Far from the smoldering square, the forest breathed in silence. No torches, no shouts. Only the pulse of night.
And in its depths, a figure moved.
Her brother.
Kieran's steps barely disturbed the undergrowth. His body no longer felt like his own it was lighter, colder, as though shadows themselves carried him. His eyes glowed faintly in the dark, silver irises haloed by black veins that traced outward like cracks in glass.
He remembered the square the light, her defiance, the way her power had blazed against his. Even now, the memory seared him. Not with pain, but with hunger.
"Fire," he whispered, voice ragged, "always fire."
The Watchers circled unseen, their presence a pressure at the edge of thought. They had not spoken since he had given himself over, but he felt them, like a hundred eyes opening and closing within the trees. He was not their master nor entirely their servant. He was something in between, shaped by their will, sharpened by their need.
Branches clawed at his cloak as he pressed on, deeper. His chest ached with a strange, gnawing emptiness. The shadows whispered in answer, promising to fill it.
But another voice intruded.
Aira's.
Her cry, her light, her stubborn refusal to fall to him.
For the first time, doubt pierced the hunger. His hands clenched, his breath shook.
"She won't last," he muttered to himself, forcing the weakness down. "The fire burns itself out. The shadow endures."
Yet the words rang hollow.
Because beneath the hunger, beneath the power, there was still a brother. And the bond they shared the curse they carried pulled tight across the forest, a tether neither could sever.
Aira would fight to survive. He could feel it.
And that only made the hunger worse.
The Watchers stirred, branches groaning overhead like a thousand voices rising in unison. The forest bent toward him, welcoming him deeper.
Kieran did not look back.
But the night itself seemed to smile.