Gale laughs at Alyce's response, flapping his arms almost comically to try and be rid of the mud clinging to his hands and forearms, though to little effect. At least the rain is washing him off a little.

"At least the lake would have given you a bath!" He replies over the rain, grinning as Dragon stomps a little closer and offers a little protection from the weather. At Alyce's mention of the creature they're out here for, his expression falls a little, eyes darting about the small area he can actually see through the rain and failing light. Getting taken off-guard by that thing is definitely not very high on his list of things to do today, and he nods when Alyce decides to look for somewhere more covered than they are now, out in the open. And hopefully dry.

On the bright side, the sides of mountains are traditionally pockmarked with small caves and alcoves, Gale has found more than a few on this particular landscape in the past, so finding a suitable place to make camp shouldn't be too hard. He lets Alyce pull him along, keeping a wary gaze on their surroundings even as he knows Dragon and Isothaire will undoubtedly be keeping watch with their much sharper senses. Never hurts to be careful, though. That, he knows well.

It's not too hard to pick out the dark entrance of a cave on the cliffside, after a few wet minutes of walking - even with the near dark of rapidly approaching night, and Gale raises the hand not captured by Alyce's hold to point towards it.

"How about there?" He has to shout to be heard over the prevailing wind, even with how close they are, squinting to the side to see his friend's face with how the rain is blowing into his face, "Looks pretty big, might fit all four of us."

@SanctifiedSavage

Kanimir chokes on a sob, the burning behind his eyes erasing what little vision he still had a hold on. He curls into himself, clutching at her like a lifeline amid the agony gripping him, twisting through his chest and burning in a way that is far more than physical. He should be angry, really, should hate her for leaving him, abandoning him to Kyto and all that became of his childhood, but he can't. He's too broken, too desperate for an end to the horror his life has become, and amongst it all she's the only one to offer him comfort.

He's so cold, shaking and trembling with every breath, the blood pooling down his side chilling before its even soaked through his clothes. The rational part of him recognises the freezing sensation, the cold sweat upon his brow, as shock, his body giving in to the abuse it has suffered, the blood draining away into snow below him, but he's too far lost to the emotions wreaking havoc in his head and all he wants, as independent as he has ever been, is for someone to put the shattered pieces of his self back together again, make him whole. He's losing himself to the pain, and there's a fear in the back of his mind that he might never make it back.

Just survive, he remembers thinking to himself what feels like years ago, when he had made the decision to do whatever it took to see Keithia free. That outcome is looking ever less likely, even if Fiachna manages to keep him alive, and his hold on her dress tightens, his fingers weak and failing further by the moment.

"Keithia," He gasps, voice rasping and a shadow of itself, taut with pain and the emotions suffocating him, "Please. You h-have to save her. You have to g-give her back her f-freedom. Please."

---

Kyto can smell death in the air before he even hears Fiachna's call. The stench of it hits him as he catches sight of the dancing red and gold sparks in the air, familiar in ways he never hoped to see again. Fiachna's voice is almost desperate, concerned, and despite himself fear washes over him. For her, or for another, he can't tell, he barely recognises the emotion as what it is, a foreign concept to him by now, buried by years of anger and bitterness.

He abandons the armload of wood and his torch, both, with barely a second thought. Launching forwards, he moves through the trees into a clearing that is almost twice the size it was when he left it, ash and sparks floating on a static breeze and filling the air with the smell of burning and ash. Fiachna kneels close to the fire, shaking sobs filling the air alongside the near silent crackle of fading magic. Kyto freezes, unable to process for a split second, his hand automatically on his sword hilt, searching for the danger, the enemy.

Horror at what he knows his son has done follows soon after, and it is enough to jolt him from his shock. He moves forwards quickly, coming to face where Fiachna kneels and taking in the sight before him. Ice slides down his spine once again, anger slipping away as something he can't even name falls into its place. Kanimir is clutching at Fiachna's dress, wailing like a frightened child. His entire frame shakes with the force of his anguish, and something in Kyto's chest aches to see it. The feeling is, once again, foreign and forgotten and he doesn't know what to do with it.

He glances down at Fiachna's hands and sees red, in a way far different to how he usually perceives it. The thin shaft of an arrow protrudes from his son's tattered clothes, crimson too dark to be human slipping away down his side, coating Fiachna's hands and the glove she is using to stem the bleeding. His breath catches in his throat and he doesn't know what to do with the emotions suddenly clouding his mind, alike to the thoughtless intimacy Fiachna spurs him into but so much colder. He can't process the situation at hand and the feelings he thought long dead, so he locks them away, tucks them down under the anger and resentment he has grown so used to.

He still feels cold with the shock of the moment, but that he can handle.

"What happened?" He demands, taut and harsh as he reaches for Kanimir's throat and presses his fingers to the boy's jugular with an almost gentle touch. His pulse is racing, trembling with an erratic beat, and he doesn't even flinch away from Kyto's icy fingers, still sobbing harshly into his mother's side. It's surprisingly strong, though, given how much crimson red Kyto can see pooling in the snow beneath them, and he supposes he has Fiachna to thank for that.

He reaches for the pack at his waist, just a small pouch of bare necessities to dealing with minor injuries on his own. He travels light, deals with anything major if or when he can find civilization, or else makes do. Right now, he almost regrets that choice, but there's little he can do about it. The boy's shirt will have to do for bandages.

@SanctifiedSavage

Kanimir chokes on air, breaths twisting from his lungs quick and shallow as his fingers curl into the earth beneath him. His flesh feels like it's burning, the aches and throbbing in his bones drowned out by the sharp, scalding point of pain in his side, and he just wants it to stop. He's tired of the pain, tired of hurting and breaking and his own weakness. He's aware of a tormented sound breaking from his lips but makes little effort to stop it. Shaking fingers find the shaft of the arrow, seeking only to make the pain that worsens with every trembling breath cease, but he doesn't have to strength to do much more, skin slick with his own blood.

His gaze turns to Fiachna, hazy and growing dimmer by the moment, seeking what, he doesn't know. An end to his suffering? Something to anchor himself with amidst the agony that never seems to end?  Comfort? His free hand finds the edge of her dress, clings to it like a babe to its mother's skirt, and through the fog of pain, something in the back of his mind clicks. Staring up at her, vision clouded by the impending failure of a body already pushed beyond breaking, with the gentle light of the fire casting shadows on her face and the weight of her dark eyes seeking to help him, the years fall away like leaves in an autumn breeze.

He remembers a child, bold and reckless, and unafraid of the world. Remembers a soft touch and a gentle word to mend scraped knees and bloodied knuckles, a hand ruffling through short, dirtied hair and admonishing the state of him in a tone that never carried any real scolding. His breath stutters in his lungs, suddenly choking around the lump in his throat beyond the pain seizing his lungs. His vision blurs ever further as tears, both pain and an emotion he's too shattered to name, sting his eyes and roll down the already stained skin of his cheeks.

"M-mom?"

---

Kyto finds few answers amidst the dark figures of the forest. He's collected a small armload of wood, tucked between his side and arm while his torch flickers in the chill, shuddering wind, but his actions are mostly subconscious. His attention is far from focusing on his task.

It's been so long, he's spent so much time angry, convicted to this path - he still is, still wants to fix what's broken - but the sight of his son, his child, so frightened, broken, will not leave him be. The fear in the boy's eyes haunts him, belittles him with the guilt of what he had done to spark such a reaction in his own flesh and blood.  He doesn't feel...wrong, for his actions, even now, not in the part of his mind that isn't swimming in emotions he thought he'd gained a hold of long ago.

Stomping through the undergrowth in turmoil is getting him nowhere, he decides firmly - after his boots catch on a low root hidden in the snow for the sixth time - and turns back in the direction of Fiachna's camp with a forceful huff. That woman has turned him inside out and she knows it; ripped apart his convictions and goals with her intoxicating presence and intimacy he can't stop himself drowning in.

He should have cast her out that window back in the tavern.

@SanctifiedSavage

Gale squints into the prevailing rain and tries not to curse. There's a strong wind blowing into his face, throwing sharp, pattering rain across his exposed eyes and brow, and completely blotting out the landscape beyond two meters in front of his face. He can barely make out Dragon's head, bobbing up and down as he flies, and he quietly wonders how they hadn't seen this coming. It's not as if a storm of this magnitude can just sneak up on you, provided you're actually paying attention to the weather before you set out. He sighs softly, inside the damp cover of his mask, and lifts a hand to shield his eyes slightly. There's a vague lump in the distance that might be the mountainside, but it's impossible to tell.

In the next moment, Dragon is setting himself down. There's little grace or aplomb to the motion, just a sudden, downwards drop, and Gale lets out an entirely undignified sound as his grip on the dragon's 'mane' slips and he slides abruptly down the side of his shoulder into hard rock, and what feels suspiciously like deep, deep mud. A low rumble escapes Dragon, and, in the process of slowly extracting himself, Gale turns a baleful glare on him.

"This wouldn't be a problem if you stopped refusing to wear a saddle!" He shouts over the din of the weather, shaking out his hands where the mud has slipped through his gauntlets and stuck between his fingers. Gross. A crack of lightning splits the air and he realises, somewhat late, that Isothaire is landed less than ten feet away from them. Well, that explains the sudden landing, but his point still stands.

Pulling himself to his feet with a muffled groan and a small sound of despair at the state of his attire, Gale moves around Dragon's traitorous legs and approaches dry land, where Alyce is waiting, soaked to the knees in mud himself. That brings him some small measure of comfort.

"You couldn't have found a better place to land?" He asks, pulling at his mask with muddy fingers to expose the quiet grin hiding behind it, "Like, I don't know, a swamp? Or maybe a marshland?"

@SanctifiedSavage

He wants to ask her how she intends to do that, how she even knows Kyto in the first place, but he remembers how easily she had gotten him to leave before, with just a few simple words. He still wants to know, wants to know who she is to him, why she cares, but the feeling of her fingers running through his hair, light and warm, is soothing and calming, drawing him closer to sleep by the moment. And he does need sleep, he's tired, exhausted, in a way he never really knew he could be, not only in his body but in his mind, each and every thought taking a concentrated effort to formulate properly. The sound of somewhere to clean up, get some real rest, is like music to his ears and he smiles a little, leans into the touch of her fingers against his horns. She's promising to help him save Keithia, and for now, he'll take her word.

Something snaps in the forest behind them, a sound not unlike a bowstring snapping back into place. Adrenaline jolts through him and he spins on the spot, eyes going wide. It takes a moment, but he focuses in on the slight shape of a woman against the trees, firelight flickering on the clasps of her cloak. Distantly, he recognises her as one of the locals from the trade way station, but that's not what grabs his attention most. A bow is held loose in her left hand, and she's drawing an arrow onto the string, sights set on Fiachna behind him, eyes reflecting nothing but the faint flames of their fire.

He doesn't even think about it, doesn't move his hand more than an inch in her direction, and flames flash through his eyes. The rush of it is overpowering, his balance wavering as the energy flows out of him like water from a dam. Not just the woman, but the entire area of forest around her is covered in rapidly spreading veins of gold and red, before they simply burst, throwing ash into the air and filling it with the smell of acrid death. Kanimir coughs softly, blood still hot with the burst of adrenaline and power through his veins. The sight of it is both exhilarating and sickening, the knowledge that his power has truly returned coupled with the fact that arrow would have found a home in the only person who seems to give a damn had he been a split second later.

He turns back towards Fiachna, to ensure she's truly unharmed, and something warm and wet bursts down his back, pooling at the top of his pants. He glances down, confused, and presses a hand to it, staring in confusion when his palm comes away red and sticky. Oh. He swallows, blinking blearily at the thick, wooden shaft imbedded in his flesh, inches up from his hip, before turning his gaze back to Fiachna, eyes wide and glazed. The pain hits, then, sharp and stabbing and driving deeper through him with every breath, and a mewling sound escapes him as he slowly sinks to his knees and tries not to pass out then and there.

@SanctifiedSavage

That makes him scoff, even as he leans into her and tries to remember what it actually feels like to be warm. He hasn't been in so long, not since...not since they left Uthlyn, really. It seems like an eternity since they entered this cold, frigid land, and he has done nothing but suffer and shatter in that time. He shakes his head again, arms loose at his side but the feeling of hers around him impossibly comforting.

"You really think he'll c-care?" He asks into the fabric of her top, face hidden from the light, from the pain he knows would be reflected in his eyes. "He doesn't care. He never h-has."

A small part of him wonders if Kyto could have changed, if twenty years could have somehow made him into a better person, a better father, but the more rational side of him shuts that down as quickly as it can arise. Kyto is incapable of change, more than Kanimir has ever been. Even the good memories he has, fleeting as they may be, are tainted by the knowledge that they never lasted. Good times, short and clipped, always came crashing down with a flare of anger, a bitter spiel of curses and hatred and bias. Kanimir didn't choose the be born with magic, to be born at all, but he took the gift he was given and learned to master it, to take what he is and make it better, and Kyto convicted him for it.

He'd thought he was beyond this, now, that time and life had given him the healing he needed to forget his memories. He'd grown into himself, learned how to be free of all expectations and laws, made of himself who he wanted to be. And then, the Blessed had stripped him of everything that made him even feel like more than a slave. An irony he would have appreciated in any other circumstances. Now, he just feels fragile, broken, like there are pieces of himself that had been chipped away and will never fit back together properly, will never make him whole in the same way again. He's still determined, still sure that, even if it kills him, he will see Keithia free again. He's set her free from hell once already, he won't let her return any further into it.

He breathes out slowly, feels suddenly more in control of himself than he has in days. The fear is still there, bubbling beneath the surface, ready and waiting for a crack in his calm, but he's managed to find some solid ground, flotsam in the wreckage of his sense of self. He draws back slowly, drags a hand down his face with another soft, weary breath.

"Keithia..." He begins, frowning a little as he tries to find words to describe her, to describe what she is to him. He doesn't even really know the answer to that himself. Perhaps, he should be more careful with his words, his willingness to speak, but Fiachna has done nothing but help him and stand before him, a shield, in the presence of Kyto. He doesn't know who she is, not really, but his every instinct screams to trust her, to let her...protect him, and he has ever been a man of instinct. "She's...she's my friend. A nymph. She was kidnapped from her glenn and sold around as a...a trophy. I freed her and promised to show her the rest of the world, help her find somewhere she'd be safe again."

A soft laugh, bitter, airy. "Turns out I'm not great at keeping my promises."

@SanctifiedSavage

Kanimir shakes his head, even as she speaks, arms wrapping around his torso as his gaze continues to rake over the dark, shapeless forest around them, searching for anything that might give him a clue as to direction, how far they've come.

"You d-dont, I can't. I can't leave her there, no m-matter the danger to me." He shakes his head, vehemently, this time, and tries not to feel lightheaded by it. "I promised her." He doesn't expect her to understand, how can she when he doesn't even know her - though the knowledge that she might know him is mutedly present in the back of his mind. He doesn't know what the Blessed, the other one, the one he hadn't seen, might do to Keithia, but he knows that none of it will be anything she deserves.

"I don't c-care about Kyto." He says, and for the moment, that is true. He's too focused to care about his father, though the panic and fear and memories are still ever present in the back of his mind, stirred to life by the sight of a man who should be dead and rotting. He turns and reaches with shaking fingers for the cloak Fiachna had given him earlier, thrown off in his rapid movement to standing, and pulls it back around his shoulders, shivering. He knows, rationally, that there is probably nothing he can do to help her, that walking back into that camp is alike to signing his own death warrant, or worse. But, he can't think about that now, he made a promise, and he's godsdamned going to keep it.

"I need to save Keithia, before they break her too."

@SanctifiedSavage

Her voice is grounding, the hand in his hair, the touch of another being against him, moreso. He manages to slow his rapid breaths t something more manageable, enough for the air to actually stay in his lungs long enough to be worthwhile. He's clinging, one hand fisted into the fur and feathers around her shoulders, and as much as he knows he should be better, the comfort of having someone who at least seems to care is strange and new and almost as overwhelming as everything else. He leans into her, feels his horns pressing into her shoulder, solid and firm. He realises, belatedly, that they're sitting in the snow, cold and damp leeching through the fabric of his pants.

He swallows, runs his tongue over the back of his teeth, tries to figure out how to speak around the panic still clawing at his chest, angry and afraid. It takes a concentrated effort, but he manages to form words. "I'm s-sorry..." He murmurs first, that instinct ground in deep,"H-how...Kyto, he s-sh-should be dead. I watched-I saw him for."

He leans back, face an open book, as it has ever been, while damp eyes search her face, looking for answers, knowledge, anything that might resemble a rope for this precarious cliff he finds himself on. He's shivering again, cold seeping into him from the snow and the wind over the damp, cold sweat on his skin, both, but he doesn't care. He needs to know, needs to know he's not hallucinating, delirious, dreaming. That this, all of this, is real and present and something he wants nothing of but at least it's a reality where the Blessed's hold over him is gone.

The Blessed. Keithia.

He forgets how to breathe for a solid moment, face falling expressionless, before horror fills his eyes. He feels sick, a deep, churning hand of ice and daggers settling through his chest and squeezing. He struggles upwards, breaks from Fiachna's hold and stumbles a few steps towards the fire. His hands twist in his hair, one wrapping around a dirtied horn for nothing but the physical sensation of vague pain the tugging motion provides.

"Keithia." He whispers, pacing back and forth, breaths sharp, making a soft, distressed sound with every exhale. He has no idea where they are, how long it's been since the Blessed took him away from her. He doesn't even know what happened to the woman after their connection was broken, hopes sincerely she is dead. Gods, how could he forget about Keithia? He'd promised her, given his word he'd get them both out.

"I n-need to go back." He rushes, pausing in his tracks, gaze flitting up haltingly. "I need to go back. I need to go b-back for her."

@SanctifiedSavage

Kanimir feels like his lungs might burst. He can barely see, blinded by the hot, blurry tears stinging his eyes, the way that that blurred vision sways as the lack of air gets to him. The woman - Fiachna, his fa-Kyto had called her - wraps an arm around him, pulling him into her arms. He's shaking again, finite tremors that race through him and make him feel like that helpless, defenceless child again. Kyto can't be here, he can't. He's dead, Kanimir saw him die, saw enough of his blood painting that dirty village street to know that he is dead and gone, two decades past. Yet, he can't deny what he sees, what he's hearing.

He wants this all to be a dream, a twisted, garish nightmare that he will awaken from any moment, gasping and cold but himself. His head hurts and there is a horrible warmth behind his eyes and he just wants it all to stop. He turns his face into Fiachna's shoulder, focuses on his breathing, on something he can at least try and control. Each breath he takes is sharp and ragged, whistling through him fruitlessly, and he grinds his teeth together, nostrils flaring as he tries to wrestle back some semblance of power over himself, something he can lay claim to and identify as his. Fiachna's voice washes over him, sweet and crystalline, but the words unintelligible, and he settles in the knowledge that she is still there, still defending him.

He still can't say why, say what possible reason he has for trusting her the way he does, but her presence is comforting and enough to make him feel safe in a way he never has. He can ignore Kyto, pretend he isn't there, pretend he isn't standing a mere ten feet away when he's supposed to be six feet under twenty years gone, and just focus on the feeling of a hand ruffling through his hair and the effort of controlling his uneven, rasping breaths.

---

Kyto watches his son melt into Fiachna's side and can't deny the cold feeling of shame that curls through his gut. There's anger there, too, even though the tone of her voice had almost resembled an emotion alike to sadness, there is accusation there too, slight and fleeting, but ever present. His eyes narrow, taking in the way she holds the boy against her, murmuring quiet reassurances into his hair. Making him hers. How swiftly he seems to have come to trust her hurts, in a way, but in another, he's well aware that the distrust, the fear in his boy's eyes, is not without cause. Far from it. He can blame Fiachna, can pour his bitter anger and hatred on her for leaving, for ruining him, but the guilt and pain and the gaping canyon of regret in his heart for what he did is ultimately his own to carry.

She broke his heart, but he was the one who laid that pain on his son rather than carrying it on his own shoulders.

He sighs softly, glancing towards the dwindling flames at her back and nodding in a resigned sort of way. He isn't going to achieve anything but upsetting the boy more if he stays, so he reaches for his scabbard and straps it back on before collecting his dying torch and moving back. He hesitates, glancing between Fiachna and the boy, taking in how frail he seems. He's shaking. The idea of finding some distance, some space to reassess his entire purpose for being here, sounds impossibly inviting and he turns away almost silently. Fiachna had waited for him, for whatever reason, he has to just assume she will stay there again.

@SanctifiedSavage

The woman lands behind him with an almost inaudible crunch of snow, and he flinches, head turning to look at her and finding her appearance changed once again, though her face remains the same. She makes a calming gesture with her hands, but her voice is the thing that soothes his frazzled nerves more. It's strange, to have someone offering to protect him. He should snort and brush off the attempt, but it's far more comforting than it has any right to be, and a little of his panic ebbs as she places herself in front of him, a bodily shield.

The weak sparks die down, though his hands remain clenched, nails digging into his palms. The woman calls out, as if she knows who is approaching, and he has just enough time to shoot a confused look in her direction before a voice, a voice that is far too familiar and carries too many memories with it, rumbles back and a sharp, burning gasp escapes him.

"No."

---

"Am I to believe you were actually worried, Fiachna?" Kyto's voice is weary as he responds, as much so as the muscles in his lower legs. Snow and forest, a terrible combination, really. Following Fiachna's tracks would have been easy, she's never been the most stealthy of creatures, had he had another hour of daylight and a better torch. Nevertheless, he has found her now, and he steps into the light of her small fire with a tired sigh. She looks the same as ever, and he denies the quiet worry that dies when he sees she is unharmed. A soft sound behind her catches his attention before she can make whatever sly quip he's sure is brewing on her tongue, and his gaze shifts to the side only for a feeling like rocks on his chest to settle over him.

It's been two decades, but he still recognises his son in an instant. He shouldn't, not with how he has changed. His hair has been cropped short, ragged and uneven, shorter than it ever was even as a child. He looks gaunt, all bones and thin, pale skin, dark bruising ringing both eyes, eyes which are blown wide and...terrified. Kyto swallows the uncomfortable feeling in his throat, suddenly frozen on the spot. Kanimir's eyes are locked on him, one hand raised defensively before his chest, the other seeking a point of contact on his mother's arm. Kyto should be irritated by that, annoyed that Fiachna has gotten under his skin already, but the being before him is not a monster, not a killer, but a frightened, hurting child. His child, and all he can feel is a deep, painful wound in his chest that he had thought long healed.

"Kanimir." He murmurs, unable to formulate more than that around the lump in his throat and the overwhelming feeling of guilt that washes over him as the boy flinches, ducking his head to the side as if to hide behind a curtain of hair, only to realise that refuge is gone. Kyto remembers that movement, remembers a younger boy, half the height and twice as freighted, hunching himself into a corner and tilting his head to use his hair as a shield against a father too slighted and bitter to realise that boy was his son, his flesh and blood. Kyto doesn't care that Fiachna is watching, suddenly, doesn't care what she thinks or says in response to his actions.

He crouches slowly, lowers his torch to the ground, before reaching for his belt and unbuckling his scabbard, laying that down in the snow as well. He can feel Kanimir's eyes on him, even as the boy does a fairly good job of placing Fiachna between them, his sharp, rapid breaths the only sound in the sudden heavy silence that surrounds them. Kyto raises his hands in a gesture of peace, to show he holds no weapons. It's a small gesture, one he knows may be ineffectual. He knows the depth of the scars he caused, even as a smaller voice in his head argues that they were justified.

"I'm not going to hurt you, son."

@SanctifiedSavage

She doesn't give him an answer, and he's too exhausted to push. He sighs softly, leaning his head on his knees and just basking in the warmth of the fire for a moment, taking comfort from the steady feeling of power curling through his core and the faint sense of homeliness that seems to come from the cloak draped over his shoulders. He knows the position he's taken will most probably be regretted in the morning, when his spine is aching and spiteful, but for now he's comfortable and warm and...well, he doesn't feel safe. He hasn't, and probably won't, for a while. But it's...something almost the same. He knows there's someone keeping an eye out for him. It's enough for him to begin to drift.

Time plods on. The sun settles below the horizon, taking the last of the day's warmth and light with it, and soon enough to crackling fire is the only illumination in their little campsite. The forest is silent, save for the occasional hoot of an owl or other nocturnal creature, and that silence makes the sudden presence of noise that much louder.

Kanimir isn't sure what wakes him, specifically, only that it does so suddenly. He comes back to himself with a bodily, jerking, motion, almost falling from his precarious perch on the log as his head snaps up and vision struggles to focus. The forest is completely dark around them, the light of the fire casting odd shadows amidst the trees, and his pulse thunders in his ears, aware something woke him, but with no actual idea what.

A crunching sound, sharp and out of place in the silence. He turns towards it, sparks flickering between his fingers before he even thinks about it, eyes blown wide, afraid and acting almost entirely on animalistic sort of instinct. A light bobs between the trees, a sight that makes some small part of his brain realise that this threat is most likely human, though that knowledge is hardly comforting. In some ways, a monster of the forest would be better. His breath is tight and rapid as he waits, eyes flitting from tree to tree, trying to find that source of light amidst the darkness again, tense muscles spasming every time a slow, crunching footstep meets his ears.

He shouldn't be afraid, should be facing this with confidence and power at his fingertips ready to destroy whatever walks through that tree line, but the sparks at his hand are fleeting and weak, barely casting light, and the only thing he feels is cold, suffocating fear.

@SanctifiedSavage

He frowns at that, shifting a little to examine the cloak draped over him, becoming aware of the scent that clings to it. She does seem familiar, something I the back of his mind sparking brighter every time she speaks, every time his vision cooperates enough for him to look at her properly. It's why he chose to trust her in the first place, back in that warehouse, despite everything in him screaming 'trap trap trap'. Something flickers in his memory as he looks down at the dark feathers, a brief flash and then it's gone, and he shakes his head, lifting his gaze back to her.

She doesn't look that much older than him, though he's well aware appearances can be more than deceiving, and the wings on her back are as sure a sign as any that she isn't human. His frown deepens a little, lips pressing together as he gives in to the urge and pulls his feet up onto the log, hugging his knees to his chest.

"What does that mean?" He presses, voice hitching a notch. It feels like she's leading him on, evading the question, just like it feels as though he should know her, like his memory is filled with puzzle pieces he just needs to spot together. But, his brain is like soup, thoughts slow and muggy in his state of exhaustion, and the way that makes the pieces slip through his fingers is...irritating. "Who are you?"

@SanctifiedSavage

Kanimir fades in and out of consciousness like a leaf on the breeze. He's aware of strong arms around him every time he stumbles back towards lucidity, the crunching sound of snow beneath his boots, the quiet chatter of birds and other woodland creatures. His head lolls against the shoulder of whoever it is helping him, all but carrying him. The woman. He can't remember if she ever told him her name, just knows that she helped him, is helping him. He's so tired...

In what seems like the very next moment, he's being lowered down to a log, something warm and fluffy draped over him. He clutches it instinctively, realising that he's shivering somewhat belatedly. The pain has faded to a quiet afterthought, leaving him with only the aches and pains of the torment from the last few days. It seems like longer than that, like this hell has been going on for an eternity, like he's aged at least a decade, but he knows, rationally, that it can't have been more than a week since that night at the tavern. Everything's changed.

Warmth flickers at the edge of his senses and he blinks his vision back into focus, turning his head to see a small fire crackling merrily, the woman crouched beside it. It takes a moment, but his eyes focus enough for him to catch sight of her wings, large and prominent and he swallows, uncertain. Nervous. He shuffles back a little, barely resisting the urge to curl his knees into his chest, make himself as small as possible. He coughs slightly, tastes the iron-y taint of blood in his mouth where he'd bitten his cheek some time earlier.

"Who are you?" He asks softly, wrapping his arms around his chest and hunching down into the cloak she had provided. "Why...why help me?"

@SanctifiedSavage

He realises the folly of his actions a moment before his magic rents the air, the woman's voice following a second after that, and the realisation of what he had almost done, how swiftly he had almost thrown himself back into the Blessed's control, is enough to steal the the strength from him once again. He sags into his rescuer, too tired and in too much pain to even try and fight her as she turns and moves him in a direction his vision is too unreliable to properly identify. His power is still there, throbbing and thrumming beneath the surface, soothing away a little of the burning pain in his veins with it's own pleasant warmth. It's steady and grounding and undeniably his.

He's aware of the moment they step outside, boots sinking into the trampled snow, bodies rushing past them on both sides as the people of the way station rush to the commotion Kanimir is too hazy to have caught more than a glimpse of. His main focus now is just getting away, getting away from the Blessed and the torment she represents. It all feels surreal, like he will wake up any moment back in that cold, careless camp, collared and leashed and unable to defend himself from even a verbal beating. He clings tighter to the woman helping him, aware he should be wary of her, of why she is saving him at all, but at the same time too grateful to care.

He's free, his magic is his own again, and each shaking step puts more and more distance between him and the Blessed. For now, that is enough.

---

Unlike some, Kyto is aware of every moment of battle. He doesn't lose himself to the adrenaline of the fight, the rush of blood in his ears as he ducks and weaves sloppy strikes and halfhearted feints. This isn't a thrill for him, a test of warrior on warrior. These people hardly even qualify as thugs in his mind, and he cuts them down with cold, ruthless efficiency. There's no joy in it, no satisfaction, just a bothersome errand that must be completed for his own convenience.

Fiachna slips out sometime during the fight, and it's a stretch to even call it that, really. He huffs a growl at the realisation, spinning to parry an awkward attack by a man with no more than thirty winters under his belt and driving a boot through his knee. He crumples, like all those before him, and his scream is long and haunting. Kyto sniffs, turning to face those who are left. The mad rush has faded, the rush of blood in them draining away as they realise they are outclassed by far. He swings his sword once, red glistening on it's chipped surface, and raises his head back.

"You do not want to fight me." He repeats, calm, unruffled by the dozen or more men and women he just put to the ground. Most of them will survive, if they don't bleed out before a doctor can get to them. He saw no point in taking their lives, though the idea had seemed vaguely tempting when they refused to see that they held no chance and might as well back off for their own sakes. The remaining few hesitate, eyes wide and fearful, as they should be. Kyto takes a solid step forward and they flinch, backtracking away from them. He just nods, turns towards the open doors at the end of the warehouse. He needs to find Fiachna, see if she found the boy and, if so, prevent her from just absconding with him before he has a chance to stop her.

Something white and shimmering catches in the corner of his eye, and he turns his head towards the winged woman, now back on her feet. He doesn't slow his pace towards the exit, just watches her carefully from the edge of his vision. She is an unknown, here, but if she intends to pick a fight with him, he would much prefer to take the battleground outside, away from these other idiots who may try to assist her; get in his way.

@SanctifiedSavage 

Kanimir lets her lead him, aware of her arms still around him, of his legs moving to stumble alongside her, but still in too much pain to do much to resist. Not that he would anyway, not now. His rambling apologies fade out, his chest hitching with the need for air, the fact that he's upright suddenly crashing down on his body and stealing his equilibrium away. He nearly crumples, the woman's arms still firmly around him the only thing keeping him upright, and the shouting, angry words of the men and women around them come to him faded, like whispers.

He hears the woman speak, a vibration through her chest more than the actual words themselves, and almost in the same moment, a soft, tingling warmth spreads through his veins. It's familiar and welcoming and covers him like a blanket. The pain is still there, throbbing and burning and ripping his flesh apart, but there is comfort. He knows this feeling, knows his power, and it's a sudden, subconscious realisation this this is his again. He gets his feet under him, opens his eyes to a close up of raven feathers and skin, and slowly turns. Steel catches in his still hazy vision, a dozen weapons drawn and ready for blood. He doesn't know why, doesn't care to know, all he's aware of is that they are in his way, blocking the path to freedom, and threatening the woman who cut his chains. There is power in his veins once again.

Sparks dance around his fingertips, hot and iridescent, fragmenting and splitting into crystalline shards that never seem to still.

---

Kyto takes a step back, lifting one hand in a placating gesture. He has no qualms about them attacking him, but he's not exactly dying for a pointless fight either. He breathes out slowly, a soft sound that is almost a sigh. "You don't want to fight me." He says simply, voice low and calm, blade still gripped firmly in hand. They take no heed, edging closer, almost moving around the winged woman, as if to protect her from him. It's almost amusing that they think they can even try.

There's a sudden commotion behind him, the shrill sound of more blades being drawn, shouting and confusion. He knows it's Fiachna before he even turns around. Her voice is still clear as a bell, even through the ruckus, and he rolls his eyes in a way that is both weary and resigned before moving off. A few try to get in his way, keep him from coming to her aid. He cuts them down like the fools they are, and before the first body hits the floor, absolute chaos unfolds. Where before there had been doubt,t confusion, now there is only a certainty. He is their enemy, however they want to perceive the reasonings, and he has just started a war.

He spins his sword in a flourish, catching sight of Fiachna up ahead, blanching slightly when he sees the wings attached to her back. Were it not for the obvious differences, the pitch black, ashen colour of hers, the ragged look to them, he might almost have mistaken her for the same breed as the woman still kneeling in pain at the other end of the warehouse. This...this is her true self, then. He shakes his head, focusing himself as a hopeful fool swings at him from the left. Kyto ducks under it and opens his chest with a single strike.

At the very least, their attention is on him now.

@SanctifiedSavage

She pulls him into her arms, an embrace of sorts, and he isn't prepared for how comforting it feels. He melts into it, eyes falling shut as his body shudders, the feel of contact, touch with another living being, almost overwhelming. The next moment, they are falling. His eyes snap open as the anticipation of a collision with the ground makes him tense, and then there is fire.

He can't breathe. There's fire and pain and when he thought there could be nothing worse than the Blessed wrath he was wrong. Where that had been his bones slowly breaking one by one this is instant. Every vein, muscle and bone in his body feels like it's disintegrating in one single moment, a moment that draws on and on and he can't breathe. He's aware of screaming like one is aware of the sun rising and setting; a fact that he cannot change. He doesn't even feel the tearing of his throat, the warmth of tears on his cheeks as it burns and burns and burns. He doesn't feel the impact of hitting the floor, lost in that constant, raging inferno that is somehow even worse than the white, mindless pain of the Blessed. He's sobbing and shaking, too breathless to even cry out anymore, and the touch of arms around him, a body beneath him, is barely even felt.

A little of the pain fades, enough for him to regain a small portion of thought and coherency, enough for him to shatter one last time. He coughs on the taste of blood in his mouth, gasping and heaving for breath he can't seem to keep. He's apologising before he can even think about it, begging, pleading cries that escape in mere whispers, all he can manage, and intermingled with the title of Blessed.

---

In an instant, chaos explodes through the warehouse. The winged one screams, high pitched and agonised, and Kyto draws his sword in the same moment he realises it's a woman. He's not the only one to go for his blade, though he is the quickest to get it free, and they all exchange a variety of gazes, wary and guarded, both. These are a people accustomed to being swindled and attacked, and the fact their first instinct is to go for their weapons is a testament to that. Kyto does his best not to aggravate them, though he will not hesitate to cut them down should they decide he is the enemy, and turns to approach the winged woman instead.

He has little idea what caused her sudden collapse, but he has a funny feeling Fiachna is involved.

@SanctifiedSavage

He shouldn't trust her, should be afraid of her in that small part of his mind that boasts few self preservation. But he does, and he's not. There's something almost familiar about her, a feeling that he's seen those dark, shimmering eyes before. He swallows, steadied himself with a breath. One way or another, this ends now. He nods, a small, nearly imperceptible thing, and lefts his hand to rest in hers.

"Okay."

@SanctifiedSavage

There is no immediate rebound, and he has the sense of self to tilt his head in an almost quizzical expression when the strange woman barrels right on ahead. She seems entirely disaffected by by his state, just taking his words at face value and moving on. The thought that this is just another twisted test flits through his mind, but he's committed now. If she can help him, if she can free him from the Blessed...he's never accepted help in his life, not since he earned his freedom the first time, but now, he's desperate for it.

She rises to her feet and moves towards him, hand outstretched. He balks from it despite himself, trying to take a step back when his spine is already against a wall. He swallows, voice somehow, shockingly, steady as he speaks. "What does that mean?" He asks, fighting the urge to just take her hand and damn the consequences. What could be worse than this? Death? A sweet relief. "Wen what happens?"

@SanctifiedSavage

Kyto approaches cautiously, quietly, paces light. He has nothing to go on but the feeling in the air, but there is something definitely amiss here. The workers skirt around the winged being with a sort of respect, treating them as a figure of authority. He stops a short distance away, watching silently, wondering where Fiachna has gotten to; if she has found the boy. He half turns, looking back the way he had come. There is still little clue as to where the woman has gotten off to, and he huffs a breath quietly.

God, that woman is vexing.

---

He flinches when she tosses her cloak towards the door, watching it transform into something entirely different from the fine, decorative fabric. His eyes track back to her slowly, apprehensively. It takes a moment for her words to sink in. She's offering him help. Maybe. His eyes narrow, flitting over her again. For all he knows, this is a ploy on the Blessed's part. It seems...different, from her usual tactics, but he has no concept of normal anymore, not when he's been reduced to a pet, when pain is a constant and the only way to avoid is to beg and grovel. Still...he's desperate.

Time for a leap of faith, then.

"Th-there's a woman," He stammers, fighting the urge to just shut up and do as he was told. Stay put, behave. He shakes his head, shakes the vestige of her voice off, trying to rid himself of it like a physical presence, "they call her B-B-Blessed. She can trap my magic, rebound it." His hand clenches into a fist at his side, body hunching, expecting the pain to return at any moment, to be thrown back into a mindless void of agony and fire.

@SanctifiedSavage

Kyto glares in her wake, caught, now, by the younger man's expectant gaze. He smothers a growl, digging in his coin pouch for a moment, a pouch that is even barer than usual, thanks to Fiachna and the commotion she caused at the tavern. He hadn't been intending to stay there at all. Dropping what little he has in the boy's hand, he sidesteps around him easily and moves in the same direction Fiachna had taken, darting between the movement of carts and supplies. He can't tell which way the. woman moved from here, and he turns about once before his eyes catch on something decidedly out of place.

His brows furrow, hand moving once again to his sword hilt as he takes a slow, measured step towards the figure at the other side of the warehouse. He can't see much of them, beyond the fact they're shadowed by a pair of large, glistening white wings. That, alone, is enough to make him wary, but that static feeling has only grown since he first noticed it, and something in his gut tells him this being is important.

---

Kanimir sits alone and silent, for how long he doesn't know. His mind is blank, eyes half lidded as he curls into himself and just, sits. He's expecting no one but the Blessed to walk back through that door and expect anything of him, and the footsteps that signify another are most assuredly not hers. Too light, too jovial. Once, his ability to read a person by the sound of their walk, the placement of weight and emotion behind each step, was a tool for his trade. Now, it's pointless for much but telling him he doesn't need to move yet.

Then she speaks to him.

His head lifts slowly, eyes darting about the small room to clarify that she is, in fact, addressing him. There's no one else within sight or earshot, and he focuses on her warily, hand in his hair dropping to his side and flattening against the floor uneasily. He's defenceless here, magic locked away behind the Blessed's control, not a weapon in sight, and where once he might have provoked a fight anyway, his first instinct is fear. He shudders slightly, drawing his legs closer to himself, unsure what to say.

She looks like a noble woman, the kind he's killed dozens of times, and the fact that she's even talking to him would be strange at his best, tidy in a rough kind of way, let alone when he's filthy and ragged and still bearing the stains of Keithia's blood on his skin. He swallows, eyes darting past her to the hall beyond. The Blessed had ordered him to stay put; even if he tries to run, he won't get far. His only option is to play this out and hope he still knows how to act tough, then.

He pulls himself to his feet slowly, back pressed into the wall and one hand still flat against it, ready to move, to run. His voice is raspy, still, weak and grating as it pulls out of him, "Hello."

@SanctifiedSavage