Corvus sat on the narrow stone balcony of the barracks, the cold night air biting through his duster. Each recruit had been assigned a sparse cell: a narrow cot, a trunk containing their returned weapons and meager military-issued supplies. He'd inventoried his: a single water skin, rock-hard biscuits meant for endurance, a few linen bandages, and a small, softly glowing locket – a cold light to pierce the inevitable darkness ahead. Meager tools for a voyage into oblivion.
Exhaustion weighed on him, deeper than just physical fatigue. Sparring with Kiera hadn't been mere compliance; it had been reconnaissance. He needed to gauge her strength, to extrapolate Varek's. The conclusion was stark: Kiera outmatched him in raw, hand-to-hand combat. It didn't bode well for settling his score with the Kindled brute. Still, he'd spent his remaining three terren wisely – more healing salve, medicinal herbs, and precious moongrass to stave off hunger on the long trek.
Now, with empty pockets and a full moon bathing Caldith Hold in spectral silver light, he sat alone. In Kaaraore, the full moon was Lunae's night, a time for worship observed by most. Nine orthodox gods held sway across the kingdoms, each with their devoted churches, but Corvus had long abandoned prayer. The gods answered only the chosen, the Ascendants. For the rest, faith was wasted breath. His own desperate pleas in youth had met only silence, leaving behind a residue of bitter resolve. Better to rely on oneself.
He clutched a crude straw cup of lukewarm tea, the meager warmth fading. A sharper gust made him shiver, and he started to rise. Footsteps, light but precise, halted him.
Laxasia Eliyev stepped onto the balcony. Her lavender hair seemed almost luminous in the moonlight, her hawk-like eyes fixed on the distant, unseen wall where the ocean raged futilely. Daughter of the legendary sharpshooter, Laxaria Eliyev – a name Corvus knew well from his time in the capital. Whispers claimed her sight pierced walls and spied ghosts, yet she remained eclipsed by her father's shadow. Another ghost from his past, though this one carried no immediate sting.
"Didn't peg you for this expedition," Corvus said, his voice rough in the quiet. "Shouldn't you be tucked away at the Academy?" The prestigious institution in the capital groomed the gifted and the well-born. Laxasia, younger than him, fit both categories.
Silence stretched, broken only by the distant murmur of the fortress and the sighing wind. Her gaze remained fixed on the horizon.
"I came for my father," she finally stated, her voice cool, detached.
Corvus snorted softly. "Ah. Sending his daughter on a suicide run to burnish the family crest. Classic."
She rubbed her upper arm, a small, unconscious gesture. The wind tugged at her uniform. "I'm glad you came," she said, the words unexpected.
Corvus raised an eyebrow. "Hmm. Was it you? Did you give Cesara my name?"
A slight, almost imperceptible nod. "You fit her criteria."
He chuckled, a dry sound. "So… how far along are you?"
Laxasia flinched, a flicker of genuine surprise – and offense – crossing her usually impassive features. Her eyes dropped briefly to her stomach. "I am not pregnant," she stated, her voice sharpening. "And you shouldn't ask such things unless you're certain."
Corvus choked, spitting tea onto the stone floor. "I meant your Kindling!" he coughed, wiping his mouth. "What step are you on? Gods, why would I ever ask that?" Heat crept up his neck.
Understanding dawned. She relaxed minutely, forming a fist and tapping it against her palm. "Second Step."
Clearing his throat again, Corvus placed his cup down and leaned heavily against the cold stone parapet. A familiar ache, old and deep, surfaced in his eyes. Lucky… He pushed the thought down. "You should write home sometime."
She turned her head slightly, her hawk-eyes catching the moonlight. "Not your parents. Write to Emma. Her path… isn't as smooth as you might assume."
Corvus frowned. "She's strong. Managed the capital. She'll be fine. If I could survive…"
"There's a difference between strength and will, Corvus," Laxasia interrupted softly but firmly. She stepped away from the railing, facing him fully. "There's a reason you're here facing the void, and she remains behind. She is your sister." She held his gaze for a moment longer. "We depart at dawn. It's the last proper bed you'll know for a long time. Get some rest."
With that, she turned and vanished back into the barracks, leaving only the scent of cold stone and gun oil.
Corvus remained leaning against the wall, the moon casting his shadow long and sharp. Emma. His sister. The golden child, naturally gifted, effortlessly loved – his polar opposite. He'd almost let her fade from his thoughts, a relic of a life he'd fled. But Laxasia's words pricked at a scab he thought had healed.
And the sting of her revelation burned deeper: Second Step. She was younger than him, already striding a path he could barely glimpse. Eight Steps to Ascension. The first, Kindling, ignited the soulfire. Each subsequent step widened the chasm between the merely powerful and the potentially divine. The kingdom's strongest general was rumored to be Step Four; beyond that lay realms shrouded in divine secrecy. Why would the gods guide mortals towards becoming their equals?
But for Corvus, even the first step was an impassable cliff. His soulfire was a guttering candle, his senses too dull to grasp the ambient essence. Just a talentless runt, as Varek had sneered. Only good for crawling into the dark holes of the world and clinging to life.
He closed his eyes against the brilliant, mocking moon. Faith was a fool's game. Gods were silent spectators. The only certainty was the will hammered into him by survival: He would endure. That was the core he clung to. That was his prayer