Muffled voices drifted into Erith’s awareness.

The blinding light. The stone wall.

The Murasi.

Elian…

Pain caught up to the memory, a dull throb at his temples with each heartbeat.

He drew a breath and was met with a sharp, awful stab that tore through his chest.

His fist clenched around linen, the cot underneath him creaking as his whole body flinched.

Elian’s lifeless gaze flooded back—his body drenched in the pool of blood that had poured from his neck.

Erith forced an elbow under him, trying to push himself up enough to get off the cot, and collapsed with a broken gasp. Tears spilled as he whimpered in pain, clutching at his side with each breath.

Canvas flapped, and a voice broke through his torment. “Ah, so you’ve come around then.”

Erith blinked through his tears, his vision sharpening enough to make out a man standing at his bedside. The healer wore a deep green long coat and a leather belt hung with various satchels and tools that clinked when he moved.

"Try and lie as still as you can," the healer said in a brisk tone. "We suspected several ribs were fractured."

“Where—” Erith tried, but the effort was too much. His muscles clenched hard, sending fresh ripples of pain through his side. 

The healer hovered over him, inspecting the fresh bandages wrapped around his chest. “I can ease the pain,” he said, fingers testing the tightness of the wrappings, “but I won’t if it means you’ll try to leave this bed. I’ll prepare something for you. I’m to let the Vice Captain know you’re awake.”

Without another word, he turned and stepped out of the healing tent.

Shortly after, the murmur of an argument drew near. The Warden’s sharp tone met a steadier reply.

"I understand your concerns, Garst," came the Vice Captain's calm, measured tone. "And I assure you, they will be addressed. But pressing someone who’s only just woken from something like that will yield little of the clarity you're hoping for."

The Warden said something in return, but his words were muffled and grew distant.

The Vice Captain stepped inside and paused as the tent flap shifted closed behind him. Without a word, he pulled a small wooden stool from the corner and sat beside the cot.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

A crate of used bandages sat nearby, most soaked through with blood. Tear streaks marked Erith’s bruised face, but the Vice Captain didn’t linger on them.

His expression dimmed, lowering his head. 

“I’m truly sorry for your friends… for everyone.”

“Elian…They—”

The Vice Captain shook his head gently. “That Murasi tore through stone as if it were nothing. It passed well beyond our barrier—we thought it may not be deterred at all. We lost twenty-two men that night.”

The canvas walls hissed dully against the wind. 

“At dawn, we buried the dead along the river and made for the Reach. That was a week ago.”

Buried. 

Elian was buried. A week ago.

Erith stared past the Vice Captain at the canvas ceiling. His fingers tightened on the linen at his side until his knuckles ached. 

The Vice Captain’s gaze flicked away.

Buried.

Elian was laughing by the fire only moments ago…

His mind refused to move on. Dirt and blood from the Narrows still clung to him. 

His breath hitched, the small jerk of his chest sending a fresh jolt of pain through his ribs. His hand flew to his side as a raw, strangled sound slipped out. It thinned into short, uneven gasps as he struggled to steady himself.

The Vice Captain stayed where he was, hands loosely clasped between his knees, letting the silence stretch until Erith’s breath eased.

“The Surelian Sifting Company likes to speak of the Pining Frost as its pride,” he said after a while, voice low. “First expedition out each season for the past three centuries."

“Storm Seers chart the routes, predicting where Kaida will fall. We name the expeditions after their paths, as if we understand the storms.”

The Vice Captain let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it.

“But the Pining Frost is the only one that keeps its name each year. We tell ourselves that it represents Aldarath’s strength. If the Pining Frost endures, the kingdom endures.”

His jaw tightened. “We haven’t endured. We’ve become blind.”

"The drought hasn't just robbed us of Kaida," the Vice Captain said, grimacing. "It's brought dangers we failed to foresee. Something far darker."

The gravity of his words deepened. "This failure is mine. I should have known. I should have seen that we were being tested like never before."

After a slow, measured breath, the Vice Captain continued. “I know this isn’t anything that you want to hear. I don’t want to force you to relive that night, but it’s haunted me. Murasi of that size…” He shook his head.  “I thought they were myth—stories meant to stoke fear and keep people cautious. How could someone live to tell such a tale? And yet…”

His eyes moved along the bandages. “Here you are. I saw it with my own eyes, and still, I can’t quite reconcile it. You were thrown halfway to the riverbank with the rest of that building.”

"How did you survive?"

Erith met his gaze. The Vice Captain’s face held a weariness he hadn’t seen in him before, a kind of genuine remorse in his eyes. 

It didn’t matter. How could any of it? 

Erith’s gaze drifted down to the sigil on the man’s chest—an officer’s crest of the Surelian Sifting Company bound to the Kingdom of Aldarath.

He almost let himself answer honestly, but the question struck deeper than the pain in his ribs, dragging other memories to the surface. If anyone ever found out what Erith could truly do—what he’d been able to do for as long as he remembered…

Erith chose each frail word carefully. “I… don’t know. I had a Kaida blade between me and the wall. I don’t know if that made a difference.”

His voice broke as he spoke the only truth he had to offer the Vice Captain. “I wish it didn’t.”

The Vice Captain took in the hollow look in Erith’s eyes, then let his gaze fall to his hands.

"Survival can be its own burden,” he said at last. “We're the ones left to endure after what's been lost. I don't know if anyone in Aldarath has ever faced what you have and lived.” He lifted his gaze back to Erith.  “Maybe there's something in that—something worth seeing through." 

The Vice Captain stood, rising smoothly and making his way toward the tent entrance. "Rest a bit longer. You won't be fit to sift, but there will be other ways for you to help." 

At the threshold, he paused, offering Erith a final glance. "Ah, I never introduced myself properly.”

“Maeric Estorath."

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