It hurts.

It's the first thing I know. Deep, gnawing pain, like claws have reached into my chest and carved out a gaping chasm, laced with cracked ice at its edges. My breathing rattles in my ears. With each one, the pit crumbles further, wide as a void.

Instinct nudges me to reach for my flame. But when I try to draw it out, I only spiral into that emptiness.

Nothing. There's nothing at all.

A thin whimper slips from my lips, hardly a sound. I don't need to remember. It's already there: the heavy ache of my failure, the knowledge that I'm now in the clutches of Neyaibet once more. And this time, there is no false friend to help. I'm trapped and alone. More alone than I've ever been.

The fact that I'm alive at all is some form of miracle, although I feel little joy at the thought.

Somehow, I find the energy to open my eyes. Pale, dusty blues converge to form the interior of a carriage, lit by a lamp swinging listlessly from the ceiling's centre. Distant familiarity tangles in my stomach. The padded seat opposite is empty, its faded colour taunting.

It isn't difficult to picture Finlay sprawled over its middle, grinning down at me like the world is set to rights, like no-one is out to hurt me. I put Fiesi in his place, shove a glare into his twinkling eyes, and then cast him away. I know better now. Remembering is of no aid.

They haven't left me with anyone at all this time. Perhaps Harlow learned from his mistake, as much as I doubt there is another soldier willing to pay me any sort of kindness. Loneliness curls up in my chest.

With my ear pressed to my own seat's cushion, the rumble of the carriage's progress tremors through me. We're still on the move. I find I don't care where they're taking me. All that matters is that it is away from Sarielle, and Dalton, and anyone that might be an ally.

Even Fiesi. I'd rather him kill me than be trapped here, at Harlow's mercy.

A sudden urge grasping me, I turn over and sit up, then instantly regret it as grating waves seep into my skull. The carriage rocks a little more than should be natural. I screw my eyes but for a moment, fists bunching the seat's material. It slides from my fingers, refusing to tear.

It all hurts. I can't move without the ache spreading further, eating up more of my shaking muscles.

What did Harlow do to me?

It must have been him. Now my thoughts are a fraction less woolly, I sift through them, searching for an answer. He lifted those chains without drawing near. There's only one person I've seen perform a similar act.

Ligari was Jeía. Does that mean Harlow is, too? But if he is Enkavmé, then why is he fighting alongside Cormé?

I shake my head, wincing at the fresh bite of pain. Perhaps I never understood. Fiesi made it seem as if the two sections of humanity lived separately, but I could have easily misinterpreted that. After all, Rovena gave me a mask infused with magic in an ordinary Cormé town.

But if he has magic, then why have I not seen him use it until now? He could have prevented me from escaping that night in the camp, if he'd tried. Unless he wanted me to escape? But he recaptured me. That can't be the case.

I press a hand to my forehead. I'm not in a state to be working it all out; exhaustion melds my thoughts in sticky sap. The temptation to lie back down into the seat and pass out again tugs at me, but anxiety skips fiercer in my veins, a lingering desire to stay awake, to figure out at the very least if there's anything I can do.

My hand drifts to my side, a tendril of hope quickly dissipating. My sword is gone. I feel over my belt and discover they've taken my dagger as well. Alone and defenceless.

And, now that I see my hands draped over my lap, I realise what encloses each of my wrists.

Metal binds. Reminiscent of handcuffs, but with no chain to string them together. I turn over my wrist, running a finger over the shined surface. No obvious break in the material, either. No way to prise them off.

I give my glove a futile tug. The shackle pins it in place, velvet leather crushed against my skin. I can't take them off. I can't summon my flame.

I don't even have a dagger to drive into my heart.

Swinging my legs off the seat, I shove to my feet, not caring for the resulting dizziness spinning the carriage into a haze. I stumble into the wall and slam my forehead against it. My fingers drag over the smoothed wood. My nails can't scratch it, not through my gloves.

A choked sob escapes me. Before, despite the gloves' forceful barrier, I could always feel my flame, however deep it was buried. It roared and crackled in my core, keeping me warm, a constant reassurance. Now, the space it once filled is hollow. To reach for it is to dangle over the edge of that yawning pit, stretching as far into the darkness as I dare, unable to grasp at anything but a ceaseless ache.

It's gone. They've taken away every last bit of me, scraped me bare. They've stolen my flame.

The empty. Fiesi's whisper chills my bones like a thin mist. He was right. Without my cursed power, I'm nothing but an empty shell.

The carriage jerks. Thrown off my feet, I catch myself on the seat, clutching its back as my knees slide to the floor. After a few moments of ragged breathing, my hands shaking so badly I can barely maintain my grip, I realise the floor has stilled. We've stopped moving.

I raise my head. Unlike my previous carriage, it is impossible to see where I am; the curved walls are blank, absent of a window. But if I listen, there are muffled footsteps just outside, the clamour and bustle of what I can guess are Harlow's soldiers. None come close enough to distinguish. I find myself clinging to them regardless, gaze drifting towards the carriage's sealed door as one set of heavy thuds grow louder. No light leaks through the cracks. It must still be night.

Hauling myself up onto the seat, I wait, pushing my heels into the floor to anchor myself. But the steps rise and fade again. No-one comes.

Quiet gradually settles in the air. It dissipates the tension and yet fills it with a different weight, one that presses hardest on my chest. I can't tear my eyes from the door. Before I know it, I'm rising, enduring the unsteadiness threatening to keel me over.

I take a shaky step, then stagger forward, falling into the door. A hissed sigh battles its way out. I hate this. Hardly able to stand, imprisoned in my own skin. So weak.

Shoving the thought aside, I ease off from the door, arms out for balance. The world steadies. Shuddering at the edges, but steady. "I'm okay," I whisper to myself, wincing at the lie but needing it all the same. "I'm okay."

Someone moves outside, a soft step brushing against my senses. The urge for company momentarily shatters my fear. Bracing myself, I bang on the door.

No answer. I should retreat, but I can't help it. I try again.

It flings open. I yelp as a hand shoves me back, sending me crashing to the floor of the carriage. Grabbing for the side of a seat, I pull myself up to see the man standing over me point a sword at my face.

"Be quiet," he snaps. The lamplight floods over him, capturing his hair in a red-tinted russet. A similar colour sparks fury in his eyes. His armour has been exchanged for a tight-fitting navy tunic.

Evading the piercing glint of his blade, I attempt to peer around him, hoping he doesn't see the shaking effort required to keep me sitting upright. The sky is black. It isn't yet morning. Rough silhouettes etch out the shapes of houses in the darkness. Closer, I catch the soft sound of a horse's huffed breathing, sudden movement drawing my attention in time to see it lift its head.

The soldier shifts further into the doorway, blocking my view. The sword retracts to his side. "Another noise, and I won't hesitate to use this. Got it?"

"Go ahead," I say without thinking, meeting his stare. "Make it quick." It's a lot easier to be fearless when I don't care. He can plunge that blade right through my heart if he likes. He'll find nothing there.

He steps forward, the sword narrowly missing my knee as he lifts it. "I won't kill you," he growls. "But Captain didn't say anything against hurting you."

Shifting my hands to the floor, I lean forward. "Go ahead." Whatever he plans on doing can't be worse than the pain already raking its way over my bones. I might even welcome it as a distraction.

Instead, he pulls the sword to his side. "One more noise and I will."

Stepping back, he reaches for the door and slams it shut before I can say anything more. Instantly, the room's emptiness bears down on me. I scramble forward onto my knees, clawing at the door, searching for a handle. The surface is flat. It doesn't budge when I tug at its sides.

I grit my teeth. I'll give him noise.

My head must have cleared somewhat, for I'm able to climb to my feet without keeling over, though I keep a supporting hand resting by the door's hinges. I hit the door again with as much force as I can muster. It feels feeble.

I dodge aside when he swings it open this time, pressed into the side of the seat to avoid the thrust of his sword. He turns the blade in my direction. "Shut up."

Some essence of strength must still spark deep at the bottom of that chasm. I glare back. "I want to see Harlow."

"Captain Rakis is resting." He advances, pinning me in the corner. "Besides, you'll see him when the general orders."

"The general is here?" General Velez, Giulia, the woman in the extravagant castle room. I'd foolishly assumed she planned on staying there. But she too has chased me across the kingdom, it seems. A shiver snakes along my spine at the memory of her twisted smile.

The soldier hesitates, clearly realising he's let something slip. He swiftly paints over it with a scowl. "You'll find out soon enough. For now, be quiet."

My fists curl. "Then I want to see the general."

His eyes narrow. "You think anyone cares what you want?"

Of course not. Nobody ever does. I'm not even sure I care anymore. But the hollow ache spreads further, and I'm desperate to fill it, if only with my own weak words. A little flare of what I once was.

"You should," I bite out. "Because I want to watch as your flesh burns. I want to hear you choke out your last breath, and I want to see the life drain from--"

The slice of pain in my cheek cuts off my voice sharply. I twist back from the blade's slash, hissing at the lingering sting. When I press a hand to the wound, it comes away wet, the black surface of my glove's fingers striped by a thin scarlet line.

Lowering my hand, I drag my gaze up to the soldier. His sword hangs loose at his side as he surveys me.

"You can't threaten me," he says quietly. "Not any longer. Another word, and you'll get more than just a scratch."

I lick my lips, touching my face again. It's a faint sting, but a persistent one, enough to make me wince. At least its surface pain is a reminder that I am still alive. It takes seeing my own blood to truly let that confirmation sink in.

By the time I refocus on the soldier, he's already retreating, turning away. I draw in a deep breath. "Wait."

His sword flicks in warning, but he pauses.

Bowing my head, I edge tentatively around towards him. This time, I let him see the way my step sways, the hand I need to press into the wall. "Can I at least have some water?"

He frowns, then offers a small dip of a nod. "If you vow to be quiet, I'll bring you some."

"I promise." He makes to leave again, but I follow, gripping the door's hinged end so he can't close it. "Wait. I..." I swallow. "I don't want to be alone."

It's too dark to tell the exact nature of the emotion crossing his features. "I'm sure you can manage," he says shortly, attempting to shove the door closed. I push back.

"At least tell me something." My gloved fingers curl over the wood. "Where are we?"

"I haven't the clearance to tell you that." His stare turns stern. "I thought you agreed to be quiet."

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I can't..." My voice catches. Dragging my head up, I meet his eyes briefly before looking down again. My gaze brushes over his grip on his hilt at his side. It's loosening, his fingers twitching as they slide over the coarse material. "Do you know what he did to me?"

"Who?" he says, his tone stiff.

"Harlow." My gaze darts up again, checking his face. Confusion. Reserved sympathy? That might be too much to hope for. "Is he Jeía?"

A sharp, wordless inhale. So he knows something.

"His magic," I press. "What he--"

"The captain will speak to you when he chooses," the soldier snaps. He knows, but he won't break. He's tensing, preparing to step back, to slam the door in my face. "Now--"

I don't give him the chance.

Pushing off the door, I grab his arm, twisting it. He gasps, attempting to pull back, but he's realised too late. I steal the sword from his hand a fraction of a second before he succeeds in slipping from my grip. His eyes widen, flashing with shock, then fear. He's right to be scared.

The sword is heavy in my hand as I flip it around. I can't allow myself to hesitate. Lunging forward, I drive the blade deep into his chest.

I rip it out, and he stumbles back, clasping the wound. Blood gushes between his fingers. He looks up, sees me panting with the sword clutched in my hand, and his fear contorts into fury. His hand whips to his side. He must have another weapon there.

Instinct drives me before I can consider it. I strike at his stomach, then withdraw and thrust the blade in again. He teeters on his feet when I pull it out. Crimson stains seep through the thick material of his tunic.

"And that's called distraction." My voice hardly battles free.

The shadows swallow him as he falls out of the lamplight's reach. Lightness overtakes the air. The clatter of the sword as it meets the carriage's floor, slipping from my limp grip, sounds louder than it should. Its echo shudders through me like a bout of dizziness. Somehow, I manage to step forward, catching myself on the door when I meet an unexpected step down to the ground below.

Warmth touches the toe of my boot. I stagger back, the ground rocking under my feet, until I fall to my knees. They press into cobbles. This is a street, obscured by night. There are people here.

I force myself to twist around, looking behind me. The soldier's body sprawls at the foot of the carriage's step. I'm searching for something more, I realise, the click of a switch triggered by the crimson pool or the echoing memory of my own strength making him bleed. I'm reaching for the sensation of his life, so tantalizingly there, a coil of thread nearing its frayed end slipping through my fingers.

It isn't there. It didn't work. There's still nothing, stretching on, and now I'm even more alone.

If death can't fill the space, what can?

My legs tremble as I force myself to stand, slowly regaining my balance. And now he's dead. And now I've killed again.

I won't make it worthless. My gaze roves over the street. The darkness seems heavier tonight, draping thick sheets over the buildings that I struggle to penetrate. The faint light from the carriage is all I have, but I don't want to stay anywhere near it, not while it reflects darkly off the soldier's blood.

I start off at the fastest stride I can manage. Eventually, the street has to end. I'll run back into the forest. I'll keep running until a better idea arrives.

Or until Neyaibet catches up. It doesn't matter. I just want to get away.

The slope catches me off guard. A loose cobble almost trips me, and I stumble, skidding to the edge of the path. Stone becomes dirt that crumbles away under my step. I scramble back, seeing the drop beyond just in time.

Moonlight picks out a valley tumbling in steep, rocky curves downwards. I back up another pace. If I squint, there's a pale streak cutting across the dark slice of the valley. Recognition dawns with a gasp. A town with a bridge. I've travelled back the way I came. Sarielle can't be far from here.

Maybe if I retrace my steps, I can find my way back to camp. She can help me. If anyone can fix me, it has to be her.

"I do hope you're not thinking of jumping."

Alarm filters through steadily, coiling in a tense ball in the pit of my stomach. It takes a few seconds for her voice to register. Smooth, flowing, roughed at the edges by the mockery that laces it. The very general I asked to see. My fists clench at my sides to hide the fear that shudders my hands. Staring deliberately out into the valley, I fight the urge to turn. I don't want her to see how much she scares me.

"Now I am." I'm not entirely joking.

"You'd so quickly choose death over all I can offer you?" Her foot strikes the cobbles behind. I struggle not to flinch.

There's only one thing she might offer me that's worth staying for. "Take these shackles off."

She laughs, a few more skipped steps tapping in the quiet. Before I can glance back, her blade swings into view, resting against my throat.

I tilt my chin up a fraction, not allowing her to see my fear as she grips my shoulder and leans over it. She holds me in place. There will be no running to Sarielle now, not unless I can figure out a way to kill the general too. Giulia. To call her by her title is to infer that I am willing to serve under her, and I won't let that be the case.

"Take them off," I repeat. "Or kill me. I don't care which."

Giulia's eyes twinkle, reflecting shards of colourless starlight. "You're a lot more talkative than when I saw you last."

"Give me back my flame." Even I'm surprised at the growl in my voice, the sideways glare I shoot at her. She draws back, a frown sitting on her lips. They soon snare a smile instead.

The sword remains stationary as she twirls around to my front, hands exchanging on the hilt so quickly I barely see it move. The flat of the blade presses cool into my chin as she lifts it, forcing my head up. I meet her eyes as fiercely as I can muster.

"You know, when I first met you, I had many concerns," she murmurs. She hardly needs to bend to my level, I realise with a jolt. I was sure she stood taller. It doesn't do anything to diminish her intimidatory stare. "First I was worried you were too big a risk, and then as Harlow swayed me I began to wonder if you were quite the weapon we desired. Such a timid little thing, cowering away from us all." Her lips quirk. "Fainting in the sunlight. It was hardly a promising start. But now... well, now you've grown."

The blade whips away abruptly, spinning past my face. She's moving around me again in an instant. This time, I can't help but follow her, holding her gaze. The wind brushes cold over my back, as if to remind me of the steep drop only a couple steps behind.

"This boy, I like." She waves her sword in a vague circle. "What you did in Katamen? Irritating, I must admit, but that battalion was never one of my favourites. No, I found it reassuring to know you have a fierce streak." Her sword's tip glides over my neck, a hair's breadth from the skin, before lowering to tap against my metal-clad wrist. "Even without that fire, you can kill just fine." Glee is bright in her eyes. "You're exactly the monster we need."

"I'm not a monster." I stumble over the words. She must know I don't truly believe them.

She laughs, a light ripple of a sound, sharpening as it dies out. "Oh, but you will be."

"I won't." I step back, conscious of my heel sitting on the cracked edge of a stone. Another pace, and I'll fall. Better that than follow the path of her words. "I'll never do what you want."

A smirk plays over her lips. "I thought you wanted your flame back?"

I stiffen as she moves closer, passing the sword back to her left hand in a neat flourish. "I do," I manage.

"Then you'll do what I want."

My breath hitches. So that's the deal. "But I'm useless without it."

Her hand is resting on my back before I realise it, preventing my attempted backward step. "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself," she whispers. "But don't worry. As soon as we need your power, you'll have it back."

I gasp as she leans in further, her touch running over my spine as if stroking the grooves of an elaborate trophy. Or the hilt of a sword. I grit my teeth, shivering. "Until then?"

"Until then," she echoes, her face a breath from mine, "you do as I say."

Squirming, I try to push her away, but her grip is as iron as the binds at my wrists. "Never," I breathe.

"I wouldn't be so bold with that word." Her blade grazes the back of my neck. "Once upon a time, an arrogant king told me he would never yield his kingdom." She chuckles. "You're aware of how that turned out?"

I'm shaking, properly shaking, and I can't stop. She knows it; her smile creeps wider. But I can't let her win. "I'll kill you before I become your weapon."

Her fingers slide up to my shoulder blade. "You even make threats. Perfect."

"Not a threat." I try to calm my racing pulse. "A promise."

She hums, head tilted, eyes glittering. Then she spins, releasing me and shoving me back from the ledge in one swift jolt. Before I can even consider running, another hand is clasping my arm. Fayre, lit by the lantern she holds up as her grip curls tighter, her nails digging in. I flinch, failing to wrench away.

"Think on it," Giulia says with a final twirl of her sword. Silhouetted by the moonlight, she is almost a shadow herself, only her smile etched out. "I can wait."

"So can I." I managed years in a cell. If they think they can break me through captivity, then I'll be sure to prove them wrong.

Yet I don't have my flame this time. Or Sarielle. Can I cope when I'm truly alone?

"I suppose we'll see whose patience wears out quickest." Giulia flicks her sword in Fayre's direction. "Take him back to the carriage. Lock the door securely. Don't be stupid enough to open it this time."

"Yes, general," Fayre says with a dip of her head. She's already put a knife at my throat. I barely pay it any attention. If anything, I'm growing used to the presence of a blade there. I brace for her to manhandle me back along the path, but instead she pauses, lifting her gaze a fraction. "Is there any news on Finlay?"

Giulia doesn't look up from examining her blade. "Is that the deserter?"

"The traitor." Fayre's voice grates out as tight as a wound spring.

"Same difference." Turning, Giulia sheaths her sword, gazing out over the valley. "If he isn't dead in a ditch somewhere, I'm sure Harlow will find him. Now take the boy before he does something foolish."

"Of course, general." Fayre is shoving me before she's finished answering, keeping the knife aloft as she keeps her hand curled over the back of my tunic. I have no option other than to keep walking.

"I could tell you where Finlay is," I mutter before I can resist.

Instantly, the knife is back. "Where?"

"If you remove these binds, I'll tell you everything." I meet her cold gaze. It's a helpless plea. My hope of their removal is gradually crumbling away into the empty pit.

She merely sighs and increases her stride, pressing on my back with enough force to make me stumble. The carriage looms out of the darkness ahead, a glowering blueish shape that sinks ice somewhere in my chest. Someone has moved the soldier's body, but the blood remains, decorating the foot of the stair in ugly splatters. All for nothing. I'm back where I started.

I could try to fight Fayre. There are knives at her belt; it could be simple enough to grab one and sink it into her heart, if she isn't paying full attention. But what would be the point? If I'm lucky, I might get far enough to jump off that ledge. I'm rarely lucky.

Too soon, she's pushing me up the carriage's step and over its threshold. My boots squeak as they slide over the smooth floor. The light of the lamp glares down, piercing the corners of my vision as I face the exit.

Fayre hesitates, her knife still drawn. Her eyes are no less stony, but they flicker, a dash of uncertainty. She paints over it with a flash of fury. "Finlay really helped you escape?"

A faint curiosity rises to the surface as I nod. I seize it, desperate to feel something other than hollow dread or numbed fear. "Did he do something to you?"

She huffs a breath. "You could say he betrayed me."

"Then perhaps we have something in common," I say without breaking her stare.

If she feels any surprise, she doesn't show it. "Perhaps we're both naive idiots. You'll pay the price far more than I will." She drops her dagger to her side. "At least I'll be able to enjoy seeing his face when our general makes you kill him."

I don't get to reply. She shuts the door with a soft thud, and lonely silence leaks once more into the carriage. I can't even hear the wind.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

Fun Fact: Adeía stems from αδειάζω, which does mean 'empty' in greek. I've been waiting for us to see just how accurate that is for a long time :D

I did enjoy bringing back Giulia. We haven't seen her in ages, and she is lots of fun. Especially since Nathan is brave enough to talk back to her now. Not that I like seeing my boy this way :/

Nah, I lie. He's so much fun this way even if I want to hug him so bad--

No flame, and trapped by Neyaibet. It isn't looking good lol.

- Pup