Night crept in over the village. Smoke still hung in the air, thin and bitter. Burnt wood and ash had settled into the earth, the faint glow of still-burning embers painting the silence with a dull red hue. Though the villagers moved slowly, picking up what they could, the quiet remained heavy.
Astrid stood near a stone well, her hands still stained with soot and dried blood.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
She hadn’t spoken much since the fight. Never in a million years did she think she would end up in a battle like that—the closest she’d ever gotten was in primary school, when she punched a kid for picking on her friend.
The adrenaline makes you shake, the world blurs, and before you know it—it’s over.
She looked out at the devastated village. She knew there was more to do. But she couldn’t stay. Couldn’t shake the worry that she’d brought danger to their doorstep.
I hope I didn’t put you all in more danger.
The Council. The Barghest. They could be watching.
Suddenly, there was a small tug on her sleeve. A young girl, around Charlie’s age, face still covered in soot, held out something small—a carved wooden bird.
“It was my brother’s,” the girl whispered. “He’s gone now. But you helped us.”
Astrid knelt, took it gently. She couldn’t speak. Just nodded, the carving warm and rough in her palm.
She swallowed hard. “I couldn’t possibly take this. Keep it. And every time you look at it, remember your brother. Trust me—that means more to me.”
The little girl clutched it to her chest. Tears welled in her eyes.
“No, it’s okay to cry,” Astrid said softly, catching the girl’s hand. “It means you loved him.”
The girl nodded. Astrid pulled her into a hug, then watched her go.
She could feel someone watching. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Kurai standing away from the others, observing from a distance. His hands were clenched. Shoulders rigid. He hadn’t said much since the battle either.
He really surprised me. For a guy that was adamant about leaving—he stayed. For them? For me? No. It doesn’t matter why. It’s the fact that he did.
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She made her way over to him, taking a spot beside him.
“They saw,” he said finally, barely above a whisper. “They’ll know now.”
Astrid turned to look at him. “Who? The Council? We saved people. That must mean something. Maybe they’ll see we aren’t bad people.” She knew it was a false hope, but still.
He shook his head. “They don’t care. If they cared, they’d stop shit like this from even happening.”
He was right. She sighed in defeat.
Guess our worlds aren’t so different after all. Controlling. Caring only when it profits them.
They stood in silence. Exhausted—not just from the fight, but from everything. The weight of the world pressing down.
The village exhaled. For a second, it almost felt safe again.
Then a boy sprinted into the square, out of breath, eyes wide.
“Riders!” he cried. “Council enforcers. Full hunt team—they’re on the far ridge! They must be after those bandits.”
The villagers perked up. One exclaimed, “Oh thank goodness, I knew they would help.”
Astrid’s breath caught. She looked at Kurai.
“Do they know it’s us?”
Kurai’s voice dropped low. “They always know.”
She grabbed her pack. He was already moving. No more words. No hesitation.
They disappeared into the trees—just as the Council arrived.
---
The forest closed in again. Paths veered and twisted. Astrid and Kurai reached a fork—one road leading east, the other toward the old riverbeds.
Kurai stopped. “We should split.”
Astrid blinked. “What?”
Panic pulsed through her veins. What is he saying?
“If they grab you, it’s over.”
She stepped in front of him. “No. If I lose you, it’s over.”
No, I can’t do this on my own. I’m not strong like you.
Before he could reply, the air snapped.
A crackle of shadow magic tore through the clearing.
A figure stepped from the trees. Black cloak. Mask. Enforcer.
Astrid turned—too late.
Arms around her. A blade at her throat.
No. Not now. I need to see Charlie. Please.
Kurai started to step forward, fire flickering from his fingertips. But the enforcer tightened his grip, pressed the knife in deeper.
Astrid yelped. A small bead of blood rolled down her neck.
Kurai froze.
“Give yourself up, demon,” the enforcer said. “Or we kill her first.”
Kurai didn’t blink. His hands shook. There was that look in his eye—she’d seen it once before.
No. Don’t.
“Let. Her. Go.”
The ground began to shake.
“Don’t you move a muscle!” The enforcer’s grip tightened. More blood rushed from Astrid’s neck.
Then the air screamed.
Gold fire erupted around them, searing the trees, blistering the ground. The enforcer barely had time to cast a ward before the flame consumed him.
Astrid fell to her knees, coughing, shaking. Smoke in her lungs. Heat in her bones. Her hands flew instantly to her neck.
The ground beneath him was scorched. Trees were alight.
She looked up. Kurai wasn’t just expelling fire—he was fire. No longer a boy. No longer anything she recognized. His eyes… they weren’t his. They were a stranger’s.
And for the first time, she was afraid.
Still, she reached for him.
“Kurai,” she gasped. “It’s okay. I’m here. You need to stop. Please.”
He looked down at her.
Through her.
Then his hand moved.
Not in anger. But instinct.
Like he couldn’t see friend from foe.
He reached out toward her.
Kurai?
His palm hit her chest—and she flew backward, hitting the dirt with a choked cry.
The wind was knocked out of her. Lying in the dirt, she looked up at him.
“Kurai,” she tried to scream, but her voice was barely a whisper. Tears welled in her eyes. Was it from the injuries? No. They didn’t even register.
They were for him. For Kurai.
Emotions overflowed. Panic crept in. It didn’t make sense. It never does.
His fire roared. Then flickered. Then died.
He turned slowly, horror dawning.
“Astrid—” he said breathlessly. He didn’t know exactly what he’d done—but he knew that look. He’d hurt her.
But she didn’t let him finish.
She ran.
---
She collapsed deep in the woods, somewhere far from the trail.
Not badly hurt. But shaking.
Why did I run?
She curled beneath an old root, clutching her phone and the pendant under her shirt, warm in her hand, trying to calm herself.
She didn’t unlock the phone. Just held it.
Like it could anchor her.
“I left him,” she whispered.
Then again, softer. “I left him.”
A voice from a distance memory spoke, “you can’t do anything right.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. Her eyes stung. Her throat throbbed.
I’m sorry, Kurai.
