The first thing I know is the delightful, perfect sensation of fresh air rushing into my lungs. I gasp, then gasp again, taking it up in great gulps. Alive. I'm alive.

Then the pain sinks in. The throbbing ache lacing my bones. The smoky tang still scratching at my throat, its foul taste heaving in my stomach. My chest screams, agony slicing my ribs, deepening when I wrestle for another gasping breath. A thin whine slips from my lips.

"Thank the stars."

A distant voice, indistinct, the barest whisper I can hardly shape. But it's there, and I cling to it. Familiarity twists through it. I don't care. It's a voice that isn't my own, and I need it, desperately.

The world tilts and spins, nothing more than blurry lines and half-formed shadows. Pressure pushes onto my back. My ribs fiercely protest the sudden movement, hissing in my next breath. Each one is a luxury. I'm certain the smoke will come back and shove the air away at any moment. My skin still pulses, uncomfortably warm and sheened with sweat, the crack of flames ringing in my ears.

A cool breeze brushes over my face, and the heat lessens. I blink, vision hazy, and make out the icy shade of the sky above. It sways. Everything does. My stomach lurches. I feel my back jolt as it hits the ground, and roll over on instinct, coughing and retching.

Each inhale is a battle to suck in. Their rasps scrape at my ears. I claw at the ground, at dirt, my fingers numb. Another violent cough convulses through me. It's some relief I've nothing left to throw up.

Pain splits my chest, threatening to drag me back under. I'm tempted to oblige. It all hurts too much. My eyes slide shut.

"No, no. Come on, Nathan, stay with me."

A shaking in my shoulders accompanies the second fuzzy intrusion of the voice. Still half-focused on drawing in air, I do my best to twist around, searching for its source. I know it. I know its softer edge, its pitch, but its tone doesn't sit right. An odd tingle wraps over my spine.

Another welcome breath inflates my lungs, even cleaner than the last. Sharpness etches out the shapes before me. The form of a man, a boy, ragged earthy curls, piercing blue eyes.

Realisation spears through my chest in a different burst of pain. My cry collapses into a whimper. I find my legs are not so leaden they ignore my command to move, and kick them, heels dragging over hard dirt. I need to get away. He can't be here. Only more pain is reflected in those eyes.

"Alright, alright!" He grabs a handful of my tunic, yanking me back. "Stop it. Extracting the ash is a delicate procedure, and I'm incredibly tired, so you squirming about is not helping."

Shock freezes me more than anything else. As he moves closer, brow furrowing as his fingers trace up my chest, I notice his face is drained of its usual colour. Damp lines mark his cheeks, emphasised by the ash and dirt streaking them. He's been crying. Fiesi Kynig has shed tears.

There's something else in that blue gaze, too, something I'm not used to seeing. Hesitancy. The way they dart to me and down again, the way he chews at his lip.

"Fin..." My voice barely emerges as a croak, delicate as a leaf fluttering in the wind.

He shakes his head. "Don't try to talk. Just breathe."

I'm not sure I could disobey him if I tried. My whole body is wracked with pain, wound tight to stifle my breaths. I force my eyes to stay open, watching Fiesi's expression, confusion and fear and hope all swirling in a senseless storm.

"Get off him!"

Fiesi tenses a moment before someone shoves him aside, and another face appears, crouching over me. Immediately, warmth spreads over my tingling skin as if her presence sweeps in sunbeams. Her name fits in my jaw but is too cracked to release. Every part of me yearns silently with its touch instead.

"Are you okay?" she asks, soft despite the wild harshness of her gaze.

Fiesi answers for me from somewhere to the left. "Does he look it?" He shoulders his way back into view, ignoring Sarielle's pointed glare. "Now if you'd prefer he lives, I suggest you move out of the way and let me finish."

She throws another glance at me before reluctantly obliging. "You better not be hurting him." Her voice cuts like a blade.

Snorting a laugh, he returns his hand to my chest. "If I wanted to do that, I'd have left him to die, wouldn't I? I just saved his life, so the least you could do is show a little gratitude."

He's trying to sound like he always has, but I notice the flicker in his eyes again, the uncertainty clouding them. Whatever he's doing, however, it is helping. It's easier to breathe now. The bitter taste at the back of my throat is less choking, retreating with every second.

Movement flashes in the corner of my eye as Sarielle stands. I catch the glint of her curved sword. "We need to get out of here."

He raises his head, then ducks it hurriedly, fingers twitching over my ribs. Pain ripples out from even the gentle touch. "I think it's a little late for that."

I realise what they mean a moment later. Rhythmic pounding vibrates from behind, soon joined by the sight of horses streaming in from either side. Dull panic squirms in the depths of my insides, worming its way up as my thoughts clear to make way for it. They form a tight circle around us. We're surrounded. The edges of forms blur, but I know that navy colour, the threat woven into it.

Fiesi mutters something under his breath, his eyes closing for a moment. "That'll have to do." Pulling back, he climbs to his feet, rocking unsteadily. From a distance, I might not have recognised him so quickly. He wears dusty grey, although blackened scorch marks eat up much of his torso, his sleeves shredded and burned away. The skin visible beneath is patched red. As he spins to face the soldiers closing in around us, his fists clench, the slightest tremors running up his arms.

What has occurred in the time I've been trapped? An entirely different entity seems to have possessed him. Or perhaps something has been stripped away. He looks smaller, somehow.

Why did he save me?

Stepping in beside him, Sarielle holds out a spear. With a jolt, I recognise it as the same one Fiesi plunged into my leg only yesterday. It's wiped clean of blood now.

"You dropped this," she says.

He takes it slowly, appearing startled. "Thanks."

Through the gap between them, I see a figure dismount from a sturdy black horse. His tunic is a shade darker than the others, almost matching his hair. Unlike the others, his sword is sheathed, still at his side as he takes a single pace across the narrow stretch of distance between us. Harlow. My panic spikes, a spooked animal straining against a leash. I sit up, then regret it immediately, fingers curling into the earth either side of me as I attempt to anchor myself in place. Harlow's form splits in two, then reforms as my dizziness subsides.

He holds out a hand. Perhaps a pacifying gesture, but I flinch, expecting the air to shimmer and sting with his twisting magic. "There's no need for us to fight," he calls, his voice carrying with ease as always. "Stand aside, and I can assure you that none of my soldiers will harm either of you."

"Couldn't we have started with that?" Fiesi shouts back. Sarielle shoots him a glare like thunder.

"How about you stand aside and I'll let you all live?" she growls. "No-one harms Nathan."

Harlow folds his arms. "You do realise Fiesi Kynig there has dedicated his life to seeing Noli dead?"

Fiesi stumbles as if punched in the stomach, almost tripping over. His fingers slide down his spear's shaft. At least Harlow has the ability to surprise him as well. He lifts his chin, blue fire crawling over his knuckles.

"You're outnumbered, girl." Harlow's gaze bores into her. "Give in. It would be a shame to watch another young soul die for no reason."

His tone itches under my skin, ill-sitting. Maybe it's that old sense, the faint impulse to accuse him of lying.

"That's if I lose." Her grip tightens around her hilt. The breeze tugs at wisps of her sun-coloured hair, lifting the curls almost ethereally. She's never looked stronger. I want to believe in her, to place all my faith in the determination carved into her posture, to trust that she can protect me against anything. But I've seen enough of the world to know better than that.

"Sarielle." The word is a rustle of dry leaves, the silent patter of snow. Taking in a careful breath, I pull myself up further, calling for any fragment of strength I have left. My reach scrapes over the edges of that cracked pit. Nothing. But I force out my voice anyway, wincing at its rasp. "Sarielle, no. You can't."

She turns, courage momentarily peeling away to reveal raw desperation. "I'm not leaving you again."

I shake my head, eyes stinging. "You can't die for me. I don't..." My voice breaks. I drag it back up. "I'm not worth that."

Her jaw sets. "Yes, you are."

"If I might interject this heartfelt exchange," Fiesi says, "we do have the minor issue of how exactly we plan on beating a dozen highly trained soldiers. I am rather fond of my life."

"I don't know," she snaps. "You're the one with magic powers. Can't you start another fire?"

"If you'd like me to kill us all, then sure, why not?"

"I'll give you the count of ten," Harlow says. "After that, we attack." He's stepping back, heading to his horse, reaching for the saddle.

"Ten!" someone else shouts, the soldier to his left, driving a sword forward through the air. "Nine!"

"I'm going to die," Fiesi mutters. "Stars, I'm going to die with a Cormé and the Anathe. You might as well stab me now."

"Eight!"

"Gladly." Sarielle straightens, turning her hilt over in her hand. "If you keep being so useless."

He whirls. "Am I seriously going to get no credit for saving Nathan's life?"

"You're the reason he needed saving in the first place!"

"Seven!" the soldier shouts. "Six!"

Wild, helpless adrenaline buzzes through my veins, twined with fear and horror and some frantic urge to fight. Fight or run, anything. I push to my feet, the ground swaying beneath me. Both Fiesi and Sarielle snap to look my way.

"Five!"

"Stay behind me," she says, edging closer. "I'll protect you."

But I can't protect her. This is my fault. She's going to die because I wasn't strong enough to defend myself.

"Four!"

"Here's an idea," Fiesi offers. "I don't want to surrender, but like I say, I rather like living, so--"

"We're not giving in," she grinds out. So sure, so unfaltering. That can't all be for me.

"Three!"

Harlow rights himself on the back of his horse. I can feel him watching me, waiting, trying to gauge my reaction. Taking a rocky step forward, I do my best to meet his eyes. They glow green even at this distance, painfully intense, as if they pierce beneath my skin and impale my thoughts.

He's not fazed at all. He's passively interested, content to observe. I've been trapped many a time in my life, but never before have I felt so exposed, my cage an arena on display for all to see.

He wants a show. Perhaps I should give him one. But not quite what he might be expecting.

"Two!"

I turn to Fiesi, hands outstretched to keep me steady. "Give me your spear."

It twitches closer to his chest. "What?"

"Give it to me." At least my scratching throat makes it easy to slide into a growl. A brief spark of fear lights his eyes, and faint pleasure spikes in my chest, no matter how wrong it is to feel. Even with my flame buried out of reach, I still have something left. It won't hurt to see Fiesi a little afraid after all the fear his shadow has chased me with.

He thrusts the spear towards me, and I snatch it up, running a thumb over its smooth shaft. Something similar almost choked me to death in Katamen. Perfect.

Looking up, I notice the soldier lean forward, grinning as he lifts his blade. "One."

Harlow prepares to call the command. Steeling myself with all the honed willpower I've always seen in Sarielle, letting the weight of a weapon in my hand temporarily cast aside my pain and carry me into boundless bravery, I step forward. "Wait!"

They all teeter, halted on the edge of a charge. Harlow nudges his horse a pace towards us. His expression hasn't changed.

I want to see it crack. Unwaveringly keeping my eyes on his, I wrap both hands around the spear, turning it inward, and rest its point over my heart.

"Don't come any closer." For once, my voice carries. Or maybe the silence is so thin that it needs very little to penetrate it. "Or there'll be nothing for you to fight over."

"No," Sarielle breathes from behind. She makes a grab for my arm, but I shirk away, turning my gaze on her. She shakes her head, something feral swirling in her eyes. Her knuckles are white as pearls where they curl over her sword hilt.

My fingers shake. Doubt, most likely, but it's effortless to slip from, a watery hold easily drowned in old memories and lurking thoughts. This is an urge that has simmered below the surface many a time, that has risen before, and I find no difficulty in calling it again. I'm sure of this, more than anything I've ever done. I'd rather die than have them imprison me, torture me, wait for me to break so they can reshape me into their blade. I'd rather die than let the people on either side of me die in my stead.

Perhaps I'd rather die than going on living like this at all. Better to become lost to the void than feel it ache with every breath.

"Noli," Harlow warns. I look back to him, stare level. "Don't be foolish. This is no solution."

"Yes, it is," I hiss. "Why don't you ask your soldiers? I'm sure they'd be delighted to see me dead."

His hand flicks up, fingers twitching, attempting to use his magic. It's useless. He can't stop me. I press the spearhead into my chest, just gently, letting it cut through the white material and form a dark bead of blood at its tip. I hardly feel the sting.

This is no idle threat. The longer he hesitates, the more the itch in my palms spreads, tension coiling in my wrists to push the spear deeper.

"Noli," he tries again, softer.

"My name is Nathaniel." I've never believed it more.

"Nathaniel," he says on a sigh, "when will you understand that I've no desire to hurt you?"

"That doesn't matter." I think of him shoving my flame into its pit, the emptiness, the writhing longing I can't control. "You've already hurt me. You can't get what you want without hurting me." My fingers shift over the wooden shaft. "If you were really my father, maybe you'd care about what I want."

"And what do you want?"

My breath catches with the instinctive answer. For this to be over. I cast a glance at the spear, then drift my gaze to Sarielle instead. Her fear, her wild eyes the colour of the winter sky. If I die, it will hurt her. If nothing else, I hold onto that.

"I don't want anyone else to get hurt," I say, pushing as much force into my voice as I can muster. "Not you, not them, not anyone. Especially not because of me."

A few bows are beginning to rise, hesitant arrows strung up and pointed vaguely in our direction. I don't bother to fully take them in. My stare is only for Harlow. He's always made it clear how much control he holds over these soldiers. At least now I'm showing him that he can't control me the same way.

He's unmoving on the back of his horse, steady, but I'm sure I catch something flicker through his expression. Unreadable, but there.

"Don't make me do it," I tell him. Not a plea. A warning.

His hand lowers to rest in amongst his horse's mane. His chin dips downwards the slightest amount, the barest twitch of defeat. "Stand down," he commands.

The bows retract instantly. The soldier to his left lowers his sword to hang limply at his side.

"Nathaniel, all I'm asking is that you consider your actions." His words are as rigid as they always are, but there's an edge to them, the way they stretch out towards me with more haste than is natural. My lips twitch. Good. "We could be happy, you and I. I can keep you safe. Can you say the same for the soldier girl? The friend who betrayed you?"

Perhaps he can. But I'm already shaking my head. "I'll never be safe. I don't care about that. I want to be free."

He holds my gaze. "Freedom doesn't exist in this world."

"It does if you make it." However false it is, I've found my own way. Maybe in running, or in fighting, the illusion of being free comes forth. Maybe I find it simply in my own choices. Right now, with only determination spurring me on, I've never felt more free.

"Let me go," I say. "Let Fiesi and Sarielle go. Attempt to harm them in any way, and I'll find a different way to be free."

His pause stretches out. My hands slide further up the spear, braced. I want to be free. I didn't know the weight of that desire until it tremors in my fingertips, ringing in my ears, ceaseless. It floods my thoughts. Nothing else can combat it.

Eventually, he breaks from my gaze. He looks tired, somehow, even more so than he did before. He looks beaten. His eyes drag back up as if the simple effort drains him. "You do understand that this doesn't end here."

I nod. It never ends. It won't, for as long as I'm alive. My fingers tense. I suck in a sharp breath, forcing them to relax. It might not end, but while I live, I can still do something. Fix past mistakes. Pay for my own survival with some semblance of goodness.

Harlow can continue to chase. The whole world can, if it wishes. I'm strong enough to keep running.

He lifts a hand. The point of the spear tweaks with my flinch, but all he does is incline his wrist, gesturing to the soldiers blocking our path to the right. Reluctance hangs heavy shadows over their faces, but they comply, urging their horses to retreat and open up a gap between them. Without hesitation, I stride towards it, letting my gaze flick to Harlow with every other step. He's watching me, too. Watching the spear. I don't remove it from its place over my heart. It might as well be pinned there, lashed with chains, every metallic glint of a weapon I catch sight of tugging at it with dangerous intent.

Sword drawn, Sarielle follows. Her eyes trace over every one of the soldiers, narrowed as if daring them to come any closer. By now, she's masked her fear, although it sparks with the swift glance she tosses my way.

Fiesi surpasses us, slipping through the gap first. So much emotion tangles into his shining blue eyes that it's difficult to pick out just one. Nervous fire skips between his fingers.

Never have such few paces felt like such a struggle. The soldiers on horseback either side flank us like statues, bearing down on us, so much wary hatred carved into their downturned gazes.

But they don't move. They can't, not while I hold control. I step out of Neyaibet's circled arena with the beginnings of a smile tugging at my lips.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

I just... please someone get my boy therapy ;-;

On another note, though, I do enjoy the dynamic of Nathan being angsty while Sarielle and Fiesi argue in the background. They're a great chaotic trio. I've been looking forward to finally seeing them all together :D

I'll just wait until I remember how to breathe again before I move on--

- Pup