The innkeeper's shout echoed down the narrow hallway.
"You two! Out! Now!"
Orion's eyes opened. For several seconds, he had no idea where he was. Then footsteps thundered toward the room. Damien slowly sat up in the chair near the window, hair sticking in every direction.
"What now?"
The door flew open. The innkeeper stood there in his wine-red vest, his face redder than the fabric. He flung a bloodstained sheet onto the floor between them.
"You think I was joking when I said no bleeding on the furniture?!"
Orion stared at the sheet. Damien stared at the sheet. Then at Orion. Then back at the innkeeper.
"It's the one damn rule!" the man shouted.
Damien raised both hands.
"Come on, man."
The innkeeper glared.
"We thought you were kidding!"
"Why would I joke about that?!"
Damien looked genuinely confused.
"Who actually makes a rule like that?"
"I DO!"
The innkeeper pointed toward the bed.
"And now you're out!"
He pointed toward the hallway.
"No refunds."
Then back toward the mattress.
"You ruined a perfectly good bed!"
Orion slowly sat upright. His side still hurt from the Reaper fight. His shoulder wasn't much better. Bandages wrapped most of his torso.
"We didn't exactly mean to break your rules."
"Nope!"
The innkeeper shook his head.
"Don't care."
He jabbed one finger toward Orion.
"I don't care if you were stabbed by a griffin, mauled by a hellhound, or kissed by a damn banshee."
He pointed toward the sheet.
"Blood is blood."
Damien blinked.
"Kissed by a banshee?"
"OUT!"
The innkeeper marched toward the hallway.
"Before I call the constable!"
Damien watched him go. Then looked toward Orion.
"Constable?"
Orion started gathering his things.
"Let it go."
"Who the hell calls them constables anymore?"
"Damien."
"Man owns an inn and acts like he runs a church."
"Damien."
"No blood on the furniture."
Damien shook his head.
"What kind of outlaw town is this?"
Orion slung his bag over one shoulder.
"We've been through worse."
Damien looked toward the ruined mattress.
"Yeah."
Then toward Orion.
"But we've never been thrown out over laundry."
Altair Marketplace
They found Sirven exactly where Orion expected. The merchant sat beneath a patched tarp in the trade district, hunched over a table covered in coins, receipts, and several items that looked suspiciously stolen. He hummed badly while counting. Didn't even look up when they approached.
"You boys look like hell."
Damien stopped.
"We got kicked out of the inn."
Sirven continued counting.
"What'd you do?"
He smiled.
"Bleed on the drapes?"
"Bed," Orion answered.
Sirven stopped. Then slapped his knee and laughed.
"Of course!"
Damien frowned.
"You knew?"
"Everybody knows."
Sirven wiped at one eye.
"That man's insane about his furniture."
He chuckled.
"Probably sleeps wrapped in oilcloth."
Orion pulled up a chair.
"We need information."
Sirven's amusement disappeared quickly.
"What kind?"
Orion leaned forward.
"You ever hear of a place where someone like Cyrus the Eternal Flame might've laid low?"
Sirven stopped moving. That name still had weight. Even decades later.
Orion watched Sirven carefully. "A quiet place, somewhere away from Five Points, where a man could stay for a while without anybody finding him."
Sirven leaned back. He removed a pipe from his coat and tapped it against the table.
"Now that's a better question."
Damien folded his arms.
"Better than what?"
"The questions people usually ask me."
Sirven packed the pipe.
"Most idiots want to know where they can find treasure."
He lit it.
"The smart ones ask where people disappear."
Orion waited. Smoke drifted between them.
"I've heard things from merchants I trust."
Sirven glanced around before continuing.
"There's a little settlement west of here."
"Name?"
"Starhaven."
Damien frowned.
"Never heard of it."
"You wouldn't."
Sirven smiled.
"That's kind of the point."
He leaned back.
"There's no checkpoint and no permanent Five Points presence. It's mostly farmers and tradesmen, people who'd rather fix their own problems than invite officers into town." He took another puff. "Salt-of-the-earth types."
"How far?" Orion asked.
"About a day's ride west, if you leave early."
Sirven gestured vaguely toward the horizon.
"Near the forest line."
Damien tilted his head.
"And you think Cyrus went there?"
"If Cyrus the Eternal Flame was trying to disappear?"
Sirven nodded.
He smiled. "Starhaven is exactly the kind of place I'd look."
Orion stood.
"Thanks."
Sirven watched him.
"You're leaving already?"
"We found what we came for."
Sirven pointed the pipe toward him.
"Careful."
Orion stopped. Sirven's expression turned unusually serious.
"Sometimes you go looking for ghosts..." Smoke drifted between them. "...and find out they weren't done haunting you."
Damien glanced toward Orion. Orion adjusted the strap on his bag.
"We'll take our chances."
Starhaven
They left early the next morning. The ride was long but peaceful. The desert slowly gave way to grassland. Hard stone disappeared beneath golden fields stretching toward the horizon. Rolling hills replaced jagged cliffs. Trees became more common. By late afternoon, Orion could smell fresh soil instead of dust. By sunset, they reached the town. A simple, hand-carved wooden sign stood beside the road, weathered and chipped.
WELCOME TO STARHAVEN
A breeze rolled across the wheat fields, carrying the sound of a wind chime. Orion slowed his horse. Small homes lined the road, their wide porches and open windows overlooking children playing near the fences. A farmer waved to someone across a field. Nobody carried a visible weapon, and nobody watched Orion as though waiting for him to draw first. For several seconds, he forgot why they were there.
Orion scanned the rooftops. "This feels like Augustine. The porches, the fields... even the way people leave their doors open."
Damien looked at him, his humor fading.
"Is that where you're from?"
Orion nodded. "Before everything happened." His voice had lowered enough that Damien let the question rest.
They rode on. Orion didn't say anything else. Damien didn't ask.
The Hideout
Sirven's information proved better than Orion expected. An older farmer remembered a quiet, scar-faced man who had lived outside town years ago. He couldn't give them a name, but he remembered that the man paid cash and fixed fences for anyone who needed help. He had never caused trouble—at least not where anyone could see it. The farmer pointed them toward the woods.
They found the cabin near dusk, half-hidden beneath moss and overgrowth. Its roof sagged slightly and vines had climbed one wall, but the structure remained solid. Orion dismounted. He stared at it. Damien stood beside him.
"You think this is it?"
Orion approached the door. "It fits what the farmer told us. I want to look before I start hoping."
He pushed. The hinges groaned. Dust drifted through the fading light. The cabin smelled of old wood, leather, and ash, all settled beneath years of dust. No one had lived there in years. But it still felt occupied somehow. Like the person who had left had only stepped outside. Damien walked toward a cabinet. He opened it. Then froze.
"Oh."
Orion looked over.
"What?"
Damien slowly removed a bottle. Then another. Then another.
"Your old man had taste."
Orion frowned. Damien wiped dust from one bottle.
"This is vintage."
"Put it back."
"I'm appreciating history."
"You're stealing his booze."
"He's dead."
Orion looked at him. Damien slowly returned the bottle.
"Respectfully appreciating history."
Orion shook his head. The back room held only a bed, a desk, a chair, and a heavy wooden trunk shoved beneath the window. The trunk was locked. Damien crouched. Orion looked at him.
"You know how to pick locks?"
Damien glanced up.
"You don't?" Damien asked.
"When was I supposed to learn? Farm work didn't involve breaking into other people's trunks."
"You're an outlaw now. I thought you might have broadened your interests."
"I've been a little busy staying alive."
Damien pulled a thin tool from his sleeve.
"Unbelievable."
A few seconds later—
click.
The lock opened. Orion stared. Damien smiled.
"Useful skill."
They lifted the lid. Several journals rested beside a worn leather satchel, old ammunition, and a faded red cloth. Orion unfolded the cloth carefully. Inside lay a rusted Eternal Flame emblem. His expression changed as he picked it up, and Damien leaned over his shoulder to see.
"Old crew?"
"Yeah."
Orion picked up a journal, its leather cracked with age. Cyrus's handwriting covered the pages: rough, uneven, and blunt, much as Orion remembered him speaking.
Cyrus's journal
"Met a rookie today. Malden. Thought he was some kid playing dress-up in a Five Points uniform. Just a rookie then, not a Lieutenant with a Star. His eyes were serious, though. Too serious."
Orion's eyes hardened at the name. Damien noticed, but waited while he read on. Orion turned the page. Another entry.
"Malden's climbing fast. Heard he made Lieutenant. As if the world needed another trigger-happy bastard with something to prove."
Damien leaned closer.
"Sounds familiar."
Orion kept reading. Several pages later—
"Every time I see Malden, there's less of a man in him. More machine. Cold. Calculated. He's been following the Flame since the border-town mess."
Orion turned to another entry.
"Had to put down another crew today. Idiots thought taking my head would make their name. Jace wanted to chase the survivors. Told him to let them run. That temper's going to get him caught in something one day. Something I'd have to burn our way out of. Hope the bastard listens eventually."
Damien glanced up from the entry. "Was he like that when he trained you? Ready to chase anyone who made him angry?"
Orion almost smiled. "Jace doesn't believe in doing anything halfway. That includes losing his temper. He made sure I got the message, usually by knocking me into the dirt."
"That explains a few things." Damien smiled at the page. "Sounds like he hasn't changed much."
"Apparently Cyrus had the same problem getting him to listen."
Then his expression hardened again. Damien reread Malden's name.
"This guy really has been after Cyrus that long."
Orion's hand tightened around the page. Damien watched him for a moment, then looked back at Malden's name.
"This Malden guy sounds like a real piece of work," Damien said.
"No." Orion stared at the journal, his voice going quiet. "He's just a soon-to-be dead man who gets off on hurting people."
Damien's smile disappeared. He didn't argue. They kept reading. The journals changed over time. Gang business and fighting gave way to isolation, and then to the shard. Orion slowed at one passage, reading each word carefully.
"It speaks sometimes."
Orion froze. Damien noticed.
"What?"
Orion didn't answer immediately. Then he read the next passage aloud.
"The shard. Voice just behind the flame. Other outlaws never talk about theirs doing that. Maybe they don't. Maybe mine's different."
He turned another page, his chest tightening.
"It doesn't just burn. It thinks. Remembers. Sometimes I get the feeling it knows what I'm going to do before I do. This isn't just power. It's alive."
Damien looked toward Orion. Orion said nothing. The Phoenix remained silent. But he could feel it. Listening. He continued. Several entries later—
"Found somewhere to train. Waterfall between the stone hills north of Starhaven. Been going every week. Fire doesn't care how strong you are if you can't control it."
Orion turned through the entries. Cyrus had started by holding the flame beneath the water for seconds. A later entry recorded a minute, then five, then ten. The handwriting became more confident as he went.
"Learned something. I'm not supposed to fight the water. I'm supposed to make the flame decide it belongs there."
Orion slowed at the final entry on the subject.
"Eventually... the water stopped touching me."
Orion closed the journal. Damien looked toward him.
"You have that look again."
"What look?"
"The one right before you do something stupid."
Orion stood.
"We're going there."
Damien sighed.
"Of course we are."
Training Grounds
The waterfall wasn't difficult to find. They heard it long before they saw it. Water thundered through the forest. The trees opened onto black stone cliffs surrounding a wide natural basin. A massive waterfall crashed down from above. Mist hung in the air. Orion stared. Damien stared too.
"That's..."
He looked upward.
"...a lot more water than I pictured."
Orion began removing his coat. Damien looked toward him.
"What are you doing?"
"Training." Orion removed his boots.
"I gathered that," Damien said. "I meant why are you getting in the water?"
Orion stepped into the water. Instant regret crossed his face.
"That is cold." Orion winced.
Damien laughed from the shore. "Good observation. Any other discoveries?"
Orion continued until the water reached his waist. He looked toward the waterfall. Damien's smile disappeared slightly.
"You're actually going under that?"
"If Cyrus did it."
"Cyrus was insane."
"He survived."
"That does not prove your point."
Orion stepped forward. Water slammed against his shoulders. He nearly lost his footing. Damien stood.
"You good?"
Orion gritted his teeth.
"I'm fine."
"That looked extremely not fine."
Orion closed his eyes. The Phoenix waited inside him. Orion breathed. Then— fire. Flames emerged along his arms. Steam exploded around him. The water immediately fought back. The flames flickered. Shrank. Nearly vanished. Orion pushed harder. The fire surged. Too hard. Heat exploded outward. Orion lost balance. The waterfall slammed him beneath the surface. Damien burst out laughing. Orion emerged several feet downstream.
"Shut up."
"I'm sorry."
Damien wiped his eyes.
"You looked very powerful for about four seconds."
Orion walked back.
"Again."
The second attempt lasted barely longer. The third went better. By the fifth, Orion could remain under the edge of the falling water with fire flickering around him and steam rolling across the basin.
He narrowed his focus to his breathing. He didn't need to overpower the water; he needed to keep control of himself. Two minutes passed, then three, then four. At five, the flame stabilized. Damien watched from the shore as Orion stood beneath the waterfall, holding the fire close rather than letting it explode. Damien crossed his arms.
"Huh."
His Soul Brand pulsed. He looked down. The mark faded again. Damien frowned.
"That's new."
Orion didn't hear him. He remained beneath the waterfall. Damien looked toward a large stone nearby. Then toward his hand.
"Alright."
He stood.
"Might as well figure you out too."
Damien placed one palm against the stone. Nothing. He pushed. Still nothing.
"Come on."
He remembered Beltor: the hunter lunging at Orion and the certainty that he couldn't stand there and let it happen. His Brand had answered before he'd had time to wonder how to use it. Damien looked toward the waterfall. Orion's fire grew stronger. Damien's Brand responded. Warmth spread through his arm. His eyes widened.
"Wait."
He pushed the stone again. It moved. Not far. But enough. Damien stepped back.
"Okay..."
He looked from his hand— to Orion. Orion's flames intensified. Damien suddenly felt stronger. Not just physically. There was more force available. More potential. He pressed both hands against the stone. Pushed. The massive rock scraped across the ground. Damien immediately stopped. His Brand dimmed. He stared. Then looked toward Orion again.
"What the hell are you doing to me?"
Orion couldn't hear him over the waterfall. Damien looked back at the Brand. He remembered Beltor. The stronger Orion became during that fight— the stronger Damien had felt. He'd assumed it was adrenaline. Now he wasn't so sure. Damien smiled faintly.
"Guess we've both got homework."
They trained until sunset. Orion practiced again and again, keeping the flames close to his body, then making them smaller, then hotter without allowing them to grow larger. Whenever anger entered his thoughts, the fire became unstable. Whenever he remembered the Reaper—
Cremation—
the Phoenix stirred. Orion forced himself back to his breathing. By the end of the day, the waterfall no longer extinguished him instantly. It wasn't Cyrus's level. Not even close. But it was progress. For the first time— Orion felt like he was using the fire instead of surviving it.
The Cabin
Night settled over Starhaven. Rain tapped lightly against the cabin roof. A small fire burned inside the hearth. Damien leaned against the doorway drinking something Orion strongly suspected came from Cyrus's cabinet. Orion sat in an old chair. One of Cyrus's journals rested in his lap. He turned page after page. Gang fights. Old friends. Failures. Regrets. Things Cyrus had never told him. Damien finally spoke.
"You think he left all this for you?"
Orion looked up.
"Maybe." Orion reconsidered, looking down at the journal. "Probably not for me specifically. It feels more like he was leaving his story for anybody who found it."
Damien took a drink and let him continue.
Orion turned another page. "So they'd know what happened. His version, anyway."
Damien nodded.
"Didn't think he was the sentimental type."
Orion smiled slightly.
"Old Man Cy was always trying to guide me somehow."
His smile faded.
"I just didn't realize how much of it I wasn't listening to."
Damien remained quiet. Orion traced his thumb over Cyrus's handwriting.
"Maybe this was his way of repenting."
"For what?"
Orion stared into the fire.
"I don't know yet."
The answer bothered him. Because Cyrus had clearly regretted something. Maybe a lot of things. Jace had talked about the Eternal Flame like a family. The rest of the world remembered them as criminals. The truth was probably somewhere between the two. Orion closed the journal.
His voice softened. "Whatever happened before I knew him, I wouldn't trade the time I had with him for anything."
Damien raised the bottle.
"To Old Man Cy."
Orion looked over.
"Did you steal that?"
Damien looked at the bottle.
"...No."
"Damien."
"He would've wanted me to have it."
"You never met him."
"I can feel his wishes."
Orion stared. Damien took another drink.
"Very strongly."
Orion shook his head. For the first time that day— he laughed. Later, Damien fell asleep. Orion remained near the hearth. The journal lay open beside him. He reread the same lines.
"It speaks sometimes."
It thinks.
Remembers.
It's alive.
Orion stared into the fire.
"Are you?"
Nothing. The flames moved gently. Orion waited.
"Are you alive?"
No response. He leaned back.
"Or am I just losing my mind?"
A log cracked. Embers rose. For half a second— one ember didn't fall. It hovered. Its flame stretched. Shaped itself. A single burning feather. Orion stopped breathing. Then— it disappeared. The hearth returned to normal. Orion stared. Deep inside his chest— something pulsed. Once. Patient. Aware. Watching. Orion slowly closed Cyrus's journal. Outside, footsteps moved softly through the forest. Animals. Wind. Maybe nothing. Inside Orion— the Phoenix waited.
And for the first time, Orion couldn't help wondering whether he and Cyrus had truly carried the same thing at all. The fire crackled. Quiet. Patient. Waiting to rise again.