Dizziness rocks through me. Clinging to the tree, I stumble back, ducking behind Sarielle. I pray she will shield me from those eyes, the sapphire flame bright within them.

"And you are?" Dalton steps forward, his hand drifting to his sword hilt. I desperately will him to draw it. I need to say something, to warn them of who they're dealing with, but my voice has curled up somewhere deep at the bottom of my dry throat.

Tipping away from the ledge, Fiesi spreads out his hands, palms tilted towards us. "Finlay Hunter," he replies with an exaggerated bow, "at your most humble service." He rights himself with a grin.

I hate that grin. It belongs to Finlay, to my friend, to the person who showed me snow, who sat beside me on the rocks, who talked with me in the darkness. The first person who I ever remember touching me without consequence. More than anything, I hate the way some part of me still yearns for it, tugging at my lips with the forgotten ghost of an old smile.

It's difficult to pair that person with the chilling image of Fiesi. A flaming knife doesn't belong in his hand. I can't picture the sparkle in his eyes fading, darkening to a twilight sky.

But it can, and all too easily. I have to remember that. I shrink lower.

"I'll ask a better question," Dalton says, folding his arms. "What are you?"

Fiesi tips his head to the side. "I've been called many things, but the one you'll be most interested in is traitor. Neyaibet traitor, to be exact." His fingers toy with the scruff of his hair. "You are Captain Heathe of Oscensi's seventh regiment?"

Dalton stiffens, his hand snapping back to his hilt. "How do you know that?"

"A little birdie told me." Fiesi's lips twitch. "He also mentioned I might find a friend of mine with you."

His eyes are roaming my way. My thumb hooks under the cuff of my glove, yet freezes there, unable to push any further with Sarielle so close. What is the greater risk? What can I do to make him leave me alone? Can I do anything?

I need to run. I need to tear these gloves off and run until I can no longer make out the vibrant shade of his flowing cloak, until the mountains close in around me, until I'm nothing but lost black fire again. But then his shining blue gaze lands on me, and my feet turn to lead.

"Nathan!" He moves closer, five paces away, four. Fear lashes my lungs, scorching where it digs in. "It is you, isn't it? I almost didn't see you there."

Another step. Bark breaks apart under my fingers. Sarielle steps sideways, opening my path to him, eyes filled with uncertainty as they dart between us. I want to plead with her to protect me, as feeble as it sounds even in my own head. Yet my voice is suddenly raw, hoarse, scratched away like everything else inside.

"You're trying out a new look, I see," he continues, smirk shaping his lips. "Can't say I'm a fan. It doesn't compliment your eyes very well."

I flinch. Sarielle jerks forward, fist curling around her hilt. "What do you want?" she snaps.

"A moment alone with my friend, if that's not too much bother." He tries to take another step, but Sarielle holds out a hand, blocking him.

She looks over her shoulder at me. "Is he your friend?"

My sharp inhale catches in my throat. I stare at her, searching for the strength to reply.

"Come on, Nathan." Fiesi fails to slip around Sarielle, her step moving easily to mirror his. I notice the glint of a spearhead poking over his shoulder, out the top of a bag perched there, and my hand curls around my glove again. Run. Move. An itch skitters over my fingertips.

"We're friends, aren't we?" he asks. The words are gentle, genuine. His smile is soft. It's all false.

"No," I manage, my voice something of a cracked snarl, "we're not."

As if the taut thread stringing my feet to the floor has snapped, I spring away, boots skidding over the damp grass, carried by the slope. It dives into the valley below. Perhaps I can fall again, recreate my last desperate sprint.

It doesn't matter where I run. All I care about is dashing as fast as I can away from the curve of Fiesi's grin. Stumbling over a tree root, I snatch at my glove. If I can peel them off--

Pain explodes in my leg. A cry slices its way out as I topple forwards, fading into a gasp when my chin hits the ground. What little air I've gathered in my lungs rushes out. Frantically, I swipe at the earth, searching for my other hand in the descending fog of shock and splicing agony.

Smudges of blue leap over my wrists, piercing them into the ground. Another weak yelp escapes; the fire sears right through my palms like nails, and they leak electric heat that screams as it rips through my veins. I wrestle for a scrap of air.

Distantly, a shout echoes in my ears. It takes several seconds before I recognise it as Fiesi's voice, strangled by a hiss of pain. Clenching my jaw, I yank myself towards it, then instantly regret the movement as my leg protests with a fresh, excruciating spike. Every twitch burrows its ferocious sting deeper. There's something lodged there. The spear. I bite down on my tongue, forcing myself not to cry out again, though the instinct balls in my chest.

A slow, shuddering breath, and the dark spots blurring my vision retreat a little, enough to make out the others.

The first thing my gaze latches onto is the silver glint of Sarielle's cutlass, its end swallowed by dripping crimson. Blood of the same shade spills from the wound that slashes right across Fiesi's chest, a dark gash that reeks of death. He is staggering back, then falling, landing hard in the dirt. His eyes don't leave the wound. They rove from one end to the other, then trace the blood staining his jacket, disbelieving.

For a brief, dizzying moment, I go numb. All I can taste is that metallic stench on my tongue as I stare at him, unable to breathe. Is this it? The desperate fear, the endless need to run, only to watch him die before my eyes the moment he finds me again?

Wait. The word crumbles in my mouth, too heavy to lift. No. He can't. This isn't right. I can't let him die.

But what else can I do? I tug helplessly on the fiery binds still pinning my wrists to the ground. A faint thought murmurs that they should be gone by now, dying with him, but it is drowned by the foggy haze.

Slowly, Fiesi raises his head, features twisted into a grimace. Somehow, he still manages a flashing smile. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. "Rather rude of you."

Sarielle drops her sword arm, letting it hang loose at her side. I can't make out her expression from this angle. But I do notice her flinch, shock rippling through her body, a moment before I follow her gaze and shove out a gasp of my own.

Azure flames crawl from his wound. Familiarity sparks within me as it leaps over the gash, sewing it back together with playful ease. It casts a garish glow over the bloodstains.

I should have noticed earlier. The slice of a dagger I left on his cheek is absent.

Within seconds, smooth skin shows beneath the torn edges of Fiesi's clothing. Bracing himself against a tree, he pushes back to his feet, his grin settling more securely. "Quite rude. You've ruined my jacket."

Sarielle has shaken off her shock. With a growl, she charges at him again, bloodied blade swiping. He manages to stagger out of her way, his hand whipping out in front of him. His gaze turns stern. "I wouldn't do that. Once is quite enough for me." Fire bursts up in his palm, wispy tendrils painting the air in a blue hue.

Dalton paces from Fiesi's other side. I'd almost managed to forget he was present. His sword is drawn, but pulled towards him, hovering still and cautious. "I'd say you're something more interesting than a traitor."

Fiesi flicks his wrist, the blaze climbing higher. "I am incredibly interesting, but I'm afraid that's none of your concern."

A glowing coil wraps around Dalton's sword. Fiesi gives it a sharp tug, and it flies into the air, landing some distance away with a muffled clatter. Holding up his hands, Dalton takes a nervous step back.

"Whatever you are," he says, voice forcibly calm, only breaking underneath, "you're making a mistake. If you are an enemy of Neyaibet, we--"

With an abrupt snap, his voice cuts off, a moment before he crumples to the ground. Fading bluish smoke tickles his chest before the wind whisks it to nothing.

"Dalton!" Sarielle drops to her knees, hand clamping over his heart. My veins run cold. I make another futile attempt to claw myself closer, but all I achieve is a further bolt of pain.

"What did you do to him?" she snarls, whipping around to face Fiesi. Her sword thrusts forward, tip hesitating a finger's breadth from his chest.

She doesn't have the confidence to strike again. The blade's vibrations are visible even from here. Calmly, Fiesi presses the flat of the blade and nudges it aside, fingers still decorated with fire. She flinches, taking a jerky step back.

She's thinking about my flame. Dread sinks deep into my chest with the simple realisation. She's seen what I can do. Her fear is nothing irrational. Even with the knowledge that Fiesi's flame isn't the curse mine is, I can offer no reassurance. I don't know enough. Can he still kill with a bare touch? Will he kill her?

"Don't hurt her." My voice finally battles free, sticky with pain but there, shoving its way into the open.

Fiesi's eyes skip from her to me. A slow smile weaves its way over his face, a glimmer brightening his eyes. "Oh." He waves a hand towards Sarielle that she is quick to dodge, her bloodied cutlass rising in place of it. "Oh, I see. This is that girl."

"What girl?" she hisses.

He laughs, stepping over Dalton's unconscious form in a casual leap. "I wasn't planning on letting you see this, girl. But now..." His gaze drifts to me again as he moves closer. Only a pace away. "Now I think it might be entertaining."

Faintly, a distant whine pierces my ears, a persistent ringing pitched high. It chases away all other sounds. The wind doesn't stir, and birdsong has been whisked into silence. All I can hear is the rapid thud of my heartbeat, my breathing's ragged rasp, and the deafening crunch of Fiesi's footstep, so close to my head. He tosses his bag to the ground, then bends into a crouch, the scarlet-tipped edges of his ripped jacket tainting the grass.

I'm sure his eyes glow with the intensity of stars. But nearer, too near. Flinching away, I pull on the lashes of flame, hissing between clenched teeth when they bite into my skin.

"Leave him alone." Sarielle, out of my line of sight with Fiesi blocking so much of it. I reach for the hazy strand of her voice.

Sitting back on his heels, Fiesi spins a fiery sphere in his palm. "And why would I do that?"

"Why hurt him?" she demands, so determined an ache blooms in my chest. She knows why. "What has he ever done to you?"

The sphere abruptly collapses, exploding into a far brighter blaze. It reflects in his eyes as he turns her way. "That's a dangerous question."

Ignoring the resulting agony shooting down my leg, I force myself to twist around, enough to see her. Cutlass stained, stance firm, the frayed curls escaping her plait looping over her shoulders. She glares at Fiesi with a protective force I'm not worthy of.

"Who is Nathan to deserve this?" she bites out.

Fiesi's eyes widen, a smirk curling his lips. Playing fire over the back of his hand, he leans in to me, meeting my gaze. "She doesn't know?"

My expression must give away the answer, for a laugh bursts from him, rocking him back again. "This really will be entertaining."

Before his words even register, his hand is flying at me, cloaked in blue. My gasp hitches. In one swift moment, his fingers slide under my mask, nails scraping the bridge of my nose, and then whip away again. The mask's band snaps audibly. My skin instantly cools as it touches the air.

That squirm of exposure, the same vulnerable chill that lingers every second I wear these gloves, springs to the surface. I can't look at Sarielle. I can only watch as Fiesi balls up the mask, then rubs his thumb against his forefinger, generating a single cerulean spark. The cloth catches instantly, a brief flash of amber eating through the material until only curling ashes remain. He scatters them over the grass in a sweeping motion.

"Ah, Nathan," he murmurs, dusting his hands as he rises. "I thought you didn't like lies."

Sarielle's sharp inhale might as well be a second spear, impaling my chest. Against my will, my gaze shoots to her, an insect drawn eternally to a flame. She takes a hesitant step forward. I can make out the white gleam of her knuckles, trapped in a trembling grip around her sky-touched hilt.

"I hear you two go way back," Fiesi continues, striding right through the tension-riddled air with delighted ease. My eyes dart to follow him. "Yet here you were, pretending to be strangers again?" He passes out of my line of sight, but I hear his slow footsteps pause, and the shift of his cloak as he spins a swift circle. "I'm glad I was able to rip that deception apart."

With the final word, sticky warmth registers, oozing down my leg. A moment later, my pain increases a thousandfold.

A scream chokes itself on the way out of my raw throat. I struggle with my slippery hold on the air, grasping for breath. The world blurs and rotates. I might not have seen Fiesi reappear at all had some voice inside me begged my eyes to stay open. I fear what will happen if I succumb to the darkness lurking behind them.

He flips the bloodied spear from one hand to another, studying it, before tossing it to the ground before my imprisoned hands. Kicking it aside, he kneels. He's all I can make out now, him and his vibrant blue eyes and his wolfish grin.

"A crude weapon, the spear. Don't you think?" He leans forward, head tilted down, our faces a breath apart. "Not quite worthy of my task."

Drawing upwards a little, he curls his fingers over the air between us. Fire funnels through the gap, deepest blue, shaped into a hilt that stretches out the razor edge of a knife like a bird unfolding a wing. Its point is shaped with meticulous detail. Only by looking closer can I make out its slight flicker, the disturbance it taps at the air with.

Terror mingles with the sear of pain, forcing out a broken sob. My wrists squirm in their binds. The knife twitches, and I shrink back as much as I can, chin pressed into the dirt. "Fiesi, please." A whimper accompanies the shaky words.

He twists the flaming blade, gliding it just past my cheek. Heat jerks at the briefest contact. It lingers when he pulls away, stinging, burning. "Please," I choke out, staring up into his eyes. That spark of joy within them used to come with joke, a laugh, a harmless smile offering nothing but comfort. Now, they blaze. Within them, I catch the pale reflection of myself, etched in fear.

"Finlay." I hear the name's echo in my mind louder than the shudder of my voice.

His smile falls, his lip curling. "You know that's not my name."

"It was once." Somehow, I find some solid base on which to shove out the words. "You were Finlay once. You were my friend once."

He laughs hollowly. "Did you once have green eyes, then? Were you once a nobody, an innocent, a Cormé?" He spits the final term like it is some foul venom, a curse to be rid of. The fun has gone now. Anger crackles in his gaze. "No. No, you'll never not be what you are. No amount of coloured clothing and sigils and masks can hide that. You've never been innocent, and you never will be. Just as I have never been your friend." His brow quirks as he twirls the knife. "As you might recall pointing out."

Each word drives a blade deeper into my heart. It isn't the growl puncturing his voice that does the damage. It's the truth that rings from it, deafening, impossible to battle.

I thought I could keep Sarielle safe. Instead I've led her into yet more danger.

And Finlay, my friend, was nothing but an illusion. Finlay, who believed in second chances. Who told me he saw goodness in my heart. Who wanted to save me, not destroy me. Nothing but a lie.

"Everything was a lie, then?" I barely manage to lift the statement's end into a question. "Everything you said."

The knife point droops. Fiesi's gaze falls to follow it, briefly ceasing their burning stare. "Not everything," he whispers. His jaw is set. "I never told you how my mother died, did I?"

Asking would be pointless. His tone, its weighted drag, its snapping pierce as his head jerks up, lays out the tale before me. A thousand emotions pile up in my throat, but all I can manage is, "I'm sorry."

Smoking trails leak along the knife's tip, lengthening it, curving it wickedly. It casts an azure glow over Fiesi's face. "No, you're not."

The slice of pain over my cheek screams. He's tracing the blade over it, slowly, searing a hissing path. I can't even tell if it's bleeding. The pouring heat obscures all other sensation, and almost drowns out my frantic protest, a rushing attempt to get him to stop. "I didn't mean it--"

"You meant it."

The knife retracts, but only prowls a different path, tilting towards my neck. I flinch back, squirming despite the burn in my wrists and the agony spearing up my leg.

It isn't enough. I'm trapped. There's nothing I can do. Nothing to say.

"Please." Futile, foolish, but my voice creeps out regardless. "Please. Finlay, please."

"What do you plead for?" Fiesi's laugh crumbles away. "Mercy? You never showed my mother mercy. She begged you to stop it all, knelt before you and prayed for your flames to calm. And you looked right back at her, enjoying every moment of it, and smiled. Right before you grabbed her neck."

In a snatch I hardly see coming, he seizes my chin, yanking it up. I yelp at the way his nails dig in. His coarse fingertips rub over my skin, pinning my head in place as the knife drifts closer.

"And Aorila? Our sanctuary? My home?" The fire in his eyes shifts. For a flashing moment, I'm sure I see amber flames, clogged by smoke as they clamber over blackened ruins. The image shreds my attempted gasp. "Did you show my home any mercy when you razed our sacred streets?"

"Please." It cracks apart before it can even fall from my lips.

"You think it stops there?" The knife halts. One swift movement, and it will slice into my neck. I meet Fiesi's eyes helplessly. "Every step you take in this world is a threat," he hisses. "A pair of gloves and a bit of magic won't change that."

Only my death will change that.

As if two ill-shaped pieces have finally slotted into place, the desperate scramble of my thoughts abruptly sinks to nothing. I think of Oswin, blank and lifeless in my cell. Edita's dying whisper. Rovena inches from death, the arrow piercing Cody's leg, the battle I fueled in Katamen. Dalton, only a few paces away, who may well lie dead. All because of me.

Fiesi's mother and Aorila might belong to another lifetime, to some distant past, but the pain I caused isn't locked away with it. Death follows me wherever I go, however I try to evade it.

Perhaps Fiesi is right. Today should be the last death.

Eyes fixed on his, I manage a deep, calming inhale, settling the hammer of my pulse. "Then stop this and kill me," I tell him. "End it."

He sucks in a sharp breath. His eyes flicker. The knife doesn't move.

"Kill me," I repeat, shifting forward. The knife's heat washes over my neck. One strike. Then it will all be over.

I let my eyes slide closed. Darkness stirs behind them, cool, easing my pain. I reach for it. I'm ready.

Yet still I wait for the knife's strike.

"Fiesi." Better to die speaking truths than blinded by lies. This is Fiesi's goal. I'll let him complete it. "Fiesi, do it. Let me die."

Faint pressure accompanies the sting on my neck. Finally. But it's bare, a surface sting, and still my leg screams. The darkness won't cloak the pain. I grapple for it, feeling it slip from my grasp, but instead my eyes snap open. Only then do I realise the heat has faded.

A cautious blink, and reality bleeds into my vision just in time to see Fiesi fall.

The light in his eyes dulls. His knife sputters out as his hand goes limp, draped beside him as he hits the ground. Sarielle stands over him. At first, panic races through me as I see she holds her sword aloft, but it fizzles out when I realise she doesn't hold just her cutlass, but her entire sheath, lifted above her head like a club with the straps dangling in front of her face.

She drops it as she whirls to face me. For a second, she remains still, eyes flicking up and down like she's seeing me for the first time. Then she crouches wordlessly, reaching for my left glove.

The leather creases under her fingertip. I inhale, the air scraping roughly over my throat. It's somewhat dizzying to take it in. "Don't," I manage to rasp out.

Pausing, she looks up, purpose streaking in her gaze. "I know what I'm doing."

I haven't the energy to protest again. She pinches the material at the end of my middle finger and pulls, gently, easing the glove off. The moment its cuff lifts from my skin, firmly gripped in her hand, fire springs to the surface. The slightest flicker, deep and black.

She rises shakily. Her eyes don't leave it, not even when she speaks. "You can fight it, right?"

She refers to the blue binds still clinging to my wrists, decidedly narrower but fierce enough to restrict my attempt to snatch my hand up. I don't need to provide an answer. Focusing, I draw another lick of flame out, applying enough force to shove it through the other glove's unsteady barrier.

The blue fire hisses and snaps at the air. Within moments, my own fire subdues it, then swallows it whole, wrapping around my wrist in a comforting embrace. It cools the tender burns Fiesi left behind. Only a fleeting thought, and my flame jumps to the other wrist and repeats the action. I slide both my hands towards me, relief emerging in the form of my shallow sigh.

I'm not going to die. Not while I can still cradle my flame close.

The branches rustle above. We both glance upwards, and I draw back at the flash of blue I spot within the leaves, sure a soft cry merges with the sound. But nothing falls from the canopy. Gradually, I feel my fear retreat.

Pushing a tendril of flame towards my leg, I grit my teeth and roll onto my back. Blazing agony fades instantly to a faraway sting. As the fire continues its rapid work, I sit upright, twisting around to face Sarielle.

One wound I can't heal with a spark of magic. A pit yawns in my chest at the sight of her lingering, uncertain, by Fiesi's unmoving form. She still clutches my glove in her hand. But then she blinks, and her gaze sharpens, much more like the strong soldier of a girl I've come to know.

Her fingers shift, the glove's leather rippling. "You're alive," she breathes.

I brace myself with my gloved hand. "Just about."

She shakes her head, stepping forward. A light laugh skips from her lips. "It's really you. I was certain..." Her brief twitch of a smile vanishes. "Never mind. You need to go."

Such urgency hardens her voice that I scramble to my feet. My leg aches the instant I put weight on it. As I channel more flame around the tear in my trouser leg, sealing the last scar of a wound visible amongst the crimson stains, I follow her gaze to Fiesi. He is motionless, blue cloak splayed around him and splattered red, but it only takes the recollection of how quickly he healed his bleeding chest to reawaken the thrum of unease. I glance at the shadows of the trees, then back to Sarielle.

"Run," she commands. She thrusts the glove towards me, dangling it from a finger. "He could wake up any moment."

Carefully, I take it from her, wincing at how quickly she snatches back her hand. "But what will you do?"

"I'll make sure to greet him when he does." She offers a hasty smile. "Now go."

Nerves tug me to obey, but I can't break from her gaze. Her beautiful sky-blue gaze, so brave, so filled with resolve. "I can't leave you."

"You can." Her stare softens. "I'll find you. I promised, didn't I?"

She did. Lightness soars through me, a temporary gust clearing dread-filled fog.

"This time, I'll keep it. Now go."

I nod, though still I hesitate, taking in one last glimpse of her, of Fiesi crumpled at her feet. My bare hand curls into a fist, extinguishing the dark flare of my power that coils there. It's all I can provide of my own promise's upkeep.

Clasping my loose glove to my chest, I take off into the shadows of the trees.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

I have a new favourite chapter, ladies and gentlemen. All the angst :D

Fiesi really has a lot going on. But hey, Nathan isn't dead, so big plus point there! And now Sarielle knows, so everything's out in the open. It's gonna be fun--

Also I feel sorry for Dalton. Poor boy. He doesn't deserve to be caught up in all this.

I just... I'm just gonna yeet into the next chapter--

- Pup