When she was a child living within the confines of the castle, Sarielle thought that there could be no-one who could get under her skin as easily as her father's fellow noblemen. As a soldier, she was convinced that Nash was the pinnacle of irritation. For a short time, she entertained the possibility that Fiesi might triumph over them all, though she finds herself bumping him several places down the list in this particular moment.

For she is beyond certain that the most frustrating person she will ever meet is Gelani Kynig.

Perhaps it doesn't help that he shares the same punch-worthy face as his son. They do look eerily similar, save the shorter, tidier style Gelani has trimmed his hair into, and the slight shift in the shade of blue that paints his eyes. That gaze seems to flick her way every few moments, as if subtly poking and prodding for a fight. She observes the gentle curve of his face, the point of his nose, and grits her teeth. Her knuckles ache from gripping her sword hilt so tightly.

"I don't feel that your people would fit here regardless," he is saying from his spot perched on a crooked tree stump. His cloak is draped in obnoxiously bright waves around him, long enough to pool on the floor behind. She hopes it's picked up plenty of dirt. "It must be awful to be surrounded by magic far from your grasp."

"It doesn't bother us at all." Sarielle struggles to keep herself from snapping, holding tight to the careful grace she always heard her father administer in his meetings. She accompanies the words with a polite smile. "Thank you for your concern, but we can cope just fine. We have observed plenty of Fiesi's use of flame already, after all."

Gelani lets out an amused grunt. "Fiesi is hardly a fitting example of the power we hold."

His smugness has a subtler edge than Fiesi's frequent showy grin. Somehow, she hates this technique even more. "He's fitting enough," she grounds out. "Besides, this is only a temporary measure. It's likely many of us soldiers will leave after a short time once we've developed a plan of how to proceed with our fight. The main point of this is to keep our king--"

"Why do we continue to toy with such a ridiculous idea?" Ischyri, second in command to the irritation supreme, chimes in. He remains standing beside Gelani, bulky arms folded over his chest. The furry, auburn mound of an animal is visible behind him. A bear, she gathers, laid in the grass with fiery red eyes trained on her and Dalton. She's never seen one of the creatures outside of illustrations, although she doubts this is any ordinary bear. She casts the beast a sharp glare in return.

While Gelani plays with words, Ischyri and his pet are attempting to be intimidating. She doesn't want to admit that it's having some effect. She consoles herself repeatedly with the knowledge that no Tía would ever openly choose to harm her or any Cormé, though it's difficult when these seem far less terrified by the concept than Fiesi.

"It's a no, milí zoi," Ischyri adds. "You have no such authority to demand these things. I'm of one mind to teach you a lesson."

"Now, Ischyri." Gelani's voice is silky. He holds out a placating hand towards his fellow Tía. "There's no need to scare the girl. We've already made her well aware of the place she should sit beneath us."

Ischyri huffs. "And yet she requires a constant reminder."

Sarielle isn't aware of her own movement until she hears the tiny, scraping sound of her sword lifting in her sheath. A hand laid on her shoulder pushes it back down. "Don't rise to it," Dalton warns in her ear. "Trust me, I know, but biting back doesn't help our case."

Biting her tongue, she nods. It's the cool, logical thing to do, but nothing seems to be helping their case at the present moment. Diplomacy is useless against a group so stubbornly stuck in their ways. Perhaps ramming a sword through all their inflated egos would yield more progress.

She takes a long breath, pausing to find the right words. "Consider this. Whether you turn us away or not, we still know what you are, and where you are. It's too late to deprive us of that knowledge." Seeing a flicker of uncertainty pass through Gelani's expression, a crack in his mask that betrays the existence of some small amount of fear, she allows herself a slight smile before continuing. "There's not much to stop us from spreading what we know." She shrugs. "Maybe Neyaibet would come looking. I expect they're far more likely to take what they want by force."

Slowly, Gelani stands. His snarling ferret leaps onto the stump in his place as he stares Sarielle down. "Is that a threat?"

She can feel Dalton's gaze lingering on her, see the shake of his head in the corner of her vision. She doesn't much care. If threats worked for Fiesi, she's not against administering them again. "That depends on how you receive it."

Anger sets Gelani's mouth in a thin line. Ischyri steps forward, his jaw and fists clenching in unison. He opens his mouth, but whatever his retaliation might have been drains into silence as a hazel-brown blur bursts into the clearing.

The wolf skids to a stop, its pink-slashed fur ruffled and dirty. It trains sharp eyes on Gelani. He frowns, all other emotion clearing his face at once. "Mira?"

"That's Rosi's wolf," Dalton murmurs as the animal slinks past to sit beside the Tía woman he references. She's been quiet enough to almost forget about, perched on another stump further back, legs crossed over one another as she observes the conversation take place. Sarielle's grateful to not have a third opponent at the very least, although it does irk her that Rosi isn't helping them at all. If she was truly taking their side -- as her nonchalance about Nathan and Cormé implied -- could she not express that? The others might be more likely to listen to her.

Nevertheless, she maintains her silence now, her hand drifting out to stroke Mira's head. They're likely engaging in a private conversation. She glances up, and Sarielle follows her gaze, looking to the treeline a moment before another figure stumbles into view.

Fiesi's tattered grey cloak swings around his legs wildly enough to trip him. He clutches for a low-hanging branch, doubled over as he pants. "Nathan," he wheezes.

"What?" Sarielle steps forward on instinct, all else forgotten. "What about Nathan? Where is he?"

"I don't..." Blue flames flicker to life, poking out of his shirt's collar, and he straightens a little. His hand drags over his forehead, tangling in his hair. "I lost him."

She stiffens. "How could you--"

"He ran." Fiesi heaves in another noisy breath. "Ran off. I... can't find him."

Her frustration already bubbles too close to the surface to shove down. She marches over to him, feeling it lace with panic, that tremoring edge of fear that surrounds the idea of Nathan left anywhere alone. Her fist curls, though she pins down any irrational desire. "What do you mean 'he ran off'?"

Fiesi throws up his hands. "It wasn't my fault, okay?" His head tips, gaze sliding sideways to dodge hers. "Well, maybe it was kind of my fault. I said something I shouldn't. But he--"

"I'm going to look for Nathan," Sarielle says, carelessly cutting him off as she throws a glance over her shoulder. She tinges her expression with apology as she looks Dalton's way. "I'll be back soon."

She waits long enough to see his nod before breaking into a swift stride, grabbing a fistful of Fiesi's cloak to drag him along. He staggers after her, his breathing still edged with a heavy rasp. She shoots him a glance. "How far did you run?"

"All the way across Aorila's territory, to be fair." Shame deepens the red in his cheeks, but his step matches her hastened half-jog all the same. More flames flicker beneath the fabric of his shirt. "He's somewhere in the forest over there, near the border. I tried looking, but..." He scratches at a spot behind his ear. "I think I'm probably the last person he wants to see anyway."

Something in Sarielle's stomach twists. Perhaps spending time with his father has made her more inclined to sympathy, but she still can't deny the clear, unmasked remorse that spills out into his expression. She has found herself gradually disliking Fiesi less and less over the past few weeks, but today has been a huge step in its own right. Understanding pools in place of any annoyance. She pats his arm. "I'll talk to him, don't worry. Can you run again?"

He gives a groaning sigh. "Must I?"

"You're the one with magic." She yanks at his cloak again, and he reluctantly obliges, their pace increasing in unison. Sarielle listens to the steady pound of her heart. It feels squeezed tight, bound in spiky vines.

As they slip into Aorila's streets, dashing between the mismatched houses and scorched patches of grass, she can't help but feel as if control is slipping through her fingers, torn to shreds and scattered at her feet. The longer time goes on, the more everything seems impossible. Saving Oscensi. Protecting Nathan. Supporting Dalton. Stars, even keeping Fiesi afloat now seems a burden that falls on her shoulders, and it's in moments like these that its weight digs in that extra inch.

Gritting her teeth, she shoves it all aside, letting it topple away for the time being, and selects one, fragile piece from the pile. Right now, her focus is Nathan. Only Nathan. Even her own kingdom can't match the prick his name sinks into her heart.

- ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ -

Admittedly, Sarielle's legs are burning by the time she and Fiesi come to a halt in the middle of the forest north of Aorila. She slides her hands to her knees, taking a moment to suck in a few controlled, steady breaths. They fill an eerie silence. Nothing but the trees respond, creaking in the breeze.

"Wait here," she tells Fiesi after a moment. Not even he replies, giving only a jerky nod as she steps over a knotted bramble and ventures into the undergrowth. Her heart has leapt to her throat, hammering out her nerves. Her panic flows more fluidly now. It mingles with her blood, struck through with ice. She keeps her voice tentative. "Nathan?"

The shadows yawn deep here, draped over a thick, tangled cluster of all manner of weeds. She has to pick her way through, carefully dodging around thorns. It isn't like she has a replacement pair of trousers if she was to tear these. Unless any of the Enkavmé wish to lend her some vibrant, ridiculously impractical skirt.

"Nathan?" she calls again, a touch louder. "It's alright. I only want to talk."

The last word bites off sharply as a gust of wind slams into her. It's less physical wind than a sudden, jarring doubt, as if every particle in the air is screaming at her to turn away and choose a different track. If she hadn't already experienced it, she might've simply blinked and obeyed, dismissing it as an instinctive thought. Aorila's barrier is quite an impressive feat. She can't help but wonder how differently things would have been if Polevis could have inherited such a shield.

With a shake of her head, she alters her course and continues on, skimming the edge of the barrier. Magic could be useful in so many ways. A part of her is somewhat angered that these miracles would be hidden away, kept to whispers and mythical secrets rather than a real, tangible weapon that might have solved so many of the problems she's faced.

A sharp, quiet breath, close enough to slice through her wandering thoughts. It's close by. She whirls, listening closely. "Nathan? Is that you?"

No answer, but she keeps moving, hopping over a tree root and scanning the area. A scrap of white fabric catches her eye. She races towards it, no longer caring for thorns and thistles, until she rounds a tree and the rest of him comes into view.

He's curled up against a trunk, his face buried in his arms. He's shaking. She drops to her knees beside him, the long grass tickling her sides, and lightly rests a hand on his shoulder.

His head shifts, one dark eye visible as his gaze darts her way. His face is streaked with tears. "Sarielle?"

"Yes. Yes, it's me." She offers him a smile, relief warming her heart to see him okay. Her fearful mind had displayed many images far worse than the one reality presents her with. At least he's unhurt.

Slowly, he lifts his head, though he keeps his knees hugged tight to his chest. He wipes at his eyes with an unsteady hand. "Sorry," he mumbles.

"There's no need to be sorry." She rubs his shoulder, then climbs back to her feet, holding her hand out. "Come on. I'll walk you back to town."

His gaze drops to his knees. He gives a small shake of his head. "It's okay. I... I'll stay here a little longer. I need to think."

Sarielle swallows, a fist closing around her lungs. "Are you sure? I don't want to--"

"I'm staying," he snaps, the glance he throws at her sharpening into a glare. In the shade of the forest, his eyes look even blacker than usual, the scar on his cheek a trail of deepest ink on palest paper. For a moment, she's stunned, her voice frozen somewhere in her throat.

Realisation washes over his face. He looks down again, his fingers threading through his hair. His lips part, then close again, soundless.

"Alright," she says. Carefully, she sits down, leaving only a sliver of a gap between them. "Do you mind if I stay with you?"

"No." His voice is so quiet she barely catches it, but it's strong, equipped with a whispered firmness. "That's okay." He gives her a shy smile which she hurries to return. It's somewhat startling how quickly that scrap of darkness can appear and vanish again, so smooth that it might have never existed at all. One serpentine glare, and then he's her friend again, the lost little boy scarred by a life he didn't deserve.

"I'm not sure what Fiesi said to you, but he's very sorry," she says, softly holding his gaze. "He's not bad, you know. I'm sure he's just trying to help you."

He tears his eyes from hers. "I know." His stare impales the ground instead, his boots shifting a few fallen leaves. "I know. He's right. I'm just..." His hand is barely visible for how deeply it delves into his black curls. "I feel like I'm falling apart, and there's nothing that will stop it."

His voice cracks right through the middle, splintering right to the end. He closes his eyes as if willing back tears. Unable to help it, she squeezes his shoulder.

"There's always a way." Though doubt knots in her stomach, she offers him a reassuring smile, drawing out that sure beam of hope that always knows how to brighten the darkest of times. Hope is one thing she can't doubt. "Things will get better, Nathan. You won't feel like this forever."

"That's the problem." His arm is tense beneath her hand, his fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers. "This isn't going to go away."

An ache sprouts in her heart. This hurts, more than anything else. She can't stand to see him looking so desolate, so devoid of any kind of belief. It lights a spark of desperation within her, sending her scrambling. "Can I find you something to eat?" she tries. "You can't have been eating well the past few days." She smiles. "Maybe there'll be something sweet."

The corners of his mouth lift, just briefly, before sinking again. "Thank you, but I... I don't really want anything."

"You need to look after yourself properly, Nathan." She shifts her grip on his arm, tugging it gently towards her in the hopes of teasing him out of himself. "It'll make you feel better if you--"

"You can't fix it, Sarielle." Hesitance lingers in his pause, but he presses on, casting her a nervous glance. "I wish you could, but it's not like... it's..." His knees press into his chest. "Not even you can solve this one."

"I have to try." That spark burns brighter in her chest, tendrils of frantic warmth jittering through her veins. "I'm not about to give up on you." It's not impossible to drag him out of this state. It can't be. She can still hear his tinkling little laugh as it echoed through those dim basement hallways, see his bright smile, the pure, joyful shine in his gaze. Lighting up the darkness is what they've always done together. It's what she thought was the talent she held, the one thing she could do to make up for all he's had to suffer. But this is different. This is like striking a flint, again and again, the metals scraping together and yet remaining cool and unlit.

The hopelessness is suffocating. She curls her fingers tighter, bunching the oversized sleeve of his tunic, half afraid that letting go will mean losing him for good.

When he looks up at her again, his eyes are wet, glimmering the shade of damp coal. "I'm sorry. This isn't fair."

"No." Tracing up to his shoulder, she slides her arm around him, keeping her touch light and gentle. He tenses, then shifts closer. A tear slips down his cheek. "No, it's alright," she whispers. "Nothing you've been through has been fair. You've earned the right to cry."

Twisting, he lays his head against her shoulder. Even through her tunic, his cheek is cold, passing across a soft, tingling layer of ice that spreads over her skin. He moves again, burying his face in her chest. It's just in time to muffle his sob. Breath catching, she tightens the embrace, thumb rubbing a circle over his spine. At least he's with her. At least he's in her arms. If he has to feel like this, if he has to cry, she'd rather him cry here than anywhere else in the world.

His next sob is breathless, warm and shaking against her chest as if edged with the dregs of a laugh.  The air is sucked back in with his inhale. "I'd find dying so easy if not for you."

"Come on." She runs her fingers through his hair, keeping her voice carefully quiet, breathed into his ear as her head tilts downwards. "Don't think like that, okay? That isn't a solution."

"No, you don't..." He sighs, and again it's tinged by that shudder of empty amusement. His head lifts. His eyes are hard as they meet hers, certainty glazing over the fear and apology that swims darkly beneath. "My flame is killing me."

All at once, the frost crawling over Sarielle's skin digs in claws from all directions. Her lungs freeze over. Those simple words are an icy rod, one that impales every thought except blind panic.

"I've suspected for a while, but... but now I know. Definitely know." Gaze flicking down, he bites his lip. "I shouldn't really be surprised."

"That's not..." Sarielle can barely think, let alone gather any semblance of coherence to any string of words. "Nathan, you can't... This isn't..."

"I'm sorry." His eyes fill with tears again, though he tries to wipe them away with his sleeve. "I didn't want to hurt you, but I can't..." His voice breaks. "I can't stop it."

"There must be something we can do." Her mind has become a rambling storm of thoughtless possibilities, fears twisting and strangling every one, every inch of her begging to scrounge out some way to stop the bottomless panic opening in her heart. "We'll figure this out. There's always something. There has to--"

"Sarielle." Her name is broken on his tongue, trembling fragments glued together. The sound lodges in her throat regardless. Silence locks her jaw.

Their eyes meet. The air is impossibly still, as if even the forest itself is holding its breath, a mournful kind of fear gathering in thick, soundless clouds. A weak ray of sunlight sneaks through a crack in the branches, gleaming as it brushes over Nathan's scar, his skin lit in a soft, whitish glow. His tears glitter, falling stars dripped from the night's misty void.

"I..." His voice is brittle as an autumn leaf, crushed beneath the weight of emotion. He leans in closer, his breathing tremulous and shallow. "I want to tell you something. I think you should know, before I..."

The sentence's unsaid ending hangs in the air with far too much clarity. Sarielle can't bring herself to do anything more than nod.

"Okay." He dips his head, then raises it again, and for a moment she's sure she sees fire in his eyes. Black, raging fire. "I think I love you."

If said in any other way, Sarielle might not have believed he meant it the way he did. And yet the emphasis he places on that one, soft word, the fierceness struck through every other, the way he stumbles over them as if afraid they will be snatched from him before he can get them out -- all of it points in only one direction. He looks nervous still. She can only stare at him, reeling, entirely at a loss for what to think.

"Oh," she breathes, hardly hearing herself.

He hesitates, watching her, his tongue flicking out to run over his lips. Then he's moving. Before she has the chance to see it coming, he's pushing up on his knees, his hands grabbing at her shoulders, tangling in her hair.

It's as if it's all done in a rush, a clumsy surge of haste, like water breaking free from a dam. Within the moment, his lips are pressed against hers.

He draws back a little instantly, softening the kiss, but it lingers. Everything slows again. It's several seconds before he pulls away fully, his rapid breathing close enough to brush over her skin.

A twinkle of light reflects in his dark eyes. The corners of his mouth poke upwards in a slippery grin, giddy and pure. His cheeks flush. It's the happiest she's seen him look in a long time, and all she can do is stare, the world tilting.

Gently, cautiously, his thumb trails to her face, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. His other hand nestles into the curve of her neck, a press of ice-cold leather. He leans in again, his eyes fluttering shut.

She flinches.

His eyes snap open. He draws in a sharp breath, touch jolting away from her as if she burns him. His gaze clings to that dimming spark of joy as he watches her, imploring, dull panic flooding his expression. His hands are cradled loosely to his chest.

"I..." Her fist curls around the edge of her tunic. She can sense the tremble in her fingers, horror crawling through her in sharp tendrils. "I'm sorry, Nathan. I never meant..."

The spark winks out. Tears shimmer in their effort to reform, but all he does is bow his head, sagging back on his heels. His jaw clenches. "You don't love me."

Guilt twists in tight coils, those vines creeping out again, wrapped tight around her heart. She grabs his wrist. "Nathan, I--"

His laugh cuts her off. It's emerging in full now, dry and humourless, bitter, and it spills into her lungs like acid. "Of course you don't," he says, his smile returning, warped and wrong. "Why would you?" The laughter trails away as his eyes turn hard. The black flames in them have risen again, burning with hatred as they bore into his gloved palms. "I'm such a fool."

"Nathan..." she tries again, still scrambling for any other words. His touch has frozen her thoughts.

By the time he wrenches from her grip, it's too late for them to thaw. He jerks to his feet. "I'm sorry," he says again. He casts her one long look, a thousand whirling emotions cracking through his gaze until they fizzle out entirely. His eyes darken. And then he's gone, racing away, lost to the shadows of the forest.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

Hnnn these two bring me so much pain help :sobbing:

So yeah uh. There's our kiss scene I guess. Also Nathan is dying but *yeets that aside* did I mention the kiss and how cute he looks and--

- Pup