Fiesi, wake up.

A gentle tug ripples along the current of Fiesi's flame, disturbing the cords tethering him in sleep. The first thing to greet him is the breeze pinching his cheeks. The second is a pulsing throb in his temples.

He groans. No. Go away.

Frustration splits across his skull in the form of a noisy squawk. You moron. Would you rather I let you die?

Let you die. The words roll around his mind, clashing with a recent echo of the same thread. Do it. Let me die.

Nathan's voice. The disconnected memory is enough to bring it all flooding back. The knife burning in his hand, elevated over Nathan's exposed neck. The boy's desperate little black eyes swirling with pain, and terror, and finally an odd sort of peace. Fiesi had been about to do it, hadn't he?

No. He froze. The knife flickered and spluttered, dying out, the will that shaped it fractured by a few quiet words.

A hollow chuckle tumbles from his lips. "Stars, Rigel. This isn't how it was supposed to go."

"Tell me, how was all this supposed to go?"

If the startling presence of the girl's voice isn't enough to drag him fully into waking, the fury that hisses and spits within it does the trick. Fiesi's eyes split open.

His own blood glares back at him. An ugly red streak, decorating the curve of the girl's gleaming blade. She's wiped off the worst of it, but still it glints wickedly, eager to draw more. Cormé weapons, forever shouting the violent acts they hunger for. They've never quite mastered the idea of peaceful death.

Reaching for his flame, he tries to lift a hand, but finds his wrist chafing against coarse material. Both his hands are tied securely to his sides, the lash of rope tight around his middle. It doesn't budge when he yanks at it.

Great. Trapped. The blue flickers cupped in his palm fizzle out, pointless when he has no real way of directing them.

He raises his head a fraction. Instantly, the sword jerks, and he flattens himself against the ground once more. His heart has started to race. He hisses in a breath, cursing his own fear.

"For starters, I was hoping to avoid being knocked out," he says, fighting to keep his smile showing.

Perhaps you should not have let it happen then, Rigel chips in.

Fiesi sends the bird a mental shove.

"You stabbing me was admittedly not on my agenda," he adds when she doesn't reply, "but I suppose it was unavoidable, what with you soldiers and your bloodlust. Besides, what's the point of magic healing when you never get to show it off?"

She shifts on her knees at his left side. He tilts his head the slightest amount to look at her. Pretty, he can admit, blonde and slim with a pleasant shine to her rosy skin. He can see why Nathan has taken a fancy to her. Too bad she ruins her features by screwing them into a scowl.

"I do wonder about the limits of that magic healing." She leans in closer, brushing the flat of her sword over his chin. He flinches at its cool surface. "What would happen if, say, I cut your head off? Would your fire string your neck back together?"

He tries for a chuckle. "I dare say I've never tried."

"Would you like me to try for you?"

The edge touches his neck, just briefly, before it retracts, but it's enough. A gasp shoves its way out of Fiesi's throat. He clenches his jaw, hating his own weakness.

Killed by a Cormé girl in some lonely woodland, failing at his long-awaited quest for the second time. Not exactly a hero's tale.

"Okay, okay." With his hands trapped, he can't declare surrender through a gesture, and so instead conveys his defeat with a sigh. "Let's calm down. I'd rather not die right now, and I don't plan on harming you, so would you be so kind as to let me up?"

The girl doesn't agree. If anything, her hand curls tighter over her hilt. She pushes up higher on her knees, casting a shadow over him. "Not until you give me some answers."

"Ah, interrogation." Briefly closing his eyes, he digs his nails into his cloak, a little slip of anxiety. "I can do that." At least his head has stopped aching. Rigel's presence is good for something.

Hey, bud. He pokes at the flame's thread. You got any ideas?

Not getting yourself pinned down by a Cormé would be a delightful start.

He has to settle for growling internally rather than glaring up at the canopy and giving his bird away. Ever helpful.

"What did you do to Dalton?" the girl snaps.

"Your soldier friend?" He's almost managed to forget. He laughs, finding it comes a tad easier. "Don't worry about him. He'll wake up soon enough. That's just a little trick of mine for getting those who irritate me to shut up." He catches her gaze over the glint of her sword. "I'm beginning to wish I did it on you, too."

If you had done that, she would never have interrupted you. Rigel hops from one branch to another somewhere above. The boy would be dead by now.

Fiesi's stomach squirms. With regret, guilt, whatever, he's beyond being able to tell. I wanted a little fun. It sounds stupid to say it now. But as Rigel enjoys frequently pointing out, he is an idiot. And now he's paying for it.

The girl lets out a low snarl, jolting him back to the present. "If you're lying, I will kill you."

He doesn't doubt it. "Good job I'm not lying, then." His words shouldn't sound as shaky as they do. Sucking in a deep breath, he attempts to collect himself. It's difficult with a sword hovering over his throat.

"Who are you?" she demands.

"I told you. I'm Finlay Hunter." The name fits so well in his mouth by now that it might as well be true.

She shakes her head. "No. Nathan..." She pauses, a silent debate swirling behind her eyes. "He called you something else."

"He called me Finlay--" The words bite off abruptly as the sword grazes his neck. "And Fiesi. He also called me Fiesi."

"Is that your name?" Her hand slams down on his other side as she looms over him. He swallows hard. He's never met a girl so terrifying, let alone a Cormé. "Your real name."

"Yes." The confession draws out reluctantly, sinking a hollow pit in his chest. His father won't like this.

It was stupid to tell Nathan his real name in the first place. But then again, the plan had been for the boy to die immediately after. He'd wanted Nathan to die knowing some scrap of the truth. And now he knows it all.

"And, Fiesi," the girl continues, her careful pronunciation prickling up Fiesi's arms, "what are you?"

He licks his dry lips. "A traitor." The term gnaws at his tongue. Can you be a traitor if you were never loyal in the first place, if all you ever did was dodge fights and sleep with girls? But Cormé love their kingdom battles, and so the best shot he's got at earning a little of their trust is the idea that he betrayed their enemies. Although from the girl's ferocious glare, he doubts trust will save him now.

You can be a traitor to your people. Fiesi flinches at Rigel's sudden presence. It's not hostile, but certainly less friendly than usual.

A bitter taste creeps into the back of his throat. But that's not me.

Keep selling yourself to the Cormé and it will be.

"You know that's not what I mean," the girl snaps. "What is your... your magic?"

Rigel's dark tone echoes through Fiesi's mind. He stares into the blade, glad to find it too smeared for a reflection. He'd rather not see the fragility in his own expression. "None of your concern," he mutters.

Her eyes flare so bright that for a moment, he's sure she must be a wielder of flame herself. "It is very much my concern," she hisses, "more than anyone else in this world. I just watched you almost murder my best friend. I couldn't care less what you think of him, but I do care what you are -- what you both are -- and why it means you have to kill him." The sword's edge brushes his skin again, and he fights to ignore it, keeping their gazes aligned. "Surely if you're the same, you'd help him?"

"We're not the same," Fiesi snaps. "I'm nothing like him."

"Explain to me how." She doesn't need to add or else. It seeps into the air soundlessly, pressing on his chest until he can hardly breathe.

A lick of flame cowers under his curled fingers, beating helplessly at a crease of his cloak. There's no use it hiding. He's already revealed it to her. Will it really make any difference for her to know what it is?

It doesn't matter. He has no choice. If he doesn't tell her, he's dead.

Coward, Rigel says in a long sigh. It isn't an accusation. It's a resigned acknowledgement, reinforcing a truth already buried deep in Fiesi's core. He can't even find the words to counter it.

Fiesi Kynig, the stupid coward who'd rather chase after his childhood nightmare than face the world's reality.

I'm sorry, he murmurs to Rigel without looking away from the girl. Aloud, he tries for a little more cheer to lighten his darkened mood. "If I told you I was a god from the stars, come to deliver divine justice..."

"If you are, then you're one disappointing god."

"I make a fantastic god," he protests. She drops her gaze to the sword, and he hurriedly adds, "Fine, fine. In short, your friend and I are what we call Enkavmé." He allows for a brief smirk. "The upper tier of human beings, unlike yourself."

"A bold statement for a man inches from getting his throat slit." She taps his chin with the blade, and he flinches. "Go on."

There's no use explaining the nuances of magic and its sections and limits. He needs to withhold all he can, and besides, such ideas are probably above a Cormé's understanding. She only cares about the boy.

"Nathan is... different from the rest of us," he decides on. "Years ago, he chose a path of destruction over peace. That makes him dangerous."

"So your fire..." She glances down at his hand. The flame's blue glow must be visible. He clenches his fist, smothering it.

"No, it can't kill you. That's a lovely ability that belongs to him alone." Staring up at her, picking out the crack of anger in her hardened gaze, he sighs. "Look. I'm the good guy, alright? I'm getting sick and tired of you looking at me like some specimen of evil. I get you like Nathan, but you must--"

"Shut up."

His mouth lingers open, stunned by the flat command. "Excuse me? Aren't you the one after answers?"

"I said shut up." Aggression claps muted thunder in her tone. "You tell me he's dangerous like I don't already know. I've seen him kill someone." Her voice tightens, wound like a coiled wire, but she doesn't stop. "But I've also seen a hundred others kill hundreds more. I don't know what it's like where you're from, Fiesi, but people die here. Any one of us can kill if we want to." She turns her blade over, flipping a full rotation before letting its curve drop back over his neck. "Like me, right now, threatening to kill you. Does that make me dangerous?"

There's lightning in her eyes. Shocks tremor along Fiesi's spine as if they strike him. His laugh bursts out wrongly, tangled in nerves. "But you're Cormé. It's perfectly natural that you kill one another." They're used to it, he's found, solving every problem with a fight or a slit throat. This girl isn't exactly proving him wrong.

She raises a brow. "The guy who can create fire from nowhere is going to lecture me on what's natural."

"I'm natural," he snaps. "It's Nathan who breaks nature's laws."

"Oh, I see." She shifts, her hand straining his cloak. "Enkavmé aren't supposed to kill... Cormé, is it? Is that it?"

"Yes, so--"

"So you can't kill me." Triumph spreads out into her smirk.

He scowls. "I'll happily leave you in a coma in the woods for the next year."

Rigel chirps a short laugh. The most you could manage is a week. With my help, that is.

Much to Fiesi's dismay, he's not the only one to see through the threat. The girl cocks her head. "I'd like to see you try."

She looks so confident, so mocking, in that moment that searing fury boils in his veins. She is merely a Cormé soldier, a nothing of a girl. It is criminal that she be allowed to treat him this way. Fiesi, a Tía, the heir to the Kynig name, worth so much more than her primitive spec of existence.

Heat singes his fingertips. Yanking at the rope, he forces them together, compacting that roar of contempt into one spark.

She wants to see what he can do? He'll gladly show her.

Fire blazes up around his hand. Grabbing hold of it, he wrenches a scorching path over the rope, crumbling it to blackened ashes. Sapphire coils of flame entangle her blade, tossing it aside as he snaps upright. He rolls onto his knees as he twists towards her, shoving her sideways, gathering all his power into the palm he thrusts towards her chest.

Forget about peace. He'll carve out a little of that rosy skin, leave a burn that will ache with every breath. That will teach her not to mess with a Kynig.

Instead, she slashes her blade across his hand.

A shameful yelp trips from his mouth as his hand jolts back, fire momentarily retreating in shock. Pain screams over his palm. Gritting his teeth, he summons the flame again, but it's too late. Before he can refocus on her, she is on her feet.

His aim is blurred by the faint buzz in his skull, a dizzy pulse in his temples left behind by her earlier strike. The fiery lash he throws at her sword dives underneath and fizzles into nothing. She shoots him another piercing glare, electricity crackling in her gaze, before she brings the blade down.

Pure, chilling terror flares in his chest. Rigel. Rigel, help me.

Stony silence gapes wider the pit in his stomach. He is alone to suffer the explosion of agony in his side.

He watches her sword tear through his flesh in helpless horror. His mouth opens, but he chokes on his cry, soundless as the world spins in heaving waves. What remains of his composure shatters. He's shaking, skin slithering with ice, heart skittering at an uneven pace. He realises he's collapsed onto his back once more just in time for the blade to push deeper, slicing a deadly path right through to the other side.

His eyes screw shut. This needs to stop. Rigel, help. Please.

Nothing. If he had the strength, he would sigh. Fine. I'll handle this myself.

Frantic, he embraces all the flame he can, shoving it towards the wound's scraping burn. He waits for the soothing solace. He longs for it.

Instead, his fire rebounds off solid metal.

His eyes crack open. Even the simple effort requires a rasping breath, which shifts his chest a fraction and sends another crashing wave of pain. Through the dizzying haze it clouds his vision with, he makes out the fuzzy shape of the sword curving from the spot between his right hip and his ribs, blood seeping out as he grapples for another inhale.

He pushes again. His flame smudges the bloodstains blue, flickering as it lashes at the blade. It won't budge. The pain stays.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Does that hurt?"

Fiesi blinks, and the girl's unfocused figure comes into view, standing over him. She slides her hand away from her hilt, fingers dancing in the air just above it as she stalks from one side to the other. Her gaze cuts through him nearly as much as her sword.

He lifts his head a fraction and regrets it immensely. Every slightest movement feels like death eating its way through his flesh, yet somehow, he finds the broken shards of his voice. "Just a tad."

She nods, eyes fixed on his failing flames. "You've answered another one of my questions about your healing. It seems you struggle when the sword is left in there."

"Apparently so." He clenches his jaw, then wrenches himself up, stretching towards the hilt. His knuckles brush the blue curve before she snatches his arm and shoves him back down. Any fight left within him is crippled by the cracked cry forcing its way out of his throat.

"Please." He despises that pitiful note to his tone, the way he searches for her, desperate. Biting his tongue, he swallows the trailing whimper of that word. He has to dig himself out of this.

The girl kneels, enclosing the hilt within her palm. Hope flashes through him, but her grip rests loosely, the sword still. "Now who's begging for mercy?"

"Not mercy," he manages to hiss out. "Decency. Fairness. I don't deserve this."

"And yet Nathan did?"

He debates making another grab for the sword, but her gaze severs the possibility. Instead, his nails curl into the dirt. "That was justice."

Her lip curls back. Her hand wraps tighter, and she pushes downwards. The blade sinks into the earth below, practically impaling him against it. Black specs weave into the edges of his vision. Clinging onto his flame, he tries to lever himself out of the urge to close his eyes, his fingers burrowing deeper. If he gives in now, there's a chance he won't wake up again.

More than simply a chance. Rigel's thread cools, snapping away the drag of darkness. Finally helping.

Fiesi doesn't have the energy to do anything more than silently thank him.

"This is my justice," the girl growls. "As long as you're a danger to Nathan, I think it's fair to keep you here."

"But I'll die." His voice is quiet now, a thin razor that scrapes his throat on its way out. He snatches a shallow breath. I don't want to die.

Hand still resting on the hilt, she rises again, expression carved in steel. "Not if you leave him alone."

Instinctive protest surges forward. "I can't do that."

"Fine." She turns, leaving the hilt, abandoning her post at his side. "Then you die."

His limbs are too heavy to move now. He can't reach the sword. He can't seal the wound. All that tethers him to consciousness is the delicate strand of his own flickering fire twined with Rigel's power. She's right; he is going to die.

Icy terror sweeps through his chest, sinking deep into his bones. The end. No songs. No stories. Just the tale of the boy who went missing, the boy who never returned, who left the Kynig name in ruins. It'll fade soon enough with so few to tell it.

What use has anyone for a hero who dies?

I don't want to die. "Wait."

A feeble croak, but somehow she hears it. Her steps pause. Her head swivels his way, framed by the sunshine filtering from above.

"What would you have me do?" Each word is a battle by now. At least he's still winning.

The slightest satisfaction twitches her lips before she hides it. "Swear to me by all the stars that you'll never come anywhere near Nathan, or any of us, again. Go back to wherever you came from. Stay there."

You cannot agree to this, Rigel growls.

I have to. Fiesi meets her eyes with all the fire he has left. "I swear it."

For a long, stretching second, he's sure she will walk away regardless. She doesn't move. Light twists behind her eyes, analysing every inch of him. He stays firm. Every scrap of assurance he can gather is shoved to the forefront of his gaze.

Pleading whispers course through him. It takes all his effort to keep them soundless.

Finally, she steps forward. "If I see you again, I'll kill you." Her tone is so flat she could be discussing a finance deal, or any such terms of an arrangement that doesn't involve his life as a bargaining chip. She saves her last fury-fuelled relish for wrenching the blade from his torso.

Immediately, agony shreds his relief. His gasp merges into a scream. Blood gushes from the wound, a dark pool rapidly forming at his side. It takes Rigel's pointed nudge for him to find the strength to thrust a bundle of flame towards it, clamping it over the pain, managing to press his teeth together to seal in any further cries.

As if a warmed blanket has been wrapped around his middle, gentle heat envelopes the pain. He lets out a long sigh. He isn't dying any longer.

Now to figure out what to do with this new gift of life.

The girl is observing him, eyes reflecting the azure licks of flame sewing his skin back together. Her sword is coated in thick blood. It points downwards, curving off to the side. Keeping his eyes on it, he sits up slowly, reeling from the way his vision swims.

"On second thought," she muses, tensing Fiesi's trembling muscles, "there's no way of knowing where you'll run to. You stay with me."

"Joyous." And most certainly not happening. Gradually, his mind is clearing of cobwebs, enough to let a thought detangle and overtake his senses. Palms flat against the ground, he summons flickers of fire beneath each, keeping them out of her sight.

"But didn't I swear it?" he adds. "You said you'd let me go if I agreed." He drags his unfocused gaze to her face, for once content to let a little of his fear slip out. She's seen enough of it already to know it as real.

"I said I'd let you live." Stepping back, she twists her hilt, examining the bloodied blade.

"Which I am ever grateful for." The flame condenses into a tight coil, snaking over his forefinger. It's primed. He shoots her a half-hearted grin. "Unfortunately, I rather enjoy freedom as well."

His hand flies out, a string of flame unfurling from his palm and latching around her legs. She jerks up too late. He yanks his fire towards him, and she keels over, her sword slipping from her hand. Releasing the fire, he scrambles to his feet, struggling against a second bout of dizziness, and throws himself into the trees.

Every step teeters unsteadily, but he pushes on, breaking into a run. His side still aches. He should have stalled longer. But there's no going back now.

Blue flames climb up his legs, righting his balance. The sky melds with the blurry shapes of leaves above. His hearing is all wrong, footsteps cracking too loud in his ears and each ragged breath like a roar, drowning out all else. It doesn't matter. He'll recover. The hazy mass of a towering trunk looms closer. If he can get beyond that--

His boot catches, jolting him sideways. He barely has a chance to yelp before the impact steals the air from his lungs.

For a moment, darkness is all he can see. It clears enough to make out the earth below. He lets a couple of shaky seconds slide by, then grits his teeth and flips onto his back, grappling for a shred of flame to blaze in his outstretched hand.

It shrinks back at the sight of the blade pointed at his neck.

Another curved crescent, but this one shining untouched, with a hilt adorned in faded gold. He blinks hard, and the world finally sharpens enough to make out the man holding it. The soldier, the one he knocked out. What did the girl call him? Dalton?

"Dalton," he starts, trying for a casual head tilt. Yes, that's definitely it. "Nice to see you up."

Dalton rests the curve of the sword over Fiesi's throat. Unpleasant familiarity crashes down on him. "Stay still," the soldier orders. "Put the fire away. If I see any more, I'll cut."

Heavy dread sinks in Fiesi's chest as he curls his fist over, letting it drop at his side as the flame vanishes. So much for escape.

The girl appears, her own sword returned to her hand, its point jabbed in his direction. Her gaze flicks between him and Dalton. "Do we kill him?"

Dalton hesitates. Cold fear trickles down Fiesi's spine, seeping from the place the blade touches. He licks his lips. "Am I allowed to vote no?"

"Be quiet," the girl snaps. Her eyes flare. He inhales sharply, hating that his instinct is to obey.

Slowly, Dalton parts his lips. "No. What he knows might be useful."

Useful. Fiesi covers his weak rush of relief with a silent laugh sent Rigel's way. It's not often I get called that.

"We'll need something less flammable to tie him up with, though," Dalton adds. "Do we have any chains?"

The girl shakes her head. "Just rope. Funnily enough, I didn't anticipate a surprise prisoner who can summon fire." She snaps her gaze to Fiesi, sword twitching, and he flinches. "What about pinning his wrists together with a knife while I go and buy some?"

Dalton glances at her, brow raising. He's not sure if she's joking or not. Fiesi knows she isn't. His hands retreat subconsciously, hiding in the bloodstained folds of his cloak.

"Unless you have a better solution." She's still looking at him, amusement quirking her lips the slightest amount. Fiesi knows that expression. The satisfaction, the knowledge that the one laying at your feet is entirely tangled within your whims. He's worn it many times himself. He never thought that he'd be the one on the ground, defeat pinning him there as much as the sword at his throat, pride in tatters somewhere below.

He closes his eyes. Resignation sags him back into the forest floor, squashing the last tendril of hope squirming in his chest. "There's chains in my bag," he murmurs. He doesn't bother to listen to their replies. He doesn't care anymore.

A prisoner of Cormé. What sort of hero cannot resist two powerless soldiers?

Rigel laughs bitterly. No hero at all, little Kynig.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

Fiesi, my best blue boy, welcome to something called karma--

Gotta love Sarielle in protective mode. And Fiesi losing his cocky energy. And Rigel just constantly calling him out. And... you know what I'll just :D because this boy be fun.

Also can we just take a moment to think about how much blood is on Fiesi's clothes right now--

- Pup