Aorila wears a robe of shadow as Sarielle marches a disjointed path through the muddle of houses that forms the town's centre, striding in and out of the folds of early morning. The sun strains to clamber into the sky at her back. Its feeble rays feel like the tips of fingers, wrapped around the horizon in a vain attempt to haul its mass up at any speed faster than the sluggish pace it favours in the year's colder months. As she pauses beside the dark, glassy surface of a pool, checking the hazy map she's attempted to construct in her mind, a chill ripples through the air, skimming over her bones.

Shivering, she reaches up to retie the clasp of her tan cloak tighter around her neck. She purchased it back in late spring; it isn't thick enough to cope with the frost, but it's something to be grateful for. Some of the others don't have cloaks at all.

She has no real reason to resent the slow pass of time. Right now, it benefits her. If she moves quickly, she can be on her way before first light properly floods into view and illuminates her path for others to follow.

Nathan won't have a cloak either, she realises. He must be freezing.

Urgency shoves her back into movement. She darts along the path to the right, running along the memory of the brief tour Fiesi provided her with. It had been half-hearted; he'd been far too distracted to pay her more than a little attention, scarpering into the forest as soon as he could excuse himself to hunt, but she paid close attention regardless. She's grateful now to her father for training her recall through the years.

The house to the right is neat and slender, more carefully put together than those around it, its wooden walls smoothed over. Cream curtains flutter in the place where a door should be. Strokes of yellow and orange paints decorate in swirls around it, as if announcing the colours of sunrise before they arrive. Prophetic, almost.

Sarielle shakes her head. Her thoughts are wandering, dwelling on meaning that isn't there, and she doesn't have time for it. Grabbing the curtain, she yanks it aside and ducks her head to peer into the room.

The light startles her. It's only small, a lantern positioned atop a desk, but she'd been expecting total darkness at this hour. A girl jumps up from the seat beside it. Those sunrise shades blur the scarlet of her dress's skirt with the white-yellow that circles her collar. Atop the desk, a scroll rolls into a cylinder and goes still, as if it is a live creature curling into a fearful ball to hide.

Sarielle shoves back her wonder. No time. "Are you the Jeía in charge of the barrier?" Fiesi did mention the name, but it's slipped her mind in this moment. She curses the jittery nature of her thoughts.

The girl gives a jerky nod, smoothing out her dress with a nervous hand. The light catches on her fingers just a little too brightly, making the tips of them appear to glow, just faintly, such a small spark that it could easily be imagined. "My name is Ellisi," she says. She looks as if she must be somewhere in her early twenties, but her voice still holds the softness of someone far younger. At least she's not as intimidating or filled with snobbery as every other resident of this town seems to be. That should make her task easier.

Stepping fully into the room, Sarielle lets the curtain fall closed behind her. "And your magic can sense people?"

Ellisi shifts. Her hair is a tangled dirty blonde, swaying into her face. "I... don't think you're supposed to be here."

"Well, I am." Sarielle sighs, biting back any harsher retort. This girl doesn't deserve the brunt of a frustration worn thin. "I'm sorry to barge in on you like this, but I really need your help. I'd say I would pay you for it, but..."

Twisting a lock of hair around her finger, Ellisi offers a shy smile. "It's alright. I'll help." She perches on the side of her desk chair. "Who are you looking for?"

There is a slight twinkle in her pale amber eyes, some knowing look, a chink of confidence within her otherwise anxious demeanour. It's just enough to unsettle Sarielle. It's a reminder of the amount of power she's in company with. She clears her throat, tugging the tie that holds her hair in a loose ponytail a little tighter. "You know Fiesi Kynig?"

One corner of Ellisi's mouth curls upward. "Everyone knows Fiesi."

"Can you tell me whether he's left Aorila? I can't find him anywhere."

There's no hesitation at all. "He has."

A thread of annoyance twines with the distinct sense of dread coiled in the pit of Sarielle's stomach. She ventures another step forward. "Where is he?"

Ellisi licks her lips. "I'll need--"

"A map?" Reaching for the pouch slung over her shoulder, Sarielle pulls out a tattered bundle of parchment, slamming it onto the desk to flatten out its numerous creases. It's worn from endless use, but the inked trails that shape the landmass and curves in neat little labels are still legible. She drew up this map herself, a few days before she left the castle for the last time. It's smaller than the maps usually produced; this one magnifies Oscensi and Akurin, with the jagged strip of Neyaibet and the sea beneath it cut off by the edge of the page. Even Akurin's sizable peninsula isn't visible in full. It's strange how large this portion of the world used to seem, and now she worries it isn't quite enough.

Startled by the sound, Ellisi flinches back into the edge of her chair, taking a moment before she moves around to study the map. Her fingernail lands on the alcove they now sit in, Aorila's unmarked location, before sliding the tiniest bit southeast. "There."

A frown sits on Sarielle's brow. If Fiesi was truly running, he could've made it further than that. "Can you tell where he's headed?"

Ellisi's nail extends its line, curving around a mountain before halting upon a circular marker.

"Kavas," Sarielle reads. With a swift nod, she curls her fingers around the edge of the map, gathering it up. "Thank you."

A sharp inhale cuts from the Jeía girl. Her hand jolts away from the map as it's teased away from her grip, trembling a little. Sarielle freezes. Unmasked fear has flooded into Ellisi's expression, her wide eyes reflecting so much lamplight that they appear almost white. "I..." She shrinks back into her chair, scraping a hand through her hair, distressed. "I sense a darkness."

As if on cue, the light flickers, dimming so much that Sarielle has to squint to make out anything but shadow. She pulls her map to her chest, folding it distractedly. Whatever warmth the room held when she entered it has been whisked away. Ice crawls across her skin.

"Apologies," Ellisi breathes. "I... had to withdraw from the world's magic. It's painful to sense." She shakes herself, drawing in a long, shuddering breath, and the lantern brightens again. "The balance is deeply unsettled. It's like cracks in all that is good and pure."

Sarielle swallows. She has the sudden feeling of being ten years younger, sitting at the table during one of her fathers' council meetings, their words slippery and meaningless to her child's mind yet their emotion trickling through regardless. Foreboding prickles like a thousand needles, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. "Did you sense Nathan, then?" she asks, the question far too tentative. Fear is an easy poison to breathe in despite her resentment of its grip.

Without answering, Ellisi stares blankly at the surface of her desk as if there is something carved into it. Her lips move soundlessly.

Some distant voice at the back of Sarielle's mind whispers of the importance of time, of urgency. She lingers a second longer before its influence becomes too great. "I'll leave you," she says. "Thanks again."

It fills her with very little sadness to flee the tense atmosphere clouding into the house, much as curiosity simmers beneath it. The moment her boots are hitting the earth outside again, slipping into a more rapid rhythm as she breaks into a jog, logic casts away the remainder of it and stains her thoughts with a splash of frustration. She's tired of these magical recluses and their fanciful ideas of dark and light, their talk of a balance and a natural order as if a thing can only ever be right or wrong. For people who consider themselves more important than others, it's an oddly childish concept.

By the time she's collected her pack from her tent -- nestled within their makeshift camp on the outskirts of Aorila -- and crept over to where her horse is tied to a slim tree, an amused smile has found its way to her lips. "I sense a darkness," she murmurs in imitation, a laugh trailing through the words. Fastening the pack to her saddle, she hooks her foot in a stirrup. "As if I don't know." She vaults up onto the horse's back, shaking her head.

Nathan is her friend. He always will be, regardless of what these fools think of him. Which is why she needs to get out now, push through the barrier and race after him, before someone else decides to label him as dangerous.

At the very least, if Ellisi can sense him, then it must mean that he's still alive.

Warm, orange light stains the mountainsides ahead. Impatience tugging at her heart again, she kicks the horse into a canter. I do wish you'd waited for me, Fiesi. Prideful idiot.

"Sarie, wait!"

A figure dashes between the trees in front. Shock singing through her veins, she yanks at her reins, just about coming to a stop before she can charge into him. It's Dalton. His coppery hair glints in the light of the sunrise, ruffled in that wild sleep-tousled way that implies he's practically thrown himself out of his tent to catch up to her. A pang of guilt cuts through her chest.

"Stay here and look after the regiment," she tells him. "I'll be back."

He lets out a disbelieving, almost exasperated sigh. "No." His hands lower. There's a brown scarf tossed around his neck, its frayed end toyed with by the breeze. "You can't just leave without consulting with me first, Sarielle. And you're not going out there alone."

The use of her full name isn't lost on her. She ducks her head. "I'm sorry." The reins twist around her fingers. "I just can't bear the thought of--"

"I know." Understanding softens the sternness in his expression. "Me neither. We need to find him."

She watches him. "Are you sure the regiment will be okay without you?"

"They'll be fine. Harper can manage." He's already moving past her, heading back the way she's come. "I'll go get our horses."

A confused laugh breaks free. "Horses plural? I'm not sure--"

A second figure steps out from the shadows of a tree, and the words fade away in her throat, blunt and soundless.

Her father keeps hold of a branch just above his head, an easy, casual smile resting on his lips. His straw-coloured hair is covered by a sharp-edged cap. From the neatly buttoned waistcoat he wears over his crisp off-white tunic, he looks as if he'd be more at home at a political dinner than camping out in the wilderness, though his calm demeanour settles any feeling of disbelonging. It itches at her anyway.

"No," Sarielle blurts out before she can stop herself. She snatches a breath. "Father, you need to stay here."

Adjusting his cap, he moves a step closer to her. "I thought you might say that." Their eyes meet. "I will not let you go off on your own, Sarielle. I already feared I'd lost you once."

Unhooking her right foot from a stirrup, she twists in her saddle, though resists the urge to hop down. Urgency still thrums through her veins. "As did I." Her reins dig into her palm. "I brought you here to protect you. I won't see you in danger."

His comforting smile unwavering, he tightens his belt. There's a sword strapped there. The sight of it freezes her. "I'm not so old that I can't take care of myself," he says, almost laughing, though it's nothing mocking. "Your adventurer's spirit has to come from somewhere, after all."

A smile pulls at her lips despite the cold fist in her chest. "Don't you need to stay by the king's side?"

"Cyneric will survive." He chuckles. "Ela will keep him straight, I'm sure. Provided he doesn't get into any argument with that Kynig fellow. Ah, thank you, Captain Heathe."

Dalton has reappeared with a pair of horses in tow. He hands the reins of one to her father, ducking under his gratitude. "Dalton," he corrects. "You're very welcome, Lord Diraldi."

Her father lands a pat on his shoulder. "Call me Reuben, then. There are no titles upon the path of adventurers, correct?"

Dalton's nod is polite, but there's an edge to his gaze, the way it slides too quickly away. Sarielle opens her mouth to ask what's wrong, then pins in the question; his attention is already ensnared in climbing onto the back of his own horse. It would do no good to ask. She already knows. Dalton has spent his life struggling with inferiority, and good-hearted as her father is, he's entirely out of touch with anyone common. She cringes at the thought of what she might have said, when she was tactless and fresh out of the castle.

Each of them shifts in to flank her, and they set off at a trot, side by side. Red touches the sky, trailing off into pink. Daylight trickles a breath of warmth into the air and illuminates the edges of branches as they navigate a path into the depths of the forest. It feels too late, the distance too far. Sarielle urges her horse faster.

Her father follows. He tugs his reins her way, leaning in to whisper to her. "Even despite all that," he murmurs, "this is an issue for the entire kingdom. It's imperative that we keep Nathaniel out of enemy hands."

Sarielle nods, staring off into the sunrise. I sense a darkness. Perhaps Ellisi's words are apt if she considers Neyaibet as the cloud that hangs over the horizon, their deep navy uniforms dark enough to warrant the term. Ordinary people have a war of light and dark of their own, and it has claimed far more lives. Nathan is simply a tool that must be kept to the right side.

Her horse can't succeed in keeping up with the pound of her heart.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

The Aorila arc is really just me creating a bunch of cool magic characters and then not having time to explore them and it's honestly tragic. They're just there, being fancy in the background. Respect to Ellisi and Rosi and whoever else :pensive:

Also Sarielle finally got fun to write!! I love her now. All is well.

- Pup