They did not hide.
That was the first thing she noticed.
The figures on the road below moved openly, unhurried, as if the land itself belonged to them. Their armor was dark and unmarked, worn smooth by years of use. Each step was measured. Disciplined.
These were not men chasing rumors.
These were men following certainty.
Elion watched them for a long moment. "They expect us to see them."
"Yes," she replied quietly. "And they expect me to run."
Her chest tightened as old instincts screamed at her to disappear into the trees, to scatter her trail and vanish the way she always had.
But the fire did not answer that instinct anymore.
It waited.
She turned away from the ridge. "We go east. Through the low ground."
Elion nodded without argument.
They moved quickly, descending into the brush, keeping to uneven terrain. The lower they went, the thicker the air became, heavy with moisture and decay. Mud clung to their boots. The smell of wet earth filled her lungs.
Her senses stretched outward without effort.
She felt them split.
Two groups continued down the road.
One veered toward the forest.
They were adapting.
"Elion," she murmured. "They are trained."
He grimaced. "Of course they are."
By late afternoon, the forest thinned into marshland. Shallow water spread across the ground, reeds rising like skeletal fingers. Every step made sound. Every movement left proof.
She slowed, frustration twisting in her gut.
"This place will trap us," she said.
Elion's breathing grew heavier. His strength was fading again, the unnatural calm of the morning wearing off.
"We cannot outpace them," he said. "But we might outthink them."
She looked at him sharply. "You have a plan."
"I have a thought," he corrected. "And thoughts are cheaper."
He pointed toward a narrow rise of land barely visible through the mist. "If we cross there and double back through the water, we can split the trail."
She studied the terrain.
Risky.
Painful.
Possible.
They moved.
The water was cold, biting through cloth and skin. Each step sent ripples across the surface, carrying sound. She kept her grip tight on Elion's arm, steadying him when his foot slipped.
Halfway through, she felt it.
A presence.
Closer now.
Not the thing from the forest.
Human.
She turned too late.
A figure rose from the reeds ahead of them, blade already in hand.
"Elion," she shouted.
The man lunged.
Elion shoved her aside and took the hit.
Steel bit into his shoulder. Blood bloomed instantly.
"No," she screamed.
Something inside her snapped.
Not the fire.
Something colder.
The world slowed.
She felt the shape of the man's intent, the tension in his muscles, the exact moment his balance shifted. She stepped forward and pushed.
Not with flame.
With force.
The air compressed violently, hurling the man backward into the water with a bone shattering impact. He did not rise.
Silence crashed back into place.
She stood frozen, heart pounding, staring at her hands.
That was new.
Elion sagged against her, teeth clenched in pain. "You did not burn him."
"I did not mean to do anything," she whispered.
The marsh erupted with shouts.
They were close now.
Too close.
She dragged Elion toward the far bank, panic clawing at her control. The fire stirred, restless, restrained but furious at being denied.
They broke through the reeds and collapsed onto solid ground.
Elion's blood soaked into the mud.
She pressed her hands over the wound, shaking. "Stay with me."
Footsteps splashed behind them.
Voices barked commands.
She felt the pull again.
That measuring presence.
Watching.
Waiting.
She rose slowly, turning to face the advancing figures.
"I will not run anymore," she said aloud, voice steady despite the terror inside her.
The fire did not explode.
It listened.
And somewhere beyond sight, the world leaned closer.