Bright red had softened into a comforting orange, the powerful flames lessening in strength as Light passed by. Compared to the Light before, this one was more beautiful. Black clouds no longer covered the stunning gold that painted the sky. Beautiful and deadly, Orlin thought.
Just like Cassian, he could not forgive what had happened in the early fire, the scene still moving in his head, leaving him with a sickened body. We didn't lose anything, for we didn't hold it to begin with, Cassian had said—or something close to it. Orlin could not remember the exact words.
Yet he could not help but wonder what the ability had been. A unique ability, something only one person could wield. Unlike strength or elemental gifts, unique abilities were extremely rare—rarer than precious gems or gold.
Why was he so angry about losing it, though? Orlin could not say. Still, he had wanted it, wanted the ability wielded by himself, to grow in strength and become a fearless knight, to make proud his long-gone grandmother, who had given her final cycles to raise him.
Stupid thing, he thought. He could not wield something like a unique ability. I am a mutant—it's impossible.
Cassian. Orlin remembered—he was a mutant too. Golden eyes stared back at him in memory.
How had he done it?
Cassian seemed strange to Orlin. Pale skin like a corpse, when normally people bore grey skin. White hair despite his youth. And in the Darkness, something Orlin had not noticed before—Cassian also had streaks of red in his hair.
Was he even human? He was a mutant, so no—no human.
Orlin decided he needed fresh air. The house he was in, the stench of the dead man's blood, was driving his thoughts wild. Outside was no better. The main road of the village was black with blood, and the only sounds were those of men ransacking houses, laughing and drinking.
Orlin walked to the hold of trees just beyond the village, hoping to rest beneath one of them. The ground was still muddy, clinging to his boots, until he found a tree with a thick trunk and climbed it.
The houses below looked old and unkempt. The people who had lived in them must have been extremely poor—though now, everyone was poor. War was never kind to the common folk.
"Fancy seeing you here," said a familiar voice from above.
Orlin looked up. Cassian was sitting there, his sword resting on his stomach—and worst of all, smiling, something Orlin had thought impossible with how little he knew of him.
"Funny seeing you here," Orlin answered. Cassian chuckled.
He's a different person, Orlin thought.
"Is something wrong?" Cassian asked. "Your face is twitching like you've seen your killer."
"Aye. I was thinking I had died—or maybe someone with a unique ability swapped bodies with you," Orlin replied. "Are you doing alright? You seem… different."
"I am," Cassian said, staring into the distance, his face barely visible beneath his long white hair. "I'm a mutant, remember? Of course I would act differently. I'm just like you."
"That's a bloody lie," Orlin said. "You have a unique ability. Mutants can't inherit unique abilities."
"Then I'm more special—what about that?" Cassian laughed, sounding like a boy his age. The cold, detached man Orlin had met in the Darkness felt like a shadow left behind.
Orlin said nothing and gazed at the view before him. The horizon was a maze of green and brown. It was easy to get lost in the Tall Forest, which made Rama—the man he had met earlier—all the more impressive. A few glances at the map he always carried had been enough to guide them here to meet the others.
Then Orlin heard a low tune from above.
Cassian was singing.
"Promise you will never forget, never forget, never forget—because if you do, Cele will bite your toe."
"I've never heard that one," Orlin said.
"Of course not," Cassian replied, smiling from ear to ear. "One of my friends made it. A gift she left for me—though, truth be told, I added the last part."
"And where is she now?" Orlin asked.
"Dead," Cassian said. "Burned to a crisp by Bright Red. Have you heard what happened in the Greenwoods? The dragon nearly killed all of us. Altus, Ezo, and I were among the few survivors. We were knighted by Lord Tomas Aiza—unfortunately, the rest didn't make it."
"Wait," Orlin said. "You're a knight?"
"Aye. Just like Altus and Ezo."
Orlin felt the blood drain from his face, but Cassian only chortled at the sight.
"You look almost as pale as me. Fear not, Orlin—if we'd wanted you dead, you'd be buried with the villagers."
It felt strange talking to Cassian like this, almost like they were friends. Orlin had thought of him as prideful, cold, sharp as a drawn blade. Mutants truly are frightening creatures, he thought—not just for what they were capable of, but for how easily they could change.
They stayed in the tree for a long while, talking about their pasts—how they had been dragged into the war, and how Light by Light it all seemed more pointless.
Orlin spoke of his grandmother, and only then did he realize how deeply he missed her.
Cassian spoke mostly of the Greenwoods: of Sir Gregor, whom everyone called the Brute; of the time Ezo had broken his arm and knocked out several teeth—and how, in retaliation, Cassian had opened Ezo's belly with a sword.
Every time Cassian told a story, his voice would falter, as if searching for memories just out of reach. A few times, he touched his neck, where a long scar ran from end to end. He never said how he got it, and Orlin didn't dare ask.
Orlin bore scars of his own—mostly on his hands. Accidents from when he hadn't known better, when Darksbane had clung to the smallest cut. That Darkness, he could never forget.
Cassian summoned a small flame into his palm. It glowed yellow at first, then slowly began to turn white.
"We should leave," Orlin said.
Cassian nodded.
They climbed down from the tree and walked back toward the village. The ground that had once been thick with mud was now dry and hardened, making the walk easier—but no lighter.
Sitting beside the steps where Orlin had seen Ezo at earlier fire, the tall man was still there.
"I've been waiting for your bloody ass all Light, Cassian."
"I'm here," Cassian replied.
"Aye. And it's good it's truly you and not that proud old man," Ezo spat. "Fucking hate his guts, ordering me around all Darkness." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Altus wants to see you. Looks like the pig finally sang—and the tune ain't what we wanted to hear."
Orlin watched the two of them leave. Following his nose, he wandered behind one of the houses, where several men were roasting what few animals the village had left—two pigs and four chickens. Even the chicks were on the fire.
He took a piece of pork, mostly bone, and ate. This was one of the few perks of being a mutant: hunger rarely gnawed at him.
By the time Ezo shouted for everyone to gather, the animals had been stripped clean.
They returned to the road where the massacre had taken place. Lord Altus and Cassian stood together, and the fat man sat bound on an old carriage, bloody and trembling. A putrid stench rose from him, as if he had soiled himself.
"We're moving," Lord Altus said.
Murmurs spread—not in protest, but relief. The village had nothing left. Even Orlin felt it was pointless to remain. But the lord continued.
"A large gatherzone of knights will reach this village soon. If what this man says is true, they'll be on top of us by next Light. Gather your things. We march now. No waiting."
They ran—through the great maze of the Tall Forest. Most abandoned their heavy equipment: arrows, food, wine. The only real weight they carried was the fat man's carriage, borne by Ezo alone. Even with it, he led the charge.
Orlin could have run beside him if he wished, but Cassian ordered him to stay back—just in case.
For some reason, Cassian's left eye was bleeding profusely, red streaks painting that side of his face.
Another strange thing, Orlin thought. Red blood—when blood was meant to be black.
Maybe he truly is that special.
"A mutant," Cassian said suddenly beside him. "Tier two. Running at full speed."
Orlin stopped. "What? How—"
Cassian halted a few steps ahead. "I saw it." He pointed to his left eye. "And Ezo felt him."
Then we're as good as dead, Orlin thought, but didn't say it aloud.
"Don't be afraid," Cassian said. "We have the numbers—and Darkness on our side."
"We?" Orlin asked. "Are you telling me to fight that thing?"
"Aye."
"I can't," Orlin murmured. "I have nothing. Just an earth gift—useless in combat."
"You will," Cassian said, his voice suddenly hard. "I will kill Altus. And you will inherit his strength ability."
The gold in Cassian's eyes dimmed—just a little. And for the first time, Orlin thought they looked… sad.