The cliffs blurred around me as I stumbled forward, the stone beneath my boots shifting like sand. My breath came in short, jagged gasps, each one scraping against my throat like I’d swallowed ash. The ocean roared below, distant and muffled, its rhythm drowned by the hum still vibrating in my ribs. It clung to me, faint but alive, a reminder that whatever I’d just seen wasn’t gone.

I tried to focus on the path ahead, on the jagged rock and the faint glow of Ashora’s firelight in the distance. My legs moved, but my thoughts didn’t. They were stuck, looping back to the square, to the shadows, to the way everything had burned.

Cynane. Kael. Abba.

The names rattled in my skull, each one heavier than the last. I squeezed my fists tighter, my nails biting into my palms. They were here. They were fine. I had to remind myself of that, but the images wouldn’t leave. Cynane’s wide eyes, Kael’s desperate shout, Abba’s unmoving stare. It felt like the light and the fire and the ash had followed me, seared into my skin.

The faint hum shifted, low and insistent, as if it was trying to pull me back. I shook my head hard, willing it away, but the weight in my chest didn’t ease.

What the hell was that?

The question echoed in my mind, sharp and relentless, but there was no answer. Just the bitter taste of ash and the sting of the wind slicing through my limbs.

I didn’t stop until the jagged walls of Ashora loomed above me, their rough stone edges shadowed against the firelight. My steps slowed, the strain in my legs catching up all at once as the adrenaline drained out of me. My chest ached, my throat raw, but I forced myself forward, through the narrow entrance and into the heart of the Hollow.

The familiar sight of the square should have steadied me, but it didn’t. The firelight flickered across the cobblestones, casting long shadows against the walls of the homes carved into the mountain. Everything looked the same, but it felt wrong. Too quiet. Too still. The hum might have faded, but the unease it left behind hadn’t.

Before I could think too hard about it, I spotted them.

Kael and Cynane stood near the edge of the square, their silhouettes outlined by the faint glow of the fire. Cynane’s brace caught the light as she shifted her weight, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Kael leaned against the stone, his head snapping up the moment he saw me.

“Aya,” he said, pushing off the wall and striding toward me. His voice was sharp, his movements quick, but there was something beneath the usual bravado.

Cynane was right behind him, her limp more pronounced than usual as she hurried to catch up. Her eyes were darker than I remembered, their sharpness dulled by something heavier. “You idiot,” she said, her voice low but trembling with the weight of her words. “You absolute idiot.”

I didn’t know what to say. I don’t know what I was feeling, maybe relief. I know it was a dream, but their deaths felt so real. Before I could stop myself, I threw my arms around both of them.

Cynane stiffened in my grasp, her arms awkwardly pinned to her sides. “Aya?” she asked, her voice cautious and unsure. “What... are you doing?”

Kael froze, his whole body going rigid. “Uh... what the hell is this?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My chest was too tight, but it wasn’t the hum this time. It was something heavier, something harder to name. I could feel Kael’s erratic heartbeat against my arm, gradually steadying, and the realization hit me like a slap.

“Aya,” he said, his voice dripping with exaggerated disgust. “You’re grossing me out.”

Wait.

Ew.

What was I doing?

Heat flooded my face as I stumbled back, releasing them both like they’d burned me. “I—just... forget it,” I muttered, brushing past them, suddenly hyperaware of how ridiculous I must have looked.

Kael stared at me, eyebrows raised. “Okay… what just happened? Did you hit your head? Cynane, check her or something.”

Cynane shifted, still adjusting her cloak where I’d wrinkled it. Her expression was unreadable, but her voice was steady. “Kael, give it a rest. Aya’s allowed to be... human.”

“Human?” he echoed, gesturing dramatically. “This is Aya. She doesn’t do hugs. She does scowls and insults and plans that get us nearly killed.”

I turned, shooting him a glare. “You’re not helping.”

“Not trying to.” He replied, but it was faint, like even he wasn’t fully sure what to make of what had just happened.

Cynane’s sharp eyes flicked to me, searching for something beneath the surface. “Are you okay?” she asked quietly, her voice softer now, careful.

I hesitated, glancing away. The question settled awkwardly in my chest, scraping against the truth I wasn’t ready to say out loud. Was I okay? No. But telling them wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t take the hum out of my ribs or erase the fire from my mind.

“I’m fine,” I said, the words brittle as I tried to steady my voice. “I just... had a moment. That’s all.”

Cynane studied me for a beat longer, but she didn’t press. She just nodded, her usual quiet strength returning as she adjusted her brace and gestured toward the path. “Let’s get back. We’ve been out here too long already.”

Kael didn’t look convinced, but he fell into step beside us anyway, the easy confidence he usually carried dulled. He glanced at me once, then quickly away, shoving his hands into his pockets. “For the record, if this is your way of apologizing for running off alone, it’s weird,” he muttered.

“It’s not,” I shot back quickly. “I’m not apologizing.”

“Good,” he said, though the edge of his grin was forced. “Because I wasn’t about to accept it.”

When I glanced back, his hand was raking through his hair, his face scrunched up like he couldn’t figure out how to feel about anything that had just happened. His ears were faintly red, a tell he didn’t even realize he had.

The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt... steady, like the kind of silence you could lean on. I didn’t know what they were thinking, and I wasn’t about to ask, but for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was fighting them to stay close.

The jagged stone streets of Ashora seemed to glow under the firelight, their edges dulled by shadows that clung to the walls. Smoke from the cooking fires drifted in lazy spirals, carrying the scent of charred bread and spiced herbs, mingling with the sharper tang of ash that never seemed to leave the air. The rough-hewn pathways curved like veins through the mountain, guiding us past homes carved into the rock, their doorways flickering with faint, golden light.

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Cynane walked beside me, her steps measured but steady. Her breath misted faintly in the cool air, and her eyes swept the path ahead like she was cataloging every detail. Behind us, Kael trailed, his usual swagger absent, replaced by an unusual quiet. His hands twitched at his sides, occasionally brushing the rough wall, as if grounding himself in the familiar texture of home.

The square opened into the quieter parts of Ashora, where life whispered instead of shouted. A weaver sat cross-legged outside her hollowed-out home, her hands moving with practiced ease over a piece of frayed fabric. Her needle flashed in the firelight, threading vibrant blue through the worn cloth, like she was stitching life back into something that had nearly faded away. A young girl crouched beside her, her small fingers clumsy but determined as she tried to mimic the woman’s movements. The child’s brow furrowed in concentration, her tongue peeking out from the corner of her mouth.

The weaver didn’t scold her when the thread knotted. She didn’t rush her either. Her words were soft, almost inaudible, but they carried a warmth that matched the flickering firelight.

I slowed, my gaze lingering on the thread catching the light, vivid against the gray stone. It was beautiful. There was no denying that. But the beauty twisted something inside me, left a bitter taste in my mouth. What good was beauty when the world had a way of taking it? What was the point of stitching torn fabric when everything seemed destined to unravel again?

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Cynane’s voice was quieter than usual, her tone thoughtful.

I blinked, startled by the softness in her words. She wasn’t looking at me. Her gaze was fixed on the weaver, her expression unreadable.

I nodded, barely. “Yeah. It is.”

She didn’t say anything more, but the slight tilt of her head made me wonder what she was seeing.

We kept walking, the path narrowing as we moved further into the heart of Ashora. The scent of baking bread grew stronger, mingling with the faint, earthy notes of mountain herbs. Ahead, a baker handed a dark, crusty loaf to a boy who couldn’t have been older than six. The child’s grin was wide enough to split his face, his hands clutching the bread like a treasure. His mother stood behind him, her hands wringing nervously as she murmured her thanks.

“Tell him to save me a piece next time,” the baker said with a laugh, waving them off with a flour-dusted hand. His voice was rich, warm in a way that didn’t come from the fire crackling behind him.

Kael finally broke his silence, his voice low and rough around the edges. “Doesn’t feel like they’ve got much to laugh about.”

Cynane’s gaze lingered on the baker for a moment, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Maybe that’s why they laugh,” she said, her voice soft but carrying a weight that made me glance at her.

Cynane’s gaze swept across the square, lingering on a mother crouched near the fire, breaking off small pieces of bread for her children. The faint flicker of a smile played on the woman’s lips as she brushed ash from her daughter’s hair, her movements slow, deliberate, like she was trying to make this moment last.

Cynane exhaled softly, her expression unreadable, but her voice carried a quiet weight when she finally spoke. “I understand why you’re angry.”

I glanced at her, my steps slowing, the words catching me off guard. “I’m not angry.”

Her brow arched slightly, a hint of challenge in her expression. “You’re not now,” she admitted. “You are. I’ve seen it. And I get it. It’s easier to let it sit there, to let it burn. It feels like it’s pushing you forward. Like it’s doing something.”

The firelight flickered against the jagged walls of the square, casting long shadows that shifted with every gust of wind.

“But anger doesn’t fix anything,” she continued, her voice low but steady. “Not them.” She nodded toward the square, where a group of children darted between the adults, their laughter quick and fleeting. “Not us.”

Her words sank into the cold night air, pressing heavier than the smoke that clung to the stone. I looked away, focusing on the cracks beneath my boots.

“I’m not angry at them,” I said, though the words felt hollow as they left me.

Cynane’s eyes softened, her head tilting slightly as if to study me. “Maybe not right now. But you’ve said it yourself. How they won’t stand, how they kneel for gods who don’t answer. You think that’s going to make them stronger? Being angry at the people you’re trying to protect?”

Kael snorted from ahead of us, turning slightly to glance over his shoulder. “Please tell me this isn’t turning into some kind of Zurah sermon,” he said, his tone dry. “If she starts quoting Malrik, I’m leaving.”

Cynane shot him a sharp look but didn’t reply.

Kael slowed his steps to match ours, tossing me an exaggerated grin. “Seriously, though. You’ve got the ‘defiant savior’ act down, Aya. It’s great for, you know, setting things on fire. Not so great for keeping me entertained.”

I rolled my eyes. “If I wanted to keep you entertained, I’d have thrown you off a cliff.”

“And spared myself all this introspection?” He pressed a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “You’re too kind.”

“Not kind enough,” I muttered, my lips twitching despite myself.

Cynane’s voice softened when she spoke. “You’re not wrong to want more for them,” she said. “But we can’t pull them up if we’re pushing them down. They’ll feel it, even if they don’t understand it.” She paused, her gaze flicking to the firelight ahead. “They need something to hold onto, Aya. Not anger. Not fear. Something better.”

Kael was quieter now, his hands shoved into his pockets as he kicked at a loose stone on the path. “You know,” he said finally, his voice unusually soft, “the problem isn’t the people. It’s you.”

I raised an eyebrow, but he continued without waiting for a response. “You act like you’re the only one who cares. Like no one else sees what’s broken.” His grin returned, faint and wry. “It’s annoying. We care too. Maybe not like you, but we do.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity buried beneath his usual bravado.

“Kael,” Cynane started, but he shook his head.

“No, it’s true. She thinks the whole world’s on her shoulders, but she’s not as subtle about it as she thinks.” His ears reddened slightly as he glanced away, kicking another stone.

The silence between us stretched, heavier but steadier.

I didn’t know what to say, and for once, neither did Cynane.

The firelight ahead danced against the walls, the square alive with quiet movement, with survival. The weight in my chest didn’t lift, but it shifted, settling somewhere deeper.

Cynane’s words hung in the air long after she’d stopped speaking. They need something to hold onto.

The firelight flickered weakly, its shadows stretching and shrinking like they couldn’t decide where to rest. My thoughts felt the same—restless, twisting, circling the same questions without ever landing.

Was I helping them? Was I helping anyone?

I clenched my fists, the rough wall biting into my palms as I tried to steady myself. I wanted to believe I was fighting for them, for Cynane, Kael, Abba. Everyone. But Cynane was right about one thing: anger wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be.

My jaw tightened, the memory of Naima’s voice crawling up my spine. Barking at shadows.

I hated her for saying that. But what if she wasn’t wrong?

The vision lingered at the edges of my mind, refusing to let me forget. The fire swallowing everything. Cynane’s wide, terrified eyes. Kael’s desperate shout. Abba’s silent, steady stare as the shadows dragged him into the light.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push it all away, but it stayed, burning brighter the harder I tried to bury it.

What do you do when the thing you’re fighting feels bigger than you? Stronger than anything you could ever be?

The fire crackled, low and stubborn, pulling my attention back to the square. The people here had already lost so much. They were still losing. I could feel it in the air, in the way every step felt heavier, like the mountain itself was pressing down on us.

If Cynane was right, if anger alone wasn’t enough, then what? Was there something more to hold onto, something I hadn’t found yet?

My chest tightened, and I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek. I wanted to believe there was a way to fight back, to win. But the truth was, I didn’t know.

And I hated that more than anything.

The hum was still there, faint but persistent, like a thread woven too tightly into my ribs. It wasn’t a vision anymore, but it hadn’t left. It felt like a reminder, or maybe a warning.

What scared me most was that it might be both.

I let out a shaky breath, the air too sharp, too heavy. I wasn’t sure if I was running toward something or away from it anymore.

But either way, I couldn’t stop.

Not now.