Aros hadn't spoken much since they left the old church.He had always been quiet, but something in his silence now felt heavier, like a rope pulled too tight. Gemma had grown used to reading him in other ways: the way his eyes never stopped scanning the path, the way his fingers brushed the edge of his coat whenever he was thinking.
For a while she tried to count the days since they had left Calad, but they all blurred together. It could have been weeks. Or months. Sometimes she thought back to the day they met, the night sky orange with fire, her ears full of the roar of collapsing walls, and wondered if that had really been three years ago. For someone who had lived only eleven, three years was almost forever.
She looked at him now, walking a few paces ahead, and thought he looked smaller than he used to. Or maybe it was the forest. The trees here rose so high that even the light seemed to bow under them.
Behind them, the rest of the group followed at an uneven rhythm. Broko was chewing something, always chewing, and humming tunelessly under his breath. He was a broad man, built like a door left slightly ajar, never fully open, never fully closed. His beard was a tangle of dust and crumbs, and his coat was patched so many times that not even he could tell which color it had been.
Next came Diana, narrow-faced and quick-eyed, with a permanent restlessness in her fingers. She had the kind of beauty that always looked irritated. The way she walked: alert, shoulders tense, one hand always near her belt, made Gemma think she must have grown up in places where trust was a mistake.
And then there was Candriela.
Gemma didn't like looking at her directly. The woman towered over the rest of them, her frame broad and scarred, her steps too long for the group to keep pace. Her skin was marked by thin pale lines, like rivers traced by a knife, and in certain light Gemma thought she saw pieces of metal under her skin — relics of old wounds, perhaps, or something stranger. Candriela didn't speak unless she had to. She didn't seem to breathe unless reminded.
They had been traveling since morning. The sun was sliding down now, half-devoured by the branches above, and the road had turned into a narrow trail of damp earth and roots. Every so often, the sound of distant bells rolled over the forest like a memory of the cities they had left behind.
Aros slowed his pace until he was walking beside her. He didn't look at her when he spoke.
"You should avoid using it," he said quietly. His voice sounded older when he was tired. "Only if there's no other choice."
Gemma nodded. "I understand."
"It's not about understanding," he replied. "It's about restraint."
She wanted to tell him that she had learned control, that the resonance didn't frighten her anymore. But it wasn't true. It still came sometimes: the hum beneath her skin, the pull behind her eyes. The world seemed to shimmer when it happened, as if she was listening to something no one else could hear.
The forest thickened. The trees were packed so close together that even sound seemed to move slower. They followed the narrow path until the smell of brine began to mix with that of moss. The sea wasn't far now, though the waves were hidden beyond the hills.
It was there, near a bend in the path, that they saw him.
A man sat on a fallen trunk by the roadside, a small fire crackling beside him. He had a fishing hook for a hand, an ugly, rusted thing that caught the last light of the afternoon — and a rope coiled at his feet. His clothes were worn, patched with pieces of old sailcloth, and his eyes looked tired in the way of people who had stopped sleeping properly years ago.
When he saw them, he smiled, or something like it."Travelers, eh? Not many take this road anymore," he said, voice rough but friendly. "You heading to Bondrea?"
Aros gave a short nod but didn't stop walking.
The man gestured at the fire. "You should. Place is bad these days, but there's still food if you know who to pay. Sit for a bit. Warm yourselves. I used to fish these rivers, before the Light poisoned the water."
Broko slowed down, exchanging a glance with Diana. She frowned, barely noticeable, but didn't speak.
The man reached for a small tin cup beside him and took a sip of something dark. "You wouldn't happen to have a coin or two, would you? Just enough for bread. Haven't eaten since yesterday."
"We don't carry coin," Aros said without turning.
The man sighed, exaggeratedly. "A shame. They say people with cloaks that fine usually do."
Aros stopped. Gemma felt the air grow still.
The fisherman's smile didn't change, but his hand, the one that wasn't metal, drifted toward the rope at his feet. "The thing is, roads like these… they're dangerous. There are people who make a living keeping them safe. Costs a little."
"How much?" Broko asked, his tone mocking.
"Ten laminas each."
"We said we don't have them," Aros repeated.
"Well, then," the man said softly, "maybe there's something else you can pay with."
Gemma noticed movement, two figures emerging from behind the trees, thin men with faces wrapped in rags. One carried a blade made from a kitchen knife. The other held a sharpened stick. They looked desperate, but desperation often moved faster than reason.
Diana exhaled through her nose. "Brilliant," she muttered.
The fisherman stood, his metal hand glinting. "Don't make it hard. You people look tired. Maybe I take your bags and let you walk. You'd be surprised what things are worth now, water, bread, a girl like that."
Gemma felt Aros's hand move subtly in front of her, a gesture so small it could have been mistaken for nothing at all.
The man took a step forward."Come on," he said, almost kindly. "We don't have to..."
He never finished.
Candriela was already moving. Her steps made no sound, but the air shifted around her like a gust of pressure. She reached the fisherman before he raised his hook. Her fist hit his chest with a sound like wood splitting, and he folded in half before collapsing backward into his own fire.
The two others barely reacted. One lunged. She caught his arm, twisted it until the bone snapped, and drove the broken edge into his throat. Blood sprayed across her forearm. The third tried to run; she grabbed him by the collar and flung him down.
Gemma didn't mean to watch, but she couldn't look away. Candriela's boot came down once, then again, the skull cracking on the second impact. She didn't stop until the forest was silent.
The smell of blood and burned hair drifted through the trees. Broko was the first to move; he crouched beside the fire, poked the body with a stick, then looked at Candriela and whistled low.
"Guess dinner's off," he said.
No one laughed.
Aros stood over the bodies, his face unreadable. His eyes flicked toward Gemma, then back to the road. "We keep moving," he said. "The longer we stay, the louder this place gets."
Candriela wiped her hands on the hem of her coat, as if she had simply fixed a broken door.
They walked on without speaking. The forest had gone dark, the path barely visible under the last traces of light. Gemma felt her stomach twist, not from fear exactly, but from the cold understanding that the world outside Calad had no rules.
Aros walked ahead again, his shoulders drawn tight, his head low. She wanted to ask him if he had known this would happen, if this was why he never smiled anymore. But when she looked at him, she knew the answer.
Somewhere behind them, the fire sputtered out, and the night swallowed the sound.