CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
When I woke, the light didn’t feel real. It filtered in thin and slanted—pale pink and gold bleeding through the seams in the wall, stretching across the floor in quiet lines. Like the world had forgotten how to move. Like time itself was holding its breath.
Dawn.
I was alive.
There was breath in my lungs. A pulse somewhere deep beneath my ribs.
Even if everything else felt wrong. I didn’t feel awake.
I felt… poured back into my body, slowly.
Like something had stitched me together in the dark and left the seams loose.
Everything was sore. Everything was heavy.
Something warm rested across my shoulders.
I looked down and saw Will’s coat. Too big on me, but the lining still held his warmth.
I pulled it tighter. The movement sent a ripple of pain through my arms, but I didn’t let go.
I couldn’t. It was the only thing anchoring me.
Outside the hut, I heard the boys. They were arguing again. Their voices cut across each other, low and fast. Each one sharper than the last. We’d have to move again soon. They’d spent too much coin. Aran shouldn’t have wasted money on weapons when we needed food.
How long had I been out? I looked down at my arms. The skin wasn’t red anymore. No open blisters. No melted flesh. Just raw pink, shiny and swollen. Tender where the new skin had begun to grow.
But I remembered the fire. I remembered the way it ate me alive. How it found its way inside my bones and split them open. How I screamed. How I burned. And I remembered the man. The way he stopped moving. The way the flames took him.
I had killed him. It didn’t matter what he would’ve done.
What he’d already done. He was dead. Because of me.
And his face still lived behind my eyes.
His charred body, curled and cracking. The smell of burning flesh lodged in the back of my mind.
Sweet. Thick. Unshakable. It didn’t fade. It didn’t leave. It haunted me.
The door creaked and Aran’s head appeared, framed by sunlight. His eyes landed on mine. Then his mouth dropped open.
“WIIIIILL!”
I winced.
“SHE’S AWAKE!” he yelled. His voice cracked halfway through, and then he was stumbling into the hut like he’d forgotten how his legs worked. Will wasn’t far behind. He dropped to the floor beside me so fast it was like the earth had pulled him down.
“Kera.” My name caught in his throat. I blinked up at him, the pressure in my chest pulled tight, rising like a tide. I opened my mouth but couldn’t find the words. My throat was dry. My mind worse.
“How are you… feeling?” he asked. Aran asked. It caught me off guard. Not just the words, but the way he said them. Soft. Hesitant. Like he wasn’t used to asking things like that. Like he didn’t know if he was allowed to.
I swallowed.
“I’m just glad…” I rasped out. “That you haven’t killed each other yet.”
Aran laughed. The sound tore out of him like it had been locked in his chest for days. He grabbed his ribs as he doubled over, still laughing through the pain.
“Can’t say I didn’t want to at times,” Aran muttered, flashing Will a crooked grin.
Will nudged him without thinking.
Aran let out a sharp groan and folded forward, clutching his side.
“Oh—shit. Sorry,” Will blurted.
But Aran was still laughing.
“No, no, it’s cool,” he gasped. “I love random acts of violence. Really brightens my morning.”
Will shook his head, then turned to me.
“You’ve healed.” His eyes traced over my skin, slow and careful.
Aran widened his eyes, like he’d only just noticed too.
“Shit. Does that mean you’re fireproof? Even your hair made it.”
I reached for it. The golden strands were still there. Soft. Whole.
How?
“No. I don’t know.” I shook my head.
That’s when I saw it. A small loaf of bread, and a folded bundle of fabric and leather, resting beside me like an offering.
“They’re for you. Since your other ones…” Aran said, glancing away. “Didn’t make it.”
Didn’t make it.
The sky-blue cloak. The soft dress I got from Will. All of it, gone. I hadn’t even realized until then that beneath Will’s cloak, I was bare.
“I think he just bought what he’d wear himself,” Will said.
Aran frowned. “What? It’s practical. Dark colors, strong fabric. Anything else would get ruined out here.”
“Sure,” Will said dryly. “You’re a real trendsetter.”
“Shut up.”
“They’re for me?” I asked. “Where did you get all this?”
“I didn’t go far,” Aran added. “There was a little market by the river. And a small farm.”
Will pulled a cloth-wrapped bundle from the pack and handed it to me. “Bread. And he picked up something sweet too, I think. Some kind of berry thing.”
I stared down at the bundle in my lap, unsure if I could even make myself unwrap it.
“You didn’t have to—”
“I know,” Aran said, cutting me off gently. “I wanted to.”
He leaned back, arms behind his head. “And we may or may not have spent too much gold on gear. Weapons. Food. But hey. Now we’re armed. And fed. You’re welcome.”
“Of course you did.” I said.
He’d gone while I was unconscious. While I was curled up in Will’s coat, shaking from the inside out. While I was fighting for my life. And he’d thought of me.
I lifted the bundle of fabric, letting the light catch the fabric. The clothes were nothing like mine—brown and black, rough leather and wool, a hooded cloak, trousers instead of skirts, a belt to hold everything together.
“If you’d both leave the room,” I said quietly.
Aran hesitated, then nodded. Will followed him out.
There was a gaping hole in the wall, but I didn’t even think about it. They’d already seen me at my worst—burned, broken, naked. If either of them had wanted to hurt me, they’d had every chance. Instead, they carried me here. Fed me. Wrapped me in warmth I didn’t think I’d ever feel again.
Maybe I was foolish to trust them. But how could I not?
Will, who I trusted with my life. And Aran, who kept trying to earn forgiveness for something that couldn’t be undone.
I stepped outside, the breeze touched my face, light as a feather. I almost cried.
It was real.
The world hadn’t ended.
I sat by the fire Aran had coaxed to life, the faint crackle filling the silence between us. It burned low, fed more for warmth than comfort, its glow painting his face in gold and shadow.
“See? Looks great!” Aran said when he noticed me. His grin was crooked, proud in that way he always was when he thought he’d done something useful.
Of course he thought it looked good. I could’ve passed for his twin — same rough leather, same dark tones meant to hide dirt and blood.
“Didn’t doubt it would,” Will said, his voice coming from behind me. He appeared with a bundle of firewood in his arms, his sleeves rolled up, hair falling into his eyes. There was soot on his cheek, and something almost like relief hiding in his smile.
Their bickering barely reached me. The world felt... wrong. Off. I looked around slowly, taking in the walls, the light slipping through the cracks between the logs.
It wasn’t the same hut.
The walls were whole, patched with moss and bark. The fire was gentle, not the roaring pit I’d been thrown into. Outside, morning light pressed through the trees, turning the smoke pale and soft.
We weren’t in the same woods.
They’d moved us.
Moved me. While I was unconscious. And somewhere in that realization, another truth settled in.
I wasn’t scared of those hooded men anymore, but Will and Aran were.
They were probably still watching the trees for movement, still listening for footsteps that didn’t belong.
Maybe they were afraid the hooded men would come back for us, finish what they started.
And with me unconscious—burned, broken, useless—I wouldn’t have been able to protect them.
Or myself.
But they hadn’t left, and that proved something. Something I hadn’t let myself fully believe until now. They were loyal. If there had ever been even a flicker of doubt, especially toward Aran, it was gone.
I had trusted them with my life. And they had proved themselves to me.
And they’d stayed together. Even without me there to break up the fights, to roll my eyes at their bickering, they’d stayed.
Aran had bought a gun, too. I saw it a few days later.
He kept it tucked beneath his makeshift pillow, within reach.
And I never saw him drink again. Maybe he felt guilty. I don’t know.
“Did you know you could… do that?” Aran asked, sitting across from me.
My eyes stayed on the horizon, on the pale light spilling through the trees. Not to avoid the question, just because there was no answer.
How do you explain something like that?
Becoming something else.
Aran didn’t wait.
“I mean—gods, that was nothing like what you did to me. That was… worse. Or more. I don’t know.
” He scratched at the back of his neck, words tripping over themselves.
“Wait—could you have done that to me? If you wanted to? The fire—Kera, it was in you. You were the fire. I could barely see you. It was like looking straight at the sun.”
His voice dropped.
“And then there was just... nothing left of him.”
I hadn’t known. Not until it was already happening. Not until it was done. When I shifted closer, they both tensed. Just slightly. Not enough for most people to notice.
But I noticed. Because I was watching for it.
Of course they did. They’d seen what I did. What the fire made of me.
How could they be sure I wouldn’t hurt them?
How could I?
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to chase the warmth.
But I was cold again.
The fire still lived inside me. I could feel it, curled deep around my ribs, slow and quiet, like something waiting.
But it didn’t warm me. It never did.
“No,” I said. “I didn’t know.” I swallowed. My voice felt thin when I added, “But I think she did. The woman.”
Aran shifted, frowning. “Wait—she knew? And she didn’t tell you?”
I nodded. “She said there would be more pain. I just didn’t think it would come so soon.”
“She said that?” His tone was sharp, disbelieving. “What, like some kind of warning? And then she just let it happen?”
“She said a lot of things,” I murmured.
“She could’ve been lying,” Will said. “About everything.”
“She could’ve.”
But I didn’t believe that. Not really. The voice—the one that wasn’t hers—still echoed in my bones.
“She knew things,” I explained. “Things she shouldn’t have. About me.
And about Licia.”
That made everything stop. Will stilled completely. Even Aran’s mouth, half-open for another question, snapped shut.
“Licia?” Will asked, carefully.
“She’s alive,” I said. “Or… I think she is.”
Aran shot upright. “I knew it,” he said, almost breathless. “I knew she wasn’t dead.”
Will blinked, like he hadn’t fully registered the words. “Wait. Kera—how do you know that?”
“She didn’t say her name,” I admitted, keeping my eyes on the fire. “But she gave me clues. She told me where to find her.”
“What kind of clues?” Will leaned in, his brow furrowed.
“Golden buildings. A serpent, I think. And paintings.”
I rubbed at my wrist, still tender but healing.
Fast enough that I could almost see it. “The paintings made sense. She painted her dreams, I don’t know if you knew.
” I said, looking over at Aran. ”But we thought they were more like vision.
Some of them came true.” I said. ”Anyways, that’s where I got stuck.
Golden building, a serpent, I do’nt even know where to begin with that. . what does it mean?”"
Aran shifted, his whole posture lighting up. “Oh. I love riddles,” he said, already pushing himself upright. “What kind of serpent are we talking? Real snake? Metaphor? A painting of a snake? A snake that paints?”.
Will glared at him.
“This isn’t a joke.”
Aran tilted his head. “I know,” he muttered, glancing away. “But it’s something. Right? If she’s alive, we could find her.”
He trailed off, shoulders tensing. His gaze dropped to the ground, then flicked back up like a thought had just hit him.
“Golden buildings,” he repeated, slower. “Wait, you mean like... Golden Bay? Like Alevé?”
I looked up. “What?”
“You’ve heard of it,” he said. “The city is built from pale stone. When the sun hits it, it glows. Looks like pure gold. That’s why they call it the Golden Bay.”
“Are you sure?” Will asked, narrowing his eyes.
Aran tilted his head, lips twitching at the corners. “Told you. I’m good at riddles.”
Golden Bay.
The words echoed inside me like a memory I hadn’t finished having. I’d seen it marked on old maps, heard it mentioned in passing at school. It lay just beyond the edge of everything I’d ever known. A harbor city in Alevé, past the southern wall.
“So she’s in Alevé?” Will asked. “And you trust that woman?”
I met his eyes.
“She told me, just before she died. I think… I think she died trying to protect me from something.”
Will’s brow tightened. “But you said she stabbed herself. Why would she do that to protect you? That doesn’t make sense, Kera.”
Aran cleared his throat. “Unless she was scared she’d hurt you.”
“There was something inside her,” I said. “She said it told her to kill me. But she didn’t want to, and then she told me to run. But I—I couldn’t. And then… it was like something took over her body. Took over her mind. It spoke through her. Moved through her.” I forced the words out.
“You saw that happen?” Will’s eyes widened.
I nodded.
“And everything else she said was true,” I said. “Everything she taught me helped. So yes. I believe her.”
He didn’t respond, just gave me a small nod, like he couldn’t bring himself to hope, but he wouldn’t argue either. It felt good, telling them what happened. What really happened. It was easy, maybe too easy. Maybe I should’ve kept some of it to myself. Well, I did keep one thing to myself.
You’re not human.
Aran rose, brushing dirt from his hands. He looked at me, then at Will.
Well, Alevé’s not too far from here,” he said, trying to sound casual, but his eyes gave him away. “So let’s go get her. We’re going south anyway.
“There’s one more thing,” I added. “She said that Licia is stuck. Trapped.”
“What does that mean?” Aran asked. “Trapped how?”
“I don’t know.” I paused, heartbeat ticking in my throat. “She pulled these cards. And there was a picture.”
They both looked at me.
“A cage.”