The smoke was alive.
It curled through the trees like hungry fingers, clawing at bark and bone, dragging heat and ash behind it. The forest howled—an unnatural, wounded sound, as if the very roots cried out in pain. Branches snapped under their own weight, brittle with fire. Leaves hissed as they blackened. Somewhere, a tree collapsed with a roar like thunder, scattering sparks into the dark.
Noah ran.
Every breath was a curse. His lungs burned. His mouth tasted of soot and blood. Behind him, the temple smoldered—The Altar of the Rising Moon, now swallowed by war.
The world was chaos.
Shouts pierced the smoke—sharp and cruel. Legionnaires of Helios, still hunting, still screaming commands in their cold, clipped tongues. Steel clashed somewhere close. A Menari warrior cried out—a short, guttural sound, then silence. Another explosion bloomed behind him, the shockwave rattling his ribs.
Noah stumbled, caught himself on a fallen root slick with sap and ash. His legs screamed at him to stop, but the fire behind begged louder.
He was alone.
The others had scattered in the chaos. Abel, Cassian, the wounded priestess—all gone in different directions, driven apart by flame and panic and falling stone. He couldn't go back. The flames had cut off the path, devouring the slope in orange teeth. The temple behind him groaned as stone cracked from the heat. Something collapsed in on itself with a deafening crack.
His vision swam. Sweat stung his eyes. He pressed forward.
The hill steepened, turning into more of a jagged slope than a path. His boots slipped in the loose ash, skidding against charred stone. When the ground crumbled beneath one step, he lurched forward and caught himself on all fours, hands scraping across hot, fractured rock.
He growled under his breath, fingers burning. He reached forward, grasping a narrow jut of stone and hoisted himself up. The muscles in his arms screamed. Another foothold. Then another. His knee struck something sharp, and he hissed but didn't stop.
Pebbles scattered beneath him, skittering into the smoky abyss below. For a heartbeat, his balance faltered—he slid, boots dragging furrows through ash—but then his hand caught the edge of a twisted root clinging stubbornly to the hillside. He clung to it, gasping, chest tight.
Then—another push.
Above, the sky was no longer a sky. Just smoke. A dense, writhing canopy veined with crimson from distant firebursts, as if the heavens themselves bled. Embers drifted through the air like cursed snowflakes, their soft glow belying the heat that scorched every breath. The air shimmered, thick with the scent of burning pine and scorched fur.
Leaves rustled in a frenzy above him—hundreds of wings bursting into flight. Birds, all kinds, fleeing in a frantic storm of feathers and screams. Their cries mingled with the roars of dying trees and the crackling advance of fire.
A woman screamed somewhere to his left—raw, terrified. Then silence. Then a Helios voice, triumphant and cruel, barked orders he didn't understand but didn't need to.
Noah pushed harder. Fingers raw, lungs coated in soot. His body shook—not from exhaustion, but from something deeper: shame. Dread. The sick, hollow weight of failure.
The trees thinned.
Up here, the fire hadn't spread as far. The air was cleaner, but not clean. The smoke still lingered, gray and acrid. The stars above were faint ghosts. The moonlight fought to break through, slivers of silver cutting across the path like scattered knives.
He stopped, finally, under the crook of a crooked tree. Half-burned. Still standing. The bark was blackened, its limbs twisted like hands in pain. Noah dropped to his knees, breath ragged, chest heaving.
The shouting below continued. The battle hadn't ended. Only moved.
And he? He was just a shadow fleeing flame. A failure wrapped in ash.
He closed his eyes.
The smell of burning flesh lingered in his nose.
The slope grew crueler.
Noah forced himself to rise, every muscle in his body protesting. He couldn't stop. Not yet. The fire crept up behind him still, slower now, but relentless. It had no mind, no mercy—only hunger.
Higher. Always higher. His goal became the ridge above, where stone outcroppings jutted against the sky, barren and unburnable. If he could just reach them—get above the smoke—he could breathe again.
But first, he had to get through it.
The smoke wall hit him like a wave.
Thick, choking, blistering. His breath caught halfway down his throat and refused to go further. His eyes stung. He staggered, bent low, one arm wrapped around his nose and mouth. The heat was a living thing now—scraping at his skin, pushing into every crack in his armor and clothes.
Every step was a scream. Not out loud—he didn't have breath for that—but in his skull, in the ache behind his ribs, in the muscles burning from inside out. The slope leveled slightly. He kept going, a hand dragging along the cliff face beside him, leaving black smears of soot and blood.
And then—
The edge.
He stumbled past a dying tree, broken and half-consumed, and the world opened up.
Noah collapsed onto a patch of rocky ground just beyond the treeline. Thin grass clung between jagged stones. No flames here. Just wind. Real wind—cleaner, colder. It tasted like frost and iron.
He rolled onto his back, coughing, wheezing, letting the mountain air carve out space in his lungs.
Above him, the stars no longer hid. The sky stretched wide and endless, a black canvas dusted with silver. And there, stubborn and pale, the moon held its vigil.
He sat up slowly.
Everything hurt. His hands were scraped raw, one of his knuckles bleeding. His arms and shoulders throbbed. His left shin had a shallow cut. Not life-threatening—but he was filthy. Covered in ash. His Menari clothes were torn to shreds. His hair hung limp and thick with soot. Twigs and dirt clung to every inch of him.
He looked down at himself and grimaced.
"At least I'm not naked," he muttered, voice hoarse. "Thanks, Fate."
He leaned back against the rock and let himself sit, just for a moment. Just long enough to think. To feel.
And feel, he did.
Not just pain. But shame.
She'd been so much stronger. The Pillar. That glowing child of the sun. Her strength hadn't even seemed strained. He'd only escaped because Lada helped him. Because he used the terrain. A falling tree. Smoke. Tricks.
Not power.
He was weak.
Even the priestess had stood longer against the Pillar than he had. She'd fought, held her ground, burned in holy fire and still refused to fall.
Noah? He'd fled.
"I thought I was a divine candidate," he whispered. "I thought that meant something."
But it didn't. Not here. Not against gods, or those who served them.
His domain was Fate. Tarot cards and flickering leashes of light. What was that next to blades of flame and suns that could sear flesh from bone?
How could fate fight fire?
He buried his face in his hands. He felt young. Small. Stupid.
He couldn't win like this. Couldn't protect anyone. Couldn't even protect himself.
He would die. And if they ever found out who he really was—
He swallowed hard.
"I need to get stronger," he whispered. "Somehow. I have to."
But how?
He didn't know.
All he knew was that he wasn't ready.
And he was running out of time.
It began as a murmur—too quiet, too low. Just a trickle of sound sliding down from the slope behind him. But as Noah shifted, leaning against the rock and trying to breathe through the stinging smoke still caught in his chest, he heard it again.
Boots. Voices.
"—didn't see any of those tree-crawling rats down there," said one, tone bored. "Why the fuck are we even up here?"
"Because they scattered," another replied, gruffer. "Some bolted uphill. Orders were to comb every path."
Noah froze, muscles tensing. His breath caught in his throat. Stillness was no longer safety—it was a trap.
Then a third voice joined the others. Unlike the others, it was smooth, composed, and laced with disdain.
"You're welcome, by the way," said the new voice. A man's voice. Young. Arrogant. "Without me, you'd be choking on ash back there. My barrier held long enough to get us through the worst of it."
Noah's eyes widened.
A priest. One of the Helios mages. His robes were untouched by soot, glimmering faintly with golden threadwork and sunbursts embroidered across the hem. Noah couldn't see him yet—but he didn't need to. The voice alone brought bile to his throat.
Didn't I kill them all at the temple?
This one had to be new—reinforcements. Helios had more.
And they were walking straight toward him.
He glanced around wildly, heart slamming. There wasn't time to climb or run. He could barely breathe, let alone fight. And if they saw him now—
His eyes caught on the grass. Just beyond the slope's edge, the hill unfolded into a patch of high meadow. Waist-tall grasses swayed in the breeze, browned by ash but not yet burned. It was a gamble.
Noah dropped low. Crawling hurt—his arms burned from the strain of climbing, his chest still raw from the smoke—but he grit his teeth and dragged himself forward, inch by inch, toward the veil of grass.
The voices grew louder.
"You think any of them survived this long?"
"Doesn't matter. If even one did, we'll find them. The Pillars' orders were clear."
"The Lady's Pillar did the hard part. All that fire? Cleansing. Beautiful, really."
Noah reached the grass and pushed himself into it, the blades closing over him like a curtain. Mud squelched beneath his knees. His breath hitched. He didn't dare move again. Only listen.
Crunch. Crunch. Footsteps.
They were right there.
He could hear the rustle of their armor, the jangle of weapons, the deliberate, slow tread of a unit trying to look purposeful.
Then, that smooth voice again:
"Look at it. All that light. The warmth of our Lady poured across this heathen soil. A canvas of purification."
Noah, face pressed into the dirt, clenched his jaw.
Warmth. That's what they called it.
The priest continued, rapturous: "The Pillar was chosen for a reason. This forest will become something new. This fire is a beginning, not an end."
Noah almost vomited.
Mud caked his arms. Twigs tangled in his hair. Sweat trickled down his spine. The air still burned in his lungs, and all he could do was lie there and pretend to be a rock.
Then—
"Hey," one of the legionnaires muttered. Footsteps shifted. "What's that?"
Noah's pulse spiked. One set of boots broke off from the others. Drawing closer. Closer.
Please.
He didn't know who he prayed to. Lada? Fate? Himself?
The soldier's outline sharpened. Noah could see him now—tall, lean, blade in hand, brow furrowed. Something had caught his attention. His gaze flicked across the meadow, scanning. His steps grew slower, more precise.
And then—
A sound.
Noah flinched.
Crackling. Rustling. Then—a thunder of hooves.
From behind him, something massive burst into motion.
A blur of antlers and fire.
The soldier barely had time to turn before the elk struck the slope, barreling past in a full, frenzied sprint. Flames clung to its fur—flesh blackened, eyes wild. It was running blind, driven only by agony.
The legionnaires shouted in alarm.
"Shit!"
"What the hell—?"
One of them fell as the elk charged past, kicking up ash and dirt. Another screamed. The priest yelled something incomprehensible.
Noah stayed frozen, staring through the grass.
The elk didn't stop. It vanished over the hill, flames trailing like a comet. Somewhere deeper in the forest, it would fall. Burn. Die.
Behind him, the Helios men scrambled.
"You jumped because of that? Gods, you're pathetic," the priest scoffed. "It was just a beast. Come. We return to the Pillar."
"Yes, magister."
One by one, the voices faded.
Noah didn't move.
Couldn't.
He just lay there, body shaking, the reek of burned fur thick in the air.
And even as silence returned to the slope, the image of the elk—the horror in its charred flesh, the blind instinct to flee—clung to his thoughts like smoke.
He didn't feel relief.
Just grief.
And a new kind of fear.