The shimmer of the priestess's ward dissolved with a faint pop, leaving Noah abruptly aware of the temple's sound again—chanting somewhere beyond the inner doors, the faint scuff of boots on polished stone.
She gave him no parting blessing, just a small nod and a glance that said remember. He didn't bow.
By the time he stepped out into the plaza, the fixed sun was waiting to needle at his eyes again. He lifted a hand to shield them, and that was when Cassian leaned against the nearest column like he'd been there for hours—one boot braced to the wall, arms crossed, mouth tipped into a smile that didn't bother hiding the way it sized him up.
"Prayers answered?" Cassian asked.
"If they were, you'd be the first to hear the thunder," Noah said.
Cassian fell into step without waiting for permission. "Good. I hate competing with divine intervention."
They took the narrow lane away from the plaza, past a row of low dwellings with bone chimes swaying in the still air. Cassian's presence always filled the gaps—too easy with his laughter, too quick with his jabs—but there was something quieter now. A watchfulness.
"So," Cassian said, "I'm cashing in on that maybe-yes from earlier. Still up for the walk?"
Noah gave him a side glance. "You actually remembered that?"
"I remember everything worth remembering." His grin sharpened for a heartbeat. "And some things that aren't."
They wound through a side street where the settlement's smell shifted—less incense, more damp stone. Cassian led them toward a half-collapsed stairwell, the walls blotched with mineral stains.
"No Choir?" Noah asked, scanning the shadows.
"Not a chance." Cassian hopped down the last two steps. "Wouldn't bring them here. Wouldn't bring anyone here, really."
"You're making this sound romantic," Noah said dryly.
"Then I'm failing at subtlety." Cassian's hand brushed his sleeve—barely a touch, gone before Noah could decide whether to move away.
The stairwell opened into a narrow tunnel, the air cool and faintly metallic. A trickle of water ran along the far wall, catching dim light from some hidden source. It didn't smell like the settlement. That alone made Noah want to keep walking.
"So," Cassian said after a stretch of silence, "what's the real story with you and your friend? The quiet one who looks like he's deciding whether or not to stab me."
"Abel's cautious," Noah said. "It's a survival thing."
"Survival," Cassian repeated, like tasting the word. "We all have our ways."
Noah glanced at him. "Yours is… what? Smiling until the teeth hurt?"
Cassian's mouth tilted. "Mine is not dying. Which means picking my fights, picking my people. And picking where I breathe without a sermon in my ear." He gestured around them. "Like here."
For a moment, they just stood there in the tunnel. No false sun. No Kindled bell. Just the faint sound of water and the steady rhythm of two people who shouldn't trust each other, but did—enough.
"You said walk," Noah reminded him.
"Right," Cassian said, and there was that easy smile again, like a curtain falling over something sharper. "Let's go see the rest of what we're not supposed to."
The tunnel narrowed, the ceiling dipping low enough that Noah had to duck in places. Cassian walked ahead with unthinking ease, his boots finding the solid patches between loose stone. The faint trickle they'd been hearing grew louder, and when the passage widened again, it opened onto something Noah hadn't expected to see this far under the Womb.
An underground river curved lazily through the rock, its water so clear it looked like glass. The light here wasn't the Saint's gold—it shimmered in pale blues and silvers, a reflection from unseen crystals embedded in the cavern walls. Moss clung to the damp stone near the riverbank, glowing faintly as if it had swallowed the light and decided to keep it.
Noah stepped closer, crouching at the edge. "This doesn't belong here."
Cassian came to stand beside him, hands on his hips, looking out over the water. "That's why I like it. No sermons, no ash, no false sun. Just something… clean."
Noah dipped his fingers into the river. The water was cool, almost startling after weeks of air that felt like someone else's breath. He cupped some into his hands and drank. It tasted like nothing—no tang of metal, no bitter mineral bite. Just pure.
"Not poisoned?" Cassian asked, teasing but with a note of real concern.
"Guess I'll find out." Noah let the water drip from his hands, watching the ripples distort the crystalline reflections.
Cassian motioned to a smooth patch of rock where the river widened into a small pool. "Come on. Best seat in the whole Womb."
They sat, the river murmuring beside them. For a while, neither spoke. The air was cooler here, the constant press of the settlement's heat finally lifted. Noah found himself breathing deeper than he had in days.
Cassian broke the silence, his voice quieter than usual. "You know… I had parents. Once. Or I think I did."
Noah glanced at him. "You think?"
"It's fuzzy." Cassian rested his forearms on his knees, looking at the water instead of Noah. "I remember their faces, a little. Warm hands. My father used to take me out to the hunting ranges beyond the Womb's main caverns. My mother always pretended she hated it, but she'd sneak us dried meat for the road. Then… one day, they went out together. A big hunt, they said. Didn't come back."
Noah said nothing, letting him fill the silence.
"A few days later, I was brought to the Kindled Ones," Cassian went on. "The Saint took us in. Me, the others. Fed us, clothed us, trained us. Never turned us away. He was… the only one who made it feel like we still mattered. Like we belonged to something bigger." His jaw tightened, then eased again. "That's why I follow him. Why I will follow him."
The words were delivered with the calm certainty of someone speaking a personal truth, not just a doctrine.
Noah traced a line in the stone beside him with one finger. "Even when that bigger thing leaves people behind?"
Cassian's mouth pulled into a small, unreadable smile. "Everyone earns their place. Some just… don't."
It was the same voice he'd used when explaining why they'd left that injured child behind. No hesitation. No regret.
They sat in silence for another stretch, the sound of the river filling the gap. Then Cassian shifted, turning toward him. His expression softened again, the soldier's mask sliding away in favor of something warmer.
"What about us, Noah?" Cassian asked. "All these little games… what's it supposed to be?"
Noah looked at him, caught off-guard by the directness. "I don't—"
Cassian didn't wait. He leaned in, the kiss soft but deliberate, testing. Noah froze for a breath before letting it happen. Cassian's hand brushed his jaw, steadying the moment as if he expected Noah to bolt.
When Cassian pulled back, his gaze searched Noah's face. "That's an answer too, you know."
Noah swallowed. "Cassian… I like you. But there's something with Abel. Something I can't just ignore. I need time. And I need to talk to him before I decide anything."
Cassian held his eyes for a beat, then leaned back, giving a small, almost resigned nod. "Fair enough."
The rest of their time by the river passed more quietly. Cassian stretched out on the warm stone, eyes half-closed, while Noah sat cross-legged, watching the way the pale light fractured across the water.
Somewhere in that stillness, the constant, simmering heat that had been gnawing at the back of Noah's mind since they'd arrived in the settlement… vanished. No nagging hum in his skull, no strange weight in his chest. Just cool air, the river's murmur, and the sound of their breathing.
Relief lasted only until a dull headache began to creep in. It sharpened the longer he sat there, until even the beauty of the place felt like it had edges.
"We should go," he said finally.
Cassian opened one eye, studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright."
They retraced their steps in silence. The headache ebbed with every turn of the tunnel, and the moment they stepped back into the false daylight of the settlement, the warmth came flooding back—and the ache was gone, as if it had never existed.