The sun had already slipped beneath the horizon, leaving the sky brushed in fading orange that bled slowly into deepening indigo. The last warmth of daylight clung to broken stone and shattered walls, but the air itself had turned cool—quiet in a way that felt too deliberate, as though the ruined town were holding its breath.
Mr Alden broke that silence with a firm clap, the sound echoing faintly through empty streets. "The sun's down. Let's take a break and eat. We'll move out again tomorrow morning."
Relief moved through the group in small, unspoken ways—shoulders loosening, weapons lowered, breaths finally taken without urgency. Mr. Alaric and Mr. Felix nodded, already moving to organise the camp. Fires were lit; faint crackles rose as dry wood caught flame, and the smell of smoke curled into the night air. Supplies were unpacked and passed between hands. Some worked with practised efficiency, while others fumbled with knots and utensils, earning chuckles instead of criticism. The exhaustion of the day lingered in their limbs, but it didn't dull the sense of shared purpose. If anything, it made it steadier.
High above it all, Ronan lay stretched across a fractured rooftop, arms folded behind his head. The stone beneath him still held a trace of the day's heat, seeping faintly through his clothes. His gaze drifted upward, tracing the first stars as they emerged, one by one, in the vast dark.
Below him, the town lay in ruins—a story broken mid-sentence. Collapsed homes. Silent streets. Shadows pooled where life had once moved freely.
Not far from the firelight, Samantha and Sophia worked over a pot, steam rising in soft spirals. The scent of something warm and simple—broth, herbs, a hint of roasted grain—spread gently through the camp.
A short distance away, Lady Ishulane sat apart.
Her posture was composed, her breathing slow and even, but there was a stillness to her that didn't belong to rest. Her hands rested loosely in her lap, fingers unmoving. Her eyes, though open, seemed fixed on something far beyond the present—something no one else could see.
Mr Alden approached her with measured steps, hands clasped behind his back. He stopped just close enough to be heard without intruding.
"I'm sorry for Ronan's behaviour," he said quietly.
For a moment, she didn't respond. Then a brittle laugh slipped from her lips—thin, dry, like something worn down over time.
"It's fine."
The words landed without weight. They didn't convince anyone—not even her.
Silence followed. Not the comfortable kind.
After a few moments, Mr. Alden inclined his head slightly and stepped away, leaving her to the quiet she seemed to prefer… or perhaps the quiet she couldn't escape.
Darius approached next, his steps slower, more deliberate. He didn't sit immediately—just stood beside her, gaze lowered toward the firelight flickering over the ground.
"Don't hold resentment toward Ronan," he said at last.
Ishulane's eyes shifted, just slightly, acknowledging him without turning fully.
"He struggles with… things like this. Emotions. Comfort." Darius exhaled softly through his nose, as if weighing his words. "He didn't want us to use that blood drop. When we broke the seal… the voice from the audio said, 'We are now truly free.'"
The words seemed to linger in the air between them, heavy in a way the night couldn't disperse.
Darius' gaze darkened as he continued, quieter now. "Using his blood after hearing that… it felt wrong. Cruel." His fingers flexed once at his side. "If it hadn't been sealed inside that crystal… we would've burned it with the rest of their remains."
Ishulane's lashes lowered, a faint flicker passing through her expression—too subtle to name, but not absent.
"I hope you don't misunderstand him," Darius added.
He didn't wait for an answer. After a moment, he stepped back and moved away, settling a short distance from the others. He sat with his elbows resting on his knees, staring into nothing in particular, the firelight reflecting dimly in his eyes.
Samantha glanced toward the rooftop.
Ronan's silhouette was barely visible against the sky.
She picked up two bowls, the warmth seeping into her palms, and rose. "I'll talk to him."
The climb was familiar—broken ledges, half-collapsed beams, careful footing over unstable stone. By the time she reached the top, the sounds of the camp had softened into a distant murmur.
Ronan hadn't moved.
He lay as before, chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. Moonlight traced the line of his jaw, caught faintly in his hair.
"Asleep already?" Samantha murmured under her breath, a small smile tugging at her lips.
She set the bowls down beside him, the ceramic clicking softly against stone. A breeze swept across the rooftop, lifting a few strands of her hair across her face.
Something in her paused.
She leaned forward slightly, studying him. There was no tension in his body, no guarded sharpness—just stillness.
Carefully, she reached out.
Her fingers brushed his forehead.
And the world broke.
Heat slammed into her first—searing, suffocating. The smell followed: burning wood, charred flesh, iron-thick blood. Sound crashed in next—screams layered over screams, too many voices to separate, too much pain to process.
Her breath vanished.
She wasn't on the rooftop anymore.
She was standing in the middle of it.
Streets ran red beneath her feet, thick and slick. Bodies—no, people—collapsed where they had fallen. Children clung to lifeless hands, shaking them, calling names that would never be answered. A teenager threw himself forward, arms spread wide in front of someone smaller—only for steel to punch clean through him, the force lifting him off the ground.
Some didn't run.
Some simply knelt.
Arms open.
Whispers trembling as they welcomed death like an old acquaintance.
Samantha's stomach twisted violently. Her chest tightened until it felt like something inside might tear.
This wasn't a memory.
It was too vivid.
Too real.
The world through Ronan's eyes—his Keen Eye.
She yanked her hand back as if burned.
The rooftop snapped back into place.
Cold air rushed into her lungs in a broken gasp. Her hands trembled uncontrollably, fingers curling against her palms as though trying to hold onto something that had already slipped away.
Her gaze dropped to the ruined town below.
The same streets.
The same silence.
"What… the hell was that…?" The thought came unsteady, fragmented. "Those… those were the same things Lady Ishulane told us…"
Her pulse hadn't slowed when Ronan suddenly stirred.
Then—
He jolted upright.
His eyes snapped to hers, sharp, searching.
"Did you touch me?" His voice cut through the quiet. "Did you see it? The visions?"
Samantha blinked, forcing her expression into something steadier than she felt. "No," she said quickly, the word coming out smoother than expected. "No, of course not. I just brought food."
For a moment, he held her gaze, as if weighing something unspoken.
Then his eyes shifted to the bowls.
"I'm starving."
He grabbed one without hesitation, as though the interruption had been nothing. But a faint tension lingered in his shoulders.
He glanced at her again. "Have you eaten?"
"Not yet," she said, settling beside him. "One for you, one for me."
They ate in silence at first. The food was simple, but warm—grounding in a way neither of them acknowledged.
After a few bites, Samantha spoke, her voice softer now. "Ronan… you shouldn't have been so harsh with Lady Ishulane. She's just met people after who knows how many years of isolation."
Ronan exhaled through his nose, gaze dropping to his bowl. "If Oliver wasn't here, I might've convinced the others to give her the blood drop." He stirred the food absently. "But Flamecrest's already not on good terms with me. If I push it—and Oliver says something—it'll turn into a mess."
He paused, then added, quieter, "And I can't stay under your wing… or Ms. Amara's… forever."
Samantha tilted her head slightly. "So your solution was to cut her with words?"
A corner of his mouth lifted in a faint, crooked grin. "I heard Celestial beings feel less than others. Thought if she chose it herself, no one could argue." He shrugged lightly. "That was my way."
Samantha narrowed her eyes at him. "Still a bad way."
Ronan scoffed, shoving another spoonful into his mouth. "Yeah, yeah. Next time, I'll do better. And I'll apologise." He waved the spoon vaguely. "Later."
Samantha's lips curved. "That's my little brother."
He groaned immediately. "Don't call me little."
Her laughter came easily this time—clear, unrestrained. It cut through the lingering heaviness like a blade through fog.
For a few moments, things felt… lighter.
Then Ronan's voice shifted.
Quieter.
Rougher around the edges.
"I don't get it," he murmured, staring out over the ruins. "When people are alive, they're mocked, ignored… pushed aside." His fingers tightened slightly around the bowl. "But once they're dead… suddenly there's sympathy."
He let out a slow breath.
"Why? Why do people only care when it's too late?"
Samantha didn't answer immediately. She watched him instead—the tension in his jaw, the way his gaze didn't quite settle anywhere.
"Because it's easier," she said finally. "It's easier to mourn a story that's already ended than to struggle through one that's still being written." She drew one knee up, resting her arm over it. "The dead can be simplified—hero, victim, tragedy. The living… they're complicated. Messy."
Her voice softened.
"We fail people when they're alive. So we try to make up for it after they're gone."
Ronan's expression darkened, something restless flickering beneath the surface. "That's not fair." His voice sharpened. "Nobles treat commoners like they're nothing. Then, when those same people die suffering, they whisper about 'cruel fate' like they had nothing to do with it."
His gaze lifted to the sky, but there was no calm in it.
"Why can't we just see everyone the same? Why is everything already decided for some… while others don't even get a chance?"
A voice answered from below.
"Because fairness has never been a law of this world."
They both turned.
Ishulane stepped into view, her movements quiet enough that neither had sensed her approach. Moonlight traced along her figure as she reached the rooftop and sat beside them, composed, her presence carrying a still weight.
"I've seen empires rise and fall," she said, her voice low, steady. "Heard countless promises of equality. Most of them ended the same way."
Her gaze drifted upward, reflecting faint starlight.
"Some destinies are forged in fire. Others are wrapped in silk. Fate itself does not choose between them—it only watches." Her lips pressed together faintly. "The cruelty comes from those who claim their place is ordained."
She folded her hands in her lap.
"You ask why we cannot see each other equally? Because too many hearts are too small. And too many minds are taught to measure worth by name… not soul."
The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of smoke from below.
"The world did not create the idea of equality," she continued. "We did. It is something we reach for—because without it, the imbalance is unbearable." Her eyes darkened slightly. "But the world follows a far older rule. Survival. Adaptation. Strength."
Her gaze returned to Ronan.
"Equality comforts the weak. It offers hope of a life not crushed under others. But to the powerful… it is a threat. It asks them to relinquish what they've built, to stand as equals instead of rulers."
A faint pause.
"And most will never choose that willingly."
Silence settled between them, heavier now—but clearer.
"In a just world, equality would not be a dream," Ishulane said more quietly. "But this world has never been just." Her expression softened, just a fraction. "So we choose how we walk through it. Whether we protect that dream… or become another weight crushing it."
She looked at Ronan, something gentler flickering through her gaze.
"There are still those who try. Rare, but real." Her voice lowered. "Do not lose yourself chasing answers that cannot be resolved all at once. You will see more cruelty as you grow… but you will also see kindness."
Ronan didn't respond immediately.
He leaned back on his elbows, staring up at the sky. The stars seemed sharper now, too numerous to count, stretching endlessly beyond him.
Her words—Samantha's too—echoed through him, layering over each other, pulling at thoughts he hadn't fully formed before. It felt like trying to hold water in his hands, like standing in the middle of a storm and trying to drink from it.
Something in his chest shifted.
Not anger.
Something heavier.
Something that settled deeper.
Then—
He frowned suddenly, pushing himself up.
"Wait a second…"
His gaze swept the area sharply. "Wait—how did you get here without us noticing? My perception skill was active the whole time."
Ishulane's lips curved faintly. "Why?" she asked lightly. "Do you want to learn how I did it?"
Ronan's eyes lit up almost instantly. "Yes!"
The excitement flickered—then dimmed just as quickly. He studied her for a moment, something more grounded returning to his expression.
"…Later," he said. "After you've fully recovered."
She inclined her head. "As you wish."
A brief pause passed before her eyes sharpened slightly, curiosity threading through her tone. "Tell me… did you use it?"
Ronan stilled.
For a heartbeat, his gaze shifted—just barely—toward Samantha, then away again.
Silence stretched.
Then he exhaled slowly and lifted a hand to his forehead.
A flicker of azure light stirred.
It slipped free like a breath given form—a small, flame-like wisp, hovering above his palm. It pulsed faintly, its glow soft but steady, like the last ember of a dying star.
He extended his hand toward Ishulane.
"Find a quiet place," he said quietly. "And talk to him."
Her eyes widened. Her hands came up instinctively, catching the wisp as though it might vanish if she hesitated. The blue light reflected in her gaze, trembling.
Her lips parted, but no words came.
Only a small, unsteady breath.
She nodded.
Once.
Then turned, moving away across the rooftops, her steps quicker now—drawn by something only she could feel.
Samantha watched her go, then tilted her head slightly. "What was that?" she asked. "What was she talking about?"
Ronan rubbed the back of his neck, a faint shiver running through him. "Nothing. Nothing."
She didn't look convinced.
He let out a quiet breath, shoulders easing. A small smile touched his lips. "I'll tell you after we get back."
Samantha studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. But what did you give her?"
Ronan's gaze drifted away, toward the horizon where darkness had fully settled.
"That blood…" he said, voice lower now, "contained a fragment of a soul. The voice we heard." His fingers curled slightly. "I felt… bad for him."
He exhaled.
"So I took it out. Before anyone else could decide what to do with it."
Samantha's expression softened, something warm replacing the earlier tension. A quiet smile spread across her face.
"After all," she said gently, nudging his shoulder, "my little brother is kind."
Ronan's scowl returned on instinct. "No, I'm not. And stop calling me little."
Her laughter followed immediately—light, unburdened, echoing softly into the night.
And this time, the silence that came after didn't feel quite so heavy.