Under Fire
Collin and his friends had fallen asleep around the fire, cradled in the soft arms of the sheltering inlet, lulled by the hush of waves turning against the shore and the whispering wind in the cliffs. At some point in the night, the temperature dropped, but they were too wrung out to care.
By morning, they sat cross-legged in the damp sand, sharing what remained of their dried fruit, bread, and meat.
Niall still looked pale and wrung out, but at least he’d stopped shivering.
Collin’s clothes were still damp, his limbs stiff and sore, and all of them were aching for clean sheets and a proper meal.
As they packed up and stamped out the campfire, Clive and Collin took turns telling Logan about the Autumn Celebration. Logan had never been, though his mother had visited once, long ago. When they described the Daughters of Venus, his eyes lit up like he’d just spotted treasure beneath the waves.
“I’ll introduce you to a few girls who work at our bakery,” Clive said with a wide grin.
Logan chuckled, raking a hand through his salt-crusted hair. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”
“Just don’t lose your soul along the way,” Clive said, clapping him on the back.
Collin smiled, feeling the lightness of the morning finally settling into his chest. “Come to Chroma,” he added. “There’s no better place to find your soul—or a girl who’ll help you look.”
The friends said their goodbyes by the trailhead, trading promises to meet again soon. Collin watched Logan disappear along the coastal path, yellow hair catching the sunlight like a flare.
The morning heat pressed down like a weight, heavy and unrelenting.
Even beneath the canopy of trees, the air hung thick and unmoving.
At first, Collin and Aries talked—retelling pieces of the near-drowning with bursts of laughter and disbelief—but soon the heat wrung the words out of them.
It was easier to walk in silence, heads down, legs dragging as the trail rose steadily beneath their feet.
Collin felt baked through, like someone had left him in the sun too long and forgotten.
The trek home from the Singing Cove always seemed twice as long as the journey there.
He loved the place—loved the wildness of it, the quiet, the feeling of being on the edge of the world—but god, he hated this hike.
Maybe that was the point. Maybe the cove wouldn’t feel like a secret if it were easier to reach.
Grandfather used to say that anything easy to reach was easy to take for granted.
Still, he would’ve traded all the poetry in the world to be home already.
He had to teach this afternoon—how in the stars was he supposed to stay awake?
Maybe he’d hand out a project and let the children manage themselves.
Even then, keeping his eyes open would be a battle.
All he wanted was to lie down—anywhere, really—but preferably in his own bed, sheets cool and clean, with no sand stuck in the creases of his knees.
He ruffled his damp hair and watched a small avalanche of grit fall to the path.
His scalp itched from the salt, his clothes clung to him like wet paper, and he stank of brine and sweat.
A yawn overtook him mid-step—wide and jaw-cracking.
The walk stretched on. He didn't remember the last time a good day had left him this tired.
Aries kicked at something underfoot and uncovered a long branch buried beneath the damp forest floor. He picked it up and tested the weight, then began stripping away the dead leaves. “You feeling better?”
Collin shifted his bag higher, wincing at the pull in his shoulder. Maybe he was better. Or maybe he was too hot, too sore, too worn down to figure out what better even meant. “There’s nothing like almost dying to give a man a fresh perspective on living.”
Aries smirked and twirled his makeshift walking stick. “Logan’s an interesting fellow. I wonder when he’ll find his soul.”
“Hopefully soon. Thank the gods for him.”
“What do the gods have to do with it?” Aries asked, his tone sharp, almost lazy in its dismissal.
“You must believe some higher power was watching over us.”
“No gods. Just Logan. Right place, right time.”
Of course. Collin bit back a sigh. Not this again.
He was too wrung out to start a debate he knew would lead nowhere.
They had never agreed on this—not even as children.
One of his clearest memories was his mother’s voice at bedtime, guiding him through a simple prayer.
He didn’t know if she believed every word, but he had clung to that ritual like a rope in the dark.
Even now, he sometimes prayed just to bring her back to him, even if only in memory.
As he got older, he started writing his prayers—quiet, private things in the back pages of old notebooks.
Not to get answers. Just to sort through fear, doubt, longing.
It helped, the way writing always did. His mother had planted that seed, the belief that something larger—call it divine, call it fate—moved unseen through the world.
He didn’t picture gods walking amongst mortals in disguises.
But sometimes, a moment felt too precise to be random.
Sometimes, the world felt... brushed by intention.
Aries didn’t see it that way. He never sneered at Collin’s faith, never mocked it outright—but he made sure Collin knew how little he trusted anything he couldn’t touch or measure.
And then there was Dragonfly. She didn’t believe either.
They’d argued over it more than once. She said the world was random and brutal and gorgeous in ways no god would bother to explain.
“If the gods ran everything,” she’d said once, eyes burning, “the world wouldn’t be such a mess.
Bad people would suffer more. Good people wouldn’t die in fires or drown in floods.
Besides, just read the old stories—gods are just as selfish as we are. ”
Maybe she wasn’t wrong. But if Collin didn’t believe in something—if there was no design, no rhythm, no unseen thread—then life was just chaos. What comfort was there in that? Belief gave him shape, helped him face a world that spun too fast and burned too bright.
He would keep believing, at least for now. For as long as it still made sense.
Movement, bright and yellow fluttering in the breeze caught Collin’s eye—a handkerchief, tied neatly to a low-hanging branch.
Aries spotted it at the same time. “I wonder who left this behind,” he said, tugging the knot loose with careless ease.
“Who knows.” Collin checked his watch and winced. “We better hurry. I’ve got to teach this afternoon, and I still need to get home and wash the ocean off me.”
“Good call,” Aries said, nudging a pebble down the path with his boot. “I doubt either of us smells particularly civilized right now.”
Collin snorted and picked up his pace. “I haven’t done laundry in... let’s just say it's past the point of confession. I’m praying something in that pile still qualifies as clean.”
“If not,” Aries said, grinning, “go with whatever already smells like it’s survived an adventure.”
“As long as it’s dry, it’s hired,” Collin muttered.
They broke into a jog. Neither could afford to miss work.
When the trail narrowed, Aries’s long legs kept him ahead.
On the wider stretches, they ran shoulder to shoulder.
The first few strides were brutal, but once he found his rhythm, Collin pushed through.
Sweat poured from his brow, streaked down his back, soaked the collar of his shirt.
He was drenched in minutes. God help anyone stuck in a room with him today—he reeked like sea rot and sunburnt regrets.
They’d been jogging the narrow, winding trail for a while now.
The ground was uneven, the bends sharp, and their pace had slowed to a cautious lope.
Aries was several yards ahead, barely winded.
Collin’s legs burned with every stride, but he bit down on the ache and refused to be the one to call for a break.
Pride and stubbornness pushed him forward—maybe, just maybe, Aries would tire out first.
A sharp crack split the air.
Collin flinched, his pulse snapping to attention.
Another burst—a pop, a crackle—branches snapping all at once.
He spun around, instinctive and wild-eyed. A cloud of dust blasted into his face. He staggered back, choking, coughing, his arms flailing to shield his stinging eyes.
Up ahead—another harsh snap, then Aries’s cry, sharp with panic and pain.
Collin staggered forward blindly, terror rising in his throat. What was happening? Where was Aries?
Another explosion, closer now. Leaves, dirt, twigs, pebbles—all of it slammed into his skin.
A small stone struck his forehead, sending a yelp of pain tearing from his throat.
The scent of fire—charred wood and something unfamiliar, sharp and chemical—seeped thickly into the air.
He didn’t know why, but the smell terrified him.
He couldn’t move—but he couldn’t stay still.
“Aries? Where are you? Say something!”
Aries’s coughing voice came from somewhere nearby, too close to be unseen, but the haze was blinding.
A hand grabbed Collin’s shoulder.
He nearly jumped out of his skin—but it was Aries.
Collin staggered to his feet, tripping over Aries’s legs. The smoke stung his lungs and seared his throat. Gasping and gagging, the boys clung to each other, disoriented.
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t care! Just run!” Aries yanked Collin forward.
“I can’t see!”
It didn’t matter. Explosions thundered around them. Light and shadow danced in the smoke, disorienting. Which way was forward? Which way was back?
“Wait! Stop!” Collin choked out. But Aries dragged him faster, shoving him over a prickly bush. Brambles tore Collin’s arms and legs as he stumbled through. The dust was thinning now, ghostly trees emerging from the fog, but the dread only thickened.
“Stop! You idiots! Stop!”