Kalian stuck close to Commander Lev as they worked their way towards a Witch camp, several miles north of Selcouth. Scouts had reported the camp's position and claimed that the Witches in it were young and inexperienced, making it easy to raid. Kalian had done his best to persuade Moira to leave it alone, but with Lir and Malachi looming behind him, he hadn't been able to say much.

Not that it would've made a difference anyway. Commander Lev only spared children, and these Witches were young women. Kalian curled his nails into his palms and tucked his wings closer to his back. He had tried to find that young Witch from Selcouth again, hoping she could deliver a warning to her sisters.

All Witches possessed the ability to communicate telepathically with one another. They claimed it was something about the wind, carrying their voices to any corner of the world, or where they willed it. Kalian didn't truly understand it, but he never questioned it either. And sadly, he was unable to find the Witch, or another of their kind before Moira gave the order to set out.

Kalian glanced at Moira from the corner of his eye. Her mouth was set in a thin line and there was a steely gleam in her burning gaze. There was no trace of the woman he'd danced with yesterday. No sign of the sorrow and affection with which she'd spoken of her sisters, her parents, and her fiancé. No sign of the sad, lonely female who was locked away beneath the fiery, bitter mask of Commander Moira Lev.

"Stop looking at me," Moira murmured, keeping her gaze fixed on the camp up ahead.

Kalian averted his eyes and slowed his pace until he was in line with Bellamy. "I'd much rather be in town again tonight," Bellamy whispered. "It'd be more fun than butchering a group of Witches."

"Agreed."

"You were barely at the tavern. Where did you go?"

"I..." Kalian quickly wove a response. "I was out dancing." It wasn't a lie, even if it wasn't the whole truth.

"Oh?" Bellamy elbowed him with a wink. "Was your partner pretty?"

"Beautiful." No other word could describe Moira Lev, and if she possessed the unnatural beauty of his kind, she would be devastating.

"So how did it go? Are you going to see her again? Did she invite you home? Did you tell her you were sorry to disappoint, but your heart was already stolen by the devilish Bellamy Rame?"

"Will you shut up?" Malachi grunted from behind them. "They'll hear us coming."

"You didn't even hear what I said," Bellamy retorted.

"I heard enough."

Kalian narrowed his eyes, shooting Malachi a warning look. The man ignored him, and Bellamy fell silent with a disgruntled huff. Moira raised a closed fist and the group halted. She pointed in two opposite directions next, before spreading her palm wide and clenching her fist again. Kalian recognized the signals by now. She wanted the group to split up and surround the camp on opposite sides, then attack simultaneously.

Moira glanced over her shoulder, catching his eye. She jerked her chin and Kalian crept over to her. "You're with me," she said quietly. "Lir and Malachi will take the other group." Lir was already moving into position, beckoning for Malachi to follow him.

The members of the unit divided themselves evenly and set off. Kalian slid down a grassy slope without even a whisper of sound. Moira followed him and crouched low once she reached the bottom. They inched their way towards the Witch camp, keeping their heads below the heather that was in full bloom. Kalian peered over it just long enough to gauge the position of the other group.

The faint rustle of bowstrings being drawn reached his ears. Kalian turned. Several archers pointed their bows skyward. At that angle, Kalian knew they'd hit the camp and the Witches therein with deadly precision. Moira drew her iron sword. Kalian's blood hummed a warning at the proximity of the blade. He unsheathed Asar and held her gaze.

"Light the arrows," Moira ordered.

Now, he noticed the rounded ends on the arrows, in lue of arrowheads. The reek of oil clung to them. Fire. They were using fire again. Sparks flew as flints struck steel. Flames licked at the arrows, forming lethal balls of light. Bowstrings twanged, launching the arrows. Kalian forced himself to his feet as Commander Lev burst into action.

They stormed the camp, weapons flashing in the light as tents erupted into flames. Witches came streaming into the open, sobbing with fear and pain. Green magic swirled through the air as they tried to staunch the flames and defend themselves. Kalian found himself frozen in place. None of these Witches could be older than eighteen.

"You!"

Kalian whirled, coming face to face with the young Witch he'd met in Selcouth. Her skin was streaked with soot and half of her face was covered with wicked bloody burns. There was nothing but a gaping hole where her eye had been. Tears dribbled from the other one.

"You're one of them," the Witch whispered. "You're..." Her features shifted to confusion. "Your wings. I swear you had wings."

"Run," Kalian urged. "Run."

"Traitor!" She shrieked. The girl lunged at him, clawing at his face with her nails and crying incantations.

Kalian ducked beneath her outstretched arms and whirled behind her, landing a solid kick to her back. She stumbled forward. "I'm not a traitor," Kalian whispered. "You have no idea what's happening here. Go, now."

The Witch watched him, as though contemplating attacking again. She lowered her hands and backed away. Kalian couldn't stop staring at her burns. Calandra's ravaged face flashed before his eyes. He couldn't do this. He couldn't be here. Smoke curled in the air, smothering his every breath. Screams rang through his ears, ending in choked gasps.

"Deirdre, move!" Malachi hollered.

He barreled into Kalian, driving his shoulder into his chest. Kalian hit the ground and his wings folded beneath him, sending sharp pain jolting down his spine and through his shoulder blades. A blast of green magic sailed overhead. A loud crack resonated as it made contact with a wooden beam.

"What the hell are you doing?" Malachi demanded. "Focus. We have a job to do!"

"Then do it," Bellamy interrupted, appearing beside Kalian. "I'll take care of him." He grabbed Kalian by the arm and hauled him to his feet, glaring at Malachi all the while. Malachi spat at their boots and dashed after another Witch. "You all right, Kal? Did that Witch cast a spell on you or something?"

Kalian couldn't make himself respond. He closed his eyes and threw a shield around himself, attempting to muffle the sounds that buffeted him. Kalian tried to lift his wings. White spots danced in his vision and he snapped his eyes open. "Fuck," Kalian rasped, dropping to his knees.

"Kal? What is it?" Bellamy followed him down, keeping an eye on their surroundings.

Kalian shifted farther away as Bellamy reached for his shoulder. He ground his teeth against the blinding pain lancing his spine. He'd landed on his wings wrong when Malachi knocked him over. There was no mistaking that.

"My back," he panted, feeling Bellamy's intent stare. "My back and shoulders are on fire." Bellamy reached for him. "Don't touch me." The man paused. "I'll be fine. I just..."

Kalian gulped, his eyes locking on a burning hut before them. It was only partially constructed, but its use was evident. It had been a home. There was a flaming cradle in an exposed corner of the crumbling building. The Witches had been trying to build a permanent settlement. One of them had a baby, or was soon expecting one. Someone might've been calling his name, but Kalian couldn't hear them over the roaring blood in his ears.

He needed to ground himself before he drifted too far. Before his memories overwhelmed him and he lost control. He needed that icy mask that had kept him alive for the past two years, but he couldn't find it. Only an overflowing sea of pain and memories. Calandra's bloodied face. Yara's teary eyes. Their home burning around them. Blood gushing from his wrists.

He scented caramel amidst the smoke. "Kalian." A brown hand touched his shoulder. He blinked, realizing that Moira was kneeling in front of him. "It's over."

"I think one of them spelled him or something," Bellamy said.

Moira didn't break her gaze from his. "Take him to Samson then. He'll know what to do."

"I don't need a healer," Kalian said, his voice little more than a push of breath. He rubbed his thumb over one of his scarred wrists.

"You're going anyway." Moira lowered her voice until it was just as quiet as his. "Go with Bellamy. We will discuss this...episode, later."

"There's nothing to discuss."

"Bullshit." He drew in a deep breath and tears stung his eyes. Moira squeezed his shoulder. "Take him."

Kalian didn't protest as Bellamy helped him up once more and led him out of the burning camp. "Are you all right?" Bellamy asked.

Kalian's wings dragged on the grass, but he had enough sense to muffle the sound using magic. He didn't dare try to heal himself though. Wings were incredibly complex, especially when it came to the muscles that helped them move. Odds were, he'd end up making his injury worse.

"I'll be fine," Kalian said presently.

"What happened back there?" He didn't answer. "Does it have something to do with your wife and daughter?" Kalian merely blinked his confirmation. Bellamy sighed. "I know you said you don't like to talk about it, but if you ever need to, I'll listen."

"Thanks," Kalian replied. They made their way back to their own camp in silence.

☽◦༻◦☽◦༺◦☽

"He just stood there like some drooling idiot. He nearly got himself killed and I wish I'd let him," Malachi spat.

"It was a trauma response," Moira explained. "He had no control over himself."

Lir folded his arms across his chest with a sigh. "That makes him a liability. What if it happened during some important assignment and wound up getting him and others killed?"

"Tell him to leave and be done with the matter. I've never liked him from the beginning, and I certainly don't like him now!" Malachi's words oozed with malice.

"Kalian is a good soldier. We need his experience," Moira protested. "I'll talk to him. It won't happen again."

"Why are you so quick to defend him, Commander? If anyone else had done this, they'd already be gone." Moira stiffened and Malachi's lips parted in a sneer. "Maybe the rumors are true and you've adopted Deirdre as your lover. Did he fuck you nice and good while the rest of us were on our way to Selcouth? What would your dear departed Damian think? What about..."

Moira's fist collided with his jaw. Malachi sprawled on the ground, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. "I am your Commander and you would do well to remember that!" Moira seethed. "If I hear another word like that out you, I'll dump your desecrated carcass into the sea myself!" Malachi picked himself up and walked away without a response. Moira faced Lir.

"Talk to Deirdre. Make sure he can handle himself in the future," Lir said. "But if he can't, you'll have to consider what Malachi said."

"The part where he called Kalian my lover and practically accused me of being an unfaithful whore?" Moira hissed.

Lir shook his head. "The part about asking Deirdre to leave. I know you two have begun to develop an understanding, but if Kalian is a threat to our work in any way..."

"I know." Moira swallowed the last of her anger. "I'll talk to him."

"Good." Lir stepped past her, then paused. "And you know, you aren't being unfaithful to Damian if you choose to move on. It's been seven years, hasn't it?"

"Keep an eye on Malachi," Moira ordered, not responding to his statement. "I don't want him bothering Kalian before I have a chance to talk to him. And make sure that bastard understands what will happen if he brings up my history again. He was never supposed to learn it, and if he breathes a word of it to anyone without my permission..."

"I'll let him look at those new knives the Valenicans developed specifically for removing tongues," Lir promised, a hint of amusement in his voice. His footsteps receded, and Moira released a pent up breath. She would talk to Kalian soon. First, she had other work to do.