The fire was dying.
Its glow barely touched the edges of the forest clearing, and shadows crowded closer with every gust of wind. The scent of ash clung to everything, clothes, skin, breath. Crickets chirped in hesitant intervals, as if unsure whether to continue. The sky above was moonless, a black curtain draped over the world.
Marco lay on his side near the dwindling fire, arms folded tight, forehead damp with sweat. His breath came in shallow bursts. Even in sleep, his fingers twitched, clenching, flexing, as though resisting flames that only he could feel. Occasionally, a ripple of heat shimmered off his skin and sank back, like his body could not decide whether to ignite or rest.
Geneva was still, wrapped in a thin blanket. She had not moved for hours. Her face looked pale and drawn, lips cracked, hair clinging to her skin in clumps. The faint, silver filigree along her collarbone glowed dimly, pulsing in time with the breath she fought to take. Eloisa checked her pulse every so often. It was there, erratic, but present.
She sat close to the fire, both for warmth and for something to do. Her own chest ached with every heartbeat. The arrhythmia had returned stronger tonight, throwing her balance off. But she said nothing. She had no power. She had no purpose here, not really. And yet, somehow, she was still the one awake. Watching. Waiting. Bearing witness.
The burn on her arm throbbed beneath the bandage. She didn't have to look at it again to know what it was: a thin, branching scar along the inside of her forearm, from elbow to wrist. The heat had barely touched her, but it left its mark. She had screamed then, not from fear but from the sheer, biting shock of it.
Now, there was no fear left. Only the dull ache of something that would remain.
She reached out and gently turned a branch in the fire, exposing an ember. It hissed.
Something rustled in the branches overhead. A pigeon sat on the highest branch of the crooked tree nearby, its feathers a pale shimmer in the darkness. It did not move. Just watched.
It had followed them. She recognized it from earlier, from the hidden facility. A strange bird. Never spoke. Never left. It kept its distance, but always returned.
Guarding, maybe. Or waiting.
Eloisa whispered without turning her head. "He's still asleep."
The pigeon tilted its head. No sound.
She wasn't even sure why she spoke to it. She wasn't losing it,at least she didn't think she was, but something about the bird made her feel like she wasn't entirely alone in this. That, or she was grasping for anything to keep her thoughts from spiraling into the dark.
Marco stirred.
Eloisa turned her attention back to him. He mumbled something, his brow furrowing.
"No… no, I didn't… I tried…"
His voice was soft, broken. The boy was sweating again, despite the cold. A ripple of warmth spread briefly from his body, drying the grass around him. It didn't burn, not this time. But it was close.
Eloisa moved closer, cautious. "Marco? It's okay. You're safe."
He flinched, groaned. "Stay... stay…"
Then came the word that turned the air still:
"Mavian…"
The name left his lips like a plea. He turned his head to the side, facing the woods. His expression softened, the tension fading from his limbs.
Eloisa looked up.
The pigeon was still there, unmoving. But now, its eyes glowed faintly in the dark. Not red. Not white. Just... light.
She blinked. "Was that... your name?"
The bird gave no sign. But the moment seemed heavier somehow. As if the word had settled in the space between them.
Marco calmed. His hands loosened. A low breath escaped his chest, and he fell still once more.
Eloisa didn't ask again. Whatever the connection was, she wasn't meant to understand it yet. But something in her heart shifted.
She touched the scar on her arm through the bandage.
It was just a scar. Nothing more. No magic. No psychic link. Just skin that had burned and healed wrong. And yet, it grounded her. It reminded her that she was still here.
The rustle of fabric drew her attention.
Geneva stirred, eyes fluttering open, then narrowing at the dark sky. "Is he… alright?"
Eloisa knelt beside her. "He's sleeping. Calmer now."
Geneva's lips parted in a slow breath. Her voice was barely audible. "The bird?"
Eloisa glanced up. "Still watching."
Geneva nodded once, too exhausted to speak further. The toll of chronokinesis had torn through her like a storm. She needed time. Days, maybe.
Eloisa pressed a hand to Geneva's brow. "Rest. I'll keep watch."
Geneva murmured something under her breath. It might have been thank you. Then silence again.
The clearing was quiet once more.
Eloisa leaned back against a tree, hand over her heart. Her heartbeat stuttered, skipped, surged. The pain had dulled into something familiar. Manageable. She had lived with it long enough to know its rhythm. It wasn't death. Not yet.
Above her, Mavian ruffled his wings.
"Whatever you are," she said softly, "he trusts you."
The bird didn't move.
"I guess that's enough for now."
She let her eyes close. Just for a moment. Just until the fire burned out. Just until morning.
The wind passed gently through the trees.
A girl with a failing heart. A woman hollowed by time. A boy scorched from within. And the silent bird above them all.
Waiting.
Watching.
And for the first time in a long time, guarding something worth keeping.