Arego, a village once full of hope and life, is nothing more than empty stone buildings melting into the crisp ocean breeze. The wind cuts through the streets that Renit walks through, viewing the destruction he caused along with a group of other witches. At the time, he hadn't cared what would happen to the village. Viewing it now, Renit realizes every mistake he's ever made.

He swallows, and that sound alone seems to ricochet in the silence. His stomach twists itself into knots as he passes every stone building that is now charred and ruined because of what he did. Leaning down to brush his fingers against a crack in the middle of the street, Renit realizes this is where he tried to kill her. It had been a split-second decision once his power caught wind of where she was. Out of the rage he felt for this mission, scheduled around the time he planned to mourn Darlene, he wanted to kill her.

The village is nothing more than a wasteland. Some buildings are charred to ash, the wooden structures constructed by her father's hands. A man Renit never got the chance to appreciate, considering he played a major role in getting him killed. That's the only thing he can't give back to Roux, the lives of her parents.

Even when he was a prince, underneath the protection of his father with as much money as the castle riches would allow, Renit couldn't bring them back. With every second, his extended reach towards her slowly slips farther and farther away until she's merely a shadow in his thoughts.

His power, not open to being used in such an empty place, comes to life in his palm. An emptiness surrounds the lightning, as if that, too, is searching for Roux. But she won't be there, not anytime soon, so Renit pulls a secure lid over his power to ignore the longing they both share. Apparently, their powers became as intertwined as their souls.

A flicker of that power remains without Renit's control. It results from his Outbursts, a fickle occurrence in witches that won't go away until a proper Grounding has settled and two witches practice the process of connecting those two powers together. They never got the chance to do so.

His power sparks to life in his palm once more, but it doesn't remain with the banished prince. Instead, it flutters forward, sparks leaking into the street and heading in a direction of their own. Renit furrows his brows as he watches his power take shape, a manifest of white sparks vibrating in a sphere, leaking lightning from the very surface.

It's searching for something. Roux. This time, he forces a stronger lid on his power and it disappears as his annoyance rises. There's nothing he can do. He should've been there for her.

Renit's power rages inside his chest, demanding a release, but he clenches his fists tightly into his palm, nails digging into his skin. All he can hope is that Silas is looking over her now, she appears to be well enough after their brief encounter in the slums.

It had tempted him to snatch her right there, but the expression of demise in her eyes prevented him from moving. There is nothing left of the witch he grew to care for, couldn't find a single thing. And when she came at him with a sword, nothing but pure determination clouding her every move, Renit knew he had to leave.

Roux had seen him though. Had realized he was still alive. And it's likely she crafted a search team of her own to cut him down, whether or not in the capital. That's why he came here, to a place she would never think of checking. Somewhere, deep in her heart, she doesn't want to return to the village he demolished. Part of her is still healing from watching her home go up in flames.

While scouring the outskirts of the village, Renit stops in an alleyway upon spotting a white piece of parchment. Half of it is submerged in water from previous storms, and the rest is flimsy from the salted, ocean air. The banished prince, trying to find anything in his life worth meaning, releases a shuddered breath as he realizes what he holds.

Somewhere in this village, Roux's home is still somewhat intact. Evident so as in his hands, he holds the last true piece of her. A drawing she had done of herself with a piece of coal, rough around the edges, but her all the same. Renit runs his fingers over the surface of her face, of the hard line in her frown, the glistening in her eyes.

She...she didn't draw herself as beautiful as she is. There's a lost resemblance in her gaze as if she's longing for something more. Freedom. She always wanted freedom.

Renit realizes he never got to witness her drawing—the lightness of her fingers, the swift move of her arm as she explored the page. They had been too busy, Renit never found the time with one thing right after the other; whether it be his father or his own twisted troubles. Those months they spent together, he could have asked her if she wanted to draw; if she needed the supplies...he never even thought about it.

Swallowing down that rising anger in his throat, Renit folds the paper in half and gently places it in his satchel so the spare tunic doesn't crush it. The only belonging he grabbed before spotting Roux in the streets again, bored with Binx's lecture.

Her home has to be around here somewhere. If her drawings weren't burnt to ash by the fire, at least some of where she lived has to be intact. There are few cottages that can say they withstood the test of fire, but Renit starts there, searching through their interiors and taking things along the way. There isn't much, someone came through after the attack and claimed most of the items for themselves, even if their owners were still alive.

Renit doesn't take much; a pair of boots stuffed into a cupboard, a green tunic balled in the corner of a closet, a bottle of liquor on a bedside table. It's not until he reaches a two-story cottage, half-charred with the second floor intact, that Renit feels a tug towards it. As if his power recognizes a familiar presence, or her ghost, and telling him to go there.

Someone has removed the door from its hinges, and as Renit steps into the home, over the charred pieces of wood and into the entryway, he feels as if he knows the place, too. It opens a hole in his stomach, a tightening in his chest, as his boots crunch over the many remnants of Roux's home.

For the most part, the dining table survived, but everything else is gone. The kitchen, the sofas in the living room, and the fireplace that Roux used to sleep in front of. In the corner, the remnants of a charred blanket remain from when it was balled up. Ashes sit beside it, likely from a pillow. Renit smiles to himself as he remembers her first few days in the castle, unable to sleep in one of the most comfortable bed the kingdom could provide.

A witch of water must have gone through the exertion of extinguishing the remainder of the cottages once the founding family was taken. Once they lost all hope, assuming they would not rebuild. This village had to survive one way or the other, and it wasn't at the expense of luck, Renit realizes, it was due to the generosity of the people willing to save something that no one would return to. The house waited for its family, doors, and windows open, but never greeted the Aimrey family. Two out of the four—dead. One—lost.

The stone staircase is intact and the loose stone crunches underneath Renit's boots as he takes careful steps, running his hand along the wall. Something tells him to do so. The gesture feels familiar, a phantom hand guiding him towards the lone spot in the wall, smooth and cold underneath his touch.

Two doors are closed on the second floor as if no one bothered touching this place. The dead souls returning to this place respected the privacy of the founding family by not stealing their belongings.

She's in there, Renit's power whispers. The banished prince is aware of her presence, knows she won't be there, yet a longing in his heart hopes to see her face on the other side of the door. Metal is cold in his palm as he turns the knob, the door creaking on its hinges and Renit peers into the room.

As if he stepped into a time capsule, everything is the same. The bedding over the mattresses, the trinkets on the bedside table, Celestine's desk shoved in the corner. Renit bends down and picks up the pieces of parchment that fell from their secure place on the wall. Strong winds rushing in through the open window likely caused them to lose their strength.

Roux's bed creaks as he sits on the edge, looking through the drawings. One of her mother, father, Celestine, and...Bren. The family she created and the people she cared about—ruined. He reaches over and searches her pencil cup, finding pieces of coal and wooden sticks she used to create that artwork.

Everything of her is here, yet the room is empty. Her soul has departed.

He can't bring himself to look any further. Renit tugs the bottle of liquor from his satchel and pops the lid, preparing to drown his sorrows. Crossing his legs one over the other, he leans his head back against Roux's headboard and takes a swig. The liquor has a bite to it, exactly what he was looking for, and in the depth of his despair, he forces another drink followed by another. The quicker he drinks, the quicker he won't feel any pain.

As he brings the bottle to his lips once more, preparing to not only drown his sorrows but knock himself out completely, he hears it. Voices.