It's dark already. Restless flames prowl up Fiesi's arms as he stares up at the sky, a patchwork of twilight blues and purples stitched together by mist-covered stars. Its darkness drips into the shadows, blackened pools swallowing the forest's colour, leaving the pulsing azure glow creeping outwards from his skin to paint the skeletal branches in fresh light.

He sighs, dropping his head to watch his flexing fingers toy with the fire's strands. Winter nights have a habit of pouncing too soon and catching him off guard. Somehow, this one feels all the more predatory.

Sat back on his heels, he returns his focus to the cooking fire nestled amongst the grass before him, twisting a spit in one hand. It impales the pale, brown-tinged shape of a rabbit. As painful as skinning the creature was, he's grateful for the escape it provided. Hunting has a process, careful and methodical, thoughtless. It helps when this jerky kind of panic creeps in, the anxious tug that knots his stomach and sends itchy shivers jittering through his veins.

Even so, escapes only last so long.

He peers into the sky, into the shadows, chest tight. Nathan, please. Come back.

His cloak shifts with his movement, the knife buried in its inner pocket touching his side. He flinches, wrenching his gaze determinedly to the fire. Regret digs its claws into his bones. He shouldn't have kept hold of the weapon. The very thought of it freezes him.

"Fiesi, you made another promise. Remember?"

The words echo in his ears, loud enough to have been spoken by the trees themselves. "I won't do it," he snaps back, then curses himself, a thread of humour twitching into a smile. "See? You need to get back here, Nathan. I'm already going crazy."

The rabbit's underside is glazed in golden brown. Not cooked quite enough, but the flames are straining against his control, flaring harshly enough to sear under his skin. With a wave of his hand, he extinguishes them, their muted crackle fading away to add to the eerie silence. The rabbit barely tastes of anything as he bites into it.

His throat is dry as he swallows. His nails dig into the spit. "You better not be dead," he adds, the words so quiet they fade into the whispering wind. With a sharp breath, he clambers to his feet, though it doesn't make him feel any less small.

The airy tingle of the barrier is strangely numb when viewed from the inside. It's no less alluring, and yet it ensnares his limbs less like tugging ropes and more like chains, weighted and uncomfortable. He remembers standing somewhere very similar two years ago, a bag of rations slung over his shoulders, Rigel perched on his shoulder, the twilight bearing down on him in swathes of taunting darkness.

Why leave? the barrier whispers, just the same as the first time. You're safe here. You're protected. The world outside is nothing.

He isn't quite sure how he mustered the courage to overcome it then. Now, the chains are so heavy he can barely breathe.

"I don't even like this place," he mutters, slumping to the ground again.

Fiesi.

Any other thought breaks in two. His heart drops to his stomach, thudding so loud in his ears that he's not entirely sure whether he imagined that tiny voice that pecks at the back of his mind, gliding through his name with straightened precision. His flame surges outward at the sound of it, eagerly snapping at the air. Rigel?

Yes, comes Rigel's tight voice. Exasperation rides its tide, jittery and cracked through with distance but seeping through their bond nonetheless. Without meaning to, Fiesi feels himself tense. I have located the boy.

Even the cold note to his tone can't sever the eager pounce of Fiesi's thoughts. Where?

A nearby town. Kavas. Rigel is already pulling back the thread even as he offers one final line. Inform the others.

Wait! The word very nearly jumps from his lips, though he compresses it just in time, leaving it to echo hollowly through his mind. His flames dim, an empty pang rippling along their strands.

Can we talk? he asks, although he feels the notion dissolve into nothing, unheard.

The barrier hums behind him to fill the silence as he tears at his rabbit again, fingers drumming on the spit. He draws one knee in, dragging his heel back and forth through the mud, as he peers through the trees in the direction of Aorila. Rigel likely wants him to tell one of the other Tía, have them do the work rather than his own defective partner. A shot of fury sparks to the surface in the wake of the thought. His next bite is rough with frustration.

Do you not trust me at all?

The void that replies says more than any of Rigel's dry words would. With a huff, Fiesi shoves to his feet. Fine, he mutters. Be like that. But I'm coming after you whether you like it or not.

The thread is shoved into another unsteady connection, shaking with mockery. As if you will leave again. Were you not considering your fear mere moments ago?

I'm not a coward, Rigel. Throwing aside the rabbit, he tugs his cloak tighter and edges to face the barrier, trying to ignore the race of his heart. Not anymore. His flames twine over his fingers in a mass of strings. If he focuses, it's not difficult to pick out the one wound around his core, drifting off unseen and riding the winds until it settles upon Rigel's azure feathers. It can't be that far. If Nathan made it in a matter of hours, he can certainly be there by daybreak. Sooner, preferably.

Rigel sighs, the sound raking claws through Fiesi's mind. Your baseless confidence knows no bounds. The boy travelled on horseback.

Fiesi's fists curl. I have a horse.

From your Cormé associates? There truly is laughter then, bitter and disdainful, the cackle of a crow rather than a bluebird's caw. Will you allow them to carry you a second time?

He buries a hand in his hair, nails digging into his scalp. No. He casts another glance over his shoulder, biting down on his tongue. I'll come alone.

You will not come at all. A serious note drills into Rigel's tone, rooting Fiesi's feet in place. You have done quite enough. I cannot afford failure on this task, not now. Inform someone more capable and stay home.

Chest tight, Fiesi stares downward at his feet. A sudden, biting wave of loneliness cascades over him, numb and cold as it gnaws at his bones, dragging an ache to the spot behind his eyes. He rubs at the bridge of his nose, attempting to quell it.

It's strange how Rigel always used to feel like safety. A voice of reason, a thrum of warmth in his chest that kept him on track. Without that guidance, the world feels as if it rocks beneath him, a boat cast adrift that remains as lost as the day they last spoke. It's an odd mix of betrayal and freedom. Right now, he isn't sure the latter is worth it.

If I promised to kill Nathan, he finds himself asking, would you take me back?

Doubt simmers in the fringes of his flame, hot with Rigel's touch. I am afraid I do not trust your promises, Fiesi. Some echo of sadness settles in the wake of his voice. It is okay. You were never made to kill. Perhaps it is for the best that I leave you.

"You could say that without making it sound like I'm useless," he mutters, not realising he is speaking aloud until the sound reaches his ears. He itches at the spot behind one. A plea balances on his tongue, pinned precariously in place, shame souring its trail. He doesn't want to kill Nathan. He's sure about that. The desperation stirring in his chest should be easier to ignore.

"Nathan." His heel bounces against the ground. Can you at least tell me if Nathan is safe?

Rigel's hesitation lasts a second longer than it should. No, finally comes the honest answer. He is with the green-eyed rogue. Fiesi practically feels the bird shift from foot to foot, as if the mere mention ripples with discomfort.

The... Realisation yanks him taut. "Harlow," he breathes. His flames blaze up around his fingertips, knotted with fear. He takes a step forward. "That settles it. I don't care what you think. I'm coming."

"Are you now?"

Awful, freezing dread cracks through Fiesi's veins, jerking his heartbeat. Hardly daring to breathe, he turns.

Sure enough, his father stands there, outlined darkly against the trees, his azure cloak dimmed to indigo in the night. His shadowed eyes take on a similar shade. Only the faintest glow winds through them, harsh and piercing.

Flames flare up around Fiesi's clenched fists. He grits his teeth, conscious of their wild nature, his lack of control alive in the air. Even so, he holds himself straight. "Yes." His confidence is thin and fragile, sticky against his skin. "I'm going to rescue my friend."

Before his resolve can crumble, he spins sharply on his heels and strides into the barrier. Arguing would be pointless. There's no use justifying himself. The urge to run courses through him, so potent he can taste it, sweet and lively as it bubbles in his stomach.

He barely makes it half a step before the world tilts.

His leg crumples beneath him, sending him skidding forwards, his chin hitting the ground hard enough to jar his thoughts. Pain cuts through his lower leg. He yelps, scrambling around onto his back. His flesh burns.

A bow has formed in his father's hands. A thousand tiny threads of flame twine together into its curved shape, flickering such a small amount that it appears crafted of sapphire. The tremors of its string gradually settle. Heart pounding, Fiesi looks down at his leg, fire crackling in his ears. A matching arrow cuts right through just below his knee. It casts a garish glow over his skin, illuminating the traces of blood that seep out to stain its fiery shaft.

"No," Gelani says simply. "You're not going anywhere."

Fiesi presses a hand to his temples, suddenly rather light-headed. It's difficult to glare back when agony strangles his focus. "Yes, I am," he snaps back, attempting to get his feet under him. Only his uninjured leg responds. The other is a leaden weight, dragging him back down before he can rise. The barrier swirls around him. He must be half-submerged in it. Its touch is dizzying, wrenching away anything that might anchor him in place.

Gelani sighs. The bow collapses into a myriad of sparks, fading away into nothing. He moves forward, then crouches to meet Fiesi's eyes. "I'm sorry," he says, although neither his tone nor expression display any kind of remorse. "But I can't allow you to leave, not with this irrational behaviour. I have no wish to see you make more mistakes."

"I thought you'd be glad to get rid of me." Venom sears Fiesi's throat, as painful as it is satisfying. "Don't worry, I won't come back this time. You'll never see me again."

Bowing his head, Gelani kneels, his cloak resting neatly against the grass around him. "I never wanted it to be like this between us. I kept hoping you would grow up and change." His gaze flicks up to pin Fiesi. "And yet you seem determined to remain an ungrateful brat."

Anger stokes Fiesi's flame, roaring in his chest. "And you're a bitter alaí too full of your own self-importance to admit that you might be wrong."

Gelani's jaw clenches. His hand closes around the arrow in Fiesi's leg, twisting it sharply sideways. A cry slips from his jaw. The fire seems to be actively clawing at his flesh, scraping away at every spot it can reach.

"Still you refuse to learn to watch your mouth," Gelani growls.

Fiesi hisses in a serrated breath. "It's the truth." His fingers dig into the soil, shaking. "I know. I was you. I am you. I know what it's like. When you're so, so desperate to make that tiny voice in your head shut up that you'll blame every other person in the world before you admit that it just might--"

He should have been ready for the hit, but it stings with shock nonetheless, the side of his head throbbing as he topples into the dirt. His breathing snags, audibly ragged. Feeling for the ground, he blinks through the blur in his vision, trying to hoist himself back upright.

There's a flaming knife in his father's hand. It shines bright enough to make his eyes ache. His anger fizzles out, drowned in fear.

"Perhaps I should cut out your tongue." Gelani's voice is a snarl, heated and vicious, armed with fangs. His eyes gleam a deep blue. "Would you be more obedient if you weren't so busy biting back?"

Fiesi clamps his mouth shut, tongue retreating as far as it can against the roof of his mouth. His lungs feel ready to burst.

"You love to argue, to make excuses." Grabbing a fistful of Fiesi's shirt, his father yanks him closer. "I'm tired of it. If you won't act like a Kynig, then perhaps you don't deserve to be one."

Dread sits heavy on his chest. He wants to retort, to claim he doesn't care, but the strength seems to have fled him.

"If only I--"

Gelani's voice is cut off by the sound of a blade tearing through flesh.

A spike of solid ice spears through the centre of his chest, dyed the deep crimson of blood. Shock freezes his expression. Pouncing on the opportunity, Fiesi yanks free of his grip, scrabbling at the ground as he squirms out of reach. The barrier thrums around him, wild to beat in sync with his pulse. A bolt of pain lances up his leg. Teeth pressed together, he lifts his head.

The ice is melting away, flames bursting forth to repair the hole it left, and now Gelani whirls to face his attacker. Jaci. Frost encases her fisted hands as she lifts her chin in defiance. The pale swathes of her clothing shimmer in the moonlight, an easy contrast with her ebony hair.

Gelani casts a shadow over her. "This isn't your business." The attempted softness to his voice is roughed by the annoyance that likely comes with being stabbed. He waves his hand. "Go back to town. Fiesi will be along shortly."

Jaci doesn't flinch. She shakes her head, the frost creeping up her arms, and makes to dodge past him. He steps in to block her, but her ice-covered elbow knocks into him, shoving him aside.

She looks up, and Fiesi sees her gaze shift, just for an instant, hesitation and fear chipping at her determination. She falters. The barrier's edge is doing its work.

It's enough time for Gelani to grab her wrist and yank her back. She struggles, but he's stronger. His flame leaps in threads around his arm. Panic writhes in Fiesi's chest, flaring fiercely enough to jerk him into action.

Twisting, he lunges for his leg. The arrow is less well-formed now, the flames peeling away from lack of focus; it's easy enough to grab its head and wrestle it out, much as everything burns in its wake. It disappears entirely as he throws it away. Holding his breath, he shoves to his feet, ignoring the tears that prick at the corners of his eyes, and forces his fire into the rough shape of a whip. He braces himself and lashes it out.

It tangles around his father's legs, sending him crashing to the ground. Jaci slips free from his grasp and dances aside. This time, her jaw is set as she leaps through the barrier.

She pauses only to grab his wrist. Ice stings his skin. He meets her eyes, breathless, the throb of his leg dragging at his flame until he feels the weightless pressure of his whip disintegrate. "Are you sure you... want to do this?"

She doesn't respond. Instead, she tightens her grip and breaks into a sprint, wrenching him along after her. His leg screams with every jolting step, though he has little choice but to follow. The world shifts around them, the light of the stars seeming to dull, the dance of the air falling still. They've left Aorila behind. Jaci keeps running.

A hollowness carves out in his chest, twined with weighted realisation. He doesn't look back. He doesn't want to know if his father is chasing, or if he's merely watching, vanishing like the rest of his home. He can practically feel his second name breaking into pieces beneath his boots.

Maybe he really is nothing but Finlay Hunter now. A homeless runaway.

He's almost glad for the pain. It digs its claws in ever deeper, clumping his thoughts together in unreadable cotton. By the time Jaci finally slows to a stop, he can do little but collapse, his eyes wet and his head pounding. Her supporting arm falls away.

She whirls, brows drawing inward. He inhales through clenched teeth, clapping a hand over the wound. It's blistered and bloody, an ugly mess buried beneath his shredded trouser leg. Warmth sticks to his palm.

Jaci nudges his shoulder, lifting his gaze. Icy letters etch out on her forearm. Heal?

He shakes his head. "It's a Tía wound. It's much harder to heal." Swallowing hard to force back any more tears, he drags himself into an unsteady sitting position, injured leg stretched out just shy of straight. A few blades of grass brush over it. He winces. "I hate this."

A few tentative flames drift to the surface of his skin, flickering around the edges of the hole. They sear as much as real fire. Hurriedly, he pulls them back, closing his eyes for a moment as he wipes a hand over his face. It's damp with sweat and tears. The warmth in his veins is starting to pulse uncomfortably.

Cold washes over his leg, soothing the heat in a biting wave. With a gasp, he steals a peek at Jaci. She's knelt beside him, flecks of crystallised snow dancing at her fingertips as she wraps the wound in a glittering layer of ice. It hardens into the crude shape of a makeshift bandage, if he was supposed to be able to see his own misty reflection in a bandage or feel the bones in his leg freeze over beneath it. He breathes out a shaky, grateful sigh. It'll do. "Thanks. That helps."

She glances up at him, shooting an almost playful smile. Chinks of ice settle back against her skin. What now?

"Now?" He traces his gaze in a half circle, studying the way they've come to ensure it remains empty before looking off into the forest ahead. "We walk to Kavas, I guess." His leg throbs at the thought. "Somehow."

Jumping to her feet, Jaci holds out a hand. He clasps it, pulling on her strength as he staggers awkwardly upright. At the very least, the ice lends him a small amount of stability, although the pain hasn't gone anywhere. Shifting his grip to her shoulder, he twists to look at her, hesitating. "You can still go back, you know. I can do this on my own." He manages to sound more sure about the prospect than he feels.

Jaci side-eyes him. Her other hand lifts. Not a chance. The letters shift, smooth as her sly grin. You need all the help you can get.

He huffs. "I do not."

She slings an arm around his shoulder, pausing to swipe her hand through his hair despite his wobbly attempt to duck away. I have to look after my imbecile cousin, her outstretched arm reads. Her smile softens. And I want Noli to be safe. He's... The ice lingers for a moment before settling in its fragile shape. Nice.

Fiesi can't help but chuckle. "He's way too nice. It's probably his downfall." Shifting his gaze to look ahead, he sighs. "And mine. Come on, let's begin this suffering before I decide to pass out instead."

Dramatic, she shows him written in frost, although she does as he says, carefully guiding him into a brisk walk. He tries not to think about how painful the mere movement is, or how far they have to go. It's going to be a long night.

At least he's not alone this time.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

I don't think any Fiesi chapter in history has ever followed my outline, and this one certainly did not break the trend. I wrote a whole chapter following my outline, hated it, then scrapped it all and wrote this instead. It's for the best. Fiesi getting shot by a fire arrow is neat.

Also I enjoy these two as a duo much more than I thought I would so this should be fun :D

- Pup