The quiet pressed in heavy, broken only by the faint shift of settling sand. Talia and the Diviner's little shelter felt like a tomb now—dim, claustrophobic, filled with the scratch of grit in every breath. Talia sat cross-legged, pretending to watch the non-existent entrance, but her gaze kept slipping sideways. The Diviner looked so impossibly still, her face pale beneath its dust, her lips parted with shallow breaths. She had burned through herself to shield them both—and now lay slumped, fragile in a way Talia had never seen. Her breathing was steady but shallow, her chest rising beneath the torn fabric of her tunic. Dust clung to her lashes. A streak of dried blood curved across her jaw, turning her ethereal calm into something too human, too fragile.
Talia shifted her position so she sat with her knees drawn up, arms draped loosely across them. She should have been thinking of the others, of how to dig their way out, of whether the skirmish had survived the storm at all. But her eyes kept straying back. Talia swallowed hard, fingers tightening around her knees. Something inside her twisted. This woman—blind, reckless, infuriating—had stood between her and death again and again. And now, lying there, she looked so breakable it made Talia's chest ache. She let her gaze linger, drinking in the details she would never admit to noticing—the elegant line of her throat, the faint scar that cut across her collarbone, the stubborn peace etched into her features. Her hand twitched. For one dangerous second, she almost reached out.
"Staring again?"
The words were soft, almost amused. Talia froze. Her head snapped up—and found sightless eyes cracked open, turned in her direction. A faint, knowing smile ghosted across the Diviner's lips. Heat rushed into Talia's face. She jerked her gaze away, fumbling for her usual steel.
"I was just—making sure you were alive."
"Mm." The Diviner's smile deepened, quiet but sharp. "Of course you were."
Talia bristled, a retort on her tongue—but the sound of her own pulse drowned it out. The silence pressed in. Sand muffled the world beyond, leaving only the pulse of their breathing inside the half-buried shelter. Talia risked another glance. The Diviner hadn't shifted, though her lips still carried that faint smile—as though she knew more than she should. Talia's throat tightened. She hated the way her chest ached, hated how unsteady she felt around someone who should only ever be a rival. A challenge. Not… this.
"Why do you do it?" she asked suddenly, sharper than she intended. "Why push yourself until you break?"
The Diviner's head turned fractionally, dust falling from her braid. Her voice was quiet, steady, almost disarming in its simplicity.
"Because some things are worth breaking for."
Talia's chest clenched.
"That's reckless. You could have died."
"And you would have lived."
The answer came without hesitation. No arrogance. No sting. Just a calm certainty that left Talia's pulse hammering. She wanted to snap back, to say something cutting—but her words stuck. What came out instead was softer, closer to the truth she'd been fighting:
"I don't want you throwing yourself away for me."
The Diviner's expression shifted—gentle surprise, then something almost fragile beneath it.
"You care."
Talia froze, heat rushing to her face. She should deny it, scoff, say something sharp. But the storm inside her was louder than the one that had been raging outside, and all she managed was a quiet, unguarded whisper:
"Maybe I do."
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The Diviner's hand twitched faintly, as though she meant to reach across the sand between them, but she stilled it. Her voice trembled on the edge of something unspoken.
"I… don't know what to do with that," she admitted, almost to herself. "I was never taught how."
The words cracked something wide open between them. Talia swallowed hard, her armor of defiance in pieces. And before the silence could turn unbearable, she pulled her knees up, curling in on herself, shutting the moment down.
"Then don't. Just… sleep. We'll deal with it later."
But even as she turned away, her heart wouldn't stop pounding, loud as a war drum in the quiet.
The world was quieter now that the storm's fury had burned itself out, leaving only a heavy silence and the endless hiss of sand still shifting across dunes. The half-buried shelter creaked as it settled, dust falling in soft curtains around them. Talia stirred first. Her body ached, her throat dry as bone, but her mind kept circling back to the words neither of them could take back. Maybe I do.
Her pulse stuttered when she glanced over. The Diviner sat cross-legged, her hand splayed against the stones, her face pale and drained. A faint glow still flickered faintly around her fingertips—residual magic holding back the weight of sand that would have buried them alive.
"You're still holding it?" Talia's voice cracked.
The Diviner exhaled slowly. "If I let go now, it will collapse."
Talia pushed upright, ignoring the way her head spun.
"Then stop before you kill yourself."
Sunbleached brown hair shifted as the Diviner tilted her head toward her, blind eyes steady and unreadable.
"And if I do… what happens to you?"
Talia clenched her fists. "I'll dig us out."
"You'd suffocate before you reached the surface."
Frustration roared through her, but underneath it—fear. Not of death. Of watching the Diviner choose death. Again.
"Then we'll both dig," Talia snapped, and without waiting for permission, she slammed her palms against the stone beside the Diviner's hand. The spot chosen deliberately for the wall had the markings of an old building. She only hoped it would lead them somewhere safer. The faint shimmer of magic flared, burning against her skin, but she didn't flinch.
The Diviner's breath caught. "You'll burn yourself."
"Good," Talia hissed. "Then you'll stop trying to do everything alone."
For the first time, the Diviner faltered. The mask of calm cracked, a flicker of raw vulnerability in her face. Slowly—hesitantly—she shifted her magic outward, letting Talia's stubborn strength push against the flow. The air thickened with heat, the glow of magic bleeding across both their arms. For a heartbeat, they were locked together—defiance and desperation braided into one unsteady force. The stone groaned, a section of their sand-packed prison finally splitting. A rush of cool night air hissed through the crack, scattering grains of sand across their faces. Both of them collapsed back, gasping, half-laughing in disbelief. The Diviner's voice was softer than the night wind:
"You'd really break yourself for me?"
Talia turned her head sharply away, refusing to meet the blind but piercing gaze.
"Don't twist this. I just don't like watching you be an idiot."
But her voice lacked venom, and they both knew it.
The crack of open air was a mercy, but it wasn't freedom. Not yet. The storm had shifted the dunes into strange new shapes, sealing the ruins around them. They had air now, but not a way out. Talia leaned back against the stone, sweat cooling on her skin, her heart still hammering from what they'd just done together. She forced herself to stare at the shifting shadows instead of the Diviner's profile, lit faintly by the magic's dying glow. Every silence between them felt louder now.
"You're quiet," the Diviner said, her tone almost teasing—but gentler than it had ever been.
Talia swallowed. "Trying to think of a way out."
A small smile tugged at the corner of the Diviner's mouth. "Lies."
Talia bristled. "Excuse me?"
"You're avoiding the question you haven't asked."
Talia's jaw tightened. "And what question is that?"
The Diviner tilted her head, those blind eyes unsettling in their steadiness.
"Why I would burn myself to protect you."
Heat rushed to Talia's cheeks before she could stop it. She forced a scoff, biting down hard on her own reaction.
"I don't care why. You just shouldn't."
The Diviner's smile faded, replaced with something softer, more fragile.
"Maybe I don't know how not to."
That pierced through Talia's armor in a way no blade had. She turned her head sharply, staring into the cracked stone, refusing to let the sting in her chest show on her face. Minutes dragged. The magic-light dimmed to nothing, leaving them in shadows broken only by the soft light Talia managed to emit from her gauntlets. The air smelled of dust and salt, their breathing the only sound. Finally, Talia spoke, her voice low and rough:
"We're not out yet. Save your words. You'll need your strength."
The Diviner didn't argue this time. She only shifted closer, just enough that their shoulders brushed as she settled into the stone beside her. And though Talia sat rigid as a drawn blade, she didn't move away.
After a long silence, she released some tension through a loud sigh. There was one thing that had been burning in her mind for a long time now.
"How do you stay so self assured in all of this? You can't even see…" She looked at those sightless eyes "Doesn't that unnerve you?".
The Diviner let a soft chuckle escape her lips.
"If you want to know how I intercept all those strikes without seeing them, just ask."
Talia immediately walled herself back up, though heat rose up to her cheeks.
"That's not.. No… I didn't…." She fumbled for words, then swallowed her nerves "Yes…I want to know..".
The corner of the Diviner's mouth curled up in her lopsided smirk. Her playful eyes were a stark contrast to her tired and drained expression.
"You still didn't ask."
Talia huffed. "Gods! You're still infuriating. You know that?".
The Diviner snickered, relishing these teasing moments.
"I know. But that's still not the question you wanted to ask."
"Fine" Talia bristled, running a hand through her hair in frustration "How do you fight without seeing?".
"Finally" The Diviner's smile softened to a gentle touch now "I can feel where everyone is around me. Through the ground, the air.. I sense their presence. I sense your presence."
"So I was right?" Talia smiled victorious "You did feel those attacks on the rooftop".
The Diviner nodded, slower than usual, her form still drained from the storm.
"The stones tell me how someone moves and where they are. The air tells me how tall they are, how muscular. It's like I feel it strike me, before it strikes me. If that makes sense?".
Talia blinked, and shrugged. "Not really. Do you mean like it hits my armor before it hits me?"
"Something like that. It's why I prefer to walk barefoot. I can feel you… Them better." This time the Diviner's cheeks flushed with heat, momentarily restoring color, at her little slip up "I'm not really sure how it all works. It just came naturally to me as I grew up".
"You really can't see anything?"
"Not a thing. Never have.."
Talia didn't know what to say to that. She couldn't imagine not being able to see. Instead she just sat there with the Diviner, enjoying the little moment for the time being.
The silence stretched, broken only by the faint rasp of their breathing in the dust-thick air. Talia shifted against the wall, restless. She wasn't good at waiting—never had been.
"We can't just sit here," she muttered. "We don't even know where we are."
The Diviner splayed her hand flat on the stone, reading the gentle vibrations. Focusing for a moment. Talia saw that she was using her magic again.
"Don't.."
"I know where we are…" The Diviner said, her voice but a whisper "The ruins of Bakh'Emeth.."
Talia thought for a moment. She had heard the name before, but when realisation hit her, her eyes grew wide.
"The village that went mad?".
The Diviner nodded slowly, torn by the fact that she knew it was their only way out. In her current state she couldn't get them both out safely another way.
"I fear that we might actually find the proof the council wants us to find here."
Talia squeezed the bridge of her nose.
"The storm might have sealed the rest of the ruin. If we wait too long, we'll be buried alive."
The Diviner tilted her head, one hand pressing flat against the stone at her side, fingertips trailing across it like reading a secret. "The sands haven't settled fully yet. Listen."
Talia tried, straining her ears. All she heard was silence.
"I don't hear anything," she admitted, defensive.
The Diviner's lips quirked faintly.
"That's because you only use your ears. Feel." She nudged Talia's gauntleted hand toward the floor, the gesture unexpectedly intimate. "The stone carries it. The city's heartbeat under all this weight."
For a moment, against her will, Talia closed her eyes. And damn it—she did feel something. A tremor, subtle as breath, somewhere far beyond them.
"…There."
The Diviner smiled.
"Good. That's the way the air moves. That's our way out."