It was Edita who taught Fiesi how to pick locks. He always liked her rebellious streak, her dislike of authority's stamp. They might have been an effective pair if she hadn't decided to turn that hatred on him so early on. He can add her to his list of lost friends to mourn.

"This is stealing," Sarielle mutters from behind.

Fiesi lets out a long sigh, giving his spearhead a final twist. The lock breaks, and he wrenches open the stable door, staggering back under its weight. "If one is talented enough to steal, one deserves the reward."

She grumbles something in argument, but he hasn't the time nor the headspace to listen. The horse before him huffs, shifting its hooves at their intrusion. He lifts the latch on its gate, tossing her a glance. "Look, this is our only chance to catch up to Neyaibet. I highly recommend we take it."

Without waiting for her reply, he snatches up the horse's reins, tugging it forward, then steps up into a stirrup and hefts himself onto its back with less grace than he would have liked. He raises his head in time to see Sarielle vault up the gate and swing into the saddle, settling in place while he struggles to pull himself upright.

She digs into her pocket and draws out a handful of gold, chucking it to the ground. "Compensation," is the only explanation she gives before kicking her horse's side and bolting onto the path.

"Because coin solves everything," Fiesi says to no-one in particular and follows.

He never particularly enjoyed riding, and today is hardly different. With the horse at full gallop, he can feel himself thrown into the air with every lunging step, forced to cling to the coarse, dark fur on its neck. Wrapping the reins over his hands, he directs it the best he can after Sarielle as she winds around the buildings and leaps from cobblestone to dirt. The horse speeds up instantly.

Again he gets the clawing urge to veer away from the path, to leave Sarielle and the Cormé and Neyaibet far behind. Gritting his teeth, he shoves it back, stinging blue sparks racing over his forearms. Nathan is ahead. Sarielle can lead him to his goal. It's worth it for that. All he has to do is catch up to that carriage, get inside, and then--

And then what? Fail again?

He spurs his horse faster, surpassing Sarielle as he stretches out his senses. I don't know.

Rigel's bond is weakened by his bird's closed contact, but Fiesi can still sense it, dangling like a trailing thread buffeted by the wind. "This way," he calls to Sarielle and yanks his reins left. His horse bucks in protest but reluctantly complies. It's clearly unsettled by his flame's presence. He pats its neck in some feeble form of reassurance, praying with it to stay obedient.

She soon slides in alongside him, matching his pace. Adjusting his spear where he's wedged it across the saddle's front, he glances over at her, suddenly lost in that haze again, the inability to work out what to do next. He tears a hand through his hair, ruffled by the wind, and forces words out. "Why did you let me go?"

His voice shudders with his movement, and for a moment he isn't sure if she heard. But then she replies. "I want to know if I can trust you."

He twists in his saddle. "And can you?"

"Should I?"

His breath catches in his throat. Swallowing, he refocuses on the path ahead. "It's likely not wise."

They round a corner, clearing a copse of trees, and the carriage finally becomes visible. A dark smudge on the pale horizon, but there, and its tracks scoring the mud. Dozens of hoofprints flank it. The entire regiment has fled together. There's a fight coming. Fiesi's fingers itch.

"Look," Sarielle says. "We're both against Neyaibet. We both want to rescue Nathan. For now, let's say I trust you, and you trust me."

He nods, though the word stirs in his chest. Trust. He's never been very good at that.

"After Nathan is safe, you can do whatever you like. Run home, wherever that is, stay or go, I don't care. As long as you don't harm him."

She doesn't understand. How can she? She can't know that everything hinges on this one task, that without its completion, he's just a boy too far from home chasing a monster he's too afraid to kill. A lonely boy too desperate for a friend.

"Alright." He doesn't take his eyes off the shape of the carriage, enlarging with every swift step. "Alright, I won't."

It doesn't matter if it's true or not. It won't be his first broken promise.

Specs of horses rear up beside the carriage, growing closer by the second. A whole team of cavalry soldiers charging their way, soon to be upon them. Fiesi curls a hand over his spear out of habit. He's aware of how to use it. Whether the rules allow him to is an entirely different matter.

"So we fight together, then?" Sarielle straightens in her saddle, readying her sword.

Side by side with a Cormé. He chuckles. "Let's just say we're two people who happen to be fighting a common enemy within the same time span."

She shoots him a half-smile. "Together is less of a mouthful."

Together, they race towards Neyaibet.

There must be nearly a dozen soldiers. They're hideously outnumbered, but much to their misfortune, none of them are Tía. Fiesi gathers unseen heat in his palm, concentrating, only half his attention on guiding his mount onward with one hand.

An arrow whistles past his ear. He ducks, throwing himself as flat as he can into his horse's mane. His thighs are already aching from keeping him stable as he's jostled about. There's a reason Enkavmé don't ride. Their bodies aren't built for it.

I am fairly sure you just mean your own body, Fiesi.

Surprise streaks through him at the intrusion of Rigel's voice. You're back. Then again, his bird would never miss an opportunity to mock him. In the distance, Fiesi can just about make out a scrap of blue separated from the skyline, gliding circles around the carriage.

The thunder of hooves pounds on his senses, tearing his focus before he can hear Rigel's reply. Another arrow sails overhead. Cautiously, he peers over his horse's head in its wake, watching the space grow shorter.

Two dozen paces. One. He can make out the faces of the soldiers, the gleam of their swords and shields and daggers, the eager glint in their eyes.

An azure spark slips from beneath his skin in a satisfying burst of energy. The force is already there, easy to send rocketing forward.

No-one else is able to track its progress as it zips to the ground, vanishing into the trampled undergrowth, yet as soon as it reaches the earth it is unmissable. Heat roars in his stomach the barest microsecond before the flames leap up.

Amber tendrils soon knit together to form a blazing wall. The Neyaibet soldiers don't have a chance to swerve away from it. Fire catches under hooves, forcing the horses to rear up, high-pitched squeals erupting across the line. One soldier loses his grip and tumbles to the ground with a yelp. The others manage to cling on, although they hurriedly retreat. Fiesi's own mount halts immediately, whinnying its discomfort as it shifts beneath him.

Sarielle stumbles to a stop at his side. "Can you warn me before you set anything alight next time?"

He shrugs. "That ruins the surprise."

Lifting his hand again, he wraps a tight hold around the blaze and drags it aside. The fire crawls over the ground, driving the soldiers to the side in their desperation to evade the crackling heat, until two burning lines stretch along either side of the track. The dismounted soldier scrambles back on foot. He makes a passing grab for his horse's reins, but it's too late; it is already bolting, fleeing down the hill and towards the trees. One down.

Fiesi flashes Sarielle a grin. She's stilled, lips parted, eyes wide in stunned silence. The Cormé's reaction to power is always entertaining. Sadly, hers lasts a shorter time than most. His focus is still tangled in the blaze when she drives her horse forward, cutting him off from the path he's carved.

"Keep them busy," she says. "I'll go after Nathan."

He opens his mouth to argue, but she's already turning and speeding away, galloping over the scorched ground left behind by his flames. A pit deepens in his chest. She'll get there first. What's to stop her from leaving him behind entirely, from stealing away Nathan before Fiesi can even decide anything?

Pressing his teeth together, he gives his head a hard shake and drills his attention into the fire. Do the job. He has enough to contend with without adding forethought to the mix.

Before any of the soldiers can attempt to creep around the sides of his barriers, he curves them, spreading the flames until they form a broad circle that traps them all inside. His legs tense as he lifts a second hand, the work speeding his pulse. It's been a long time since he attempted to control a fire of this magnitude. Even then, that was practice back home. He doesn't recall it ending well.

Taking in a shaky breath, he sits straighter in his saddle. Not to mention the clear demonstration of Tía power he's giving these Cormé. There's little chance he can pass this off as a tame trick. Maybe he should write up an Enkavmé rule book so he can tick off all the ones he's failed to comply with.

For the Anathe, he tells himself. To save the world. But even the confidence woven into that wavers.

"I miss you all, you know," he calls, wrenching himself out of his thoughts. "Deeply. We had some great fun. But I'm afraid" -- he winces as searing heat crawls over his skin -- "afraid we'll have to end it here."

"Demon!" someone shouts. Daisy, her face visible between flickering scraps of flame.

He smirks. "Because I'm devilishly handsome?"

"Coward!" Another voice, one he can't place in the haze. It doesn't matter. It strikes him like a blow, every time. "Stop this magic and fight fair, Finlay!"

"I'm being perfectly fair." He kicks at his horse's flank, trying to urge it into a pace around the flames. It jerks, letting out a disgruntled snort. "Just because you have the misfortune of being ordinary doesn't make this unfair." He digs his heel into the horse's side, leaning down to mutter to it. "Move, mikros."

It clearly objects to the term. It jostles beneath him, forcing him to drop his hands to clutch at the front of his saddle. The flames crackle. An ache burrows into his core with the effort of keeping them high.

"Besides," he adds, raising his voice. "I'm not big on playing fair. It's rather inconvenient."

"Coward," the voice repeats, a sharper growl. Fiesi's horse whinnies as if in agreement.

"What are you?" someone else calls, the question strained by panic. He prefers that. Twisting towards the sound, he flicks his wrist to part the flames a tad, latching onto the face of its speaker. Rust-red hair, skin dappled with freckles that glint in the firelight. Annice. This one he knows.

He grins, conscious of the wall inching wider thanks to his brief loosening of its leash. "I suppose--"

Whatever he might have said dissolves into a yelp.

In a sudden lurch, his horse rears back onto its hind legs, and the world tilts upwards. His legs give out. He grabs for the saddle, fingers slipping over his spear until it dislodges and they both slide into freefall.

The air floods from his lungs, silencing his second cry as he hits the ground. Pain races up his leg and screams in his shoulder. Clawing at the ground, he looks up in time to see the horse's forelegs looming back towards him and rolls, gritting his teeth against the surge of agony. Heat caresses his back.

"Mikros," he gasps out, the only word he can find with his heart pounding and his lungs empty. It's certainly not loud enough for the horse to hear. It's already bolting, racing back along the path, sleek black coat gleaming.

Sucking in a long breath, he claws his way to a sitting position, still dazed. It takes him several seconds more than it should to realise. The flames are faltering. His lapse of concentration has stolen their power.

Desperately, he grapples to regain his hold, but his shaky grip can't latch onto it. If he tries to push it out now, it'll have no focus, no control. His head spins.

Footfall thunders in his ears. He twists around just in time to see the soldiers charging right for him. Panic exploding in his chest, he scrambles back, frenzied blue flame licking up his arms. He doesn't have time to get to his feet. They're already upon him, the sky blocked out, chaos unfolding in a whirlwind of hooves all desperate to trample him into the ground.

He rolls, over and over, crawls back, throws his hands over his head in a frantic attempt to shield it from harm. Every inch of him trembles. His chest heaves, each gulp of air collapsing to nothing the moment it enters his jaw. His nails score the dirt.

I'm going to die. A thought cast on a string, writhing as it reels back in and tosses itself across his mind again. After all of it, this is how he dies.

It takes him a moment to realise the chaos has quietened. Shakily, he raises his head a touch, wincing as it pulses with the movement. The soldiers circle him, boxing him in on all sides. A speckled white horse stands over him. It takes him a moment to recognise its rider as Annice. She doesn't appear quite so afraid anymore.

His lips part. He digs, searching for his voice, but it has fled him.

"I'm sorry, Finlay." Her voice only just clears the incessant ringing in his ears. "But you made your choice."

His blood runs cold. There should be something more he should do, some grand idea to enact to ensure his escape, but his mind is blank. Everything is. His hands are still shaking.

Annice came before Fayre. Sweet, shy, easy to make uncomfortable, but he recalls the way her face changed when she rode into battle. The switch flicked behind her eyes, the one that curled her lip only the slightest amount. The one that whispered of death. The one she wears now as she hops from her horse, leisurely, in no rush.

He's seen that look, directed at him, once before. The day he grew tired of her.

Maybe I messed up. The thought stretches vaguely in Rigel's direction, tinged with panic. Maybe this is my fault.

There is no doubt about that. But you will not die for this.

A thread dangles into his consciousness, inviting, twined with warmth. There's no hesitation. He lunges for it.

Scorching heat erupts in his chest. His thoughts clear. His aches ease. He takes in a full breath for the first time in several minutes. Rigel's small gift, a little push of power. All Fiesi has to do is seize it.

Meeting Annice's eyes, he smiles. "I make a lot of bad choices. I don't plan on breaking the trend."

The flames at his arms deepen, flaring, enough for her to stumble in brief shock. He pays her no attention, focusing instead on the pricks of heat littering his skin, emerging as dozens of sparks. The grass lights like dry kindling. An invisible force drags him to his feet, and then he's running, weightless feathers taking the place of his feet, carrying him effortlessly beyond Annice and her horse and all the rest. He slips out of the circle with ease and is speeding over the scorched ground before anyone else can whirl in his direction.

It's like flying. Borne on flaming wings, the air fleeing his path, the ground seemingly miles away for the way in which he glides over it in a flurry of sparks and fire. His vision glows, tinted blue.

For a moment, he might as well not exist at all. Not Fiesi, not the little Kynig. Just a boy lost in the thrill of sprinting with arms outspread, leaving the rest of the world far behind, lit like a candle in a realm of sunbeams. Insignificant, but shining nonetheless. For a moment, there's no such thing as heroes and monsters and every meaningless thing in between.

But it can't last. Drawing on the cord Rigel has cast him, winding it over the flames like tugging at reins, he reels the power in. The world floods back into view just in time for him to swerve towards the carriage, leaping up a wheel and swinging himself onto the platform at its front.

All at once, his weight crashes back down on him. He remembers to breathe, and sucks in the air in heaving pants, his fingers curling around the edge of the wood. For a moment, he allows his eyes to slide closed as his forehead presses into the wall. The experience is exhilarating, but it comes at a cost. His flame isn't meant to be used so frivolously.

It's certainly making that known to him. Scalding fire seethes beneath his skin, bleeding out from his fingertips in twilight streams that flash amber. The wood catches alight. Just the barest flicker of flame, but it's already spreading, inching out from where his nails dig in.

A sharp gasp snatches his attention. Lifting his head, he realises a navy-clad man stands less than two paces from him. He's scrambled to his feet, clutching his reins to his chest, and now backs slowly away. The right move.

Carefully, Fiesi removes one hand from the carriage's side, aware of the sparks buzzing around it. The man flinches. Fiesi narrows his gaze.

"Stop the carriage," he says, wincing at the hoarse scrape of his voice. Heat has shredded it. But it's enough.

With a shaky nod, he shifts on the platform and jerks the reins. The horse stops. The carriage stills.

But still the flames are crawling over its surface. Even in his brief glance away, they're tripled in size, engulfing much of the left side. Fiesi's core twists, and he realises that more sparks must have collided with the carriage's back, for that too is ablaze, its heat roaring in his stomach. Smoke billows into the frosty air. Faint panic unfolds at the back of his mind.

His fingers coil inwards as he attempts to steady his breathing, his thudding pulse, the writhing blaze alive within. His father warned him about this much usage, the dangers of losing control. But he had to, didn't he? They would have killed him.

The man cries out, pitching into a scream. Flames have leapt to his navy shirt, gnawing their way through it to his skin. He jumps from the side of the carriage, rolling over in the grass.

He's alive, but trembling, arm marked absent blistered. Cold terror somehow reaches into Fiesi's chest amid the swirl of heat. If he isn't careful, he'll do more than burn.

Rigel, he whispers, gritting his teeth against a cry of his own as wild flames sear his palms, help me calm it.

Bright fire licks at his front, scorching his new shirt. It hurts, piercing him like the sun's summer glare. Yelping, he stumbles, toppling off the platform and to the ground. His vision blurs as he struggles to his feet.

"Fiesi!" Sarielle's voice, more distant than it should sound, accompanied by the drum of her horse's hooves. He turns to see her riding a broad half-circle around him, sword in hand, leaning so far off the side she appears at risk of falling. Her gaze is a storm of fear and anger. "Stop! Nathan's in there!"

Nathan. Fiesi's heart pounds. He glances back at the burning carriage, choked in smoke and fire. His fists clench as he internally claws at the flame. It's a writhing beast, an animal he has to wrestle, to plead with to calm.

It retreats, the slightest amount, but even that feeble squeeze turns his legs numb. He's going to keel over any moment.

Rigel, do your damn job and--

"Stop!" Sarielle again, closer, fiercer, riding right for him. She leaps down from the horse and lifts her sword to his neck. He doesn't even have the energy to step out of its path. "Stop," she repeats in a growl. "You're killing him. You know the deal we made."

She is right. You are finally killing him.

Fiesi stiffens. Subconsciously, his head snaps towards the carriage. In amongst the flames, a streak of azure shows itself, feathered wings outspread as Rigel's dark eyes bore into him from above.

No wonder the fire won't listen to him. His Synté has snatched its controls.

No. A senseless reply, stupid and reckless and yet tangled in a desperate surety he isn't sure he's felt before. Rigel, no. I can't... I don't want... He pauses, twisting out some semblance of a complete sentence. Sarielle will kill me.

Rigel sighs. If you are weak enough to let a Cormé kill you, then perhaps it is right that you die. I will relish being free of this coward fate has twined my soul with.

Fiesi has endured a lot of insults in his life, and yet nothing stings as fierce and as deep as that. His bird, his lifelong partner, the only one eternally there in even the loneliest moments. Even Rigel wants to leave him behind.

His throat closes up. His eyes burn, like everything else, like the heat surging in his chest. He bites down hard on his tongue as if that will stem the pain.

"Fiesi." Sarielle steps closer, her sword's tip a breath away. "Fiesi, stop it." Her voice cracks.

I do not wish for you to die, Rigel says, but it wavers, the serrated edge of a lie dragging through Fiesi's mind. I am commanding you to run, little Kynig. That is what you do best, is it not?

"Now," she grates out.

Something. Fiesi needs to do something, anything. His hands twitch. He looks to the hill, to the forest, feels flame crest and flow within him.

Run, little Kynig. Wouldn't it be easy?

Yet easy is what he's always done. And where has it got him? Alone, held at swordpoint, watching one of the only people who's ever truly cared about him go up in flames.

About to die. Die, or give in to cowardice. Either way, he's no hero. He's nothing at all.

Maybe you're right, Rigel. But you're forgetting something. Summoning all his strength, he stands straighter, blue sparks swarming around his ankles. Running isn't what I do best.

"You know the deal." Sarielle's voice has gone quiet, smoother, dangerous.

He forces himself to meet her eyes. "I do."

That honour falls to my terrible decision making.

Before either of them can react, he takes off, soaring on a last shred of Rigel's power. If his bird is going to steal his flame, he's more than happy to return the favour. Running, just as requested, but not in quite the planned direction.

Within the second, he's swinging around the carriage's corner, charging through the flames. Somewhere behind, Sarielle screams his name. He doesn't bother to check if she's following. If she's at all smart, she'll stay back. The fire pulses with endless heat, singeing the hairs on his arms. He has to push through the pain to reach the door.

"Nathan!" he yells.

No answer. Of course not, and now he's wasted a precious second asking. Using all the control he has left to shove back the fire from his skin, he closes a hand over the handle and wrenches the door open. It flings off its hinges, handing in a scorched heap behind. He can't help but feel a brief glimmer of satisfaction.

It fades as a wave of smoke meets him, reaching tendrils that scratch at his throat. Stumbling forward, he forces it back, wrestling a breath from the air. Exhaustion drags harder at his limbs, but the smoke clears. And then he sees Nathan.

He's never looked more like a child. A scrawny bundle curled up on the floor, swaddled in a white tunic too big for him. His chest is still. Fiesi moves automatically, dashing to the other end of the carriage and dropping to his knees. Flames hiss and crackle in his ears, drowning out his thoughts, driving on his battle to shield the boy beneath him from the heat and smoke.

Hands clasped, he beats them into the centre of Nathan's chest, again and again, conscious of his shaking hands and the panic twisting in his stomach and somehow keeping going. Muttered prayers tumble from his lips, a barrage of words that hardly string together.

Deep inside, an ache settles, a sweeping flutter of emptiness. Rigel is gone. He's alone.

Not alone. He presses harder, deeper, feeling tears gather in his eyes and not particularly caring. Please, Nathan. Please.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

Fun Fact: Rigel is named after a star in the constellation Orion, because, you know, the hunter. I don't think I've shared that yet. Since this chapter featured Rigel so prominently :D

So this was a wildly fun chapter for me. I'm kind of glad this Fiesi part expanded on me, because I've really enjoyed delving into him. And asdfghjkl yes that is a tiny bit of redemption you smell--

I said this was gonna be a ride and I hope I'm delivering. Now let's go on because we're so so close to the end now help--

- Pup