The mountains remain blissfully empty. Every so often, a new flash of blue flickers in the edge of my vision, spearing heated panic through my chest, but every time I turn to find nothing. The cost of that vivid memory leaves me constantly on edge.

For most of the night, I don't stop moving. I can't. The fear of Fiesi's chase, coupled with my flame's constant drive, spurs me on. The river grows narrower until it disappears entirely, submerging under the earth. Mount Vasim is claimed by the shadows behind. The moon drifts amongst a sea of stars, peaking above before slowly sinking at the opposite side.

Eventually, I have to make the conscious decision to rest, though my heart twists the entire time I spend choosing a spot. Hidden in the tall grass and bracken, there is no way he will find me, especially with how far I've travelled, but I'm still reluctant to extinguish my flame. Thankfully, the moment I do, exhaustion shoves aside my worries and pulls me into sleep's embrace.

I awake to bright light and tingling warmth. The sun's rays slice over my face as I shield my eyes to survey the area. Still empty, but I can't hide in the shadows anymore. Then again, neither can Fiesi.

All day, I am on the lookout for him, yet time passes without incident. I even have a chance to stop at a brook and sip cool water from my cupped palms, easing the dryness in my throat. At around midday, I find what seems to be a more trodden path and clamber out of the undergrowth to join it. It leads me winding up a shallow hillside and around the edge of a mountain, until I round the other side and find much smaller hills facing me. Amongst them, a collection of houses nestle. A village.

Night taps at the lower parts of the sky, weaving in faint trails of darkness, as I follow the path down a slope towards the settlement. When I glance back, I meet the sun's scowl. A swathe of blood-coloured light erupts around it, as if its touch wounds the horizon.

Flowers have been planted on either side of the path near to the village's entrance. I crouch down to observe them, making sure to keep my flame concealed where I clutch my tunic. They are a delicate sunny yellow, petals turned up to the sky and shimmering with the last of the light. I'm aware of the village's closeness, its hum of people resonating through me, twisting nervous knots. Alone in the mountains, Fiesi was my only fear. Now, there are many others who might wish to bring me harm.

Tossing a glance out at the deep shadows of its buildings, I sigh and reach for the gloves at my waist. The air turns cold the moment I pull them on. Sickening vibrations slither out from the leather's smooth touch. Taking in a shuddering breath, I stand slowly, testing my ability to remain upright.

It is manageable. Still, I wait a moment, anchoring my feet against the way the world threatens to spin out of control, before forcing myself to continue. The threat I might bring to them is more important to prevent, as weak as it makes me feel.

And I have to go inside. Wandering aimlessly across Oscensi's plains will get me nowhere. If I'm going to locate my girl, I'll need the help of those with more knowledge, even if they don't tell me willingly. There must be some clue to the whereabouts of the kingdom's soldiers.

All to find her. I press purpose until my stride.

The instant I pass the first house, the air compacts, weighing heavier on my shoulders. My boots tap against cobbles that weren't there before, each sharp sound splintering through me. Keeping my breaths shallow, I search either side, taking in the rows of wooden panels and thatched roofs. Candles highlight each window in a warm glow. They feel like amber eyes tracking me as I duck my head and hurry along the centre of the street.

As I run a hand over the back of my neck, I find bunched material. I'd forgotten my tunic has a hood. I whip it out, pulling it low so that it covers my ears and shades my face. It feels a little safer to be hidden, if only slightly, by its black folds.

The smooth stone at my boots is slippery with melted snow. It takes more effort to walk on, painfully hard at the soles of my feet. I release a tight breath and wrap my arms around myself. Perhaps I should just turn around and leave. Whatever information I can glean from this place can wait until morning. The deserted mountains behind tug at my steps, slowing my pace.

My fingers run over my ribs. I trace them downwards, finding my stomach below, and instantly grimace, curling my fist. Unfortunately, sleep doesn't solve all problems. If I'm going to keep walking like this, I need to eat. Which means I need to stay long enough to find food.

Something crashes into my shoulder. A yelp escapes me as I stumble back, failing to regain my footing as my legs crumple underneath me. My back hits wood as I fall.

"Watch where you're going."

My head jerks up towards the low voice. Its speaker stands over me, face shadowed by the hat that almost covers his earthy hair and eyes flitting to my boots and back to meet my gaze. His clothes are simple: worn brown cloak covering a grey tunic, two halves of a sleeve flapping in the wind. It looks as if it has been ripped open by a blade. I swallow.

"I'm really sorry," I say hurriedly. My shoulder throbs where he touched me. I resist the urge to rub at the spot.

He laughs. I flinch, but he's smiling. He holds out his hand with the torn sleeve. "Here."

Hesitantly, I reach out and take his hand. His grip is too tight, sending tremors cascading through my heart, and I nearly stagger into the opposite side of the street as he wrenches me to my feet.

"Nice gloves," he remarks before releasing my hand. I throw out the other to support me against the house's wall while the dizzy waves rolling through my skull subside.

"Thank you." I dip my head, hoping it is too dark to notice my slight trembles. "I'm sorry," I repeat, unable to stop the words from tumbling from my lips.

Another laugh. It unnerves me somehow, though I try to shake it off, focusing on his friendly grin. "No worries," he says. "Just keep your eyes on the path in future, alright? Not everyone is as forgiving as me."

I nod. Before I can find anything else to say, he turns and continues, step almost a skip as he drifts across the path.

The moment he vanishes, I sigh and lean into the wall, letting my eyes slide closed briefly. It's odd, I realise. The idea that someone else just stared into my eyes and didn't see the fire beneath. As long as I wear these gloves, I'm simply ordinary, and that is as much a burden as it is a release.

Sighing, I push off the wall and carry on walking. The street has dimmed even in the short time I've spent in it, though now I drill all my focus on the path ahead I notice it isn't entirely quiet. Two women huddle outside a door, talking in hushed voices. One glances up as I pass, and I tear my gaze to the sky, noting the pair of stars creeping into the twilight. It was around this time the previous night that Fiesi led me away from Ligari's home, and not long afterward he drew his flaming knife on me. My nails dig into my tunic.

Abruptly, the street widens, wooden houses falling away. A large stone structure lines one side of the formed square. I don't look too closely at it, my attention more quickly pulled to the activity at the opposite side.

Chatter fills the night's still quiet. Its source is a group of people gathered around a long table, each covered with a tan cloth and sheltered by a single white sheet strung between four posts, lit by evenly-spaced candles. A man and a woman stand behind it, with the rest crowded at the front in a jumble of gleeful eagerness. The man rocks in a brief laugh as he leans over the table, passing something to the nearest person. As she bows her head and turns away, I creep closer, dodging aside as she passes swiftly.

A few more steps, and I realise there is also a rope tied to each of the front posts, brown strips hanging from it. Meat. The scent wafts over the square, warm and faintly salted. My pace quickens. There are also woven baskets laid out on the table, some almost empty, others packed with rounded red and green fruits. I've found what I'm looking for.

Yet my path to the table is blocked. I linger at the edge of the crowd, pressing my gloves against each other and willing myself to slip in amongst them.

I should be able to do it. Yet every inch of me protests. The fear hissing through me fixes my feet to the cobbles. One man pushes another, raucous laughter shaking them both, and I stagger out of their way. I should, but I can't grow nearer.

Perhaps they will disperse soon enough, and I can come back later. But that means waiting. Pushing up on my toes, I peer over them, catching another glimpse of the hanging meat. My stomach twists. When was the last time I ate meat? Have I ever even had it at all?

My eyes dart about. I notice the left side of the table is empty of people, and my legs move without prompting, carrying me around.

A thin piece dangles close to the pole. I reach for it, then hesitate, touch just brushing the flesh. A pace away, the man is bent over a basket, chatting merrily, their exact words slipping through my earshot like water between fingers. Further down the table, the woman is trying to relight a smoking candle. Neither of them look at me.

Grasping the meat strip, I yank it down, the rope swaying slightly in response. As I turn away, I cradle it. The urge to take a bite immediately is hard to shove down.

"Hey, stop!"

I freeze just as someone grabs my arm, stumbling my attempted step backwards and pulling me back around. My heart pounds fiercely. The desire to wrench away pulses through me, but the man's stare keeps me in place, filled with stern anger.

"Are you going to pay for that?" he asks.

It takes longer than it should for me to find my voice. "Pay?"

His gaze tips downwards in a frown. "One of those costs two coppers." He holds up a reddish-brown object, circular and glinting metallic. A coin. A memory tickles the back of my mind, too liquid to grasp, but it floods dread through my veins. He requests something in exchange. I can't simply take it.

"I'm sorry." Staring down at the meat in my hand, I swallow the bitter taste on my tongue. "I don't have any coins."

His gaze flicks me up and down, its piercing nature softening. He turns to the waiting crowd and dips his head. "One moment. Go to Dena if you're waiting to buy."

Hand on my back, he guides me away from the table. His touch is gentle, but uncomfortably warm, and I slide away from it as soon as I break free of my stunned stillness. A few eyes follow us, but quickly avert at a wave of his hand.

He is still examining me with narrowed eyes, almost calculating. I squirm under the stare. "I really am sorry. I didn't realise." Although my stomach aches with the motion, I hold the meat out to him.

Much to my surprise, he declines, pushing it back towards my chest. "Keep it," he says, as if finalising a debate.

My glove's leather dampens where it touches browned flesh. Nervously, I look up at him. "Are you sure?"

A brief smile cracks his expression. "Yes. If you really have no coin?"

I shake my head.

"Then you need it. In fact..." He reaches into a pouch at his waist, drawing out a few more copper coins like the first he showed me. Lifting up my wrist, he prises open my fingers -- a fist I didn't consciously form -- and drops them into my palm. They are heavier than they appear. "Take those as well," he adds. "Just don't try to steal from me again, okay?"

I nod, scrabbling helplessly for words. Dust pricks at my eyes. Swallowing hard, I blink it away. "Thank you. That is... very kind."

"You're quite welcome." He pats my shoulder, and I manage not to flinch away. His eyes drift to the table, then back to me. "Are you staying with someone in town?"

"No." My gaze drops. "I won't be here long."

"And what is a teenage boy doing travelling on his own?" Bending down a little, he meets my eyes, holding them in place with his stare.

I lick my lips. "I'm... looking for someone."

"Family?"

"Yes." A shaky laugh escapes me. It's one word to describe her. "A... sister." A sudden thought jerks me up. "She's a soldier for Oscensi. Do you know where they might be?"

He sighs. "Sadly, no. Last I heard, the fighting was scattered all over the place, and after Polevis fell, I doubt..." Straightening, he pulls the words back, as if catching himself. He flashes another temporary smile. "I hope you find her, anyway. There'll be several here who know more than me."

Nodding, I bite at my lip. He doubts they're still alive. But he hopes, and I do too, enough to drive my search on.

He makes to turn away, then pauses. "What's your sister's name?"

I draw in a sharp breath. My hesitation must speak for me; he waves his hand. "No matter if you don't want to tell me. It was just in case I might have heard of her, is all."

Running a thumb over a coin's smooth edge, I lower my hand to my belt, slotting the coins into the tight space there. It'll have to do until I can find a better place to store them. Remembering Ligari's gesture, I offer my hand to him. "I'm Nathaniel."

He accepts it, and I let him guide the shake. "Woodrow. Nice to meet you, Nathaniel."

"You too." It's nice to be able to reaffirm my ability to touch, but I still snatch my hand back at the first opportunity.

"If you're struggling tomorrow evening, come over here again, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you." My throat closes up. I want to say more, but I can't find the right words to express my gratitude, and so I simply watch Woodrow return to the table and immediately strike up another conversation with a waiting couple. He glances up briefly at me, and I smile in return.

It lingers as I wrench myself away and start down the nearest street. The meat finds its way to my lips without prompting, its salty tang quickly broken to make way for the juices that pour out. It tastes every bit as good as it smells. Like the fish that Harlow gave to me, back in a Neyaibet tent that feels like another era now, but richer and stronger, almost earthy. My attempts to savour each bite rapidly crumble.

Yet the thought of Harlow does draw my head back towards the square and clench at my chest. This world seems full of surprising kindness, but every one has a catch. If Harlow didn't teach me that, then Fiesi definitely has. I won't return to Woodrow again. Regardless of my need, it isn't worth the risk of another bitter realisation.

The last morsel of meat vanishes, leaving a warm tingle on my tongue. Wiping my palms on my trousers, I quicken my pace, noting the darkness clouding in like fog in the street ahead. I need to get out of the village before I start attracting too much attention. As kind as Woodrow seemed, his curiosity was an alarm bell, the hint that my presence is unusual to them.

The shape of the house ahead looms in so abruptly I almost crash into it. Staggering to a stop, I spin a full circle, confused. The street ends here. There is no continued path out.

This mustn't be the route I took to get in. It's irritating, but if I track my steps back to the square, I should be able to find my way out. Yet when I turn, I barely manage one step before the shaded figure before me fixes my feet in place.

"Fancy seeing you again."

My breath hitches. It is the man I bumped into before, despite the shadows that drape him like a cloak in the fading light. He wears the same grin as before, but it isn't mirrored in his eyes. Then again, it could simply be a trick of the darkness that creates the cold blade of his gaze, drained of colour by the absence of the sun.

A nervous laugh stutters from my lips as I attempt to step back, the heel of my boot resonating a dull thud through the housing panel behind. The word trapped wriggles its way up my spine.

He flicks up his wrist, and light glints between his fingers. Something is held there. "You dropped this," he adds.

"Oh." It must be one of the coins Woodrow gave me. "Thanks." I reach out, expecting him to pass it back to me, but he jerks away.

Echoes peel off the street's narrow sides. There are more footsteps approaching, though the direction in the sound is lost. The memory of Fiesi creeping up on me in the darkness scratches at the back of my mind, and I find my hand drifting to my belt, feeling for the leather comfort of my dagger's hilt.

"Where are you from?"

My attention snaps back to the man. He has grown closer, my coin still imprisoned in his grasp. "P-Polevis," I manage.

"Is that so?" He tosses the coin from one hand to the other, a bright copper streak passing my face before he snatches it up again. My heart thunders loud enough I'm sure he can hear it vibrate the thin veil of air between us.

Feeling for the grooves in the wooden wall, I offer a tentative nod.

His hand is on mine in an instant, dragging it from the dagger at my side, nails scraping audibly over the leather of my gloves. "I'm afraid I can't believe that. See this?"

He tugs at the cuff so hard that for a terrifying moment, I'm certain it will fly off and our skin will meet. But it remains firm. He taps at the silver lace there, the elegant patterns it traces, then moves on to my sleeve, picking at its decorative thread. One strand comes loose, and he draws it out, twisting it as moonlight adorns its sparkle. I pull weakly at his grip.

"And this," he murmurs, dangling it before me. "Know where this comes from?"

My tongue is too dry to speak. I shake my head.

He laughs. "Liar."

The instant he releases my wrist, his elbow meets my ribs. My cry is quickly torn away as he seizes my collar and shoves me up against the wall. Gasping, I make a feeble attempt to squirm, my chest trapped between his grip and the panels behind. Grating pains shudder through me where he presses.

"I'll ask again," he growls. The grin is long gone now. "Where did you get this?"

The boards shake as my feet kick at them, lifted above the ground. I can do nothing but meet his harsh eyes. All else is reduced to a dark haze, spinning with the throbbing woven into my skull. I splutter as an answer escapes me.

The pressure on my chest increases. My ribs scream, and I force out a few choked words. "Neyaibet. The army."

He draws back a little. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

All at once, his grip vanishes. I crumple to the ground, whimpering at the flaring pain as I hit the hard cobbles, clutching at my ribs. One must be cracked, at least. My legs don't support my attempt to stand, and so I scramble back against the wall, not taking my eyes off him as he looms over me. A sword holster I hadn't noticed before swings at his hip. Fear writhes, climbing up my throat.

"It's funny," he continues, "that you think you can hide it when it's etched so brightly into your clothes. Did you not know?" he adds, inclining his head, clearly noticing my confusion. "Only one kingdom has the audacity to use such a colour."

It makes sense, what with their prized silver ship. In giving me this tunic, Harlow has marked me as belonging to his kingdom, as his property. Perhaps it never was kindness. The panels rattle with my tremors.

"Now," the man says, dragging my gaze up, "what is a little Neyaibet toy doing here?"

"I'm not... not with Neyaibet." My voice emerges strangled, barely clinging to life. I force more strength into it. "I was their prisoner."

Slowly, he crouches down, lowering to my level. I make out his chilling smirk. "Prisoners don't get the silver touch. You're a prize."

More footsteps beyond, more echoes. We have company. Yet I can only focus on him, and the way his fingers stampede up my chest, prodding at my injured ribs, until they reach my neck. He traces my jaw. I don't dare breathe.

"It's just a question of how much you're worth," he whispers.

Shivers cascade down my spine. The weight of my dagger scrapes over the stones, but my hands are leaden, refusing to move. "Nothing," I gasp out. "I... I'm not worth anything to them." The lie falters. I know Harlow wants me. It's my wills that are worth so little.

His touch lingers on my cheek, his smile twisting, before he pulls back. In the shadows, shifting forms frame him. Two others? Three? What does it matter?

He snatches my hand again, holding it up to the faint light. Black leather gleams. Beneath it, my flame sparks, pushing against its restraint. Only a thin barrier separates it and his skin. If it reached out now, he wouldn't be able to hurt me anymore. I swallow hard.

"I suppose we'll find out, won't we?" he murmurs, turning my wrist. I wince at the strain, but I can't escape his grasp. My strength has all but vanished. "It's only a matter of time before Neyaibet comes knocking. Are you worth as much as a village?"

The realisation floods my lungs. He wants to use me in a bargain. Not for coin, but for the safety of his home. My stomach tightens. Is it selfish of me to still wish to escape?

Before I can even find the ability to reply, he suddenly grabs at the glove's cuff. I gasp as his skin meets my wrist, cold and smooth, inches from my fire.

"I think we'll take these, though," he says. "I wouldn't want to leave Neyaibet with something so beautiful."

"Don't." My throat rasps. Terror clogs it. "Please, don't. You can't."

Briefly, he meets my eyes. "Watch me."

"No, no, please." The words soften with held-back sobs. "You can't touch me. You'll--"

He yanks it off, and my flame rushes to the surface.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

Fun Fact: This isn't exactly how this scene was supposed to go. Originally, this guy was just after money, and basically was here to mug Nathan like a good random idiot. Then he had to get a remotely noble motive on me and yeet extra worldbuilding at my face.

But I do like how it evolved. We can't forget that the whole war is still on, and Oscensi is not in great shape. But hey, it's nice for Nathan to be classed as evil for something that isn't his flame for once. Except, you know, that's probably gonna happen like immediately now--

Also look! I fed the boy! Be proud :D

- Pup