Ariel and Lilia stood inside the Trial, towering over a collection of fruits and berries spread across the marble floor — split neatly into two groups.

  One pile was pitifully small, filled with odd, bruised, and misshapen fruits. The other was much larger, bright and colorful, looking almost too perfect in the soft firelight.

  Lilia crossed her arms and gave Ariel a long, unimpressed stare.

  “S…Six hours,” she said. “Six hours… and this was all you could get?”

  Ariel scratched the back of her neck, her gaze darting anywhere but at Lilia.

  “I got… caught up with something,” she mumbled.

  Lilia raised a brow.

  Ariel hesitated, lips pressing together before muttering, “...Sorry.”

  Lilia sighed, the kind of sigh that carried equal parts exhaustion and worry.

  “Just sit,” she said, gathering her half of the fruits. “...I’ll handle it.”

  Barely any of Ariel’s haul looked safe to eat. Most were half-rotten or sour-looking, and one was literally hollow inside when Lilia poked it with a stick. By contrast, Lilia’s pile looked fresh and inviting, the kind of fruit that might almost taste like home.

  Before long, a fire crackled between them. Lilia skewered chunks of fruit over it, turning them slowly until the air filled with the faint scent of smoke and sugar. Ariel sat nearby, poking at the dirt with a stick, watching the flames rise and fall.

  She could still feel the faint ache in her right arm, the ghost of her light

  When Lilia passed her a skewer, Ariel hesitated.

  “Eat,” Lilia said simply, not leaving room for argument.

  Ariel really didn’t want to eat.

  But one look at Lilia told her she wouldn’t have much of a choice.

  So she gave in.

  They ate slowly, neither saying much. The fire crackled softly between them. The food was bland—roots, a few wilted greens—but it was warm, and right now, that was enough.

  After a while, Lilia spoke. Her voice was soft, uncertain.

  “...You know, you can tell me if something happened.”

  Ariel didn’t answer right away. She just stared at her food, pushing a piece of root around the bowl before finally nodding.

  “...I know,” she said quietly.

  That was all.

  They kept eating.

  When they were done, the two of them went to check on Ryn again. His breathing was steadier now, though still rough. The bandages across his chest were stained and tight, hiding all but the faintest stretch of pale skin beneath.

  Lilia lingered beside him, eyes tracing the rise and fall of his chest. Her expression was tight, worried.

  Ariel watched her for a long moment, then looked away.

  She stepped closer, her voice low.

  “...Don’t worry” she murmured. “He’s too stubborn to die anyway.”

  half a joke, half a prayer.

  Lilia let out a faint chuckle. “You say that like it’s a compliment.”

  “Maybe it is.”

  For a while, neither of them spoke. The fire crackled softly between them, its glow painting their faces in gold and shadow.

  Then, quietly, Ariel said,

  “Lilia?”

  Lilia glanced up, tilting her head, curiosity slipping past her exhaustion.

  “What is it?”

  Ariel hesitated. Her fingers dug into her palms, eyes flicking toward Ryn’s still form.

  “...It’s nothing,” she murmured at last.

  Her smile came a moment too late — small, brittle, but trying.

  “...Don’t worry about it.”

  ***

  “Don’t worry…”

  But Lilia did worry.

  She couldn’t help it.

  Ariel was keeping things from her—too many things—and Lilia was too afraid to chase the answers. She could only guess. Maybe Ariel had done something while she was out searching for food. Perhaps that was why she always insisted on taking first watch.

  Or maybe… maybe her blessing hadn’t really awakened.

  Maybe that light Lilia saw—maybe it wasn’t even her blessing at all.

  Maybe it was something else.

  What if she had awakened, but only halfway?

  Was that even possible?

  What if something had gone wrong?

  The thoughts tangled together, sharp and restless, looping over and over until she couldn’t tell which ones made sense anymore.

  Lilia lay in her tent, staring at the dim glow of the fire outside. The faint rustle of wind slipped through the temple’s broken arches, brushing against the fabric of her shelter.

  Her eyes grew heavy, but the unease didn’t fade. It lingered—a quiet ache behind her ribs, a whisper that wouldn’t go still.

  She didn’t want to lose her friend.

  Not like this.

  Not to silence and secrets.

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  For a long time, she just lay there, listening to the fire crackle and the wind breathe through stone.

  And finally, she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

  ***

  It was dark.

  The only light in the trial came from the fractured moon hanging high above, thin and veined. Ariel sat in that pale spill for a long time,

  She was counting the scale in her head, one to nine, over and over until the numbers blurred.

  She rose slowly, each movement a fight against the white-hot pain that threaded through her right arm. Her vow flared with every step; sweat beaded at her temple. Still, she moved toward Ryn’s cart, the cart that held him, breathing ragged and half-lost to sleep.

  If she failed, if she misjudged this, she would kill him.

  She would kill him.

  At the cart, she knelt, hands trembling. She forced herself to breathe, to steady the trembling.

  Gathering herself, she narrowed the light into a single, careful point.

  Ryn’s body

  “One to nine,” she whispered to the dark, a promise. “Never ten.”

  Ten meant losing control. Ten meant losing him.

  If she failed—if she lost control, even for a heartbeat—

  Her throat tightened.

  She knelt beside the cart, trying to steady her hands, trying to believe she could do this.

  Light began to stir beneath her skin. Faint golden veins, soft at first, then growing brighter as her pulse quickened. The warmth built slowly…gentle, alive, humming beneath her flesh. It felt like sunlight leaking through cracked glass, fragile but steady.

  Then the pain came, sharp, merciless, crawling up her arm like molten fire. She bit her lip until she tasted blood, willing it to stay small, contained.

  A glow bloomed in her palm.

  It wasn’t wild. It wasn’t violent.

  It was warm.

  A soft, golden light spread over Ryn’s chest, pooling around him like water. The air shimmered faintly. For a moment—just a single, trembling moment—the light held.

  His breathing deepened.

  The rise and fall of his chest steadied.

  The edges of his wounds dulled, no longer angry red.

  Ariel’s heart leapt to her throat.

  It’s working.

  Her hand trembled, but she didn’t stop. She poured more of herself into it…. just a little more.

  She felt the warmth surge up her arm, crawling toward her shoulder. Her body screamed at her to stop. She didn’t. She couldn’t.

  If she could save him, even a little—

  Then, the pain spiked.

  White-hot, blinding.

  The warmth twisted, shifted—turned cruel. It felt like her veins were filling with fire. Her pulse roared in her ears. The air thickened. The marble beneath her palms began to tremble.

  And then the memories came.

  No.

  Ariel’s control snapped.

  The light flared wild, climbing her arm, her shoulder, bursting from her skin like wildfire. The air hissed, heat pressing down so heavily she could barely breathe. The marble beneath her smoked and cracked.

  Ariel gasped, yanking her hand back as the pain lanced through her arm like molten glass.

  The glow shattered, scattering into motes of dying gold that fell like ash.

  Silence followed.

  Ariel stumbled backward, landing hard on the cold marble. Her hands shook uncontrollably. The sleeve of her right arm was burned through, the skin beneath glowing faintly, alive with cracks. Ryn lay still, his breathing clearer, much better than before.

  But still.

  She had come within one breath of ending him.

  Her hands rose to her face, trembling, the gold lines crawling faintly up to her cheekbones. The moonlight cut across her face, silver and cold, catching in the sheen of tears she didn’t remember shedding.

  Her breath came in short, ragged bursts. Each one hurt.

  “I almost…” Her voice broke, the words barely audible.

  The rest never came.

  Ariel sank forward, curling in on herself, the pain and terror twisting together until she could no longer tell which was which.

  The faint gold still flickered beneath her skin.

  ***

  Lilia woke the next morning with a pounding in her head and a strange heaviness in her chest.

  Blinking away the blur of sleep, she turned—and froze.

  For a moment, Lilia didn’t understand what she was seeing. Then her gaze drifted to the cart.

  Ryn.

  He looked… different. His color had returned, faint but real, and his breathing was no longer ragged. The shallow, uneven rhythm that had haunted her for days was gone. He looked peaceful—almost resting.

  Relief hit her like a rush of air. Then confusion followed.

  Ariel was on the floor beside the cold ashes of last night’s fire. Her hair clung to her face, damp with sweat, her breath shallow and uneven. The faint cracks along her right arm glowed brighter than before, veins of gold pulsing just beneath her skin. Her sleeve was burnt and dry tears streaked her cheeks.

  For a heartbeat, Lilia couldn’t move.

  “...Ariel,” she whispered.

  Her voice trembled. Ariel didn’t move.

  Then she was on her knees beside her, words tumbling out before she could stop them.

  “A-Ariel! Ariel, wake up!”

  Ariel’s eyes flickered open. She was awake, but distant, unfocused. Her lips moved faintly, but no sound came.

  Lilia hovered over her, trembling hands halfway outstretched. She didn’t know whether to touch her, to shake her, to help her sit up, or if doing any of that would only make things worse.

  She had no idea what was happening.

  Her voice came out as a whisper, thin and breaking. “What…what’s wrong with you?”

  Ariel’s gaze shifted, barely meeting hers. Her hand twitched once, fingers curling weakly.

  Lilia hesitated again. She wanted to help, to reach out, but the light beneath Ariel’s skin made her recoil.

  “Why won’t you tell me anything?” Lilia asked, her voice sharper than she meant it to be.

  She swallowed hard, forcing the words through her tightening throat. “If there’s something wrong—if there’s something you need to tell me—just say it. Please.”

  Ariel’s lips parted, a faint sound catching in her throat. Then, after a long moment, her voice finally came.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Lilia blinked.

  She started to speak, but Ariel cut her off.

  “I’m sorry, Lilia,” Ariel said again. Her voice cracked this time, breaking around the edges.

  “I just… I just can’t tell you yet.”

  She turned her face away, morning light flickering along her cheek.

  “Not yet.”

  The words hung in the air, soft and final.

  Lilia stayed kneeling beside her, hands still hovering in the space between them. She wanted to shake her, do something, but the look on Ariel’s face stopped her.

  Her fist’s clenched.

  Ariel’s eyes fluttered closed. Whether from pain or exhaustion, Lilia couldn’t tell. She turned slightly, curling back into herself, one arm wrapped protectively over the glowing cracks that pulsed beneath her skin.

  Lilia stayed where she was. Frozen. Helpless. Watching.

  She didn’t reach for her again.

  She didn’t know how.

  The fire had gone out completely now, leaving only morning air and the faint shimmer of gold light spilling from Ariel’s arm.