The fog in Takoba tasted like soot.
As Aaron stepped onto the uneven stones of his old city, memories clawed their way back—nights he slept beneath broken balconies, days spent begging for stale bread. Now, with Kain silently walking beside him and a concealed dagger tucked beneath his coat, he felt like a stranger in a life he once knew too well.
But Takoba hadn't changed.
The lamps still flickered weakly behind cracked glass. The gutters still flowed with more sorrow than rain. And the faces—hardened by poverty, suspicion, and silence—watched every newcomer like a threat.
Kain stopped near a collapsed fountain at the center of a half-burned plaza.
"This is where the fire happened," he said.
Aaron looked around. Black scorch marks veined the cobblestones like spider cracks. A fruit stand lay in ruins, and the bricks of a nearby shopfront had melted into each other—heat so unnatural, it had fused stone.
"No normal flame did this," Aaron murmured.
"Correct," Kain replied. "And according to the scout, the fire came from a child. Couldn't have been more than ten years old."
Aaron's throat tightened. "Alone?"
Kain nodded. "Like you were."
---
They spent the next hour combing through the area, speaking to vendors, children, vagabonds. Most were too afraid to say anything—others just pretended they hadn't seen a thing.
Then, as twilight settled in and the wind grew colder, Aaron noticed movement between the shadows of a crumbling inn.
A child.
Small. Dirty. Hunched near the remains of a broken doorframe, drawing something in the ash with a stick.
Aaron approached slowly.
The child looked up.
And for a moment, the world held its breath.
Sky-colored eyes.
Not like Aaron's exactly—but similar. Faded, almost translucent, like clouds reflecting water. And beneath the grime, a spark glowed faintly across the child's palm.
Aaron crouched down. "Hi."
The child stared at him, silent.
"I'm not here to hurt you," Aaron continued gently. "My name is Aaron. What's yours?"
The child didn't respond—but the ash drawing became clearer: a symbol. One Aaron had seen before.
The glyph from the chamber beyond the blue door.
Aaron reached forward, pointing. "You've seen this before?"
The child nodded—once.
Kain appeared beside them. "We need to move. Quickly. Someone's watching."
Aaron turned sharply. "Who?"
Kain's eyes swept the rooftops. "Don't know yet. But we're not the only ones who felt that flare."
Aaron looked back at the child. "Will you come with us?"
The child hesitated—then reached out and grabbed Aaron's hand.
A jolt passed between them. Heat, light, and... recognition. As if a piece of a puzzle had found its match.
Aaron gasped, nearly falling over. But he held the child close and rose to his feet.
"We're taking them back," he said to Kain.
But Kain was already moving.
Behind them, a flicker of silver steel glinted in the dark—then another.
Shadows poured into the plaza, silent and swift.
Figures in hooded gray robes marked with a circle of thorns.
"Skyborn confirmed," one hissed. "Recover or eliminate."
Aaron turned, shielding the child.
Kain drew his blade. "We've got company."