A storm is brewing in the distance. Peels of thunder roll from beyond the shore, muted echoes clawing their way through the ground Sarielle is seated upon. She shifts a little further into her father's side, staring up at the black sky.

"Nine seconds," Dalton calls from above. He's clambered up into the branches of the tree she leans against, his neck craned in an effort to catch sight of any flicker of lightning. Disappointment hangs from his voice. She hears a twig snap as he leans back. "It's getting further away."

"Good," Fiesi grumbles, laid flat on his back in the grass with his eyes half-lidded. His hands clasp behind his head. "Maybe we can finally get some sleep."

Dalton sighs. "Sorry." The branches shift again. "Give me a few more minutes."

"I admire your interest, Captain Dalton," Sarielle's father says, gaze tilting upward. His cap slides, but he catches it before it can slip from his head. "The natural world is full of wonder. It's important that young people like you continue to appreciate it."

Sarielle starts to nod her agreement, yet the action snags halfway. Lips pressed together in a frown, she draws her knees up, searching for stars amongst the thick cloud that blankets the night. Storms always seemed easy to admire when she watched them from her castle room window, her chin cupped in her hands and elbows resting on the spacious sil, warm and dry as the faraway lightning lit up the bright glass and cast a glow over her sun-patterned nightdress. Now, even as the danger drifts away and their skies remain fortunately clear of rain, her chest squeezes.

Even during those safer times, Nathan never heard the thunder. It never cracked loud enough to reach his tiny pocket of a cell, but he'll be hearing it now, and her heart thuds with worry. There's no knowing how far ahead of them he could be. What if he's gotten himself caught in the storm? He must be terrified.

Dwelling on it is pointless. She lets out a slow, shaky breath. There's nothing I can do right now but hope. She prays the stars are watching from beyond the clouds. If they are, then maybe they might listen. Just this once, she prays they'll protect him while she can't.

Fiesi's groan drags her from her thoughts. He rolls onto his side, his grey cloak spilling onto the ground as his back faces them. "I'd appreciate it more if it wasn't the damn middle of the night."

A pale, white-blue blur skips out from behind another tree as Jaci appears, moonlight glinting off her frost-tipped fingers. She kicks at Fiesi's ankle as she glides past. His head turns enough for Sarielle to catch the azure spark of his glare, though it's gone again swiftly. There's something cold and stony about his turned back, enough to trickle thick unease along her spine. She could convince himself that he's merely sulking, like the over-privileged brat she read him to be at first, though she knows there's something far more complex beneath it. Her heart gives another squeeze.

A faint flash, faded enough that she might have missed it had her gaze not drifted back to the sky, lights up the forest. The low murmur of Dalton's voice counts to the rhythm of her pulse. Jaci releases a soft gasp, her icy eyes wide with amazement.

"Do you not get storms in Aorila?" Sarielle asks.

Jaci shakes her head. She scrawls a word in frost on the back of her hand -- a feat that still flutters a deep, dazzled awe in Sarielle's chest -- before holding it out. Shielded.

Thunder sounds like the soft, sleepy roar of an animal. Dalton sighs again. "Thirteen seconds." The tree creaks. "Fine, I'm coming down."

She leans sideways a little as he hops down, landing in a practised crouch upon the earth, before taking a seat beside her. He leaves a purposeful wedge of space. Digging her teeth into her tongue, she sweeps a lock of hair behind her ear, averting her eyes and trying to ignore the pang of hurt that ripples through her. It shouldn't have to be awkward between them, yet it is. Right as she knows he must be about taking a break, she's starting to hate this constant distance, as if they tiptoe around each other in a constant effort to avoid bringing it up.

She jerks forcefully away from the thoughts. It's easier to focus on Jaci, to throw herself into a different, less personal conversation. "Shielded by the barrier?" she asks.

Jaci nods. Her ice reshapes, multiplying as the letters grow in number. It's mesmerizingly easy. Keeps out all danger.

"That is incredible." Sarielle turns to nudge her father. "Imagine if we could have had something like that around Polevis."

He chuckles lightly. "That is quite the fantastical thought."

"I'm serious." Folding her arms over her chest, she leans back. "We could've kept out Neyaibet for good. Things would be so different."

His frown folds in the worried creases in his forehead. "Careful with your words, Sarielle. You speak as if you would use this magic as a weapon."

An itch squirms through her veins. The edge of sternness in his faded green eyes urges her to back down, but her tongue is a blade that keeps cutting, her doubt devoid of any adhesive to force it to stick. "Well, why can't it be? Is something like that really so different from a wall built from steel or bricks?"

"It is different, Sarielle." Her father holds her gaze. "Magic is unpredictable and destructive in hands it does not belong in." He throws a sweeping gesture towards Fiesi. "Master Kynig was taught to protect such secrets, but we were not. It is not our place to use his or his comrades' power for our own gain."

Fiesi twitches, but he doesn't turn. Jaci drifts over to kneel at his side. Her dress pools to mingle with the haphazard folds of his cloak like snow upon chipped slate.

Out of some amount of guilt, Sarielle drops her voice, but her argument hasn't crumbled. There's something familiar about this. Threading words, carefully lining a debate, the two of them huddled together and performing a dance of fierce, hushed voices. It's odd to do it now when she genuinely means to convince him he is wrong rather than simply playing a game of practice. Debate is a skill, a worked-at talent. Her father taught her that. The shame that might have clipped her tongue in place is shrugged away.

Beneath the hard look in his eyes, there's a spark. Though he means what he says, he's proud of her for fighting back.

With that warmth coiling around her heart, she shapes her challenge into a question, though it's eked dry of venom. "So you agree we're lesser than they are?"

"Different," he replies, his tone thoughtful as the word rolls free. "Not lesser."

"And you fear that difference?"

He frowns. "Fear is a strong word, Sarielle."

"Strong, but not rare. We fear anything we don't understand." And even most of what is understood, though she refrains from adding that, deciding it doesn't aid her point. Not even storybook heroes are fearless. Fiesi, wielder of the fiery magic she's fought a battle with fear against all her life, is practically scared of his own shadow. She can't blame him. After all she's learned from him and Nathan, the shadows seem like agents of terror.

Nathan. Her mind leaps without permission. "That's why you locked up Nathan, after all. Fear." She looks down at the grass, swallowing back the surge of anger. It does no good in hindsight, but the ache remains. "You called him destructive."

"You are well aware there was more reason than that." Her father's voice is sharp, but it blunts immediately. He exhales heavily. "I made a mistake with how I handled Nathan, and I will always regret it. Please don't berate me for that."

The guilt dripping from his words is a sting in her veins. Seeking out his hand, she threads her fingers with his, any sense of animosity dissipating into the frosty air. "I'm sorry." She leans into him, her head tipped to rest on his shoulder. "I know you did the best you could."

"Perhaps," he murmurs, the word thick with darkened doubt.

His fingers comb through her hair, soft and gentle, only his breathing mixed with the wind filling the quiet. Her eyes slide shut. She fights not to slip into sleep just yet, one last question teetering on the tip of her tongue.

"Father," she whispers, tentative but throat burning with her curiosity, "would you ever have used Nathan to win the war?"

She's sure he tenses beneath her. "Never." Certain as he usually sounds, nothing else could ring as fierce as that.

Nathan's face viewed behind bars flickers behind her closed eyelids, shadow and candlelight falling in stripes over his white skin. His hopeful expression, the wonder in his gaze, his knees pressed right up against the wall of his confinement as if the dirty fabric of his trousers was attempting to slip free where the rest of him couldn't. "What if he asked?"

A more recent memory papers over it. A fiercer, more dangerous look in his eyes. Ash on his face instead of shadow, and a spear in his hands. The echo of that thudding, painful desperation tickled her ears, but the bitter taste of his feelings remain.

"What if that's what he wanted?" she adds.

"Then that is a conversation I would have with him, not you." Her father pulls her in tighter. "Goodnight, Sarielle."

"Could you stop whispering?" Fiesi hisses from somewhere. "I can hear you, and it's irritating."

"We are stopping," Sarielle snaps back, though a softer edge tints it, leaked in by her father's presence at her side. She cracks one eye open to cast Fiesi a half-smile, though he doesn't look long enough to see it. "Sorry."

His response is nothing more than a tired, "Hmph." He curls into a ball in the grass. Jaci's midnight-black hair pools over his cloak where she lies next to him, rather serene.

"Night, everyone," Sarielle's father adds, a touch louder. "Sleep well, and I bid us all luck for the morning. As long as we're together, we'll be alright."

"As long as we're together," Sarielle echoes, nestling into him. A sour paste lines her throat. Nathan must feel so alone.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

This chapter is the definition of a first draft brain dump, but I felt like I needed some kind of interlude where we could briefly catch up with the rest of the gang, so it exists now. I have had that little conflict between Sarielle and her father in the back of my mind for a while so it's fun to yeet it somewhere. I'll clean it up next draft.

Also Fiesi would just like a nap. Mood.

- Pup