Artemis

  After telling her my name, I decided to walk back toward her.

  She was dirty, bruised, and I could tell she hadn’t had a proper bath in days, but none of that could hide the beauty beneath. Strands of red hair still cut through the grime, vibrant despite everything. Her light green eyes caught the sun.

  The burn above her left breast was impossible to miss, charred black and cruel in its pain. Only her Healing ability had kept her from collapsing outright. With her small, compact frame, it was a miracle she was still on her feet.

  If there was one word for her, it was resilient.

  She’d endured what most people couldn’t. She’d fought back when the odds were stacked against her, pushed on long after lesser men would’ve dropped to their knees and begged for death.

  I could see she needed help, even if she’d never ask.

  Being a Healer didn’t mean she could recover her stamina without proper rest. Casting at that level would drain anyone. And with her resources already gone, even mending a simple bruise was likely beyond her now.

  If I wanted to earn her trust, the best thing I could’ve done was walk away and prove I wasn’t a threat.

  I’d been ready to do exactly that, if it came to it. Because I knew what it felt like to trust someone with the truth… only to have them sell you out right after.

  If I wanted to earn her trust, I had to let her go. No strings. No pressure.

  Still, I knew she wasn’t walking anywhere in her condition.

  When I got closer, I kept my tone casual. “Would you like some stew?”

  She gave me a skeptical look, and I didn’t blame her.

  “Sure,” she said after a pause. “I could really use the meal right now.”

  I wrapped her right arm around my waist, careful not to press against the burn seared across her side. She leaned into me, and together we made it toward the edge of the clearing, near the gradual incline that led back into the woods.

  Once we reached the edge, I helped her down gently.

  “I’ll be right back,” I told her, turning to jog up toward the tree where I’d left the rabbit hanging.

  “You’re bleeding,” she called after me, her voice tinged with concern.

  I froze, confused as I glanced at her over my shoulder.

  I looked down. Arms, ribs, nothing.

  “It’s in the middle of your back. How badly are you injured? I might still have enough strength left to stop the bleeding.”

  I reached back and pressed my hand to the top of my spine. When I brought my fingers forward, they were wet with blood.

  Great, the rabbit had gotten my shirt dirty after all.

  I looked at her and couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Not mine,” I said, grinning. “It’s from the rabbit we’re about to eat.”

  She blinked, a little surprised.

  “I’d just finished hunting when I slung it over my shoulder,” I explained. “Guess it bled more than I thought.”

  I nodded back toward the woods. “Actually, I need to run to camp and grab my supplies if I’m going to make stew out of it. Give me a few minutes. I’ll be right back.”

  With that, I turned and headed off toward camp.

  ***

  (Celeste)

  I watched him vanish between the trees. Listened until even the sound of his steps were gone.

  Alone again.

  The clearing felt too quiet now. Not peaceful, just… empty.

  The ache in my body was creeping back, sharp in some places, dull in others. My leg throbbed with heat beneath the half-healed bruise, and my neck still stung where Jacque had lit me up like kindling. I shifted to a more comfortable position, but failed. Everything hurt.

  But at least I wasn’t dead, or back in that cell. And for now, I wasn’t alone, not entirely.

  I thought about him.

  I still didn’t know what to make of him. He had helped me, that much was true. But that didn’t mean I trusted him. People didn’t do things like this out of kindness. Not for someone like me. Especially not Aberrations with that much power.

  Just because we were both Aberrations didn’t make us kindred spirits.

  He had smiled a lot. Too easily, maybe. But there had been something in his eyes when he looked at me. Like he wasn’t just seeing a burden or a prize. Like he was seeing a person. That part was harder to ignore.

  And he had offered food.

  It shouldn’t have meant anything, but in that moment, it did.

  What was I doing?

  I had fought damned hard to escape that hell. Every breath I took in that prison was one I had to earn. Every wound, every insult, every time… I endured. All to get away. And now here I was relying on someone else, sitting in the dirt, too weak to stand. Waiting for a stranger to come back and feed me like I was some helpless animal. After everything I had gone through, everything I had suffered to take control of my life, I was right back at someone else’s mercy. I hated that feeling.

  And yet, here I was, letting someone else carry my weight.

  No more. No more feeling powerless.

  No more sitting in the dirt, waiting for someone else to decide what happened to me next.

  I fought hard to escape. I bled for my freedom - killed for it.

  I wasn’t about to fall back into dependence, no matter how kind their smile or warm their stew.

  I closed my eyes. My breathing slowed.

  The pain was still there, sharp and pulsing beneath the surface, but it wasn’t the worst I had felt.

  I pressed my hand to my leg, channeling the little energy I had left. I didn’t need to push too hard, just enough to close the hole and ease the worst of the bruising. It wouldn’t be perfect. It didn’t have to be.

  I just needed to move again. To feel I had control.

  Stolen story; please report.

  No more waiting. No more weakness.

  Not from me.

  ***

  (Artemis)

  When I returned to the clearing, rabbit and supplies in hand, I noticed immediately that Celeste was slumped over.

  She was asleep.

  Her knees had fallen sideways, her back tilted toward the ground and her head resting to the side. Her expression was softer than I’d seen since we met. There was still tension in her face, but less of it now. Like whatever nightmare she’d been living through had finally loosened its grip just long enough to let her rest.

  I knelt beside her and took a closer look. The charred skin over her breast wasn’t nearly as dark anymore. It was smaller too.

  She’d pushed herself again.

  Into Enervation, most likely. No wonder she was out cold.

  I exhaled through my nose, half-impressed. She really didn’t know when to stop.

  Still, she was on the right path, she just didn’t know it yet.

  Healing alone wouldn’t make her a fighter. Most Healers never saw the edge of a real battle. They weren’t built for it. There was no need, not when they were usually kept at the back – mending the fallen instead of joining the fray.

  But she wasn’t just a Healer.

  Aberrations were rare enough. But a Healer who also wielded another element, that was something else entirely.

  She didn’t realize yet what she was capable of. What it meant to walk that line between survival and collapse. To fall right to the edge and come back stronger for it.

  One day she would.

  Without a word, I pulled the blanket from my pack and gently draped it over her, adjusting her into a more comfortable position. Autumn’s chill was settling in now that the sun sat lower. No sense in letting her freeze.

  Then I slid my hand behind her head and lifted it just enough to tuck my travel pillow beneath. It was worn and flat from years on the road, but it beat cold ground.

  She stirred, then settled deeper into sleep.

  “Rest easy,” I murmured.

  I turned to make a fire pit and started prepping the stew, setting the rabbit and supplies beside me. It was quiet now, save for the rustle of wind through the leaves and the occasional crack of a settling branch.

  I stripped the rabbit with practiced hands, setting aside bones and sinew. I worked slowly, more for the rhythm of routine than the need for speed. As my hands moved, my thoughts drifted back to everything that had just unfolded.

  I’d seen her type before. Young. Fierce. Still bleeding from wounds no amount of Healing could fix. I’d seen the distrust in her eyes, even when she tried to hide it behind bravado or silence.

  I knew that look well, I’d worn it once.

  Ages ago, I was the one sitting in the dirt – half-dead and wondering when my own hell would end. Misguided trust from a boy too young to know better. So freely given… and just as easily betrayed.

  All it took was a friend with a loose tongue. Fear in his eyes. A price on his lips.

  ...And the torture began.

  I wasn’t strong then. Not like now. I was still figuring out what it meant to Cast, let alone survive. I remembered the chains. The smell of rust and sweat and desperation. The nights of fear, wondering what the next day would bring.

  I made it out. Not clean. Not whole. But I got out.

  And I learned. Not just how to fight or Cast or keep moving, but how to wear a mask. A smile here. A nod there. Friendly enough not to draw suspicion.

  Distant enough not to invite questions.

  Even now, in towns I visited often, no one knew who I really was. Not the barkeeps I’d shared drinks with. Not the traders I’d helped on the road. Better that way. The fewer people who knew what I could do, the fewer chances there were to be betrayed again.

  She’d learn. She probably already had.

  I glanced over at her, still sleeping, blanket drawn to her chin, her hair tangled from the fight. She was tougher than she knew. Still raw, still healing, but that kind of fire didn’t just burn out.

  She’d get stronger. Of that, I was sure.

  I cut the onion next, the only other ingredient I had besides the rabbit. Adding what little seasoning and dried herbs remained in my kit, I stirred the pot. The scent began to rise, earthy and sharp, the onion threatening to drown everything else. It was moments like these, quiet and warm, that made me feel oddly melancholic.

  People like us didn’t get peace, we got pauses. Small ones. Between battles. Between betrayals. But sometimes, if we were lucky, those pauses were enough.

  I let the fire burn and kept my eyes on the horizon, one ear always open.

  After the stew had simmered and cooled a little, I ate half my share, then went to move the bodies out from the clearing.

  It wasn’t long after I returned that I heard her stir beside me.

  She shifted, blinking against the low light, her movements sluggish from recovery. Then she jolted upright. Her eyes scanned the clearing, disoriented at first, until recognition set in. She looked down at the blanket tucked around her, puzzled, then to the campfire flickering nearby, before finally meeting my gaze.

  I moved toward the pot and scooped out a healthy portion into the same bowl I’d used earlier. Stepping over, I extended it toward her.

  “Here’s some food,” I said. “You should eat while it’s still warm.”

  She hesitated, eyeing the bowl like it might bite her. But after a few seconds of silent deliberation, she took it from my hand. Her first bites were careful, almost reluctant, until hunger overtook her and she began to eat in earnest.

  Returning to my spot by the fire, I let her eat in peace. I picked up my charcoal and resumed my sketches, the paper steady on my knee.

  We sat in silence, broken only by the soft clink of her spoon against the bowl and the scratch of charcoal on paper. When she finished, she set the bowl beside her and said nothing. The quiet stretched, neither of us in a rush to fill it.

  Then I heard it.

  A faint hum, gentle and low. The familiar sound of a Healer at work. She was Casting. Drawing on what little energy she had left, likely trying to close up the last of her wounds.

  I glanced up from my sketch, watching her out of the corner of my eye. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, jaw set tight. She was pushing herself again.

  I resisted the urge to speak right away. She didn’t strike me as someone who took kindly to being told what to do, especially not by someone she still didn’t trust. But the sound of her Casting deepened, and I could feel the strain in it.

  “She’s going to burn herself out,” I muttered to myself.

  I set the charcoal aside.

  “You don’t need to force it,” I said aloud, my voice calm but firm. “You’ve already done enough. Push too far and you’ll pass out again.”

  She didn’t answer at first. The hum lingered a moment longer, then faded as the light around her chest dimmed.

  Good. At least she was listening. Maybe not to me, but to her body.

  After the light faded from her hands, she shifted her weight and glanced over at me.

  “How long was I out?”

  The question was casual, like she was trying to reorient herself.

  “Not long,” I replied. “A few hours at most.”

  She nodded faintly, looking back at the fire. Her posture was looser than before, but there was still tension in her shoulders, like she was bracing for something that hadn’t come yet.

  I decided not to let the silence settle again.

  “Didn’t have much to work with,” I said, nodding toward the pot. “Hope the soup came out halfway decent.”

  She nodded tentatively. “It was good. Best meal I’ve had in a while, if I’m being honest.” She curled into herself, wrapping her arms around her legs. “They would’ve fed me rabbit skin, not rabbit stew.”

  “Want to talk about it?” I asked.

  She shrugged, eyes fixed on the firelight dancing in the stew pot. “Not really,” she said. No sharpness in her tone, just tired honesty. “I’ve talked enough in the past. Didn’t do me much good.”

  I nodded once, letting it sit.

  “Fair enough,” I said. “How about this, then: where do you plan on heading next? You’re welcome to stay here in camp with me for a few days. Rest up. I was camping nearby a bit longer than usual when I came to investigate all the commotion. I’m headed toward Thalor.”

  “Not Thalor, that’s for certain,” she replied dryly.

  I raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. But when she saw my expression, her features softened, and she sighed.

  “I didn’t mean that because it’s your destination,” she said. “It’s just…” Her voice trailed off, something flickering behind her eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, she continued, “I was held prisoner near Rodin. It’s a few leagues west of Thalor.”

  “Meaning these weren’t the only ones holding you captive. They’re part of a larger group,” I said, my voice low with understanding. “And you were making your way to the other side of the forest to escape.”

  She nodded, her expression grim. “That’s why I can’t stay here longer than a night. Come morning, I have to keep moving. I need to get out of this forest while I still can. I don’t know how many more are after me, but it only took them a few days to catch up. And now I’m without a horse. It won’t be long before they find me again.”

  I nodded slowly, weighing her words. “You’re not wrong,” I admitted. “But you also cut straight through the heart of Pylin Forest instead of keeping to the trade routes or old roads. That helped as much as it hurt you.”

  She frowned slightly, waiting for me to explain.

  “This forest is massive. No mapped trails. Just old hunter paths and thick brambles. Most people won’t risk traveling through here without a guide.

  “You had a horse – stolen, I presume. Fast, but sloppy. Left signs all through the underbrush for them to follow, even with your head start.”

  I paused, letting the crackle of the fire settle between us.

  “If we move camp in the morning, deeper and more remote, it’ll be near impossible for them to find you. I know these woods like the back of my hand. Spent weeks here, on and off, over the years. Trust me, if you want to disappear, there’s no better place than this forest.”

  She absorbed everything I said, her expression tightening. “If you’re right, then staying one more day might actually give me an edge.”

  The golden rays from the setting sun fell across the camp, painting it in warmth.

  “I think it’d be best for you to rest,” I said. “If you plan on leaving the day after tomorrow, you’ll need to recover as much as you can. Don’t worry about anyone catching up here. I’ll put out the fire early since we’re close to the trail, and I’ll stay awake for a few more hours. So get some sleep.”

  Surprisingly, her trust in me had grown, at least a little, as she nodded without protest. She turned and settled back into the blanket and pillow.

  “Thank you for today,” she said quietly. “You’ve shown me a kindness I may never be able to repay.”

  With that, she lay down and soon drifted off to sleep.