Although she'd said "Let's move" with certainty, the moment Rasha turned away from the firelit ridge, something tugged at her — low, deep, like heat coiling beneath her skin.
It wasn't fear.
It was weight. Pressure. A rising pull of aggression.
Her steps slowed.
The night pressed close around them. The wind carried whispers through the trees — half-formed sounds that brushed the ear and vanished. The air thickened, tasting of stone, moss, and something faintly burnt.
Talo moved beside her, soft-footed and watchful. When she stopped, he turned, gaze already asking the question.
Rasha didn't speak right away.
Instead, she reached out and caught his hand — not urgently, but firmly. Grounding herself.
He turned to face her fully, brow beginning to crease.
"I can feel something," she murmured. "In me. Pulling."
Her eyes flicked toward the ridge they'd just left… then back to him.
"Part of me wants to go down there. Not to spy. Not to escape."
She swallowed.
"To end it. To meet them before they strike. End it before they try anything at all."
Inside her, the Fire Spirit stirred.
Not a voice — a presence. Heat bloomed behind her sternum, tight and rising, like the breath that precedes a blaze.
"I know it's a bad idea," she added, quieter now. "I'm not planning to… but the feeling's getting stronger."
Her hand trembled slightly against his.
"And that scares me."
Talo didn't let go.
He exhaled — slow and deep — the kind of breath used to quiet something fragile. Then, gently, he shook his head.
"Rasha… no."
His voice wasn't harsh. It was steady. Clear.
"There's no fight where that ends well. Not for us. Maybe not even in the next life."
He swallowed, jaw tight, then motioned toward the ridge behind them.
"What we heard back there — trained magic. Strategy. Numbers. Even I felt it, and I've barely scratched the surface of what I can do."
A beat.
"You're strong. Stronger than me. Maybe stronger than either of us understands."
He dropped his voice to a whisper.
"But even you can't take twenty."
His gaze met hers again — not defiant, not pleading. Real.
"And I don't want to lose you trying."
Something cracked in her chest.
Not like glass.
Like heat cracking wood.
There was no arrogance in his voice. No performance. Just truth — raw and unguarded — from someone who had already chosen to stand beside her, even if it meant standing in fire.
Her throat tightened unexpectedly.
Tears welled at the corners of her eyes and fell without shame — two quiet trails down ash-dark cheeks.
She didn't break away.
Her fingers stayed wrapped around his, but now it wasn't for grounding.
It was gratitude.
Talo opened his mouth to speak again, his voice barely audible.
"I lov—"
He didn't finish.
"I don't want to lose you either," she said softly, cutting in.
Her voice trembled. But she didn't.
She breathed — long, low, slow — and felt the fire in her ribs begin to settle.
"I don't want to lose myself."
The Fire Spirit eased. Its hunger folded inward.
The pull weakened — not gone, but no longer in control.
Rasha interlaced their fingers, held his hand for one more heartbeat.
Then let go.
A silent thank-you.
She turned toward the deeper woods, each step steadier than the last.
"Let's move," she said again.
And this time, she meant it.
Talo watched her for a moment longer.
The firelight no longer clung to her the way it had. Her outline didn't shimmer with flame — but resolve.
His words had calmed the fire.
Her answer had calmed him.
They turned together, slipping between trees and mist — not east, but north again, toward the trail they'd nearly left behind.
Talo walked at her side, his hand still tingling from where hers had held it.
He could've said something more.
He didn't.
Instead, he lifted his voice just enough to carry between them.
"So," he said lightly, "north, huh? Just like old times. No plan. No map. And definitely no idea what we're chasing."
Beside him, Rasha smiled — not a grin, not amusement.
Something warmer.
They walked in quiet together, steps finding rhythm. Their silence was no longer heavy.
It was companionable.
The forest shifted around them.
The trees thinned — not randomly, but as if something had shaped the land deliberately. Low, twisted trunks hugged the path, their roots knotted into the rocky soil like fingers grasping at memory.
The ground grew uneven.
Stone and grit gave way to broken earth and scattered pine needles. The incline rose slowly, forcing them to slow again — not from fatigue, but vigilance.
To the right, the land fell away — a steep drop into forested shadows. Far below, the trees moved like ink in water, slow and unbothered.
To the left, the cliff face rose in jagged ribs — streaked with pale moss and silver-veined lichen that shimmered beneath the rising moons.
They were walking a corridor — narrow, echoing. A path not carved by humans.
But by time.
And then, dawn began to rise.
Soft and pale, the first line of morning split the horizon. Not gold, not red — a warm silver, like the edge of fire before it catches.
Rasha tilted her face upward, drawing in the cold.
They had survived the night.
And morning, it seemed, had chosen not to turn away.
Ahead, the corridor widened.
The cliffs broke apart into a gentle bowl — a shallow clearing tucked between the stone, its floor softened by grass and lined with brush. Low trees marked its edge, their limbs leaning toward the open sky.
A small meadow, quiet and undisturbed.
Rasha slowed.
"There," she said, voice hushed.
She pointed toward the curve where stone embraced one side of the field — a natural alcove formed by sloping rock.
Talo stepped beside her, brow lifting slightly.
"Sheltered. Quiet. And we'll see anything coming."
She nodded once. "Let's rest before the sun's fully up."
They stepped carefully into the clearing, the grass damp beneath their boots. The wind here moved slower. The world seemed to hold its breath.
Rasha let her pack slide from her shoulders, settling into the far corner of the alcove. She lowered herself into the earth like she belonged there — blades close, breath steady.
Talo lingered, watching the horizon a moment longer.
Then followed.
He dropped his gear beside hers, leaning his staff within reach, then sat — back pressed to stone, head tipping toward the sky.
"This should be safe enough," he murmured. "Get some sleep. Keep your weapons close."
Rasha nodded, already curling onto her side.
"I'm always ready," she whispered.
Talo smiled — barely there. But real.
And then the quiet came.
Not tension.
Rest.
The first time since dusk, the night no longer hunted them.
Sleep took them hard.
And the dawn rose over them like a promise.