We rode until sunset, barely stopping except to water the horses.
My entire body was a symphony of pain.
Thighs rubbed raw. Back aching from hours in the saddle. Hands blistered and bleeding from the reins. Verath, naturally, looked perfectly comfortable.
"We'll stop here for the night," he announced, pulling his horse to a halt in a small clearing surrounded by scraggly trees. "Make camp. I'll scout the perimeter."
He dismounted in one smooth motion and disappeared into the darkening woods before I could respond.
I practically fell off my horse, legs buckling when my feet hit the ground. Aden caught my arm, steadying me.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Fantastic," I muttered, hobbling toward a flat spot. "Never been better."
We had no supplies. No food, no blankets, no flint for fire. Just the clothes on our backs and three stolen horses. I sat down hard on the ground and tried not to think about how screwed we were.
Aden settled beside me, looking far too energetic for someone who'd been dying yesterday. The mark on his palm cast a faint glow in the gathering dark.
"This is insane," he said, but he was smiling.
"We just escaped the city. On stolen horses. With a dragon."
"Yeah. Insane pretty much covers it."
"Rina." He turned serious. "Thank you. For saving me. I know what you risked—"
"Don't." I couldn't look at him. "Just… don't, okay? You're my brother. I wasn't going to let you die."
"Still. Thank you."
We sat in silence as the sky darkened from purple to black. Stars emerged more than I'd ever seen in Ashfall. Out here, away from the city, they scattered across the sky like spilled diamonds. Verath returned maybe twenty minutes later, carrying an armful of deadwood and something small and furry that I really hoped wasn't our dinner.
It was.
"Two rabbits," he said, dropping them unceremoniously at my feet. "Clean them."
I stared at the dead animals. "I don't know how to clean rabbits."
"Then learn. We need food."
"You caught them. You clean them."
His silver eyes narrowed. "I'm maintaining the perimeter and setting wards to hide our presence from tracking spells. You're sitting on the ground doing nothing. Clean the rabbits."
"I've never cleaned an animal in my life. I worked in a textile factory."
"And now you're a fugitive in the wilderness. Adapt."
Heat flared in my chest—not embarrassment. Anger. "You know what? I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask to be bonded to an arrogant, condescending—"
"You literally bled on a soul-contract altar." His voice was perfectly level, which somehow made it worse. "You explicitly asked for this."
"I asked to save my brother!"
"And now he's saved. Congratulations. The consequence is that you're bound to someone who actually knows how to survive, and if you want to keep breathing, you'll do what I tell you." He turned away. "Clean the rabbits or starve. Your choice."
He walked off to arrange the firewood, leaving me seething.
Aden leaned close. "I'll help. Come on."
It took us forty-five minutes and a lot of gagging, but we eventually managed to skin and gut the rabbits using a sharp rock. By the time we finished, my hands were covered in blood and fur, and I wanted to throw something at Verath's head.
He'd gotten the fire going. without flint, of course, just a casual flick of silver light, and now sat cross-legged on the opposite side of the clearing, eyes closed, doing… something. Meditating? Communing with dragon gods?
I skewered the rabbits on sticks and propped them over the fire, then tried to wash the worst of the blood off in a nearby puddle. The water was freezing.
"He's not that bad," Aden said quietly.
"He's terrible."
"He saved my life."
"He saved your life because of a magical contract, not because he cares." I scrubbed harder at my hands. "He's made that very clear."
"Maybe. But he's teaching us. That's something."
"He hasn't taught us anything yet. He's just been barking orders and acting like we're idiots."
"To be fair," Aden said, "we kind of are idiots. About magic, anyway. He's four hundred years old, Rina. He probably thinks we're babies."
I hated that he had a point.
The rabbit cooked slowly, filling the clearing with the smell of burning meat. My stomach cramped with hunger. When was the last time I'd eaten? Yesterday morning? The day before?
Finally, the meat looked done enough. I pulled one rabbit off the fire and was about to take a bite when Verath's voice cut across the clearing.
"Don't eat that."
I froze, rabbit halfway to my mouth. "Why not?"
"It's undercooked. You'll get sick."
"It looks fine to me."
"The outside is charred and the inside is still raw. Give it another ten minutes." I looked at the rabbit. It did look pretty charred. But my stomach was eating itself, and the thought of waiting another second—
"I said wait," Verath snapped.
"And I said it looks fine!"
"Then enjoy your intestinal parasites."
"Maybe I will!"
I took a huge, spiteful bite.
It was raw in the middle. Chewy and wrong and I immediately regretted everything, but I chewed and swallowed anyway because I'd rather die than admit he was right.
Verath watched me with an expression that might have been amusement or disgust. Hard to tell in the firelight. "You're unbelievable," he said.
"Thanks. I try."
Aden wisely put his rabbit back over the flames.
We ate in tense silence, and then Verath announced that we'd take watches…four hours each. He'd take first, I'd take second, Aden would sleep through because he was still recovering.
"I don't need special treatment," Aden protested.
"You were dying yesterday. You need rest." Verath's tone left no room for argument. "Sleep."
Aden looked like he wanted to argue more, but exhaustion won. He curled up near the fire, using his coat as a pillow, and was asleep in minutes.
I should have slept too. Instead, I sat across from Verath and watched him stare into the flames.
"Question," I said.
He didn't look up. "What."
"Earlier you said the Pillars are amplifiers. That they concentrate magic and redistribute it." I pulled my knees to my chest. "But where does the magic come from originally?"
"The planet. Everything living produces ambient magic…animals, plants, people, the earth itself. It's part of the natural cycle." He finally looked at me. "The Pillars siphon it, concentrate it, and feed it to the hierarchy. But they take more than the world can regenerate."
"So the system is…"
"Dying. Yes. In fifty years, maybe less, Kaldris will be as dead as the Scorched Wastes. No magic, no life. Just dust." His expression was grim. "The Council knows. They've known for decades. They just don't care."
I tried to process that. "Why not?"
"Because admitting the system is broken means admitting they were wrong. That they built their empire on genocide and theft. That everything they've done for four hundred years was for nothing." He poked the fire with a stick. "Easier to let the world die than face that truth."
"That's insane."
"That's humanity." He said it without malice, just tired resignation. "Your kind excel at choosing comfort over hard truths."
"Your kind?" I bristled. "You're bonded to two humans now. That makes us your kind too."
"No. It makes you my responsibility. There's a difference."
The words stung more than they should have. I stood up, too angry to sit still.
"You know what? I get that you didn't want this bond. I get that you're bitter and angry and you miss—" I stopped, not knowing how to finish. Miss what? Who? "Whatever. I'm not asking you to like me. But if we're stuck together, you could at least pretend I'm not some burden you're being forced to drag around."
Verath stood too, and suddenly he was very close, towering over me.
"You want honesty? You're reckless. Impulsive. You made a soul-bond without understanding what it meant, and now I'm bound to watch you stumble through situations that could kill us both. You don't know how to fight, you don't know magic, and you're so desperate to prove you're not helpless that you do stupid things like eating raw meat just to spite me."
Each word hit like a slap.
"You want to know why I'm frustrated?" he continued. "Because my last partner was a trained Warden. A master of soul-weaving who understood combat and strategy and sacrifice. And now I'm bound to a nineteen-year-old factory worker who thinks bravery is a substitute for competence."
The whole place went silent. The fire crackled between us.
"Well," I said, my voice shaking. "At least I'm honest about being useless. You're just an arrogant prick hiding behind four hundred years of experience."
His jaw clenched. "Get some sleep. You're on watch in four hours."
"Can't wait."
I stalked to the opposite side of the clearing and lay down with my back to the fire, trembling with rage.
Behind me, I heard Verath settle back down.
Neither of us spoke again.