The dream came like a tide, heavy and red. It began with smoke, and then came the thunder: a kind of sound that split the air apart and left nothing but echoes behind. Aros saw bodies flying, limbs twisting midair, the ground painted with a color that refused to fade. He didn't remember names anymore; only faces. Faces that shouted at him as the fire spread and swallowed everything.
Assassin. Monster. Demon.
He tried to move, but the earth dissolved under his feet, and when he reached for his weapon, his hand found only air.
A sharp crack tore through the dream, the unmistakable sound of wood snapping. and he woke. For a moment, the line between past and present blurred; the smell of blood still clung to his memory, and the heat of fire still pulsed behind his eyes. Then the sound returned to its real source: the slow drip of rain outside, the faint whisper of breath nearby.
Talon stood at the doorway, a metal tray balanced in his hands. The faint light of dawn cut through the cracked ceiling, catching on the thin trail of steam that rose from what he carried. The smell of roasted meat drifted across the room, sharp and slightly sweet. Behind him, Gemma was already awake, sitting quietly with her knees drawn to her chest, watching with an expression halfway between suspicion and hunger.
"Breakfast," said Talon, his voice soft, almost amused, as if the word itself could pretend away the ruin around them.
Aros rubbed his face, still half trapped in the fog of his dream. "You kill it yourself?"
Talon's smile was small but sincere. "A man shouldn't ask questions when he's hungry." He crouched, offering the tray to Gemma. She hesitated for a heartbeat, then took a piece and began to eat in silence.
Aros stared at it for a long moment. He still had some nuts and water stored in his pack, but the road ahead would demand more than that. Reluctantly, he reached out and tore off a small strip. It was tough, salted, and cold, but it filled his mouth with a taste that reminded him too much of forgotten camps and winter marches.
Talon seemed pleased. "See? Still human."
They ate in silence, the rain outside thinning into a pale mist. When the last piece was gone, Talon rose and brushed his hands against his robe. "Come inside when you're ready. We have things to arrange." Then he turned and disappeared through the doorway, his footsteps fading into the echoing nave of the church.
Gemma looked at Aros with a small, teasing smile. "You don't trust him, but you still ate his food."
"Starvation's more persuasive than honesty," Aros replied dryly. He stood, tightening his coat. "Just remember what I told you. Trust is what gets people killed."
Gemma's smile faded, though her tone remained calm. "You think everyone's dangerous."
"I think danger's the only honest thing left."
Inside the church, the morning light filtered through the broken stained glass, scattering colorless reflections on the stone floor. Broko and Diana were awake already, sorting supplies beside a cracked column, their laughter soft and easy, as if they had long since made peace with the world's absurdity. The air smelled of damp ash and iron, faintly warmed by the candles burning low near the altar.
Talon was waiting there, standing with his hands folded behind his back. His robe hung unevenly, as though he'd dressed without a mirror. "Good. You're awake," he said. "You'll be leaving soon, so I'd like you to meet your companions again."
He gestured toward Broko and Diana, who straightened with a grin. Gemma greeted them with quiet warmth, and they responded with nods that carried genuine fondness. Aros only returned a glance, guarded but polite.
Talon's tone softened. "They'll go with you — along with Candriela."
At the mention of the name, Broko and Diana exchanged a quick, almost invisible look. Aros caught it and said nothing.
Talon ignored it. "I won't be joining you. There's too much work to be done here, and the rebellion needs a voice it can see. But you can trust them. They're rough around the edges, yet loyal enough to bleed for the cause."
"Trust is expensive these days," Aros muttered.
Talon smiled faintly. "Then pay it slowly." His attention shifted to Gemma. "Before you go, I'd like to know what it is you seek. So we can make sure you reach it alive."
Gemma hesitated, her eyes lowering for a moment. "It's… something I need to find in Bondrea."
"What kind of something?"
She opened her mouth, but Aros interrupted her with a quiet, steady tone. "She'll tell you when she's ready."
Talon studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Fair enough."
They began to pack. Broko and Diana filled their satchels, securing straps and checking the rifles they carried with a mix of routine and resignation. Gemma folded her cloak carefully and slipped her small compass into the inner pocket, the one that hadn't pointed true in weeks.
"You need to be careful," Aros said under his breath.
She didn't look at him. "Of what?"
"Of them. Of anyone. Of what you are."
Gemma sighed, tired rather than angry. "It's my problem."
"It becomes mine when it gets us killed."
She finally met his gaze, her eyes sharp. "You'll see. The world isn't as broken as you think."
He almost smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'd rather be wrong."
Broko appeared at the door, tightening his cloak against the wind. "Ready when you are."
Diana slung her rifle over her shoulder and nodded toward the entrance. "Candriela's waiting outside."
Aros frowned. "Where?"
A voice like gravel spoke before either could answer. "Here."
She emerged from the shadow of the archway: towering, broad-shouldered, her head nearly brushing the frame. Her skin bore the marks of countless wounds, long pale scars crossing her arms and back like rivers. Her hair was cropped short, streaked with silver, and her eyes carried the stillness of someone who had already lost everything worth fearing.
She didn't wait for introductions. "Move," she said, and turned toward the open road without looking back.
The others followed in silence. Aros took one last look at the church, its broken glass, its smoke-stained altar, the echo of voices that had once believed. Then he tightened his cloak, stepped into the cold light of morning, and walked after them.
He didn't need to ask who she was.He already knew.
Candriela.
And the road to Bondrea had begun.