---
A week passed.
When Asteria opened his eyes, the world was cold, dim, and quiet. He lay on a bed of leaves and woven cloth inside a shadowed cave. The air smelled faintly of moss and smoke. Rain tapped against stone outside like restless fingers.
He blinked slowly, then sat up with a groan. His body ached as though he'd fought a hundred battles, and every inch of him felt sore.
Valron looked up from a small fire, relief flooding his face. "You're awake."
Tarn emerged from the shadows, arms crossed, leaning against the cave wall. "Finally. We thought you were going to sleep through the season."
Asteria rubbed his temples. "What happened?"
Valron hesitated. "You... passed out after the fight."
"We've been wandering ever since," Tarn added. "Lost our way back to Nytherion. The marsh routes changed after the storm. We've been moving in circles for days. This cave's the safest place we could find."
Asteria blinked again. His brow furrowed. "What fight?"
Valron stared. "You don't remember? The transport mission. The bandits. You—" he stopped himself. "You saved us."
Asteria chuckled weakly. "If I saved anyone, it wasn't on purpose. I barely remember stepping onto the raft. Just... heat. Pain. Then nothing."
Mira's voice cut through the cave from deeper inside. "Convenient."
She stepped into view, her expression unreadable. Her arms were crossed. "You nearly tore the raft apart with raw elemental energy. Your eyes glowed. You moved faster than sight. You don't remember any of that?"
"Lightning, they said," Tarn added. "Real, visible, impossible lightning."
Asteria scoffed. "Lightning? That's not possible. No one controls lightning. Not even the royals."
Mira didn't reply. She simply watched him.
He looked away. "I was about to be killed. That's the last thing I remember."
---
The days that followed were difficult.
They took turns venturing outside the cave, scavenging for roots, mushrooms, and anything remotely edible. Tarn led most foraging trips, using his strength to clear paths and lift fallen trees, while Valron had an uncanny knack for spotting edible plants or signs of small animals. Mira fashioned a trap near the stream that caught fish on occasion. Asteria helped where he could, though his body was still recovering.
Nights were colder, and the fire smaller each day as their drywood stock dwindled.
Asteria grew quieter.
Each night, dreams haunted his sleep.
Flashes.
His blade slicing through fog.
Enemies falling like shadows.
His body wreathed in white-blue light. But the faces of his friends blurred, and the screams were distant.
By the third night, he jolted awake, sweat-drenched.
"Asteria?" Valron stirred nearby.
"I saw it again," he muttered. "That fight. Me, moving. Faster than I should. The light."
Valron nodded. "It's real. You didn't imagine it."
Asteria clenched his fists. "Then why can't I control it? Why don't I feel it now?"
Silence.
Tarn finally said, "Maybe it was survival instinct. A buried power. Or something older waking up."
Mira turned from her seat at the mouth of the cave. Her voice low, almost to herself. "Or maybe you're not who you think you are."
Asteria's gaze met hers.
He wasn't sure if it was a warning—or a challenge.
---
On the sixth day, the cave was quiet.
Asteria sat beside the stream that trickled past the entrance, sharpening his sword with a worn whetstone. Mira sat a few feet away, ankle-deep in the water, watching minnows swim past.
"You're not as annoying when you're quiet," she said without looking at him.
"You're not as terrifying when you're not threatening to drown someone," Asteria replied.
A soft laugh escaped her lips. "That's fair."
They sat in silence for a while.
The tension between them had faded—not entirely, but enough. The edge had dulled. The fire had simmered to something less hostile. Mira tilted her head slightly, studying him.
"You're different now," she said.
"How so?"
"You're... not hiding it anymore. The doubt. The fear."
He gave a bitter smile. "I don't have the strength to hide it."
"Then maybe you're finally becoming someone worth knowing."
He looked at her, but she was already turning away.
Later that evening, as the sky turned a deep violet, Valron stepped outside and found Mira crouched beside a tree, inspecting one of the traps.
"You always this thorough?" he asked, approaching casually.
"Someone has to be," she replied, not looking up.
He crouched beside her, his tone softer now. "I saw the way you looked at him."
She tensed. "I don't know what you mean."
"Asteria."
Mira rose and dusted off her palms. "He's reckless. Infuriating."
"And?"
She hesitated. Then sighed. "And maybe not entirely useless."
Valron smiled faintly. "He's lucky. Not many people get that far with you."
She looked at him then—really looked at him—and something passed between them. A quiet understanding. A moment.
Then it was gone.
---
That night, the air turned colder.
Mira went outside to check the traps again. Asteria was half-dozing, Tarn asleep by the fire, and Valron tending to his blade.
Then—
A scream.
Asteria bolted upright. Valron was already on his feet.
They raced toward the cave's entrance and burst into the fog-covered night.
Mira was pinned against a rock, struggling as a massive wolf-like beast loomed over her. Its fur was dark and slick, its eyes glowing with unnatural amber light. She hurled a blast of water at it, but it barely flinched.
Valron shouted and charged. Asteria unsheathed his sword.
Before they could reach her, a blur of movement sliced through the fog.
The beast yelped.
A second later, it collapsed—its throat torn clean.
A figure stood above it, cloaked in pale blue, their face half-covered. A blade of curved obsidian dripped with blood in their hand.
Mira stared up, stunned. "Who—?"
The figure turned toward them.
A voice, quiet but firm. "I've been looking for you."
Their hood fell slightly, revealing a faint tribal marking over one eye.
Asteria stepped forward, eyes narrowed.
"And you are?"