When dawn came, the wind stopped for two hours. Alan used that brief silence to dig at the foot of the cliff, scraping out dry sand until a thin gray crust appeared beneath—last night's salt ash, pressed hard by dew. He shoveled it into a pouch, but what he gathered barely filled half.
Salt was life—more precious than food. He made a note in his mind: each morning, restore the salt.
Shadow still slept, her breath quick and shallow. Her wound had bled again in the night. He had wiped it clean with fog-water so faint in taste it might as well have been air. She endured the pain without complaint. Living through the night was miracle enough.
She had not yet learned to master the cold, nor the fire inside her. The flame followed breath—steady when calm, wild when panicked.Last night, she almost let it flare. Alan had pressed her chest down and forced it back in. For a heartbeat the fire nearly burned through her ribs.
He checked his own Fireseed. The crimson pulse was steady, no leak of light—but it had stolen much of his warmth. The tremors that woke him were not from cold; they were the fire's hunger.To keep it alive, he needed to feed it.
He opened the pouch. The red glow throbbed softly, like a pulse. With the dagger's tip he pricked his palm. A drop of blood slid in.
The flame halted, then swelled—its light rising an inch. Heat spread through his chest, and his breath steadied. Every drop bought half an hour of calm.It was a lesson purchased two months ago with pain.
The fire was alive. But life must be rationed.
When Shadow woke, the sky had turned pale. Her hair tangled in the wind; her eyes fell to the blood on his hand."You're feeding it?" she asked."Yes.""That'll kill you.""Only slower," Alan said.
She said nothing more. He handed her half a biscuit; she bit it carefully, lips cracking. He drew a map on the sand.
They had gone three hundred paces north the day before. Tonight they must climb the northern ridge. There might be an old garrison there—ruins, maybe salt. Their one chance.
"There'll be wind," she murmured."Wind has rhythm. Listen three beats, move on one.""And if I hear wrong?""Then you fall."
She didn't argue.
East would have been the Empire, but Alan never looked that way. The Empire was ash now—ruled by the Fire-Chasers. He had seen their work: whole processions bound to stakes, their souls burned in rings of light.
They tightened their packs and started upward. Shadow followed close, steps light but breath ragged. Alan glanced back often, checking that she still moved—and scanning the rocks for old burn marks. The cliffs bore black streaks where other fires had died.
Halfway up, Shadow slipped. Her boot shattered a stone and she pitched backward. Alan caught her arm, pulling hard. Her glove ripped, showing pale bone beneath torn skin.
He poured salt on it. She flinched but made no sound."Hold it," he said."I thought you didn't save people.""I don't save corpses."
They reached the ridge before sunrise. Fog churned beneath them like a gray sea.
A half-collapsed watchtower leaned toward the sky. Alan brushed dust away with his knife, uncovering rusted plates. At the base lay a chest with a broken lock. Inside—half a bag of salt and two fire cords.
Shadow's eyes brightened. "Can we take them?""No.""Why not?""The cords draw light.""And the salt?""Half stays."
She frowned."Too much salt leaves scent," he said. "Beasts follow scent. Take what we need, not what we want."
They split the salt into two cloth bundles. Alan searched again—no footprints left behind.
Near the tower's base, he found scattered stones etched with straight lines—marks too clean for beasts.Human marks. Someone alive.
Shadow stared at them. "Maybe they have water.""Maybe they need fire," Alan said.
He disliked the word maybe. It softened thought, and softness killed.
He memorized the path and turned the other way.Shadow hesitated, then followed.
They descended from the ridge into the wind-gap. The gusts moaned through the cracks like flutes.Shadow squinted against the dust. Her Fireseed glowed too bright—her pulse out of rhythm.
"Steady," Alan said."I'm try—"
Blue fire flashed to their right.
He reacted faster than he could think—threw himself over her, pressing both Fireseeds tight.
The blue burst bloomed into fog.A face formed in it—her own.
Shadow froze. The fog spoke with her voice:"Don't be afraid. I'm here."
Alan hurled his salt bag. The grains streaked white through the air, cutting the mirage apart.The light shattered, the heat dropped.
Shadow staggered, sweat beading on her skin. Her Fireseed thrashed under her ribs. Alan gripped her shoulder, voice low, commanding:"Control it—or it will eat you."
She gasped, nodding, fighting the tremor until the glow steadied.
Alan retrieved the salt—half gone. Silence. No wind, no sound.Blue illusions meant Fire-Chasers.They watched from fog, waiting for panic.
"They're close," he said."What do we do?""Move. Don't stop."
They turned from the tower and vanished into the pale wind.