"Do you learn nothing?"

Fiesi's mouth dries. He swallows, failing to dispel the growing lump in his throat. Ischyri's hand is locked tight around his wrist, dragging him along, but it's another's words that truly force his scurry onward. He twists, stumbling. "Father, I--"

"I was willing to let your little escapade slide," Gelani Kynig continues, his tone surprisingly even for the blue sparks of anger flaring in his downturned gaze. "I thought it might teach you a lesson or two, that when you eventually came crawling back, you'd have learned a little humility and respect. But all I'm faced with is the same reckless boy determined to cause trouble."

Unbidden, Fiesi's eyes wander to Sarielle. She's walking on Ischyri's other side, trained on Rigel's flitting form between the trees, although he's sure she's listening to every bitten word. So much for standing up for him. At least she'd be able to vouch that humility is one thing he's gained, for all the chinks she's left in his pride.

"I don't do it on purpose," he protests. "It just sort of..." He scratches his head. "Happens."

His father hums his disbelief, but it's Ischyri who answers, accompanying his words with a painful tug that nearly topples Fiesi off his feet. "Revealing your flame to dozens of Cormé just happened, did it?" He shoots a blazing red glance. "Sacrificing our secrecy for a ro étoi was just some accident? How stupid are you?"

"I guess I'm just mightily unlucky." It sounds far more feeble than it should. He stares down at his feet, half-focused on not tripping over. Long days of riding have made his step clumsy.

"You disobeyed the direct orders of your Synté." Gelani's low voice piles bricks onto Fiesi's shoulders. "You allowed a user of Adeía to go on destroying. This is serious, Fiesi. Such things have been punished greatly in the past."

Nervous flames have taken up permanent residence around Fiesi's arms, their flickers growing more intense as the claws in his chest rake deeper. He doesn't let his head raise.

"Perhaps he should be made to kill the boy," Ischyri mutters. "To complete Rigel's wish."

A panicked spike hasten's Fiesi's pulse. Digging his heels in, he clings to his flame, failing to wrench free of Ischyri's steel grip but at the very least halting their progress. "No," he shoves out, his tongue tripping over itself. "No, please. I--I can't."

He can feel Rigel's dark eyes piercing him from his perch in the canopy above. His father's stare bores into his side. Jaci is somewhere behind, no doubt seeing the same as they all do. Weakness. He bites his teeth together, hating the sudden, horrible ache of tears behind his eyes. He can't let himself give into it.

Should he be folding and agreeing? The very thought, once so inviting, makes him cringe. What he should be doing is defending Nathan, yet the words have fled him. He looks helplessly at Sarielle.

She's turned, features cut in an analysing frown, and now she folds her arms. Her gaze flicks briefly to him, although he can't read the sharp emotion tossed his way.

"Aren't your people supposed to be peaceful?" she asks. "It's odd that you're so against murder and yet you turn to it so quickly."

Ischyri emits a mocking laugh, his belly shaking. "As if she can lecture us about killing. Fiesi, tell your Cormé girl to keep her nose out of this."

Sarielle bristles, and Fiesi can't help but smirk. It's nice to see the sharpened beam of her glare directed at someone else for a change.

She marches forward, controlled rage filling the gap between his mountainous height and hers. "Listen," she snaps. "I'm trying to be diplomatic here, but you are making it very difficult." She rocks back on her heels, inhaling deeply to collect herself, although her hand still rests on her hilt. "We're talking about different scenarios. Where I come from, we're at war. Unlike you, I don't have magic healing fire, so when an enemy soldier comes at me with a sword, I don't have a great deal of choice about killing him. You, however, are talking about murdering an innocent boy in cold blood."

"Innocent," Ischyri echoes, the scorn in his voice scraping through with held-back aggression. He isn't used to being argued this way, and he doesn't like it. Fiesi bites back his yelp as red fire scalds his wrist. "You don't know what you're talking about, mili zoí."

"No," Gelani cuts in, "she clearly doesn't." He steps forward, crouching down in front of Sarielle. An unpleasant twist of familiarity coils in Fiesi's stomach.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand these things, girl," he continues, his voice gruff but soft. The coil tightens. "This is a matter far above you. Let us handle it, and we'll let you and your friends go on your way."

A muscle in Sarielle's jaw twitches. "No need to talk to me like a child. I understand perfectly well."

Brighter azure cuts through Gelani's gaze, and the softness is gone. He straightens. "You will never understand. The only reason you think you're so high and mighty now is because you've been gifted with a sliver of knowledge. Your place hasn't changed. You have no right to be here."

"And what makes your right greater than mine?" Her hand has drifted its regular path to her sword hilt. "Because you were born with magic and I wasn't? We're still both people."

Fiesi has heard her speak arguments of a similar vein in the past, but there's still a part of him that reels at how true her words ring. It's odd to think a Cormé might be so right about such things, but he can hardly deny it, not when he can often rarely distinguish Sarielle's demeanour from that of a Tía. Perhaps some Cormé learn to develop a different kind of fire.

He drops his gaze to prevent it from betraying his thoughts lest his father glance his way, and so catches the ripple in Gelani's blue cloak, the silken shift of movement. A furry nose pokes out, followed by the oblong shape of a ferret scampering the rest of the way down his leg. His tiny feet hit the earth angled towards Sarielle. He hisses, revealing teeth as small and sharp as needles.

Altair. Fiesi's eyes narrow. Fantastic. Instinct nudges at Rigel's thread with the thought, only to shrink back at the void that greets it. He steals a hesitant glance at the bird's form. He's perched on a tree up ahead, his beak pinched shut. Silent.

Gelani throws only a quick glance down at his Synté, adorned with a matching scowl. "A flame is more than simply magic, girl." He turns with a flourish, leaving Altair to continue expressing his distaste. Fiesi lifts his head. "You see what you've done, Fiesi? Nothing good comes of giving Cormé a taste of power. They become far too self-righteous."

Sarielle's fingers curl fully around her hilt, the grip tight enough to make Fiesi tense. "I was under the impression that self-righteousness was a trait your people encouraged."

Fear spikes in an icy rush through Fiesi's veins. Flames bursting out to shove at Ischyri's grip, he stumbles free, skidding in front of his father. He hopes his hands hold steady as he lifts them in a placant gesture. "Look, I messed up. I know. I know this is my fault. But Sarielle's not... She's, ah..." His tongue is tying itself in knots. It shouldn't be this easy to lose the ability to speak coherently. He gulps.

"She is Cormé." The light in Gelani's eyes settles, returning to a dull, flat blue. Altair arches his back, teeth bared. "She thinks she can get what she wants by waving a weapon at us and making unfounded demands. We won't fold beneath such primitive techniques." He turns to face the waiting Rigel. "If you were anything close to who you should be, neither would you."

Someone might as well have punched Fiesi in the stomach again. He attempts to fit his jaw around some semblance of an argument. "I didn't fold."

His father doesn't even look at him. The lie must've burned bright.

From behind, Sarielle grabs his shoulder and shoves him aside. He doesn't bother fighting her. "We didn't come here to argue, Mister Kynig," she says, her tone at least more measured now. "Think of me what you want, but your morals are supposed to speak of peace. Won't you at least discuss--"

"All we will do is deal with the boy," Gelani snaps, starting off again. "Then we can put this whole fiasco behind us, and you will return to your simple life of living without. There is no discussion to be had."

Fiesi steals a glance at Sarielle. That sky-blue lightning has entered her gaze, perfecting her glare. He can't help but shrug. "I did warn you."

"I'm not giving up," she mutters, already leaving his side in hurried strides. She throws a pointed look over her shoulder. "Although you could try being at least somewhat helpful."

"I am trying." His voice is too quiet for her to catch. He rakes a hand through his hair, watching her walk away with the distinct sense of feeling the earth unravel at his feet. Why in all the world did he let himself be convinced into coming back here? One short conversation, and already his legs itch with the old desire to run as far as possible from the choking grip of this place. Even the pleasant tang to the air is turning sour.

Ischyri's fist closes around a clump of his shirt, dragging him forward so suddenly it nearly trips him. He grabs the man's arm for support and doesn't care enough to let go. It might be a blessing he's too tired to run again.

At a far more leisurely pace, Jaci drifts into step beside them. Her expression is one of watchful curiosity, drawn in just slightly by the beginnings of confusion. She stares at the ice curling over her wrist before lifting it to show him. Are you sure you and her aren't together?

"No." He sighs, rather defeated. "Please don't ask again."

The icy letters crumple and rearrange, larger. Then why help?

The answer lodges in his throat. He pulls his gaze from her to the path ahead. "To be honest? At this moment in time, I'm not sure."

"Don't talk to him," Ischyri orders. The stare he shoots over Fiesi's head melts away Jaci's words. It soon jolts down to spear him. "And you keep your mouth shut, palil. Your voice is even more irritating than I remember."

"My voice is positively charming," he mutters, though a second glare seals away any further protest.

The next minute might as well last an eternity. He spends it encased in a sphere of his own deafening silence, half-hearted flames licking emptily up his arms, tapped at by the whispers of the wind and the occasional shouted word that snaps from Sarielle's exasperation. Gelani's replies are all too low to catch, but they grate at Fiesi regardless. He grits his teeth and stares at his boots as they trek onward. All that travelling to get here, and yet he's being forced to walk even more. He might be willing to forgive the scolding and the hatred in exchange for a chance to nap in a decent bed. And a reasonable meal.

He huffs out a humourless laugh. Perhaps he hasn't changed at all. All those promises, and yet he'd still sell out for a few common comforts.

Jaci nudges his arm. Her hand is decorated with another question, tilted subtly to stay hidden from Ischyri. What's it like out there?

He jerks, lifting his head. She bites her lip, uncertainty roughing the edges of her determination. She returns her hand to her side, but keeps watching him, hopeful. He can't work out what to say.

Another second, and he loses all will to try. Up ahead lies the thicket that marks Aorila's boundary, and there's someone else stepping out of it.

And someone bundled in her arms.

"Excuse me," Fiesi says, his heart hastening its thud. He wrenches himself away from Ischyri and breaks into a sprint. A call follows him -- likely the derogatory, boyish term Ischyri favours in place of his name -- but he doesn't acknowledge it. Nothing will stop him getting to Nathan.

He recognises the wild, auburn curls and fur-lined coat that belongs to Rosi Lisiaz, the heat of her presence stoking his own flame. Mira stalks the path at her heels. Sparks pop and crackle in Fiesi's ears.

Sarielle gets there before him, her sword scraping from its sheath, although he's beside her within the moment. His fists are clenched. She brandishes the blade, its tip inches from Rosi's face. "What did you do?"

The shock that flickers through Rosi's eyes is so minimal that it might be imagined. She jolts to a stop, lips graced with the slightest smile. It bubbles into a chuckle as she glances between them both. "Noli has quite the protection squad."

"Put him down," Sarielle snaps.

"If you insist." She bends, slowly, the sword following her all the way down. The grey cloak spills around Nathan's unconscious form. His only movement is the sway of his head as it rests gently against the ground. Fiesi can hardly hear anything else but his own panting. He drops to his knees before she can finish rising again, sifting through the cloak's folds with shaking hands until he's able to press two fingers against the side of Nathan's neck.

There's a pause, a horrible pause, twisted with panic. And then the faint, steady beat, the feeling of a pulse.

Fiesi's relief sinks out in a long sigh, his head bowing with its weight. His flame pokes and prods for any sign of something else gone awry, but uncovers nothing. Nathan's expression is slack with only the empty peace of sleep.

"He's okay," he breathes.

"Of course he is," Rosi says with another soft laugh. "We're not murderers."

"Right." The word shakes with a little darkened humour of his own. He wipes a hand over his face, trying to collect himself.

"Hello, by the way, Fiesi. You've been busy, I see. Made lots of friends."

"I suppose." He skims a hand down Nathan's torso, searching for his heart.

She catches his wrist before he can inject any flame into his touch. Her gaze turns serious, just briefly. "No waking him up. The barrier could still hurt him here." Sitting back on her heels, she cocks her head. "It seems rather debilitating."

Nodding, Fiesi curls his fingers over, swallowing hard. There goes any hope of calming the turmoil in his flame with the sound of his friend's voice. He settles for resting the back of his hand over Nathan's cheek. His skin is warmer than usual, less smoothed by clammy ice.

"Thanks," Fiesi manages.

In the uppermost corner of his vision, he catches her shrug. "What else am I to do when presented with a cursed child in pain and his gang of violent protectors?" Her gesture generates enough movement to snag his attention. "Speaking of, I've also adopted myself a Cormé companion."

Her thumb hooks in the direction of Dalton, coming to a stop half a step beside her. He offers a stiff nod.

Fiesi returns a wave of the hand, plastering on a grin as his stomach sinks. As if he needs another one for his father to poke. They're going to start thinking he's been collecting them.

"Hi," he says, failing to sound pleasant. "Great job watching Nathan."

Dalton's glance is flat. "How's it going?"

"Oh, fantastic. We've had a riveting discussion about how many things I've screwed over. I'm personally having a great time."

"So this is the boy?"

Ischyri's voice cracks a whip along the length of Fiesi's spine. He scrambles around, ending seated with Nathan at his back, one knee pulled halfway to his chest, leaning back as if he can act as some kind of shield. Fire jitters and zips across his skin. It only sears deeper as his father comes into view, two pairs of harsh eyes boring into him.

Thankfully, Ischyri's gaze soon flicks over his shoulder to focus on Rosi instead. "Why would you bring him here? Do you not understand what he is?"

Fiesi twists his head around to catch her leap neatly to her feet, hands spread in a shrug. "Mira allowed it. He's harmless now. There's some kind of Jeía magic sealing in his flame."

Looking to his father, Fiesi gives a frantic nod. "Yes. He... he is harmless. He won't hurt anyone." Nervousness wraps his tongue, thick enough to be poison. His nails dig into the soil beyond Nathan's chest.

"He's a ro étoi," Ischyri growls. He looks ready to say more, but Gelani holds a hand out to him, and so he steps back instead, the thunder in his expression crackling in silence. Fiesi draws his legs closer. He'd rather face raw anger than whatever his father has in store.

Gelani sighs. It's a long, drawn-out sound, drifting like smoke into Fiesi's lungs. "I wasn't sure I entirely believed Rigel until now," he says. He crouches down, a smooth-surfaced ocean swimming in his eyes, all manner of sharp things glinting from within its depths. "Fiesi, I don't want to have to treat you like a child, but you force it with this behaviour. I understand that it's difficult. Tía are not made to kill. But even you must see how foolish you're acting."

Fiesi forces his head to shake. "No. He doesn't deserve to die."

"Weren't you the one who first told me he did?" The ocean swells, roughed by frothing waves. "That boy is dangerous. Have you really forgotten everything he did to us?"

"I haven't forgotten." He grits his teeth, steeling every piece of his resolve he has left. He can do this. This is right. There's no time to doubt it any longer. "But that wasn't him. His flame destroyed our home. His flame killed my mother." He sucks in a sharp breath, almost winded by the effort of his own words. He presses on. "Nathan isn't like that. He's a good person, and I want to protect him. I need him." The last part spills out all on its own, scraping his throat on its way out. It sounds fragile.

The space between them tastes electric. Searing azure cracks through Gelani's gaze. "You need him."

Fiesi shrinks back a little further. "I--I do."

A huff of an exhale. "You're pathetic."

"Maybe," he concedes, trapping his voice between his teeth to stop it shaking so badly. "But I'm right." Something fierce churns in his chest, surprisingly easy to delve into. "Believe me, I was convinced he had to die. But I couldn't do it. It took me a while to figure out why, but I did." He shifts, sitting straighter to meet his father's eyes. "I care about him, Father. The concept might be foreign to you, I know, but that's the truth."

"Is that it?" Another wave of heat cuts through the air. "You think I don't care about you?"

Some twisted edge of a smirk tugged at Fiesi's lips. "I know it."

The words have barely left his mouth when a sharp sting erupts in his cheek. Fire lances over his skin, vicious in the way it tears through the flesh in phantom slices of pain. He claps a hand to the spot, his own flame crawling out from between his fingertips to battle it. This isn't like Jaci's punch: a momentary show of frustration, quick to fade. This hit is meant to last.

Gelani retracts his hand with a flourish. "I do care," he says, the words throbbing in time with the slap. "You're my son. That's why I'm trying to knock some sense into you."

Grabbing the collar of Fiesi's shirt, he yanks him to the side, flame clearly aiding him strength for the abruptness of the action. Fiesi topples into the grass, just about managing to catch himself before his face plants the dirt. He scrambles around, panic heaving in his stomach. Before he can sit up, Altair leaps onto his chest, miniature claws digging in. His beady blue eyes speak only of hatred. Fiesi returns it with a hiss of his own.

Swiping at the ferret, he attempts to catch his father's eye, fumbling for something more to say. Gelani is knelt beside Nathan now, brows drawn down in study. What else is there? Pleading won't work. If the truth is pointless, too, then he's lost.

Can he really fight his own father? The concept tinges some bitter part of him with delight, but fear and doubt crushes the rest. Even if it was right, he couldn't win. Not without Rigel.

A blade swings in front of Gelani's throat. Sarielle, poised on Nathan's other side, twitching the curved tip up towards his chin. Again Fiesi is flooded with gratitude for her fury, for the fact that it's on his side for once.

"Don't move," she says, harsh enough that even Fiesi listens. "You draw a single drop of Nathan's blood, and I'll stain the ground with far more of yours."

Even from here, Fiesi can feel the continued roar of his father's anger. It snakes tendrils around his tightened chest. "Don't speak threats you can't carry out, girl," Gelani growls.

Her jaw clenches. "Try me."

Dalton rushes to her side, laying a hand on her shoulder, but he's ignored. Before he can attempt to play mediator, Rosi glides in beside Gelani, the movement far too casual to match the tension coiled in the air. She folds her arms with a soft hum. "Shouldn't we at least let Noli wake up first? I'd be interested to hear him defend himself rather than listening solely to his protection squad." She shrugs. "Besides, I took something of a liking to him. It would be a shame to kill him so quickly."

"There's no need for that," Ischryi calls. "Just kill the boy now and be done with it."

Gelani's lips are pressed together in thought. Slowly, carefully, the heat in the air subsides. "No," he says on a sigh. "No, Rosi has a point." His gaze slides coldly in Fiesi's direction. "I would like to see what you care so much for."

"Yes," Fiesi says in a rush, pushing Altair off and ignoring the animal's yelp as he jumps up. "Do that. I'll take him." There's no better proof that Nathan deserves to live than Nathan himself.

"Take him where?" Gelani asks with a smidge of mockery. "Our house?"

Fiesi gingerly touches his cheek before snatching his hand back down. It still smarts. "Jaci will take him," he says, grasping the first thing that comes to mind. "Back to her place."

"And in the meantime, we can discuss what we actually came here for." Sarielle lowers her sword, but it remains in a tight grip at her side.

"Fine." Gelani stands, turning with a flick of his cloak. "Fine. Just don't expect me to listen."

"You don't seem great at that," she mutters.

A cold finger skims Fiesi's arm, whirling him around. Jaci tips her head towards him and offers a reassuring smile. She holds up her palm. Talk later?

He nods, doing his best to return some gratitude. It was a welcome reminder that he did at least have one friend in Aorila. "Sure."

She makes to step forward, but Ischyri grabs her shoulder. "I told you not to speak to him."

Her smile splits into a grin as she shows him her hand. Fiesi leans back to catch a glimpse of the words that adorn it. Not speaking.

With that, she breaks from his grip and skips over to Nathan, her arms hooking carefully under him and lifting him from the ground. He sits awkwardly in her hold, his head tucked with hesitant care into her chest and his legs dangling out at the side. He isn't a great deal smaller than she is. Sarielle is observing with clenched teeth and fingers shifting on her hilt, as if she's debating offering help, but she says nothing.

Jaci doesn't require it anyway. She casts Fiesi a backward glance, equipped with one last smile, before she moves off back toward Aorila.

Gelani doesn't bother to watch her go. He spins on his heels, pacing between the trees. Fiesi tenses as he passes. Keeping Nathan safe is only one problem removed from a whole dreadful list.

Muttering drifts from behind, his father's voice twined with Ischyri's. He keeps his eyes fixed on the pale blue swing of Jaci's skirt, the raven-black locks flowing down her back, the way they somewhat complement Nathan's shade. He doesn't want to listen.

A hand taps his shoulder. He flinches, but it's only Sarielle, expression drawn into hard lines. "I'm sorry," she whispers, just loud enough for him to catch.

Subtly, he turns his head. "It's fine."

"It's not." She squeezes his arm, apparently oblivious to how much he stiffens. "I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"Which time?"

"Shut it. I'm apologising." Her elbow nudges into his ribs, but it's gentle. "Go after Jaci. Watch Nathan. I'll be alright here."

He casts her a sceptical glance in an effort to hide the full force of his relief. "You sure you can take him?"

"I can try. No-one is entirely immovable." Another nudge. "Go."

He bites his tongue, rolling it between his teeth, holding off uttering the word. It comes anyway. "Thanks."

She replies with a tight smile. No satisfaction, no mockery. Just a simple act of care. A surge of heartfelt appreciation tumbles through him, too weighty and slippery to do anything with. He merely ducks his head and does as she says, breaking into a jog as he heads straight for Jaci's frost-clad form.

He doesn't look back. He doesn't want to see his father's sharp gaze follow him, or hear the words that form on his lips. Enough of them echo in his ears to cover for reality.

He's wrong, he tells himself, over and over, in between his rhythmic steps. He's bitter and cruel and there's no need to dwell on anything he says.

The echo laughs. Better cruel than pathetic.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

This chapter is probably a little disjointed since I started it and then finished it like five months later, but hey, it's fun. Plenty of arguing and spite and why is there a ferret here who let that thing in--

Anyway!! Gelani's kinda sucky huh. Maybe I'm just on a mission to find you characters who are more annoying than Fiesi.

And Ischyri is just here to insult everyone and I don't blame him. He picked a role and he's sticking to it. Good for him.

- Pup