Waving a hand to the path ahead, he ducks underneath two intertwined branches, emerging on the other side with a pointed gaze.

Wrapping a hand around the branch, I swallow. I need to know. "What am I?"

"A complicated question."

I flash him a glare. He grins, stepping aside to let me pass. Once I'm on the other side, we fall into step. I sip the water slowly, watching him as he contemplates.

"In short," he begins, "you're Enkavmé."

"Enkavmé?" I echo, frowning. It feels too gentle a word, its syllables skipping softly into one another.

"Yes." Slotting his water skin into the side of his bag, he holds out his hands, palms turned to the sky. I shift sideways to widen the distance between us. "See, humans are split into two sections. There's the Cormé -- normal people, I suppose." He lifts his left hand, parting his fingers. "Those who live without."

"Like you?" I ask.

"Yeah," he chuckles, inclining his head. "Like me. And then there's the Enkavmé." His right hand he closes into a loose fist. "Those who burn inside."

"Like me." Black flames slip out over my own hand, tapping at the edge of my water skin. I will them to retreat to my wrist. Those who burn inside. It's certainly a fitting descriptor.

Finlay nods. "It isn't quite that simple, though." Letting his left hand fall to his side, he brings his right closer to his chest. "Enkavmé can be one of three things. The first" -- he raises his forefinger -- "and the most common is Jeía. They perform all kinds of magic. It varies depending on who you're speaking to. That's who we're going to find, by the way: a particularly powerful Jeía."

So they will be the one to give me control. I watch my fire slither alongside the silver thread on my tunic, resisting the urge to probe deeper into how and allow Finlay to finish.

"The second," he continues, holding up another finger, "is Nería. They control matter, but primarily water. And then there's the third, the rarest and most powerful, and what you are, funnily enough." He opens out his hand, turning it over, eyes trained on it instead of me. "Tía. Wielders of flame."

"Wait." My boots catch on the rocky ground. "There are... others like me?"

The realisation strikes in a wave, washing over me with twice the force of a river. Enkavmé. Tía. Generalised terms, plural, meant to describe a collection of people. Not one boy, one curse, the way it has always been told before. Can these others control their power? Can they aid me in doing the same?

Yet Finlay's look dampens the thrill. He runs his left hand through his hair, head dipping in an effort to conceal the uncertainty in his gaze. "Not exactly."

I only realise I've stopped entirely when he keeps walking, and hurry to keep pace with him, picking my way through several crowds of thorns. Keeping distance does mean we can't both walk on the clearer path. My stomach writhes along with my flame as he licks his lips, taking his time over the next words.

"There's a fourth kind," he says finally, so quietly I have to strain to hear over the rustle of grass underfoot. "It doesn't behave quite like the others in that it isn't its own category. It has to be paired with another, and it is a choice, a path any Enkavmé can travel down if they wish. We call it Adeía. The empty."

Empty fits as of this moment. My chest is a hollow, bottomless pit. He won't meet my eyes.

"Adeía is... a dark magic, if you will. A control over life and death, nature itself, the sorts of things that aren't meant to be tampered with. So..." He dares to glance up at me.

"So I'm Tía, tainted by Adeía," I finish. The words fall like leaden weights, thickening the air.

His head bends in the slightest nod.

I gulp past the tightness in my throat. "Is anyone else..."

"Not that I know of." Apology drags at his voice. I want to tell him that it's alright, that this should only be what I expected, but I can't bring myself to lie. Instead, I look down at my boots, feeling the flicker of hope in my heart curl up and fade away.

Nothing changes. I am still alone.

A sudden thought tugs at me, but not enough to lift my gaze. "If Adeía is a choice, why must it curse me? I never chose this."

"That I don't know, I'm afraid. Someone else must have chosen for you. But don't say it like that."

My head jolts up. "Like what?" There is more bite in my tone than I intend.

"Like it's a bad thing." He tries for a smile, and although it is forced its edges are soft. "You're not cursed, Nathan. Adeía isn't the nicest, yes, but you're still Tía at heart. And they're... well, they're awesome." His eyes glint.

Desperate to do something with my hands that isn't setting them on fire, I tip the water skin to my lips. The drink tastes bitter on my tongue. It turns cold as I swallow it, thick as ice. "But only my flame kills people."

"Yes." The path curves, and Finlay takes the opportunity to hurry out in front of me, his slight smile fixed. "But we're going to change that."

"How?" Fire bursts around my hand as I throw it down, spilling a few drops of water. Its shadowy streaks stretch out, reaching for him, too close to his arm. He flinches back. He fears me now.

Regret coils instantly. I dip my head, willing the flames to recede.

Finlay holds out a hand calmly, although he takes another step back. "We're going to see someone called Ligari Yona," he says, the words quiet but strong. "I don't know exactly what she will do, but her family are highly proficient in Jeía magic. She should be able to create a barrier to maintain control of your power."

Should be. But things never go the way they should with me. I curl my hands into fists to compress any further flame. "What if it doesn't work?"

"It will."

The raw confidence emulating from his eyes, his tone, should be reassuring, but the pit in my chest still yawns wide. It is safer to let it swallow any hope. Tearing my gaze away, I dart around him, my boots hitting the ground harder and swifter than before. His steps pound as he quickly catches up.

His mouth is open, but before he can say anything I turn on him. "How do you know all of this?"

"I take it I can't simply respond with 'because I'm smart like that'."

I return to staring ahead at the point where the mountains meet in a sharp V. I don't need a joke right now.

He sighs. "I know Ligari, alright? I have for a few years. She told me."

That at least confirms Enkavmé aren't common knowledge, but I'd figured that already. If Edita had known of Adeía, she would have been quick to mention its darkness, taking all the more confirmation that I was her monster.

"Nathan," Finlay adds. I don't turn. He tries again. "Nathan, I know it's hard. But aren't you glad for some explanation?"

With a forced nod, I spare him a glance. "Yes, and I'm grateful you gave it. I just..." I take in a tight breath. "I guess I hoped for a better one."

"I get that." His smile twitches in the corner of my eye. It's a wonder it has managed to reappear. "But Ligari's magic will work, okay? I know that for certain. I know it's hard to believe--"

"Alright," I say, cutting him off before I can get too hopeful. "Just answer the question. What happens if it doesn't work?" My nails dig into my palm, flickering with unseen flame. "Would that be it? Would you leave?"

His step falters, slight but noticeable. Slowly, he shakes his head. "I'd stay with you. We'd keep looking for solutions." He tilts his head. "We're in this together."

Together. That word is warmer than any fire, lit or otherwise. For a moment, the fire under my skin stops searing. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome."

He bends over, bringing his arm to his chest in a mock bow, and despite the raking doubt that lingers in the back of my mind I find myself smiling briefly. I can trust Finlay, even if he doesn't trust me. He wants to help. He stays in spite of everything wrong with me, even knowing that my power is based on this dark magic. I should show him nothing but gratitude.

My fist unfurls, and as it does so I brush against something soft pressed against my side. I gasp faintly. The feather. I still haven't returned it.

Gently clasping my fingers around its stem, I draw it out, waving it into the space between us. "You left this on the carriage."

His eyes pounce on it moments before he snatches it from my grip, so quick I barely feel its velvet touch slide away. He runs a finger over it, examining it, as if checking it is still intact. Relief mingles with delight as his gaze reflects the feather's bright blue. "I thought I'd lost this," he murmurs, then lifts his head. "You took good care of it."

"It seemed precious to you." It has been a little piece of Finlay to carry with me, and my heart feels a little lighter to see him holding it with such fervent joy. I have done one thing right.

He inspects the feather again, then gives a satisfied nod and hides it within the folds of his cloak. "It kind of is," he says with a nervous laugh.

I pause. He has answered so many questions; surely one more can't hurt. "Where did you get it?"

He shrugs. "A bluebird dropped it."

"But what makes it special?"

His shoulders stiffen. But when he looks over, his bright grin has returned. "I think we've had enough story time for today. Don't want to reveal all my secrets from the start, right?"

"Right." I shove back my curiosity. It makes sense for him to withhold. After all, aren't I harbouring secrets too?

One in particular springs to mind. I'm not ready to talk about the girl, not even with him, not yet. It is only fair I allow him to keep quiet about his feather as well, whatever significance it holds.

As he strides a few paces ahead, forging a path through the shrubs and gnarled limbs of trees, I feel confident enough to summon a single flicker of flame. I hold out my palm in order to watch it dance, darkened further by the shine of the sun beyond.

A Tía flame, tainted by Adeía. A curse, whatever Finlay says, but not one I will keep for long. Whatever it takes, we will find a way to control it together.

The fire rolls onto the back of my hand as I twist it over. Maybe then, I'll finally be free of all this. Finlay will be able to trust me fully.

Without the threat of my flame, I might not have to be alone anymore.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

Fun Fact: Enkavmé actually comes from the greek for burn, έγκαυμα. No, I cannot by any means pretend that I know even how to pronounce greek words, but they are fun, and I have been playing about a fair bit with sticking words into Google Translate and seeing the greek. It's a cool language, I'm learning, with fancy words to rival latin. So don't be surprised if it pops up a few times more in my facts for the origins of world-building stuffs xD But that aside, I pronounce Enkavmé, fairly simply, as en-kav-may.

So, lots of fun world-building I got to throw at you this chapter! Good to know what Nathan finally is, right? And there's more magic fire people out there, though none quite like our boy. He really is alone in that :/

But our solution is nearing, and we've got more details on it now. Do you have faith it will work? We can hope so, at least. Nathan might actually be able to touch someone ;-;

Oh, and I'm just laughing at the fact that Nathan spent 2k words getting Finlay to take a nap while Finlay tried to distract him with pretty fire. I love my boys.

- Pup