Body trembling as fog escaped from his lips in a cloud of white, the air began to turn frigid. It remained silent for them as the sun descended the sky, saying goodnight behind the leafy sea of trees. Not a soul had approached them since the train. That, Silas, was more than grateful for. 

He couldn't stop replaying the explosion in his mind. It only served as a reminder of what this deadly practice was truly capable of.

All he could remember was how her skin had melted from her frame. Screams so raw, Silas could feel the pain she endured in her final breaths. An entire nervous system of bright red meat and blue string were exposed. She had been torn apart. And yet, as he glanced back at Emery, the Carpathian barely had a scratch on him. There were red scars roughly where Fynn used his magic. Still, even before the Healer returned, Emery had only a few scrapes.

Emery's hand, which he hadn't shown to Fynn and kept hidden under his jacket's sleeve, was callous, with only a faint burn lingering. The spell belonged to him, but the reaction was the both of them. Like potassium chlorate mixed in sugar, it detonated a violent display of heat and light.

He decided to push the thought away before the curiosity could burn further. Whatever the reason, it wasn't his problem. Magic didn't belong to him. Right now, his objective should be quickly returning to the Outer Ring. Obediently following Monroe's every command. Then he'd turn Pyra over to them, collect his coin, and move on with life. 

Just as always. 

Stinging, the cuffs clutched around his wrists had sliced into his skin. Some blood had dried, remaining like a thin dark red string; some still glittered in the setting sun's light. He hissed at it, trying to loosen its hold on him. No good. It was far too tight.

"I can heal it for you," Fynn smiled, that faint green radiating like a soft heartbeat in his palm. Unlike Emery's, this light wasn't hot. It wasn't even warm, just a viridescent glow. "I just thought it might be painful…so I…." He quickly stepped back from the thief. Those green eyes were as cold as ice.

They weren't enemies, not at that moment in time, but Silas would hardly call them friends, either. It didn't make any sense to him. It wasn't as if the boy gained anything by Healing him. 

Why did he want to help?

Out of kindness? 

Silas laughed at the idea. If the back alleys of The Outer Ring had taught him anything, it was that people were never genuinely selfless. Altruism was a myth designed to cater to the naive. Everyone would betray somebody to get what they wanted. That was human nature. Silas was proudly no exception to that rule.

They'd taken his gloves before chaining the damn cuffs to him. 'I want to see his hands,' Monroe had requested. A fool the Carpathian was. If Silas really wanted to take anything, he would. 

Monroe stopped. His glare met with them, an enraged gold. "Don't waste your energy. Those cuffs aren't coming off, and I need you in peak health." 

Fynn bit his lip. "He's on our side."

Silence brewed between them. Leaves crunched under heavy boots as the Vazeer approached the Healer. "Did you not swear loyalty to the crown?"

"Y-yes, sir," Fynn's voice rocked, and he stepped back. 

"Then do as your told." Throwing his bag into the dirt, Monroe finally broke out of his hard stare. "We will set up camp here tonight. Emery, collect firewood with the thief. Perhaps you can make yourself useful and light a fire, as well."

It took a moment for Emery to reply. His attention had been elsewhere, his fingers curling into themselves every so often. This infuriated the Vazeer more, throwing a nearby rock at his brother, barely missing his head. If Silas recalled correctly, Vazeer were heralded for their excellent marksmanship. 

"What?" Emery looked up, that furrow in his brow creasing when his eyes met with Monroe. 

"Collect wood and light a fire." Monroe turned towards his bag on the ground, mumbling to himself as he explored its contents. "Might I remind both of you that we are fighting in a war right now? People are dying."

Silas had to bite his tongue not to laugh. Perhaps the demon needed a history lesson on Carpathian imperialism. 

"Enough with the distractions," Monroe hissed, pulling out metal pipes and folded tan fabric from the bag. "We get to Ezterra, find the girl and the origin of the stones. Finish this mission as quickly as possible."

Emery was the first to move. He left the group, heading deeper into the brush of trees. Much farther than he needed just to find a few branches. Silas followed after him. 

He could still hear Monroe's dissatisfaction roaring at Fynn for incorrectly inserting the pipes a few yards away.

"You don't like each other," Silas stated, adding a few sticks to the pile Emery had started. 

The Carpathian threw a large branch over his shoulder, huffing, missing the pile entirely. "No. We don't."

"Trusts you enough to leave you with me."

Emery shrugged. "He's expecting you to kill me."

Silas paused. His eyes drifted to the side. "I could." Indeed it wasn't impossible. Magic's light or not, in the end, all of them were made of the same fragile flesh and bone. 

Immediately, Emery drew his pistol, hammer cocked into position and pointed a fatal shot directly at the thief's forehead. 

The thief chuckled. "Don't worry your pretty little head. I'm a criminal, but not of that kind."

Still, that pistol remained pointed right at him. Even with his fingers curled under the hilt, Silas could see the raw skin still burnt. 

"You said you couldn't use magic."

"My connection isn't as strong. That isn't uncommon." To even Silas's understanding, the stronger the connection, the more uncommon it became. 

A country full of potential demons ready to sin, but not that many ever crossed that line. It was one of the only reasons Carpathia hadn't completely taken over the world. Though Silas did not doubt that, given a chance, they would gladly accept that as their destiny and rule over everything as Gods. 

"On the train," Silas started, eyes never leaving the gun. "You created that explosion that killed her."

"I didn't kill her," Emery's tone was incensed. "Monroe ended her life."

"That was a powerful explosion." He even thought about the state of the train car. It was barely afflicted by his magic. There were a few black marks on the metal frame, but the entire train car had derailed just moments before that. Emery's hand was barely burned. Silas was entirely unharmed. Magic was a chaotic storm, especially fire. And yet, the only thing to burn was the girl. 

The gun lowered as Emery examined every detail of his scorched hand, thinking once more.

Emery closed his eyes with a breath, pulling in all of his magic. It tingled under his skin, light beating to the surface with renewed hope. His bones began to shake, and his heart pounded in his chest. Sweat beaded from his brow like rain. He could feel it. So warm in his heart, still distant. Despite all his efforts, the flame extinguished.

Just as always.