He nods, believing me because he has no choice. I watch as exhaustion claims him, his long lashes fluttering closed against tear-stained cheeks. Only then do I allow my smile to crumble.
The next night, we hide in an empty stable where the smell of long-gone zarryn lingers in rotted hay. Erisen sits cross-legged in the corner, turning his wooden birth over and over in his small hands—one of the stones Domno gave him. It's smooth and black, shot through with threads of silver that catch the fading light.
"Why did he give me things if he didn't like us?" he asks, voice hollow in a way that no child's should ever be. He never lets go of the wooden carving, and he stares down at it like he doesn't know what to think.
I pause in my task of weaving straw into a makeshift bed. "I don't know, love," I say, the words sticking in my throat. What can I tell him? That men are cruel? That kindness can be a weapon? He already knows too much about the world's darkness.
Erisen tucks the pebble into his pocket without another word, but I see how his fingers keep returning to it throughout the evening, seeking comfort in the one tangible reminder of Domno's presence. It breaks something inside me to watch.
On the third day, we find shelter in the bones of what must have once been a temple, its dome now a jagged half-circle against the red sky. Statues of forgotten gods line the walls, their faces worn smooth by time and the constant ash that falls like snow in this part of the city. I recognize none of them—they are not the Seven worshipped in Ikoth, nor any deity I've encountered in my years of running.
"Are they sleeping?" Erisen asks, pointing to a faceless figure whose stone arms reach upward in supplication.
"Perhaps," I say, unwrapping our meager portion of food—a half-loaf of sour bread I'd traded my hair ribbon for in the market. "Or maybe they're just waiting."
"For what?"
I break the bread in two, giving him the larger piece. "For someone to remember them."
Erisen nods solemnly, then sits beneath the statue as he eats, leaning against its pedestal as if finding comfort in the silent stone presence. I watch him, this boy who once chattered endlessly about everything he saw, now conserving words like they're as scarce as food.
Each day, he grows quieter. Each night, more withdrawn. The child who had finally begun to bloom under Domno's attention is wilting again, curling inward like a plant deprived of light. The bright curiosity that once sparked questions about everything from why the sky turns red at sunset to how stone bridges stay up without falling is dimming, replaced by a watchful silence that reminds me too much of our earliest days on the run.
I keep smiling for him. During daylight hours, I am stronger than stone, more reliable than the ground beneath our feet. I point out curious-looking thalivern with their iridescent wings when they flit through broken windows. I make up stories about the clouds that manage to peek through Velzaroth's smoky haze. I braid his hair with nimble fingers that don't betray my fear, tucking the strands carefully over his small horns.
"Remember when we saw those black pitter birds nesting on the cliffs?" I ask him as we huddle together on the fourth night. "How fast they flew? Someday we'll fly just as fast, far away from here."
Erisen nods against my shoulder, but says nothing. He doesn't believe me anymore. Perhaps he never did.
It's only after his breathing deepens with sleep that I allow myself to break. I ease away from his warmth, moving just far enough that my silent sobs won't wake him. Tears carve hot paths down my cheeks, tasting of salt and defeat when they reach my lips.
I press my fist against my mouth to muffle the sounds that want to escape. My body shakes with grief—not just for what we've lost, but for what I allowed myself to believe we could have. A home. Safety. The solid presence of someone who looked at us and saw more than just prey.
"Please," I whisper to the faceless gods surrounding us, my voice raw and desperate. "Please help us."
But the stone figures stand silent, unmoved by my tears, and I know better than to expect answers. Hope unravels inside me, thread by precious thread, leaving nothing but a hollow ache where my heart used to be.
20
DOMNO
Ihaven't slept in three days.
I prowl Velzaroth's underbelly like the predator I am, following trails that grow colder with each passing hour. The familiar weight of purpose settles into my bones, sharper now than it's been in years. Not since Zevan died have I hunted with such ferocity.
The difference is that then, I hunted to kill. Now, I hunt to save.
"You saw a woman," I growl, lifting the tavern keeper by his throat until his feet dangle. His eyes bulge, face purpling as he claws uselessly at my grip. "Human. Small. Dark hair. With a boy."
Around us, the other patrons of this piss-stained establishment fade back into shadows. Nobody wants to get involved when a demon loses his temper. Especially one with horns as large as mine—a sign of power they all recognize.
"Three nights ago," he chokes out, spittle running down his chin. "Heading west. Wouldn't... wouldn't say where."
I drop him, watching dispassionately as he crumples to the floor, gasping. "Next time," I say quietly, "you tell meimmediately. Or I come back and take more than just your breath."
His frantic nod follows me as I stalk out, shouldering through the doorway that's too small for my frame. The heat from the sulfur vents hits me like a wall, but I barely notice. The burn in my lungs is nothing compared to the fire in my chest.
West. It's not much, but it's something.
