The winter sunshine is nothing Fiesi craved it to be. Its long, poking fingers are callous, flicking across his face with little more than cursory care. Wind gusts up and swirls around his feet, a chill raking his cheeks and prancing between the flares of his flame, toying with the hot feathers on his wings. He's sure his ears bend downwards, twitching his distaste.

At his side, his father sucks in a soft, shivering breath, and he hurries to reorder his priorities. The effort of dragging Gelani along has gradually increased as his limp became more pronounced; by this point, he's leaning his entire body weight upon Fiesi's shoulder, every movement laboured. Their difference in height and build has never felt quite this pronounced. As soon as hard cobbles scratch at the soles of his feet and the sun's disappointing rays grace his skin, Fiesi gets his arms around his father's middle and lowers him awkwardly to the ground, a sharp sigh of relief leaking from them both when he's settled. Fiesi drops to one knee, catching his breath.

A renewed lightness curls around his muscles, yet all that does is further accentuate the burden of the drooping wings drilled into his back. The flame is heavier in his veins now, tugging harder at his core with every bright, bold flicker. It feels like a warning. Dull bells clang in his ears, tolling a place near the end, whispering of dark and nothingness and a deep, thoughtless abyss. He hasn't got much time left.

His stomach squirms, knots digging in until they dent. He shakes it off, forces the flames licking his skin to dim until they disappear, and glances back at the broken castle entryway. Tacky guilt sticks over any notion of fear.

Perhaps the sun's touch is so weak because it knows he hasn't earned the right to be out in the open air.

Further along the path, the rest of the Tía gather, each in their own state of disarray. Trailed by the tailed end of a purple cloak, Xyvi paces back and forth as backdrop, the easiest to fix onto thanks to his perpetual nervous motion. He has a fire-scattered hand clasped to his ribs and a deep gash carved into the side of his head, dripping long, thick lines of crimson onto his face and staining his hair in matted clumps, but he keeps moving, expression fixed in hard lines like he plans on marching himself into an early grave. It feels odd, though so much feels odd right now that it should pale into insignificance. Xyvi was Fiesi's looming shadow when they were young -- a few years older and several inches taller with the confidence to make both those features seem incredibly intimidating, with the sort of glinting eyes that searched for mistakes. But the man doesn't even glance over now. Today has changed everything, and it shows in the grey shade draped over all of them. Not one of them was prepared for something like this.

While Xyvi appears to be fighting the tension with movement, Megai huddles into it, shoulders hunched and knees drawn into the place she sits. Edrali has one arm wrapped securely around her while his other hand procures a darkly blistered wound on her arm. Fiesi isn't sure when he appeared -- whether he joined the fight, or whether he's simply been waiting, snagged by the shadows and his own powerlessness -- but the turmoil of either scenario creases his brow. Grief hangs a darker cloud in his eyes.

In front of them, Rosi is frantically tending to an unconscious Ischyri. She tears his shirt away to reveal the bloodied strike of Nathan's blade driven across his stomach, then whirls, snatching hold of Megai's green skirt. She yanks off a sizable strip, deaf to Megai's yelp of protest. Her legs curl closer to her.

"What was that for?"

"Needed a bandage," Rosi mutters bluntly, already busy teasing the fabric around Ischyri's belly.

Megai's back arches, forcing Edrali to cling tighter to her arm to keep her steady. "And you couldn't use your own clothes?"

"Animal fur. No use."

She flicks her sleeve as demonstration, displaying the underlined hazel fur spilling from it. Unsatisfied, Megai splutters a curse, and the conversation quickly dissolves into bickering. Fiesi watches with an itching amount of discomfort. They look like a simple, ordinary family, rife with disagreement while care bounces underneath their words, though no family he was ever truly part of. The few metres in distance between himself and the rest of them feels like miles. He finds his gaze tugged towards the castle archway again instead, another anxious twist drawing his chest tight. Should Sarielle have made it out by now?

Cold fingers find his hand, squeeze weakly at his palm. Startled, he snaps back to face his father.

Gelani Kynig has never looked so old. The faint creases in his face have become crevasses, dug into his forehead and cheeks and all washed in a sallow shade. His eyes are a dull, near-lifeless blue. Worse than that, forks of crawling, abyssal black poke just above the bunched pads of his cloak, driven like scars across his neck. Nathan must've had him by the throat at some point, or maybe the darkened flame is simply spreading, eager to consume. No doubt there are more lingering marks of pain sprawled across his chest.

"Fiesi," he whispers, cradling the name so tenderly that Fiesi feels he should be doing a double take. "You did well."

"I..." Fiesi scoffs, his baffled laugh snagging in his throat. "You're not dying, Father. You don't have to pretend you like me."

Gelani's slight smile grows distant, slipping from genuinity. His gaze drifts to the sky, glimmering, light twisted off-kilter. Dim, glassy. The fingers clasped around Fiesi's palm sag limply against the ground.

His mouth goes dry. "Father?"

The others' chatter goes silent.

Fiesi swallows hard, banishing the lump in his throat. His fingers slowly tease from his father's touch. Several more seconds of staring tick by, but there's not so much as a blink, not a breath or a twitch or a curl of living flame. Gelani Kynig simply lies there, gone.

Gingerly, Fiesi sits back on his heels. He can feel eyes pointedly on him, is aware of the breaths stiffly held as they await a reaction. He isn't sure he can give one. A numb sheet smothers his mind, wrapped tight enough that his senses dip, pinning him in this strange, cloudy haze. He runs an absent hand through his hair.

"Fiesi!"

By the strained exasperation that lances through that shout, he guesses it isn't the first time he's been called, but it snaps him from the trance regardless. Recognition bleeds out, and he jolts to his feet.

Sarielle stumbles free of the arch's jagged shadows, squinting into the meagre daylight. Beside her is a barely-recognisable Dalton. Dust smears his tan complexion to a grimy grey and dulls his hair to ordinary brown, streaking his clothes until they hang off him as little more than rags, though it is far outshone in its ruinous task by the blood. Dried scarlet rivulets have dried to the curve of his cheek, descending in a waterfall from his right eye, which appears welded shut. A bloodied gash strikes sharply across it and just nicks his left eye, which hovers experimentally half-open.

A wince pulls Fiesi's lips into a downturned grimace. Under Sarielle's stare, he trails over, lugging his wings behind him as hot feathers bounce and singe the cobbles. He holds an arm out. "Here."

Dalton pats at the air until his fingers snag Fiesi's grey sleeve. He latches hold, staggering as Sarielle releases him, a sharp gasp of surprise scraping between his teeth. "Warm." His clouded slit of a gaze flits upward, then down, as if suddenly recalling Fiesi's lacklustre height. "You really are alive."

Fiesi flashes an uneasy grin. "For the time being. I'm looking better than you at least, mili zoí."

With a huffed laugh, Dalton shifts his weight, pressing more of it onto Fiesi's shoulder. Fiesi pulls for the now-aching strings of flame to stabilise him, doing his best not to visibly clench his jaw. Excellent. Why are all the injured men today so tall and heavy?

On the contrary, I believe you are a small one, Rigel remarks helpfully. It is little wonder my wings are too large for you to carry.

Fiesi is saved the effort of fumbling for a retort amongst his muddy, mixed-up thoughts by another intrusion of Sarielle's voice. "Stop it," she chokes out, seriousness shuttering so fiercely over her expression that any hint of his smile drains into nothing. Her tearful glare bats away their thin humour. "Don't pretend anything is normal here." She swipes at her eyes, spine straightening as she sucks in a breath, though panic quivers her lip. "Fiesi, where's Nathan?"

A wordless stutter lodges in his jaw, accompanied by that gnawing, splashed guilt. His flame goes leaden, as do his words, groaning soft protest when he drags them to his tongue. "He told me to leave him."

"And you listened?"

The bite of her voice makes him flinch. "He didn't give me a choice. You know how--"

"I know," she snaps, then sinks into herself, uninjured arm drawn across her chest. Her other arm hangs limply at her side, tensed with evident pain. "I know," she repeats, quieter, rocking back on her heels.

A shaky silence drops into place. Fiesi's hair ruffles in the shard of wind that slices between them, the feathers dangling either side of his face dusting his cheeks. A whistling howl buffets the rubble and broken homes littered around them. Even without the unknowing anticipation that smothered them all the last time the three of them stood here, the city maintains its eerie presence. He lays a hand over Dalton's grip on his shoulder if only to keep hold of someone still living.

Without warning, Sarielle turns. "I'm going to find him."

She's marching away before he can fully process her words, chin tilted up determinedly and elbow sticking out awkwardly as she clutches her sword's hilt in a white-knuckled fist. Layers of shadow swamp one at a time over her yellow hair and dip the brown fur of her cloak in black. Fluttering panic leaps in Fiesi's chest. Muttering a hurried, "Sorry," to Dalton, he wrenches himself free of the supporting grip and chases after her.

He remains grateful that his flame makes him fast. He streaks over the scattered rubble, half of it charring as he flies over it, and skids in front of her. He throws a glowing wing out, casting her face in a harsh azure beam.

All the light does is further accent the angry gleam in her eyes. "Fiesi, get out of my way."

He shakes his head, flame burning fiercely enough his eyes must give off light. His stance is steely. It's a miracle enough that Sarielle has survived this whole endeavour, and he won't let her charge into another fight she can't win, not when he should've barred her from the first, despite all the help she's been. She's saved him once already. Out of all of them, she deserves to be the one who lives.

Her fury crumbles all at once, soaked through by another watery line of tears. Her hand shakes so much she looks as if she might snap the curved handle of her sword from its blade. "He's throwing his life away again. After all we did to save him, he'll just..." She shudders, then blinks, jaw set with a fragile, expressive hardness. "I can't abandon him again."

Fear flickers in her gaze as it slides beyond his shoulder. Hesitant, he follows where she looks, and a stone lands squarely in his stomach. Thin tendrils of smoke billow from the bend of a corridor, faint curls drifting across the sharp, angled stripes of sunlight.

An earth-shaking crash sounds, rolling like thunder beneath his feet.

Sarielle wobbles, staggering to retain her footing. He catches her shoulder and meets her eyes. "We won't. But you should stay here."

She nods slowly, inhaling through her nose as she composes herself. Still, when he releases her, she snatches up his hand, their fingers interlacing. She gnaws at her lip, worry creased into every corner of her pretty face. "When you said you were dying..."

"Yeah." Laughter slightly devoid of sanity bubbles up in the back of his throat, though he's quick to swallow it. It's best if he looks like he at least has some pieces of him attached together right. He heaves up a grim smile instead. "I don't think my body can keep this up much longer."

You may not die, Rigel reminds him, voice sullen.

He raises an eyebrow. You're an optimist now? Maybe I need to die to set the world right again.

There's no audible response, but the bird's presence swirls at the bottom of his core, aching and quiet and anything but chipper. Sharing a body outlines Rigel's buzz of thoughts in such a way that they appear almost, almost, emotive. They drag at Fiesi, both burden and comfort.

"It's for the best," he adds, his smile slipping like the energy hoisting it up simply blows away. "I, ah... I haven't had a chance to say I'm sorry. I am. I just..."

His tongue wanders aimlessly around his mouth, poking behind his teeth as if the right words to say might be hidden there. He can't recall if the blood is still dried onto his hands and doesn't dare look now, but it itches anyway. Awkwardness draws an awful tension into his shoulders. He makes to slide his hand from Sarielle's, but she grips him tighter, squeezing his palm with iron force.

"I don't blame you." Her voice wavers, cracked but sure, enough to prod a jagged surprise that widens Fiesi's eyes. "And it doesn't matter now." With a final brush of her thumb against his knuckles, she lets go. Her face shifts in an instant, from heartfelt to stern, tense with thought. She casts a glance sideways, and her voice drops to an urgent whisper. "If you find Nathan, don't bring him back here. You both need to go somewhere safe, somewhere far, and I'll come and find you when this is all sorted." There's a tiredness underlining her eyes then, like she's aged ten years all of a sudden. She grits her teeth. "I'll see you again."

The strength with which she says those words is startling. It's like she knows something the universe doesn't, like everything is certain, like she's daring the fate she believes woven by the stars to prove her wrong. He can't help flicking her one, last smile. "See you."

Then she's gone, and he's sprinting, the light of his flames charging ahead to shove back the incessant waves of darkness and smoke. The latter thickens rapidly, but he doesn't slow his pace. Acrid fumes fill his nose. Inhaling shallowly, he dives into the starlit senses his fire provides, prodding for Rigel's help. Much to his surprise, it's offered without complaint, and soon the castle's dark ripples with fresh clarity, laying out his path in easy, instinctive strings. All within the rotting stone is lifeless now. All but a single, shiningly pure soul.

Familiarity doesn't register at first. The feel of Nathan's coloured flame is shockingly different, lit with sweetened sparks and white, blazing innocence. He really is free of Adeía's clutches in all senses; no dark, bitter presence resides anywhere. Shaula is really, finally dead. Fiesi pulls on a sharp grin, wings spread as he glides at full pelt around a corner.

Then the soul sputters.

Shock edged with biting fear sinks into the pit of his stomach, nearly causing him to stumble. His flames push outward with further haste, a swirling shield around him that fights the searing heat of ordinary fire and closes in a bubble of breathable air. He dives sideways and shoves his shoulder straight through a wall, chunks of brick all caught aflame and tossed aside harmlessly by his power.

He skids to a halt, panting in the centre of the broken throne room. He whirls a full circle before he spots it. That faint, sparking glimmer of violet amongst harsher light and darkness, a single prayer for help.

He's at Nathan's side within moments, wings flung out in protective arches, knee half-slipping off the edge of the chasm the floor drops into before he yanks it back up. His hands cup the sides of Nathan's face, gently easing it upright. His skin has a ruddy warmth to it, not quite feverish but hot enough to match the burn in Fiesi's own fingertips, and the soot speckling his cheeks accentuates his stark black-and-white appearance. He looks phantom-like, faded into ghostly shades, like an echo of another unplaceable era. Heart in his throat, Fiesi traces a thumb over his cheek. There's a small gust of relief that settles when the soot shifts to reveal ordinary pale, sweat-glazed skin, unmarred by the ugly spread of scales.

"You're free," he murmurs, sinking lower on his knees as his fingers thread with Nathan's unruly curls. "We're both free now. We don't have to be afraid."

That lie is sour and broken on his tongue. Fear tangles a maze of knots in his stomach, throbbing, strangling him until he feels the threat of tears ache behind his eyes. He swallows hard, forcing a smile as his flame-dusted fingers tap at Nathan's forehead. "Come on, brother. Stupid suicidal maniac. Wake up."

His vision has begun to blur when Nathan groans. It's a soft, hitching sound, but it's there. Sniffling, Fiesi swipes a sleeve over his eyes, then pats harder at Nathan's face. "Yes. Yes, come one."

Nathan's nose twitches, and his eyes -- bright violet eyes, washed with paler chinks of lilac that fades easily into the whites -- crack open. His ghostly appearance slides away, like that simple change invites colour to wash his face and dark clothes. Slowly, he blinks. "Did..." His voice rasps, grating into a wordless, fractured growl. He winces, then twists to the side, ducking aside from Fiesi's hand as he hacks out a cough. He takes his time breathing slowly, the underlying wheeze growing quieter, before he peeks up at Fiesi.

"Did you just hit me?"

Despite himself, Fiesi laughs. He retracts his hands in a hurry, wringing them close to his chest as he sits back. "Sorry."

Nathan touches a hand to his cheek. His smile is little more than a weak flicker, but his eyes have a soft glint. "You came for me. I... told you--"

"Not to come back, I know. I ignored you."

Purple flames poke out from the edges of the scorch marks that eat into Nathan's tight tunic. He sits up with a shiver, hand pressed to his forehead while the other fists at his chest. He breathes slowly, delicately, like he's savouring each drop of air, and for a while that's the only sound. Fiesi keeps his wings lifted, fending off the heat and smoke. He chooses to ignore the uncomfortable warmth pricking increasingly deep claws into his spine; his own flame spikes similarly in his gut with twice the force. He'll burn alive from the inside before any genuine fire does its work.

His stomach gives a sickened, anxious twist. Not long now.

"Well," he says eventually, cracking the silence before reality can crash down on him. He gets to his feet and holds out a hand. "We should get out of here."

With a hesitant nod, Nathan takes it, allowing Fiesi to haul him to his feet. The switch from Shaula's overtly cocky air to this makes him appear somewhat brittle, and that shows in the nervous way he rubs at his arm. "Thank you," he says, the words halting.

"You're most welcome." Fiesi delivers a little bow, then wags a finger. "This is the second time I've had to save you from death by fire. You should really find yourself a new activity."

Nathan's small laugh is so soft and light that, for a single second, it really does feel as if the world is saved and all will be right on until eternity. He smiles through a film of tears, then launches himself into an embrace with such abrupt enthusiasm that Fiesi staggers backward. Hot embers sting the base of his feet, but he hardly cares. It's worth it to feel Nathan's head buried in his shoulder and Nathan's thin arms crushing his ribs hard enough to make them pop. It's the liveliest thing he's done in a long time, and Fiesi can't help but lose himself in the safety of it.

He returns a gentle pat and a squeeze. Nathan lets out a shuddering sigh of relief, sagging into the hug. "Sorry," he murmurs, voice muffled. "I... I think I'll stop now. The nearly dying, I mean."

Fiesi's smile is crooked. "Don't make me a promise you can't keep."

"Sarielle is okay?" The words come out of nowhere, like the thought has just popped into Nathan's mind. His head jolts up, gaze piercing Fiesi's with sharp intent. "She made it out?"

He snorts, faintly amused. "She's fine. Dalton's alive, too."

"Good. That's good." Another sigh shakes free as Nathan retracts from the embrace, eyes darkening with deeper thought. He picks absentmindedly at the flaky skin on his arm, nails dug in. His shoulders bunch. "I should never have left you, both of you. It was foolish of me. I caused this mess. I can't--"

"Hey." Fiesi gives him a firm nudge, shoving away the rambling apology before it can truly begin. "I'm pretty sure Shaula would have come for us eventually, no matter what choices you made. It could've all gone a lot worse. This was not your fault."

Nathan's nod is slow and deliberate, chin bouncing as his lips move soundlessly. Not your fault. He's repeating an echo of those words, reciting them like a mantra until his nails tease away from his arm, hidden within a fist he drops to his side. He pushes his shoulders back. "Where do we go now, then?"

"I don't know," Fiesi says, because it's better than admitting his plan is to pick a direction and keep flying until his wings give up on him. "Sarielle wants us to hide out somewhere for now, far from all of this. Be safe for a while." He smiles faintly. It sounds like a nice concept, that safety. He wonders if death will feel safe.

Comforting, but doubtful. His dreams have only ever conjured death as a lightless, barren place, brimming with nothing but fear.

"Cody," Nathan says.

Fiesi blinks himself free of the murky vision. "Cody?" The name chimes with some recognition within him, but it's slippery. Recent, though.

"A... friend of mine." His brow furrows as his arms wrap his middle. "A Cormé friend. I saw him last in Lo Dasi. He'll keep us safe."

There's more behind that he's not saying, but Fiesi doesn't dare ask. He's not going to be the one who breaks it to Nathan that the entirety of Lo Dasi was wiped out, not when he's just stated that this could've gone worse than it has and not without very carefully planning his words. Instead, he simply smiles his agreement. What does it matter, anyway? He'll be dead soon enough. Nathan can resent him fine when he's gone.

"Sounds like a solid plan to me." He spreads his arms, inviting Nathan to grab his chest again. "Can you cling on?"

Nathan obeys, then pauses with his grip still loose, scanning him up and down with scepticism worn into his face. "Are you okay? You seem... strange."

Strange is one word for it. Part of Fiesi is still convinced he's walking in a haze, trailed by mist from every limb. His words and thoughts sound like someone else is narrating them while he listens, half-asleep, stuck in that listless trance. His smile is wrong. Even his flame is wrong, twisting under his skin in jarring flutters.

His own voice is there, however, pinned just out of view, lost in the fog. He opens his mouth and then stops. The reality the mist hides is worse, but one brushed touch of it sends it all flooding in. What is okay about any of this? My father is dead and I'm about to die and I'm scared. I'm dizzy and I'm scared. The confession teeters on the edge of his tongue, weak, afraid to jump. The moment it lands, it will break him.

Nathan, I don't want to leave you behind.

Instead he sucks in a lungful of smoke-tainted air, pulling Nathan firmly against his chest, teeth dug hard enough into his tongue to draw blood. "Hold on tight," he shoves out. It cracks. Stars, he's going to cry.

"Fiesi," Nathan urges, voice a tickle against his neck.

There's a rambling essay lodged in his throat by now, tumbling over itself, trapping him in silence. I'm sorry. Wings shakily spread, he launches them both towards the hole in the ceiling and surrenders himself to the icy winter winds.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

So everyone's alive!! Mostly. For now. Everyone is fine look at how fine they are.

- Pup