The cave is quiet, the only sounds the soft murmur of conversations, the clink of metal against metal, the steady, rhythmic breathing of sleeping bodies. It's a strange, fragile peace, a temporary reprieve from the chaos and violence that's become our reality.
I'm sitting by the small fire, my knees drawn up to my chest, my hands wrapped around a cup of hot tea. Hestia is curled up beside me, her head resting on my shoulder, her breathing slow and even. She's asleep, exhausted from the stress and the fear of the past few days. Of today.
I can feel the warmth of the fire against my skin, the heat seeping into my bones, a small comfort in the vast, cold darkness of the cave.
But it's not enough.
Nothing is.
I can still see the flames, still hear the roar of the explosion, still feel the heat of the fire on my face. I can still see the look in Eric's eyes, the betrayal in Mia's smile, the life draining from Ivan's body.
It's a constant, relentless presence, a haunting that won't let me rest, won't let me heal. I can't escape it, can't outrun it. It's a part of me now, a scar etched into my soul.
I take a sip of tea, the liquid hot and bitter on my tongue. It's a strange, alien concoction, made from plants I don't recognize, but it's warm and it's something to do, something to focus on besides the memories.
I don't know how long I sit there, staring into the fire, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. It feels like hours, days, an eternity. But eventually, I sense a presence behind me.
I look up, expecting to see Arden, or maybe Anna, but instead, I'm met with the sight of Alistair. He's standing a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable in the flickering light of the fire.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asks, his voice a low, raspy murmur.
I shake my head, my gaze dropping back to the fire. "No."
He's quiet for a moment, then he moves closer, settling down on the ground beside me. He's close, too close, his knee brushing against mine, his shoulder almost touching mine. I can feel the heat radiating from his body, a stark contrast to the cool air of the cave.
"Me neither." He says, his voice a soft, almost intimate sound.
I let out a breath. "You should try. You were up all night with me. You need the rest."
He shrugs, a casual, indifferent gesture. "I'll rest when I'm dead."
I glance at him, a frown tugging at my lips. "Don't say that."
He falls quiet.
The only sounds in the cave are that of the crackling fire, the sleeping Hestia, and the distant murmur of the few others still awake, but I can feel he's still sitting near my side, perhaps caught staring in the flickering flames.
I turn my gaze from those to him.
His hazel eyes reflect the dancing flames, expression serious.
"Me. Or them." He says, breaking the silence. He's not looking at me now. Just the fire.
"...What?" I ask, confused.
"I'll rest when one of us dies. If it's me, I'll rest forever. If it's them...maybe I'll get a good night's sleep then." He says it plainly. Almost offhandedly.
I don't know what to say to that.
I look back to the fire.
"I guess that's...fair."
His eyes slide to me, and I meet his gaze. There's something there, something I can't quite place. It's not anger, not exactly. It's darker, more dangerous.
Then he stands up and sets a hand on my shoulder. "You're the one who should rest. I'm not tired." A small smile pulls on the edge of his lips. "I'll wake you if the world ends."
"...Right."
My shoulder feels like his handprint has been left on it. Burned there. It's a phantom feeling, but it lingers long after he walks away, his silhouette disappearing into the shadows.
I don't know if I want to sleep.
I don't think I can. My mind is too full, my heart too heavy.
But I close my eyes anyway, leaning my head back against the wall, the warmth of Hestia's body a small, comforting presence beside me.
I can't sleep.
But maybe I can rest.
If I manage to sleep, I don't dream.
And when I wake, the cave is still dark, the fire burning low. Hestia is still asleep, her body curled up against mine, her breathing soft and even.
I don't move, don't disturb her. I just sit there, watching the flames, letting my mind drift.
I think about Eric, about Mia, about the look in their eyes. I try to understand, to make sense of it, but it's like trying to grasp smoke, trying to hold on to a dream. The more I try, the more it slips away, leaving me with nothing but a hollow, aching emptiness.
I think about the anger, too. About the fire that's burning inside me, the rage that's consuming me. I don't know what to do with it, how to control it. It's a dangerous thing, a wild, untamed beast that could destroy me as easily as it could destroy them.
But I don't want to control it.
I want to let it out. I want to let it burn, to consume everything in its path.
I want to make them pay.
I don't know how. I don't know where to start.
I don't know where it ends if I try.
...No.
I know where it ends.
I just can't seem to convince myself that's a reason to stop.
Not yet. Not while the fires still burn inside me.
I feel a shift beside me, a subtle change in the air. I open my eyes, turning my head to see Arden standing there, his lanky form a dark silhouette against the dim light of the cave.
He looks tired, his eyes shadowed, his shoulders slumped with a weight that's all too familiar. He's been carrying the burden of leadership, of responsibility, since Ivan died.
There's a fire burning me up inside, and there's a rock crushing him to the ground.
We're a terrible pair.
He crouches down beside me, his gaze meeting mine. "How are you holding up?" he asks, his voice a low, concerned rumble.
I shrug, a noncommittal gesture. "I'm here."
He nods, as if he expected nothing less. "You did good out there," he says, his tone earnest, sincere. "Getting those supplies. It was a risky move, but it was the right one. We needed it."
I don't know how to respond to that. I didn't do it for praise, for recognition. I did it because I had to, because I couldn't just sit there and wait for death.
"I..."
My voice trails off for a moment. Then...
"Did Alistair tell you..." I begin, but I don't finish the question.
I don't have to. Arden nods, his expression grim. "He told me."
We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of the words hanging between us. Then Arden sighs, a long, slow exhalation of breath.
"Can't tell it you it was the smart thing to do..." He shakes his head. "But sometimes it's not. Sometimes it's just what you need to do."
"Don't talk like Ivan." I snap. I don't know why. I just...
I draw in a breath then, and try again. "Don't. Because he's...dead. His advice was wrong. His decisions were wrong. And he-"
"Sarah." Arden's voice is soft, but firm. "Don't."
I bite my tongue, stopping myself from saying more. I don't want to fight with him, don't want to argue. He's just trying to help, to comfort.
But I can't. I can't accept comforting platitudes and gentle encouragement.
That's...
Those were Mia's words.
Sinead's.
Ivan's.
Eric's....before...
"I just...I can't pretend like everything is alright. Like everything is going to be okay." I say, my voice low, strained. "Because it's not. It's never going to be okay."
Arden is quiet for a moment, and then nods. "You're probably right." He admits, his tone without an ounce of pity. "But if you wanted to give up and die, you're doing it wrong." He glances at the sleeping Hestia. "Your words and your actions aren't matching up."
I look at Hestia. Her hair is draped over her face, tickling her nose. I reach out and brush it away, tucking it behind her ear.
She stirs but doesn't wake.
"What else am I supposed to do?" I ask, my voice a whisper.
Arden reaches out, placing a hand on my shoulder. His touch is warm, solid, a grounding force in the swirling chaos of my emotions.
"Be angry at Ivan. Grieve. Feel hopeless. Scream, cry, and rage. Let that fire in you burn." His gaze settles on mine, steady and determined. "Just...don't let it consume you. Because that girl needs you. Not ash."