We remain there, perched on the rocks overlooking Mount Vasim's forested slopes, for a good while longer. The light retreats gradually, gliding backwards over the mountain with the sun's descent, until we are shrouded in a cool veil of shade. Neither of us mind.

At some point, Finlay retrieves a few crackers from his bag. To these, he adds several berries he picked further down the path, which does vastly improve the taste. I'm reluctant to wash it down with water, almost. Once our containers are emptied, he makes the remark that we should eat snow to ensure we stay hydrated. He doesn't expect me to take him seriously, but I do it anyway, simply to see his expression. It's worth it.

By the time the sky begins to dim, clouds soaking in the creeping greys that swallow the last droplets of light, my mind is far from the prospect that comes with nightfall. So it is a surprise when Finlay abruptly turns to me, fiddling with the clasp of his cloak.

"It's time," he whispers.

I jolt to my feet, throwing out a hand to steady myself as I stumble on the uneven ground. "She's ready?"

He nods, gesturing to the darkening sky as he stands more slowly. "She will be by now."

My hands are shaking. With eagerness or fear, I can't be sure, but both thrum through me in equal sparks of lightning. I yank at the bottom of my tunic, twisting it. "You'll... come in with me, right?" It sounds foolish as soon as I say it, so small and weak.

The fading light highlights his smile. "Why wouldn't I? I might even be able to hold your hand."

He winks as he strides past me, leaping up the ledge with a flourish. With a final glance at the twilight sky, the first stars emerging out of the sun's view, I trail after him. Fire flares with every step. I have to fight to keep it from seeping through my boots and darkening the grass.

My hands flex, testing strands of fire, letting them skip between my fingers. What will it be like to have another force push them down? A relief, surely? Then again, my flame has supported me throughout this whole trip. Its absence may affect me in other ways.

I shake my head. It doesn't matter. I'll be able to touch someone without consequence, and that is worth any cost.

Finlay fumbles over the mountainside for the faint shape of Ligari's door amongst the shadows. It creaks as he pulls back the knob, golden light spilling out over us. He casts a glance back at me before slipping in, his cloak flapping out in the wind. Cautiously, I edge closer, waiting until he has crossed to the opposite end of the room before joining him inside.

Ligari has pulled her chair from its previous position over to her desk, and that is where she sits, bent over the material lying there. A gasp escapes me. What was previously a few scraps of leather and thread is now two black gloves, one resting on top of the other, every curve delicately shaped and the stitching almost invisible. It makes my previously discarded pair look crude.

"Shut the door," she says without looking up. I obey, though I linger near it.

"Are those for me?"

She nods. Standing, she pushes back the chair with a vague gesture, manoeuvring it to its original corner without so much as a backward glance. There isn't any casual action she can perform that doesn't command awe. As she steps towards me, she picks up the gloves, holding them carefully by their cuffs.

Blue stains the edge of my vision; Finlay leans beside the drawing, cloak bunched up under his folded arms, studying us with narrowed eyes. He notices me glance over and gives a prompting nod.

Ligari holds one glove out to me. Under his reassuring gaze, I take it from her, letting it rest gently over my palms. I'm almost too afraid to do anything more with it. The leather is soft, oddly not entirely smooth despite its seamless appearance. When I gingerly turn it over and run a finger across the surface, it stretches slightly, the smallest wrinkles forming. They vanish as soon as I release.

The silver thread that she had earlier, I notice, is now woven into the edges of the glove, like moonbeams strung across a void-black sky. It edges each of the fingers before curling at the base of the thumb and creating a tight cursive pattern over the cuff. I trace it with the point of a nail, marvelling at how well it melds into the material.

"It's beautiful," I say.

"I'm glad you enjoy my handiwork, but that's hardly the best part. Put it on."

Her voice awakes an urgency in me. I slide it onto my left hand, a shiver skipping over my spine at the touch of its velvet lining. It fits my hand perfectly; as I flex it, the material bends in the same way as my skin, barely limiting the action.

When I look up, Ligari is already holding out the second glove. This time, I don't hesitate to put it on. It is identically comfortable.

As it settles fully over my hand, I find myself turning to Finlay for guidance. "Should I... feel any different?"

He chuckles. "Try summoning flame."

The action is second nature. I reach for the squirming blaze at my core, tugging it out towards my palms. It seems to rise with ease, sinking dread like the trough of a wave, until it nears the surface.

It stops. I inhale sharply, pushing harder. Fire scrapes just under my skin, grating through my bones, writhing beneath the tight leather. A flinch shudders through me, my legs nearly crumpling. I wrench the flames over to my arm, my chest, but all they do is prick painfully and uselessly, a phantom burn that is difficult to let go of.

I force myself to let go of it, and the pain subsides. My heart pounds as I lean into the doorframe, resting my head against the wood in an attempt to stem its throbbing.

"I can't," I gasp out. The ceiling swims, crests of white and cream blurring into one another.

"Good," comes Ligari's voice, calm and steady, from somewhere ahead. "That means they're working."

"Great." My breath merges into a shuddering laugh.

My eyes squeeze shut, but I don't find darkness behind them. Smudged colours dance instead. I swallow hard, taking in another shaky breath. At least the foul taste at the back of my throat is retreating.

"Hey. You okay?"

The voice barely registers. Something warm rests on my shoulder.

Flinging my eyes open, I jerk back, hitting the wall with enough force to make my eyes sting. I flatten myself against it. Tremors lace my spine and spread as far as my fingertips. My vision has sharpened enough to focus on Finlay, his bright blue gaze fixed on me.

His hand is outstretched, hovering in the space I fled.

"You..." My voice shatters.

He offers the slightest smile, sparks lighting in his eyes. "Hold your hand out."

The wall is hard. There must be rock behind, covered by one of Ligari's many spells. I should push off it, but I can't bring myself to, not with him a single pace away, his hand a knife's length from my chest.

"It's alright," he adds, gently, when I don't move. "Trust Ligari. Trust yourself."

I lick my lips. "Trust you?"

He shrugs. "If you must. Just do it. I promise nothing will happen."

Slowly, I part my hand from the wall. It visibly shakes, the silver touches shining brighter with the movement. The air feels heavy. I'm sure my heart has ceased to beat.

Finlay closes the distance, and his palm meets mine.

Instinctively, I flinch back, but I'm trapped in the door's rounded corner. There is nowhere to escape to as he curls his fingers tighter, the leather creasing under his touch. His hand seems to burn in comparison to the ice of my skin beneath. I don't dare breathe. The flames rush forward, but again they meet the barrier, rebounding before they can claw their way into his veins.

I keep waiting for them to try again, to succeed and break through. His arm should be riddled with cracks by now. He should be shrinking back, falling to the floor, submerging in the shadows the fire forms.

Yet nothing happens. I'm touching him, and there is no darkness in sight.

"See?" he says. I realise with a jolt he's shifting his grip, warmth leaking through the material to my skin. "Told you it would work."

Before I can find the breath to reply, his hand glides over my wrist, lifting up the sleeve of my tunic. My heart really does stop as his fingertip brushes over the bare skin of my arm. No leaping spark. I really am safe. He has no reason to fear me, not now.

After what feels like an age, he draws back, and I return my hand to my side. "I suppose it would be a step too far to ask for a hug just yet," he says. He's grinning, just barely. I realise I mirror the expression.

"Yeah," I manage, still struggling to do anything but freeze. "I... yes."

He inclines his head, amusement twitching in his smile. "Seeing as I've pretty much short-circuited you already, that seems like a wise choice."

My laugh doesn't sound quite right, fitting awkwardly in my throat, and so it fades quickly. Still, I examine the gloves again with fervour, partly trying to root the secret to their workings out from their pattern. Is it the thread, the way it twirls? Do its silver shapes perform miracles?

No, it is Ligari who brought this miracle. I flick my gaze up towards her. She sits back in her chair, tied gold-brown hair splayed over the back, pride etched bright into her expression. It might be the first time I've seen her smile.

"You're incredible," I tell her, the words sounding choked. "Thank you. So much."

"I'm just glad I could be of aid." She rises, beckoning me closer. I have to force my feet to move, boots suddenly feeling like lead weights.

The drawing catches my eye again. Aorila. It's taken nine years, but I'm finally on track to repairing what I did that day, and everything I've done since. I can never truly make up for it, but at least now I can protect others from sharing the same fate. I can be of use, even. Why not learn to fight with a dagger, the way Harlow promised? So much feels newly available, real in a way it never was before.

My hand drifts towards my belt, searching for the hilt of the dagger I've begun to forget resides there, but before I reach it Ligari grabs my hand. I stiffen, throat too tight to gasp. She lifts my hand, holding it with gentle care, until it links us in the space between. Her eyes gleam, and then she's shaking it, her firm grip pinning my fingers in place.

After a moment, I think to return the action. My ribcage feels ready to explode.

"It's been a pleasure, Noli," she says as she releases. My palm tingles where she enclosed it. I draw it close to my chest.

"Definitely." Exhaling shallowly, I make a vain attempt to steady my heart. As I do so, her words sink in. They are parting words. "Are we not staying any longer?" It will be dark outside by now. I'd figured we were at least seeing out the night.

"We can't, I'm afraid." Finlay, from behind. The previous eager note to his tone had drained away. "We need to get going."

"Why?" I turn to see him tapping at the handle, head bowed and partially turned so that his eyes evade the light.

He straightens under my gaze, but remains fixated on the door. "Neyaibet, remember? They could still be tracking us. You don't want to lead them here, do you?"

"No, but..." I glance at Ligari to find her seated again, studying the fabric of her chair. "We're safe here." She certainly has the ability to defend us, and even without that, Finlay seems skilled enough to at least fend off those soldiers to some extent. He did something to slow Harlow and the general, after all. I should ask exactly how he did that.

Besides, if they were following us, surely there would have been a sign? He hasn't mentioned the danger of their approach before. Why now?

Yet he shakes his head. "Not if Rakis gets here. I worry about what he's capable of." He waves a hand. "Come on. We don't have to go far. Just far enough away from here."

He sounds so confident, firm in the surety that his concern is justified. Reluctantly, I nod. "Okay." He knows far more of the world than me, anyway. Who am I to tell him what is safe?

My eyes roam the room, the cream walls and cluttered shelves. My mother was Ligari's sister. That makes her a relation, family. This is a home, of sorts. Its warmth wraps around me a final time. Maybe I don't want to listen to Finlay simply because I don't want to leave, not for any logical reason.

"I'll come back here," I say without thinking, "when things are easier."

"I'd be glad to have you." Ligari isn't smiling anymore, but her eyes glimmer faintly. Family. I want to shake her hand again.

The door creaks from behind, and I take a backward step instead. "Thank you."

"Let's go, Nathaniel," comes Finlay's voice, stern. "We're losing light."

For another second, I linger, hoping I can absorb this entire room and the comfort it brings, before turning fully. He has vanished through the open door. I hurry towards it, watching the bend of my glove as I grip the outside handle.

"Noli?"

Partway through stepping out, I look over my shoulder to see Ligari standing in the centre of the room. For the first time -- albeit in the short time I've known her -- she appears slightly unsure, picking at the flowing edge of her sleeve. "Be careful out there," she says. "Those gloves keep others safe, but they don't protect you. There are still those who wish you harm. Stay alert."

I nod, feeling for the hilt of my dagger, firmly fastened under my belt. "I will."

Her eyes don't break from mine as I pull the door shut. I stare at it for a moment, its smoothed wooden pattern, feeling the flutter of my heart tug my smile higher.

This time, I recognise the sensation of a hand landing on my shoulder, but it is no less startling. My head ducks as I scurry back, yanking myself away. I shouldn't, but the instinct is still there, cracks of beating thunder that jolt lightning into my veins. Warmth lingers in the imprint of Finlay's touch.

He lowers his hand, already turning before I can properly glimpse his expression. Night has begun to sink in, enough to darken his cloak to indigo and drain the brightest greens from the forest below.

"This way," he says, already starting off, his bag slung over his shoulders. The ground seems to swallow him as he descends. I hasten to follow, forcing myself not to hang back as before. There is no need for distance between us now. Yet every time I move within a pace of him, my legs tense up as if I've met a different kind of barrier, one I lack the strength to overcome.

Even so, as the slope grows bigger and we begin to clamber over jumbled ledges of rock, I slow considerably. Even in the dark, the drop looms too close, and my gloves don't provide quite the same grip as I cling to outcrops and crevices. It isn't long until my thighs start to ache and sweat further slickens my grasp. None of it seems to bother Finlay. He marches on, only glancing back every so often to check my progress and stopping until I catch up. We walked in silence before, but this is different. It's tighter, more suffocating, and it rakes dry at my throat when I think of filling it. The very air seems to slice words from my tongue before they're formed.

It must be the lack of flame. Nothing else has changed. Part of me does long to summon it, if only to ease the tension in my muscles. As my boot catches on a sharp spur and I barely prevent myself from keeling over, I consider taking off the gloves. Yet the moment my finger teases at a leather cuff, doubt shakes it away, and I continue in Finlay's wake.

It's too soon to remove them. I fear that they will no longer work, or that something will occur that prevents me from putting them back on. They are beginning to feel like a second skin, and while my flame squirms in its prison beneath I'm hesitant to let it flood out again.

The ground levels out as we reach the gentler slopes of Mount Vasim. Ligari's residence is only around a quarter of the way up, and so it doesn't take long for the ledge to become an easier wind of path that doesn't beat so hard on my feet. Still, when he halts suddenly and leans back against a gnarled tree trunk, relief settles over me like a scattering of snow. I gladly slump to the earth.

Starlight trickles through the branches above to pick out the downward point of his gaze. He remains standing, the silhouette of his bag curving out over his shoulder.

It dawns on me within moments. "Is this where we part ways?"

The shadows shift to form his nod. "It is." A thump ends the statement, the sound of his bag meeting the earth. I frown, but before I can ask, his steps rustle the grass. He's pacing. "I have enjoyed travelling with you, Nathan, more than I expected."

My hand curls over a clump of weeds. His tone shivers through me, a gnawing wind. "So have I," I whisper, eyes flitting about as I try to find him in the dark.

"I'm sorry it has to end like this."

"Yeah," I sigh, giving up and peering down at my gloves again, resting amongst the shaded shrubbery. "But you need to go. I understand."

"I don't think you do."

The note to his voice finally registers. I flinch back, but it is too late.

In an instant, I see him again, a swift shape looming from the darkness, a fraction of a second before pressure lands on my chest and slams me against the earth. I struggle for a gasping breath, finding my lungs compressed. A stone jabs at the small of my back. Stinging pricks, a thistle, trace a burning path beneath my ribcage. Inside, my heart flounders, trapped by the force that tempers my attempt to squirm away.

Then his eyes flash into view, and I lose all will to move.

They glow bright enough to cut through the night's haze, strikes of aqua lightning primed with hostility. He is glaring down at me, emotion unrestrained, focus as sharp and unyielding as the knife that glints just beneath. A slice of steeled azure, hovering an inch from my exposed neck.

"Fin--" I grimace, lacking breath scraping at my throat. His knees practically pierce my lungs. "Finlay, what are you doing?"

His lip curls back to reveal gritted teeth. The knife almost seems to flicker as it draws closer. "Being the hero."

Everything inside me feels cracked, broken pieces lodging in my chest and severing my ability to reply. The knife's flaring point twitches, and fire grabs hold of my instincts. My left hand flies towards my right, clawing at the glove, desperate to purge my skin from his touch.

White-hot pain sears over my wrist, enough to force a cry. It cuts off sharply as I twist to look at the place my hand withdraws from.

A ring of fire swallows my forearm. Not amber or black, but blue, bright and deep and sparking. It casts beams that capture the grass in a dim glow, and light Finlay's face, the way his matching blue eyes track the flames with fevered intent.

Frost grates under my skin. "You're a... a Tía."

He shifts his weight, my ribs screaming their protests without aid. My own flame is imprisoned by his. "I told you we were awesome." The usual humour in his tone falls flat, an emotionless voice that drills into me. I fix my gaze on his knife, my throat closing up as it reaches for my neck. Wisps of it twirl and dance like fragments of smoke. The blade is formed of his fire, in all its deadly blue light.

The heel of his palm presses on my collarbone, nails scraping over my skin. The world spins. I want to screw my eyes shut, but instead they remain fixed on his, frozen, all else behind him reduced to meaningless blurs.

"Finlay, please." I cringe at the whimper, but I can do nothing else. Soil coats my fingers where they scrabble helplessly at my sides.

Something cold and hard skims over my knuckle, and my hands freeze. I barely contain the urge to tear from his gaze and search for its source, though I know it already. Thorns tangle in my heart.

"That isn't my name," he growls.

I manage to swallow. My finger finds the object again, shakily tracing its length. "Then what is?" Genuine curiosity twined with a desperate, half-formed need to stall is mauled by the tremors embracing my tone.

For the briefest of moments, his eyes widen. Heat washes over my neck as the knife flicks closer. "Fiesi," he replies. "Fiesi Kynig."

The hiss that bites through the name slithers over my spine. It takes every drop of willpower I have to break the ice threatening to seize up my muscles again and curl my fingers, gripping a soft leather hilt that slots perfectly into my palm.

"Then," I say, anchoring my tone's firmer fragments in the shaded slice of his eyes, "you never were my friend."

The knife jerks back. Tension coils in his wrist. If he strikes now, this is the end.

I can't let that happen.

I wrench out the hilt, and the weight of the dagger carries my swipe, slashing over his cheek. He cries out. His knees rock back, slipping from their hold on my ribcage. The knife flickers, its blade briefly fading to a bluish mist. Lingering pains graze over my left wrist, but they are fading, the flames that caused them vanished into empty air.

There will be no other opportunity. Mustering all my strength, I dive sideways, yanking myself out from under him. Pants lodge in my throat as my lungs heave, so uncontrollably glad to be free. He tumbles sideways, on his side for barely a second before he is rolling over, coming up on his knees with the knife reforming in his hand. Its light picks out the dark line of scarlet slicing under his eye.

Heart thrashing, I scramble to my feet, my dagger still clutched in my hand. I hold it out before me.

In response, his hand flicks out. Blue light spills out over his palm. I remember the way it scorched my skin, heated agony like a blaze of the sun's own creation, and my feet choose my next move for me.

I run, dashing into the shadows.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

Fun Fact: Fiesi's last name, Kynig, stems from the greek κυνηγός (kynigós) for 'hunter'. I wonder why--

So, a whole lot going on. Good, right? Nathan can touch people! Woo! Definitely something celebrate, nothing to stab me over *nods*

Yeah. Finlay wasn't trustworthy after all ;-; Hopefully our boy can get away. Unfortunately, Ligari was right. Him being safe for others just makes him way more vulnerable :/

Side note, though. That blue fire knife is cool, and you want one, don't deny it--

- Pup