"Up," Jasper commands. His hands remain in place even as he paces to my back, the force with which he holds the spear the same, his grip shifting over my wrist in such a way that my vision dances in spots of blinding light.

The spear jerks up, knocking into my chin. "Up," he repeats, harsher.

Even if I had the willpower remaining to disobey, he wraps his hand around my arm and hauls it up, leaving me with no option other than to struggle to my feet. Without his support, I doubt I could remain standing. My legs tremble as if trapped in an earthquake. The street tips and spins, darkness nibbling at my vision's edges.

Jasper's fingers brush over my wound, extracting a fresh wave of screaming pain. My cry emerges only as a strangled whimper. The spear handle presses firmer into my neck, restricting what breath I can gasp in.

Move, you fool. Yet when I pull back, I find my head trapped against his chest, pinned in place by the spear. My left hand attempts to claw its way towards my other glove only to also be imprisoned, shoved behind my back as he twists my arm.

The next inhale requires effort to take in. Panic unfurls in my lungs.

"Look at you," Jasper croons. "Not so cocky now, eh?"

Both his hands now grip the spear. I watch the flash of the point through his tapping fingers.

"Let me go." Steeling my voice is tricky when the very air that forms it is strained. Desperation coursing through my veins, briefly quelling my dizziness, I squirm, kicking at his shins. He doesn't budge.

"I..." I battle for another breath. "I mean you no harm."

From somewhere above, he chuckles, and I feel his chest shake. All it does is press smooth wood further into my throat. "I thought you wanted to see us burn," he says, tone still laced with laughter. "Where did all that fire go?"

The spear sinks deeper. It's like the smoke again, clogging my senses, choking my breath. Except this time, when I reach for my flame, it isn't there.

I'm helpless. I can't breathe. This is it.

"Please," I manage, a feeble hiss of a word.

At Jasper's responding laugh, my hope shrivels, curling in on itself like a weed at my touch.

Shadows tear apart the world. My vision is nothing but blurred colour, grey and brown swathes like dyes drowned in muddied water. I snap at the air. It flees my grasp.

My eyes squeeze shut. If I'm going to die, I die in darkness.

"I suppose..." Jasper may as well speak from a dream, a world away from where I stand. His murmur echoes distantly.

Perhaps I've been swept up by a dream entirely, for the pressure on my neck suddenly vanishes, and I'm keeling forwards. Somehow, my hands find the energy to reach out. They meet damp stone. Pain jolts up my right arm, but I don't care, far too taken by the returning ability to suck in a breath.

My throat scrapes roughly, rasping with each savoured gasp. I'm not dead. My chest heaves, tight and painful but alive.

"I think I prefer it this way."

His voice cuts through my relief. Hesitantly, I open my eyes, taking a moment to adjust to the light illuminating the red rivulets between the cobbles before lifting my head.

Instantly, cold metal rests against my neck, and a cascade of freezing terror ripples through my heart.

"Yes," Jasper whispers, spinning the spearhead, the flat of its tip gliding over my skin. "Much better. I do enjoy turning the threats of an upstart like you around."

Inwardly, I curse my past self. Why did I have to threaten to slit their throats? I should have promised to poke them with a stick or something far less painful. I search for my voice, but it evades my fear-slickened grasp. I didn't mean it.

The spear's point tilts up, pricking my neck. I swallow my pitiful yelp. My lungs still ache, yet I can barely bring myself to breathe, fixated on that metallic glimmer. That killing shine.

"Look at me, Nathaniel."

I drag my gaze up to his face. His lips are set in a tight line, yet his eyes still spark, as if reflecting the light bouncing off the spearhead. They pierce me in place. I don't have the strength to struggle as he seizes the back of my tunic, thrusting me back until only his grip keeps me from falling. My heart thrashes against the weight of terror crushing my chest.

He leans over me, wicked gleam trickling through, gaze roaming my face as if musing over every detail. Finally, he nods. "Perfect."

The spear rolls. I'm sure I taste blood on my tongue.

Jasper sighs, although it shakes as if it could transform into a chuckle at any moment. "A pity. I like the ones with a bit of fire. It's simply--"

His breath hitches. His eyes grow wide, light fading, shadows chasing them away. Dark shadows, wrought in fear.

Beneath my spine, his grip suddenly slackens, slipping away without any strength behind it. I collapse to the ground, just about keeping myself supported with one hand so my head doesn't smack down. It's only then I see it.

A blade, soaked in fresh blood, curves from his heart.

The spear falls next, handle bouncing off my side and landing with a clatter on the cobbles. The sharp sound finally awakes my will to move. Palm scraping over stone, I scramble back, just about clearing the area before the sword retracts with a hiss, leaving a bleeding gash in its wake.

For the barest second, Jasper lingers, unfocused gaze darting to his chest. Then he topples forwards. I flinch at the thud of his body hitting the ground, feeling the sting of death marching through his veins with haste. It's almost tangible, as if without my gloves, I would be able to grasp it and let it coil over my skin. But it doesn't. I'm only a spectator this time.

Slowly, I tear away from his unmoving form. I find the sword first, shaped in the graceful crescent of a moon splashed in the dark glow of a crimson sunset. Part of the hilt leaps up to bend around the hand clasped around it, sparkling faintly gold. It compliments the bright white outline of the man's armour.

A gasp escapes me. White. Oscensi.

He doesn't wear a helmet, allowing his matted red-brown hair to flow freely down the back of his neck. It stops shortly before his shoulders, rough as if hacked at by a knife. His eyes abruptly lock to mine, stormy as the blanketed sky above, and I freeze.

In one swift movement, he sheathes his sword at his side and steps my way. It takes me a second to register the hand he holds out to me.

"Are you alright?" His voice isn't as deep as I expected, a boyish lilt tugged up by his slight smile.

Nodding hesitantly, I take his offered hand and stagger upright. He clasps my shoulder, steadying me, and I'm grateful; my limbs feel ready to fold in on themselves.

His gaze drifts to my right arm. "You're wounded. I can--"

"No," I say quickly, twisting away. "No, I'm fine."

Unsaid doubt lurks behind his eyes, but he only nods. "I'm Captain Heathe of Oscensi's seventh regiment, by the way. My team and I will handle the situation from here."

"Your..." My question dries in my mouth.

I've become so accustomed to the background noise of battle that I hadn't noticed its shift. Neyaibet soldiers no longer dominate over our squad of residents. More armoured forms, outlined the same white as Captain Heathe, are charging out of the streets, cutting down the opposing soldiers. I catch sight of the two sisters pressed into the wall of a house, gaping at the dark-haired woman fending off their attacker with only a knife. She blocks his swipes with ease, knocking his sword from his grasp, and in one swift strike she catches it and drives it into his chest.

Stunned, I turn back to my own rescuer. "You're actual soldiers."

Pride twitches his smile. "We are. You're in safe hands now."

My mind whirls, trying to comprehend the scene. Just a minute ago, I was anticipating my own death, and now we have real, strong allies here to protect us all. Oscensi soldiers. So there are some who escaped Neyaibet's massacre. Hope blooms in my chest.

The number of Neyaibet soldiers has already dwindled rapidly. The last few are making a desperate attempt to retreat, but Heathe's regiment will not allow it. An arrow knocks down one. Another is impaled by a well-aimed spear. Within moments, only one remains standing, although she is soon tackled to the ground by a swift white-clad chaser.

He beckons to Captain Heathe, who glances at me. "Can you stand on your own?"

I test my balance. At least my head has stopped pounding for the moment. "I think so."

"Good." He removes his hand from my shoulder, checks I don't immediately collapse, and then dashes towards his fellow soldier. I'm not sure he intends for me to follow, but I do. I don't want to remain by the bodies of Jasper and Eduart for any longer.

Then again, it isn't much better passing the others. Fallen Neyaibet soldiers litter the street, staining the cobbles in deep shades of red. I notice a couple of faces I recognise from the blacksmith's keep among them and hurriedly train my gaze on my boots, swallowing the bile that rises to the back of my throat. It's over now. There's nothing I could have done.

Them or us. This is not a pleasant sight, but a necessary one. Thanks to them, Katamen is free. We've won.

The concept feels more hollow than I would have expected.

The Oscensi soldier is crouched at the edge of the street, a dagger held over the throat of a woman. The same woman who I saw fighting earlier, who sparred with the man Eduart killed, I realise. She is less impressive now. Her hair is plastered on the side of her face, woven with blood, and her eyes are wild. Yet still she manages to glare up at her attacker.

Captain Heathe arrives on her other side. His comrade barely glances up. "Should we keep her prisoner?"

Heathe's eyes go hard, any trace of his smile gone. I observe from a few paces away, close enough to see the shallow breath he takes. "No," he says eventually, the boyish edge to his tone flattened out. "We haven't the resources to keep prisoners. They'll only slow us down."

"Alright." The soldier dips his head. I see his hand tense and spin around, but I know he slits her throat. Just as Jasper was going to do to me. Just as she would have done to any of us given the chance.

Them or us. Cody's voice drills into the back of my skull, keeping me steady, repeating again and again.

"Cody." His name escapes as a bare breath, not loud enough for any but me to hear, but the realisation vibrates through every bone in my body. My eyes rove over the rooftops. Our archers perch on the edges, peering out across the street with bewilderment to match my own. Feet moving without prompting, I check every one, searching for the boy who helped me rally these people together, who tugged me into a gap between houses in an attempt to save my life. If only I'd listened to him then. These people would still be alive.

But Katamen would still be a prison. That is no life. I should know that better than anyone.

"Hey." Captain Heathe's soft voice, accompanied by his hasty footsteps. A moment later, his hand lands on my uninjured arm. "You sure you're alright?"

I must not look it. Sweat clings to my face and trickles down my neck, and I know my gloved hands are dappled with blood, not to mention the axe wound torn into my upper arm. But I'm alive enough to stand, and that makes me less of a problem. I glance back at him, trying not to stare at the way his hair sparks red in a crack of sunshine.

"I'm looking for my--" My voice hitches. "My friend. He--"

I trail off with a gasp. An archer is hauling a familiar shape towards the front of the roof. "Cody," I breathe, then take off, not caring to check if the captain is following.

An arrow is buried in Cody's thigh, its tip sticking out the other side. But he's alive. Blinking, a little dazed, but eyes still bright and gentle. I stumble into the wall, clutching at the bricks as I peer up. "Cody?"

"Nathaniel." His face peeks out from amongst the dangling straw. "You're okay."

"So are you." I don't try to hide the relief in my voice. "When I saw you fall, I thought--"

"Believe me," he says with a shaky laugh, "so did I." His head angles towards the archer crouched beside him. "Thank the sky Bentley was here."

"Cody, is it?" Captain Heathe strides forward. "Can you climb down from there? I'll get one of my healers to sort you out." He directs the final few words with a glance back, prompting another white soldier to nod briskly and rush away.

"I..." Cody frowns. "Wait." His eyes dart over Heathe's armour, widening. "You're a soldier."

"Yes," I say quickly, glancing between them. "This is Captain Heathe."

"Actually," Captain Heathe says, "no need for formalities. You can call me Dalton. Now, we need to get you down from there."

With Bentley's help, Cody swings his legs over the edge of the roof, allowing Dalton to lift him off and set him down on the cobbles. Cody winces as the arrow brushes against the wall, but lies down without protest. Bentley hops down, crouching over him, as Dalton straightens. He looks at me.

"We'll also get that arm of yours some attention."

I step back, shielding the wound from him. "I told you, I'm fine."

"You're dripping blood," he says dryly, then moves closer. "Sit down. Let us help you. Like I said, you're safe now."

His tone falls like the quiet patter of snow, gentle and laced with comfort. I want so desperately to believe him that I can't help but give in. Nodding, I sit back against the wall, keeping my knees close to my chest.

Satisfied, Dalton turns away. I follow his gaze and find the soldier he sent off before returning with a man in a white tunic by his side. A healer, not a fighter. They break into a jog as they see us.

"Where's Carlin?" Dalton asks as they approach.

"Tending to some in the forest," the soldier answers as the healer bends beside Cody. "She'll come as soon as it's safe."

"Sarielle is still with her?"

He nods. "Keeping guard." A wry smile creeps onto his face. "She's uninjured, Captain."

Dalton laughs. "I'm not worried, Harper. Sarie can take care of herself." Still, I don't miss the relief in his voice. I swallow my curiosity.

"The forest?" Cody sits up sharply. The healer tries to ease him down again, but he bats his hand away, only focused on Harper. "What happened? Is everyone okay?"

Realisation spikes my pulse. The forest, where we sent the children, the vulnerable, those unable to fight.

"Everyone's fine," Harper says reassuringly, though he fiddles with his breastplate's strap, tugging it up and down. "Two Neyaibet soldiers found them shortly before we did. Only a couple were seriously hurt, but Carlin will take care of them."

"Did you see two girls?" Cody races over his words, frantic. Shifting his way, I rest what I hope is a calming hand on his shoulder, although a faint panic stirs in my stomach."One six, one nine. They're--"

"No children were hurt," Dalton interjects, voice soft but firm. "We made sure of that."

Cody's shoulders slump with relief. I take a steadying breath.

Dalton spins around, surveying the street. "Does anyone else require attention?" His question has no specific aim, but Harper leaps to answer.

"Several wounds. None imminently fatal, thankfully, but..." He glances back at the healer.

"I'm going as fast as I can," he snaps without looking up. The arrow lies snapped in two at his side next to a bag, a glass container swimming with clear liquid poking out the top. He is wrapping a cream cloth around Cody's leg, yanking it tight.

Bentley leans in, licking his lips. "Let me finish that."

The healer shoves the cloth into his hands without a word and whips towards me. "Hold out your arm."

I hesitate. "I... I'm fine, really."

At his replying scowl, I'm not sure whether to regret my words or be grateful for them. "The boy doesn't want help, he can wait his turn." He snatches up his bag with a huff and stands. "Carlin better be quick," he grumbles under his breath as he strides into the street.

Harper shifts his weight. "I better offer to help or Nash will blind me with healing ointments later. If you'll excuse me, Captain." He ducks away, still fidgeting with his armour strap.

I can feel Dalton's gaze resting on me and twist away, watching Bentley feed the cloth under Cody's leg and over again. Cody's hands hover just above the ground, twitching with every pull, but he's managing not to flinch.

"Am I going to have to pin you down and force Nash to bandage that?" Dalton drops to his knees in front of me, the slightest smile dancing at his lips.

If only they'd all leave me alone for a moment and let me seal it myself. I curl my hand over the wound, trying not to wince. "Maybe."

He sits back on his heels. "What's your name?"

"Nathaniel." It's starting to come automatically now, resting on my tongue less awkwardly. It doesn't sound like a falsehood anymore. I can almost believe it to be a name I've carried for all my life, rather than a few days.

"Nathaniel, you are one stubborn boy." His eyes glimmer, blue raindrops amongst a dusty storm. "But brave, no doubt. All of you are." He gestures to Cody and Bentley as well. "Neyaibet don't expect people like you to fight back."

Shifting up against the wall as Bentley finishes the bandage, Cody nudges my side. "You can thank Nathaniel for that."

Surprise flickers in Dalton's eyes as he turns on me. "This was your idea?"

I scratch at the back of my neck. "Yes."

"He's a traveller, actually," Cody says, digging my nails in deeper. "I met him outside the forest. Tried to tell him to leave, but like you say, he's way too stubborn, and then..." He casts me a grin. "An hour later, you were burning down an inn."

"To steal back the weapons," I add hastily, noticing Dalton's brows draw down. "A distraction while I... I stole the weapons." And an opportunity to let a little flame loose. I fist my hand around the top of my tunic, my fingers itching at the thought of sparks and fire.

Could I be subtle enough in teasing back my glove? Perhaps, but there's no knowing how far the licks of flame would stretch. It's too bright here, too open. I can't risk it.

Then is there anything I can say to make them move away?

Chewing at my tongue, I linger over an excuse to be alone, but before I can formulate anything, Dalton jumps abruptly to his feet. His gaze has latched onto a pair of forms slipping out from between houses across the street, one in armour while the other wears the same plain white tunic as Nash. They must be the people Harper mentioned. The soldier breaks away from the healer, leaping over a fallen body in her effort to reach us.

As soon as she crosses from the house's shade into the sunlight, my breath is snatched from my lungs.

Pure gold must be woven into her plait for the way it sparkles, flying out behind her as she runs like the tail of a lithe animal, and frayed at its edges so that it appears to disintegrate in fiery wisps. Her face is flushed pink. As she stumbles to a halt before Dalton, I catch the lightning glow of her eyes, paler and brighter than the sky hidden by clouds above.

Blue eyes. Golden hair. The way her entire face creases when she smiles, as if a laugh is curled up just behind her lips. 

It's her. More luminous than the dark of my cell would allow, more beautiful than even my dreams could capture.

My heart trembles, struggling to beat.

"Captain." She dips her head, the smile not retreating. "Good to see you're okay."

What did Harper call her? Sarielle? Sarielle. I want to speak it aloud, to hear my voice shape its gentle syllables, but I resist the urge. Her name is Sarielle.

Wordlessly, Dalton snakes a hand around Sarielle's back. I'm half afraid he's about to knock her down, but she doesn't flinch. If anything, her eyes spark brighter. Dalton leans in.

In a single, delicate motion, their lips touch.

It lasts hardly more than a second before Sarielle draws back, still smiling, but it's long enough to drive a phantom knife into my throat. I bite at my own lip hard enough to draw blood. Its taste barely registers.

She giggles, the sound fluttering in my chest. "What was that for?"

Dalton folds his arms. "Am I not allowed to kiss my girlfriend?"

Kiss. I swallow hard, dropping my hand from my tunic before the tension balling there can rip the material in two.

"They're in love." The words slip out heavy, a breath torn at by the imprisoned fire raging inside.

Cody snickers. I flinch. I'd managed to forget he was beside me. "I think that much is obvious," he whispers, amusement dancing in his eyes. Mine must appear dark in contrast, even with this mask's disguise.

By the time I look up, Sarielle is already walking away, a further laugh tumbling from her lips as she bats at Dalton's arm in passing. The colour of her eyes fades with distance. Just like that, she's gone.

She didn't even glance my way.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

*pats Nathan* Come on, did you expect this to be easy--?

Woo, we're saved! And it could be no-one but Dalton and Sarielle. Nathan's finally met them, and it's gonna be fun :D

Also every time Nathan describes her I bulbacry so hard--

- Pup