14. Cato
Cato
I take over watch from Aryn in the middle of the night, after Kuu has set.
The dark is nearly absolute, with so little light coming from the sky that I can’t see anything beyond the first row of trees.
After being spoiled by my sleeping bag for the last few hours, the cold is twice as brutal.
My body is adjusting—begrudgingly—so even if my insides have turned to chunks of ice, at least I’m not shivering anymore.
Small mercies.
I stand near the edge of the alcove, hand on my blade while I scan the pitch black tree line. The two giant moons cast everything in that eerie red glow that somehow already feels familiar.
A soft crunch makes me turn to find Aryn approaching. He’s far too alert for having just come off watch, and the fat flakes of snow on his shoulders and hat tell me he never got into his bag.
“Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?” I ask, keeping my voice low so I don’t disturb the others.
He shakes his head. “Mind won’t settle. Is it alright if I sit with you for a while?”
I gesture to the rock beside me. “Be my guest. Two sets of eyes are better than one, and I can’t see shit out here as it is.”
He sits with what looks like a grin in this damn darkness, but says nothing as he stares out into the forest. His eyes are even more catlike as the light reflects off his pupils.
It’s not the first time I’ve noticed. When we trained in the village, I was always aware of how much more keenly he sees the world at night.
I wonder if it’s different here—if being in his home world heightens those senses even more. Then I think of his rolling muscles and lightning fast reflexes, and wonder if those are any different either.
I could ask.
I should ask.
It’s not like these are intimate questions, and it’s logical I want to know. We’re relying on each other out here, after all. It’s natural. It’s fine.
Except I’m not the type to ask questions. Not the type to chum it up, or have deep conversations in the middle of the night with the quiet warrior with pretty eyes. I heave a sigh, and Aryn glances in my direction at the frustrated noise.
Something about him makes my tongue loose. Now that I’ve opened the gates, a hundred different questions flash through my mind. Some have answers that make sense out here in the wilderness, while others are too… personal.
I settle on the safest one. “Are you glad you came?”
“I don’t know that I had a choice,” he answers slowly, always so careful with his words. “Sovran all but commanded it.”
“Eh, fuck that,” I reply. “I’m not a big fan of this whole lose-your-free-will bullshit they have going on.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” he says with a soft laugh. “Even without that piece of it, though, yes. I’m glad I came. If Sovran hadn’t insisted on it, I would’ve been the first to volunteer.”
“When we first passed through that portal, you said it didn’t feel the same. Has that changed now that we’ve been here a few days?”
He gets quiet, and I worry I’ve struck a raw nerve. After all, returning to the shell of my old home wouldn’t exactly be a walk in the park, and I certainly wouldn’t want to talk about it.
“Yes,” he says after a stretch, then shakes his head. “But also no. It’s hard to explain.”
“Yeah, fair,” I say with a long sigh. “If the rifts open for good… what would you do? Would you come back here? Or is the human world your home now?”
Aryn is quiet again, and it strikes me how different we are. Me, ready to blurt the first thing on my mind, while he’s deliberate with every word that leaves his mouth. It’s the same way he fights, with all that precision and control.
I wonder if it’s how he fucks, too.
His tail twitches once under the edge of his coat and pushes the thought away.
“I… don’t know,” he admits, voice low. “I’ve spent so long fighting to get back here that I never let myself think about what comes after.
The human world became familiar. Safe, in its own way.
But this…” He gestures vaguely at the crimson sky and the snow-covered mountains.
“This is where I was born. Where my family was.”
“In Maelithryne?”
“Yeah,” he agrees, but his expression is hard to read. Regret and dread, laced with guilt, and something that looks almost bitter hiding underneath.
I push a little, keeping my voice soft. “Who’s waiting for you there?”
Aryn’s eyes stay fixed on the horizon. “For all I know, no one. I left family behind, but I don’t know what happened to them. If they’re still alive… if they even remember me.” His voice drops. “I don’t know if I’m ready to find out.”
I nod, not pressing any further. The silence stretches again, but it’s not uncomfortable. After a while, Aryn turns the question back on me. “What about you? If the rifts stay open… would Elyra become your home? You look like you were born from these skies.”
The question surprises me as I stare out at the foreign landscape, exotic plants, and the way the moonlight paints everything in blood and rust. I expect to laugh it off, to tell him the idea is ridiculous, but the words don’t come right away.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “This place calls to something in me. I can’t explain it.
Maybe it’s the thrill of it all, you know?
The excitement of finding something completely new.
It… feels like I’ve been waiting my whole life to find this place.
” I huff a small laugh, trying to play it off.
“Or maybe I’m just losing my mind from the cold. ”
Aryn’s smile gentles like he realizes I’ve just shown him some of those soft spots I work so hard to keep hidden, but he doesn’t tease me about it.
“Well, regardless of what happens, you have a place. Any friend of mine has a home in my village.” He hesitates, eyes flicking to mine like he’s testing the waters. “We are friends… right?”
I blink, caught off guard when the question feels heavier than it should. I could count my true friends on one hand. The rest are just people who drift in and out of my life, taking what they want or accepting what I'm willing to give. It’s a silly label—a childish one.
But Aryn is looking at me like the answer actually matters.
“Yeah,” I say, voice a little rough. “We have to be, right? I don’t… talk like this to other people.”
He nods slowly, like he’s turning that over in his head. I do the same. Whatever this is between us, I want more of it, and the realization settles uncomfortably heavy in my gut. I can’t afford to keep people close, but it feels like something has shifted with him.
Guilt swells in my belly as I remember the way I’ve spoken to him in the past. It hits me how often he’s alone when it happens.
Maybe he doesn’t have anyone, either.
“You can always talk to me,” he says as his fingers flex against his leg like he might also feel this strange urge to reach for me. I wonder if things have shifted for him, too.
The next two days blur into an endless trudge of fucking cold.
We keep a steady pace northeast, the mountains always looming in the distance like they’re daring us to come closer.
The first day is almost unnervingly quiet.
We spot a few herds of thraun grazing in the valleys and smaller animals that scatter at our approach.
A variety of tracks litter the snow, but nothing else shows itself.
A couple of distant villages dot the hillsides, but we give them a wide berth. No one wants to risk drawing attention.
The weather is relentless. I thought I was getting used to it, but the world gives us a giant middle finger, pushing out winds that feel like they’re trying to carve us open from the inside.
My face is numb, my lungs burn with every breath, and my fingers stay stiff no matter how much I flex them inside my gloves.
I don’t complain out loud, but I catch Aryn glancing my way more than once, like he knows exactly how miserable I am.
We’ve taken up our unofficial roles of bringing up the rear, always scouting the danger behind.
Usually it’s quiet, with very little chatter among the group, but sometimes this strange urge to share takes over and we talk.
Mostly, it’s about nothing important. I ask questions about the plants and animals, and tease Cameron for complaining about the cold all the time.
My mouth has always been one of my defensive mechanisms, but now it feels like I’m floundering to keep the attention off the other, much more troublesome problem.
The red, stupidly hot, obnoxiously patient problem walking beside me.
He’s always right there, dark hair whipping in the wind and fangs peeking out over his plump lips. He glances at me with those thoughtful eyes and talks with those careful words. He makes sure I’m eating, drinking, and staying warm, and the softness of it all is wearing me down.
People aren’t careful with me. I don’t know what to do with any of it.
Other times we don’t speak at all, and that’s almost worse, because the silence gives me too much room to notice all the other little things I’ve been cataloguing about him. How protectively close he stays to me, the sharp line of his jaw, and the way his tail flicks when he’s thinking.
By the time evening rolls around again, the trees have thinned. We’re all exhausted, and tempers are running short. Ronan calls a halt when we find a decent alcove carved into a hill. It’s not perfect, but it gives us cover on three sides and a good view of the approach.
We set up camp quickly. Fire is too risky with how exposed the area feels, though I stare longingly at the matches inside my bag. Instead, we chew on unheated MREs and sip from canteens, trying to pretend we aren’t half-dead from the cold.
Ronan pulls out his and Cameron’s sleeping bags, and Cameron is already half-asleep against his side as they lay them out. Lillith and Taryn set up together a few feet away, whispering quietly.
I unroll my bag next to Aryn’s like I have the last two nights, trying not to think about the new routine. It’s just… practical. He’s my partner out here, after all, and it’s easier to keep an eye on each other this way.
I climb in and stare up at the sky, watching the three moons slowly drift into place. The cold seeps through the layers, settling deep into my bones. I shift, trying to get comfortable, and turn to find Aryn watching me.
After a long stretch of silence, his voice comes softly. “You’ve been quiet today.”
Something tightens low in my stomach that he noticed. No one ever picks up on shit like that, because I’ve spent a lifetime hiding behind noise. My guard is slipping around him, and it’s dangerous letting him see this much of me. I need to put a fucking stop to it before we both get hurt.
“Lots to think about,” I say, sharper than I intend to combat the buzz in my brain.
He turns his head toward me, and in the moonlight his copper eyes look almost molten. I pretend for a moment they could spare some of that heat.
“Anything you want to talk about?” he asks.
I swallow and look away, staring up at the sky. “Get some sleep, Aryn.”
It’s a dismissal, and we both know it. I don’t dare look at him, though. Don’t dare check and see what my words have done to his face.
Instead of answering, he shifts closer and reaches over, tugging the edge of my sleeping bag higher around my shoulders with careful hands. The simple gesture feels more intimate than it should, and I fight my instinct to grab his wrist and pull him closer.
I’m not the type to get weepy over someone taking care of me. I’ve never needed coddling, and I don’t need it now. Nothing good can come from allowing myself to feel like this, and I should stop encouraging it.
He pulls back, and I can feel his eyes on me in the dark. “I’ve got first watch tonight,” he says. “Rest. I’ll monitor things.”
“Yeah, okay.” My heart thuds so hard he has to hear it, and guilt forms a ball in my gut. “Look… I’m sorry for being short with you.”
“It’s alright,” he says with that patience he never seems to lose. “You’re exhausted and freezing. It’s understandable.”
“It’s not that,” I argue before my brain can stop the words from tumbling out.
“What is it, then?”
“It’s…” I trail off, finding his cautious gaze on mine. Another cinch around my gut wants me to reach for him, so I burrow further into my sleeping bag. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m fucking freezing. It’s made me cranky.”
He eyes me like he knows I’m deflecting, but he lets me get away with it. “Get some rest, then. I’ll wake you up when it’s your watch.”
He walks off to find a place to scout, and I stare at his frame moving in the moonlight. He prowls like a damn cat, body fluid and tail flicking behind him like it might sense danger.
I close my eyes, expecting the usual restless half-sleep I’ve known most of my life.
Instead, warmth from the sleeping bag and the knowledge that Aryn is standing guard settles over me.
My body relaxes in a way it almost never does, and sleep pulls me under faster than I expect.
Out here, where even the air is trying to kill me, I feel safe.
And ain’t that the damnedest thing.