Christ stood at the edge of the firelight and didn’t step into it right away.

  The ravine curved inward here, stone rising unevenly on both sides like the ribs of something ancient and half-buried. The creek cut through the center in a shallow ribbon, water slipping over smooth rock with a soft, constant murmur. The sound should have been calming. Instead, it made the silence around it feel sharper.

  The fire sat low against the rock wall, shielded on three sides by stone and tangled roots. Its light barely reached beyond a few meters, casting long, distorted shadows that stretched and collapsed with every flicker. Smoke clung low, curling instead of rising, carrying the smell of damp wood, ash, and something faintly metallic Christ didn’t want to think too hard about.

  He’d chosen the spot carefully.

  Or at least, he’d thought he had.

  Finding it had taken longer than he liked. His hands had still been shaking when he’d dropped Kael near the fire and staggered away to gather wood. Every snapped twig had sent his heart racing. Every unfamiliar sound had made him pivot, ready to run again. He hadn’t been thinking in terms of maps or direction — just distance. Distance from the city. Distance from the walls. Distance from the man who had stepped out of the ground like a judgment.

  Now, standing there, Christ realized the mistake.

  Kael was crying.

  Not loudly. Not the raw, panicked sobbing Christ had heard in the dungeon. This was quieter. Broken. The kind of crying that came from somewhere deeper than fear — somewhere that didn’t know how to stop.

  Kael sat hunched near the fire, arms wrapped tight around his torso, shoulders shaking in small, uneven jerks. His head was bowed, hair falling into his eyes, breath hitching in short, painful pulls. Like every breath scraped on the way in.

  Christ froze.

  He didn’t know how long he stood there. Long enough for the fire to pop softly. Long enough for the creek to carry on, indifferent. Long enough for the weight of it to settle fully in his chest.

  He had survived by not being noticed.

  By slipping through moments without anchoring himself to them.

  This was different.

  The bundle of firewood slipped from his hands and clattered softly against stone.

  Kael flinched hard.

  Slowly, Kael looked up.

  His eyes were red and unfocused, lashes clumped with tears he hadn’t wiped away. For a brief, awful second, something like relief flickered across his face — reflexive, desperate — and then it collapsed when he saw who it was.

  Everything hurts, Kael said hoarsely.

  The words came out flat, almost surprised, like he was reporting a fact rather than a feeling.

  Christ swallowed. His throat felt tight, like it was closing in on itself.

  “What happened?” Kael asked. “I—I remember running. I remember… slowing.”

  His hands trembled as he lowered them into his lap.

  “I remember feeling… full,” he said quietly. “Like something was pouring into me.”

  Christ stayed silent.

  “And then,” Kael continued, brow furrowing, “I remember pulling. Not with my hands. Just—pulling.”

  He shook his head slowly.

  “I don’t remember Riven falling.”

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  The name shattered whatever fragile balance he’d been holding.

  Kael folded forward, elbows braced on his knees, face buried in his hands. A sound tore out of him — small, broken, involuntary — like something inside his chest had finally given way.

  Christ moved without thinking and sat down heavily on a rock across from him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  The words felt thin the moment they left his mouth.

  Kael laughed once — sharp, brittle, ugly.

  “For what?” he snapped. “For being alive?”

  Christ didn’t answer.

  The silence that followed was thick and heavy, pressing in from all sides, broken only by the fire and the creek and the distant, unfamiliar sounds of the wilds — calls that didn’t belong to anything human.

  “It worked,” Christ said eventually.

  Kael stiffened.

  “At first,” Christ continued carefully. “Riven did exactly what you planned.”

  Kael’s head lifted slightly.

  “He picked one guard,” Christ said. “Just one. Looked at him and—”

  Christ’s hand clenched.

  “Gone.”

  Kael sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes squeezed shut, shoulders tightening.

  “There was a second,” Christ said, “where everything froze. Like the world didn’t know how to react.”

  He swallowed.

  “I used my ability then. On myself.”

  Kael looked up, eyes searching Christ’s face.

  “I couldn’t make anyone else disappear,” Christ said quickly. “Not yet. I just… stopped being noticed. Slipped through.”

  Kael nodded faintly, as if filing that away.

  “I ran,” Christ said. “Past the carts. Past the guards. Past everything.”

  His voice flattened.

  “Then they started shooting.”

  Kael’s breath hitched.

  “They weren’t bows,” Christ said. “They weren’t throwing anything. They just pointed those things and people dropped.”

  He stared into the fire, eyes unfocused.

  “There was no warning. No time to react. One step someone was running — the next they were on the ground with holes in them.”

  Kael’s fingers dug into his own arms.

  “Out of everyone who tried to run,” Christ said quietly, “maybe half died in the first few seconds.”

  Kael made a sound like he’d been struck in the gut.

  “I kept running,” Christ continued. “I saw you slow down when Riven got hit.”

  Kael whispered, “I remember turning.”

  “You were still moving,” Christ said. “But not fast enough.”

  He paused.

  “And then you did something.”

  Kael frowned, eyes unfocused. “I felt… movement. Around me.”

  Christ didn’t interrupt.

  Kael went on slowly, like he was testing the words. “Not people. Just… things moving. Like everything that crossed a certain distance suddenly mattered.”

  His fingers twitched unconsciously.

  “That’s how I felt the bullets,” he murmured. “I didn’t see them first. I felt them coming.”

  He swallowed and glanced toward the fire.

  “And the fire feels different,” Kael added. “It doesn’t move like that.”

  He hesitated.

  “It’s… hot,” Kael said finally. “Not burning me. Just… pressing outward. Like it’s leaking something into the air.”

  Christ watched him carefully, a chill creeping up his spine.

  “And then,” Christ said softly, “the ground shook.”

  Kael’s entire body went rigid.

  “Aurelian,” Christ said.

  Kael grabbed his head, fingers digging into his hair, teeth grinding hard enough Christ heard it. His shoulders shook — not with grief now, but with rage so raw it looked like it might tear him apart.

  Christ stopped talking.

  For a long moment, Kael didn’t breathe at all.

  “Keep going,” Kael said finally, voice low and shaking.

  Christ forced himself to continue.

  “He came down like the world belonged to him,” Christ said. “The sand around him moved. Wrapped people up. The ones who were still alive. Even some who weren’t.”

  Kael’s vision blurred.

  “He shaped something,” Christ went on. “Out of the ground. A spear. Thick as a tree trunk. Dense. Heavy. Like it didn’t care what it hit.”

  Kael whispered, “I felt it.”

  Christ looked at him sharply.

  “I pulled on it,” Kael said. “When it got close enough. I don’t know how far — maybe ten meters? It felt… heavier than the bullets. Harder to move.”

  His voice cracked.

  “With the bullets, it felt like I was filling up. With that—”

  He laughed weakly, hysterically. “It emptied me. All at once.”

  Christ nodded. “You dropped.”

  Kael closed his eyes.

  “He was already making another one,” Christ said. “That’s when I grabbed you.”

  Kael’s eyes snapped open. “After?”

  Christ nodded. “After. I picked you up and ran.”

  He scrubbed a hand down his face.

  “I don’t know how long I ran. I just kept moving. Away from the city. Away from him.”

  His voice wavered.

  “I don’t think he followed. But something else did.”

  Kael frowned faintly. “Something else?”

  Christ nodded. “Huge. Loud. Didn’t care about trees or rocks. Just… kept coming.”

  Kael sagged slightly.

  “I don’t even know where we are,” Christ admitted. “I just ran.”

  Silence fell again.

  Kael stared into the fire, tears dripping from his chin, darkening the dirt below.

  “He was my brother,” Kael said quietly. “Since we were four.”

  Christ didn’t speak.

  “He was all I had,” Kael whispered. “And now he’s just… gone.”

  Christ shifted closer, awkwardly placing a hand on Kael’s shoulder. Kael didn’t pull away. He leaned into it, like he might collapse otherwise.

  “I don’t know what we do next,” Christ said. “But I won’t leave you.”

  Kael nodded slowly.

  Then his hands clenched.

  “Aurelian,” he said.

  The air felt heavier.

  “That city,” Kael continued, voice trembling with something darker than grief. “What they did to Riven. To Denzel. To all of us.”

  He looked up, eyes burning.

  “One day,” Kael said, “I’m going back.”

  The fire snapped sharply.

  “And when I do,” he finished, “there will be death.”

  Christ didn’t argue.

  He just stared into the flames and wondered when Kael had stopped being a boy.