A reminder that this contains spoilers for my book, A Touch Of Darkness. I'd recommend getting at least to Chapter 15 before reading this.

Also a trigger warning for grief--

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It wouldn't stop.

Fiesi dragged his heels through the dirt over and over, gouging a trench before him, back pressed so forcefully against the tree trunk that the bark grazed his skin. If it damaged his cloak, his father would scold him. He didn't care. Not now, not anymore.

He scrubbed uselessly at his eyes. They were dry now, but rimmed red and raw, a persistent sting that gnawed even when he squeezed them shut. Even with no tears left to cry, it wouldn't stop. Cold sunk within him like a heavy fog, weighing at his limbs, aching endlessly. The air held a fresh pressure that pinned him in place and yet forced him to squirm beneath its clawing grip.

Alone. He was so, so horribly alone.

His legs slid out straight as he wrapped his arms around himself, trembling. He wasn't alone. It only felt that way when the others were still huddled in the evening light some distance away. If he were sitting with them, he wouldn't need to shiver with their fire to warm him, or his father's embrace to curl into. The air's frigid bite wouldn't coil around him like some gigantic serpent, winding tighter and tighter until he suffocated under the weight of every almighty hurt.

But it would still hurt, as much as they would tell him they understood. His father would tell him to stay strong, that all he could do was stand tall and bear the burden like a true fighter, that the simple act of keeping going would make her proud, wherever she was now. He didn't want to hear any of that. He'd heard enough of his father's lies to recognise their sound.

They didn't know where he was. Maybe they'd be looking for him, but he doubted it. There were enough absences. What was one more?

A sob burst from his lips. He bit down on his tongue, silencing it the best he could, rocking back and forth as its echo resonated through him. Don't let them hear. He couldn't let them see him this way, so weak and small and broken.

It was bad enough to feel Rigel's presence, the fiery thread coiled around his heart. He tried in vain to shake it off. His Synté, the one chosen to bind with his flame's magic, was far more skilled at manipulating his abilities than Fiesi was. It wouldn't always be that way, though. Talent came with practice. His mother told him that frequently.

His nails dug into his sides. Used to tell him. He should have listened better.

How was he to know that he'd be hearing it for the last time?

He clapped a hand over his mouth to smother his second sob. The thread tugged, alerting him as Rigel touched down on the tree above. Fiesi didn't look up. He tried to shy away, curling his knees to his chest, but to no avail.

Do not ignore me. Rigel's voice was softer than usual, gentle, almost song-like in a melancholy sort of way. It solves nothing.

"I'll ignore you all I like," Fiesi bit out. His voice came out cracked, shattered beyond recognition, and he cringed. I want to be alone right now, he added within his own head. A lie, of course, but sometimes a lie was more dependable than truth. Easier to cling to.

It wasn't loneliness he longed for. It was another's company, an easy company. His eyes kept flicking to every patch of shade, every hidden spot from which she might emerge. Senseless. Stupid. Why did he keep thinking about her when it hurt so much? Why couldn't he stop?

Rigel hopped down from the branch above, gliding in an azure streak before landing lightly beside Fiesi. The feathered shape of a bird, but with dark eyes that glimmered with just as much magic as any other on this mountainside. He ducked his head, talons shifting. It... will fade, with time. It will stop hurting.

Fiesi gave a humourless snort of laughter. Another lie. No matter how many tears he cried, he knew the midnight depths of the ocean inside would never drain.

I want to be alone, he repeated, harsher, wrapping every inch of his mind in the thin veil of that lie. Go away.

Lifting his wings, Rigel paused, surveying him. Did your mother not instruct you to accept my help when I gave it?

He sat up straighter, anger spiking hot in his chest. "Go away," he managed to growl.

A sigh rippled along the thread that bound them. But still Rigel gave his wings a reluctant flap and disappeared upwards, melding with the darkening sky. Regret crashed down on Fiesi the moment he vanished from view. He buried his face in his arms.

Maybe Rigel was right. Maybe it would fade. It had to fade. He couldn't go on like this, lost and drowning in this crushing sense of isolation. It couldn't go on forever. It wouldn't. He wouldn't let it. He was strong enough to carry on.

Liar, liar, liar. He swiped at his eyes, his sleeve coming away damp. Maybe he did have tears left after all.

His head slammed back into the tree. If only he could seize the beating wheel of time and shove it back a few notches. If only he could be back by the tree again, safe in her arms, watching the first few autumn leaves descend in rusty green all around them. If only, when he'd seen the first wisp of smoke, he'd been brave.

He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. Would bravery even have solved anything? There was nothing he could have done. Unless it was he who died instead of her.

Fear, cool and sharp, tore through his insides like serrated fangs. A shiver slithered up his spine. It was pointless to lie about that, even to himself. He would never be as brave as her. It would be a crime against her memory to claim the possibility.

She was always going to die, and he was always going to watch her. He was doomed to see twin voids swallow the life from her eyes.

If only the darkness hadn't come for them.

If only fire didn't have a deadly side.

His fists clenched at his sides. If only. Useless. His home had burned, his mother had died, and no amount of wishing that it hadn't until his chest ached and his eyes burned would change a thing. All he did know was the cause of all this pain.

That wasn't a concept such as truth or loneliness or courage, something he couldn't see, something that rooted only in his stomach and writhed without form. The darkness did have a form.

Fiesi would never stop picturing his mother's murderer.

It was the eyes that stuck with him most. Cold and dark and lifeless, empty, deep as the bottomless pit they'd opened in Fiesi's chest. Terror prickled his skin in shards of ice at the mere thought. He shifted further into the arc of the tree as if he could wriggle out of it like a drenched set of clothes, shedding the fear only to discover its touch lingered in sticky damp. He'd never stop feeling that, either. Every shadow mirrored those eyes. As the sun breached the horizon, he dreaded the moment its rays would vanish altogether and he'd be left with the chilling memories the night brought.

Digging his heels in, he hauled himself to his feet, still shaking enough to need the tree's support. It didn't matter that he was scared. If the pain could fade, then so could that, even if it never left him entirely.

There was something else, something beneath the fear that hissed and spat. He summoned it forth, letting it rise above the surface of his skin as blue tendrils of flame that licked at his palm. Roughly, he twisted it, pleased when the fire listened to him.

It hardened into the sapphire shape of a knife, weightless hilt slotting easily into his hand. He held it out before him, frowning at its flickering tip.

Anger.

Perhaps that was it. Rage, still stirring in the depths of his core, but rising in a slow wave of heat. He let it cloak him, let it chase away all else. Anger was easier than grief, stronger than fear. It whispered tales of vengeance, of justice, of some direction to all this chaos tangled up around his heart.

This would fix it all, he decided. This would stop the hurt.

Yet another lie. But the lies would always be a greater comfort. He could trust this one to guide him onward.