The air is dense with damp earth and old smoke, the kind that clings to buildings long after flames have died. There is a metallic bite beneath it too, something sharp and soured, like rotting iron or dried blood. The sky hangs low above the rooftops, heavy with clouds that look as though they have not shifted in days. The buildings around us lean into each other like brittle bones, cracked and tired, some half-collapsed, others groaning beneath their own weight.
Liam steps forward first. The crunch of gravel beneath his boots echoes far too loudly in the hollow street, drawing several sets of eyes toward us. Villagers, thin, gray-faced, wrapped in tattered clothing, hesitate as they take in our presence. Their shoulders stiffen, their bodies go still, and their gazes drop quickly to our robes. The polished red and black of Vespera burns against the bleakness of this place. We might as well be flames thrown into a dying field.
Theo shifts a little closer to me, his wand held loosely at his side. His eyes are unfocused but strangely alert, as if he can feel more of the air here than either Liam or I can see.The faint rise and fall of his chest quickens the longer he listens to the village breathe.
“We don’t belong here,” I murmur, though the words barely scratch the surface of what I feel. It isn’t just that we stand out. It’s that we seem intrusive, violently bright against the wasting sickness around us. A child peeks at us from behind a shattered stall, face streaked with soot. Her eyes widen at the sight of our robes, and she darts away as though our colors alone could burn her.
Liam closes the distance between us, his gaze fixed on the broken houses and collapsed fences. His jaw tightens until I can see the muscle trembling beneath his skin. “This wasn’t like this,” he says, almost to himself. “Not when we passed through here last. Not even close.”
The weight in his voice thickens the air. My stomach twists as realization dawns, if this devastation is recent, then the cause is not random. Not natural. Our father’s scouts were known for their precision. Their merciless efficiency. And they left trails like this, decaying trails, in every corner of the world where magic dared to breathe against his will.
Theo turns his head, listening to the faint echoes carried on the wind. “There’s sickness here,” he whispers. “And fear. The entire village feels… hollow.”
I tighten my grip on my wand. We walk further into the center of town, each step feeling heavier than the last. Every doorway seems to hide shadows, every alley hums with a kind of dread that makes my skin prickle. The atmosphere presses down on us, as though the village itself remembers every terrible thing that’s happened here and refuses to forget.
When Liam speaks again, his voice is raw. “If Sebastian came here alone…”
He doesn’t finish, but the implication is clear. If our father’s scouts are anywhere near this place, then Sebastian,reckless and stubborn, has walked himself straight into a trap. All for the sake of his sister.
Theo straightens abruptly, his posture going rigid. “There’s movement farther up the hill,” he says, turning slightly as though catching a thread of sound beneath the wind.
A narrow trail winds between the crumbling houses, leading toward the outskirts where trees tilt with the weight of winter’s breath.
My robe is too fine for this place. All of ours are. The deeper we push into the outskirts of the village, the more their thin, watchful eyes cling to us. We don’t belong here, not in our polished uniforms and clean boots. We look like invaders. Or saviors. Or something far worse, depending on who’s watching.
Theo shifts beside me, navigating the uneven ground with a steadiness that still surprises me. Even without sight, he always seems to know exactly where to place his feet, exactly when the earth dips or rises. Every now and then, his shoulder brushes mine, not enough to startle, just enough to remind me he’s here.
We walk in silence for a while, until I feel his attention turn toward me, not with eyes, but something softer, an awareness that settles like a hand on my spine.
“You have quite a few scars,” he says quietly, as though the words might break if he speaks them too loudly.
It’s not judgment. It’s not pity. It’s simply truth. Truth wrapped in gentle observation.
“A few, yeah,” I say, trying to swallow the instinctive tightness in my throat. “Can’t really say I was the family favorite.”
The joke tastes hollow. Theo doesn’t laugh. His head tilts slightly, and there’s a crease in his brow like he’s searching the air for something deeper, something I haven’t said yet.
“Liam doesn’t have any scars on his back,” he murmurs. “Why did they target you?”
The question halts me mid-step. My breath fogs in front of me, dispersing in the cold.
Liam glances over his shoulder but keeps walking, he’s heard the question. He’s waiting for the answer.
Theo stands perfectly still, his pale eyes unfocused but somehow sharper than sight could ever be. I look down at the ground, at a patch of brittle grass curled under frost. My hand tightens around my wand.
“Liam does have scars,” I say softly. “Just… not on his back.”
Theo’s jaw flexes, barely perceptible unless you're watching for it.
“They feared me more than him,” I continue, voice rougher than before. “Even when we were children. They believed I could do things I couldn’t… not then. Not the way they imagined. So they tried to force it out of me. Beat it out. Break it out.”
The wind whistles between the trees, carrying away the words but not the weight behind them.
Theo’s fingers brush the tips of mine, accidentally, maybe, but he doesn’t pull away immediately. There’s a stillness in him, something like anger.
“They hurt you because they were afraid,” he finally says, voice hushed. “Not because you did anything wrong.”
A strange ache blooms inside me, too familiar. “Fear makes people cruel,” I respond. “And my father was the cruelest of them all.”
