"You'll need to keep an eye on the ash. If it piles up, it'll choke the pit. You hear me? Erith?"

The memory of Elian's panicked eyes as he clutched his throat hovered on the edge of Erith's thoughts, refusing to fade.

"C'mon now kid, stay with us and make the day easier for everyone."

Erith pulled away from the firepit toward the source of the raspy voice.

Standing beside him was Sandin—a tall, rough figure with long, ragged hair and an unkempt beard that matched his worn appearance. His furrowed brow showed clear agitation, but as he watched Erith's distant expression, it dulled into something closer to a reluctant understanding.

Sandin pointed toward the angled sheets of metal bordering the firepit line. "Sifters bring in a wreck of the land. It burns fast in these pits, and if you aren't watching closely, you'll let the ash overflow. Then we're stuck relighting everything, and the Surelians don't take kindly to a line halt."

"Move the mesh back off the pits," he called out to the men nearby, his voice clear and firm. "And toss more wood into the front—the fire's burning unevenly."

"You'll find the rhythm soon enough. But for now, let yourself heal. Just watch what needs doing and keep your crew moving—No point in jumping in if you aren't steady. You'll just wind back up in the healing tent."

Wiping his hands on the sides of his vest, Sandin walked back toward Erith. "Rish was a fool, but he caught on quick enough, you will too."

Sandin paused, a shadow crossing over his face. "It's a shame...what happened to him." He wiped a hand across his forehead, his expression resigned, and clapped a hand on Erith's shoulder.

"Right—You'll do fine, kid. If it looks like the line's gonna halt, give me a shout. I've got to check the other areas—the Captain's got us working double right now. Last day before we tear down and move. Heard we're moving north. We'll be pushing into Morvath soon. The officers say the Morvathi Guard might already be sifting at the next spot." With that, Sandin walked away along the Kaida carts.

Erith took a deep breath, pushing past the lingering aches in his body. It had only been two days since he'd left the healing tent, but the familiar rhythm of the work was beginning to settle in.

The next cart dumped a haul of vegetation onto the front of the firepit. The flames eagerly devoured the mix of grass and leaves, and among the blaze, tiny Kaida shards glimmered in the firelight.

Erith grabbed a rake, cautiously pulling the glowing Kaida shards down the line, guiding them into a collection crate at the end of the firepit. A sharp pain jolted him, his healing fractures protesting each movement. He clenched his jaw and clutched his side briefly before resuming his work.

As the day waned, Erith picked up a meal and settled down, surrounded by the dull hum of the camp's chatter. The words drifted in and out, like distant waves—never close enough to reach, yet always present.

His thoughts circled endlessly, fighting to push away memories he couldn't escape. The urge to break free from the cycle buzzed beneath his skin, a persistent tingle that was both urgent and futile. It whispered, do something… anything… yet every motion seemed impossibly distant. He tried to focus on chewing, on swallowing, but even that felt strangely monumental.

The sun hung low in the sky as Erith returned to his tent. Sandin had given him a spare when he left the healing tent, mentioning that an uneven number of sifters allowed Erith some space for now, but Erith suspected this quiet gesture of sympathy had come from the Vice Captain.

Erith sat down and unceremoniously threw his boots to one side of the tent, staring blankly at the folds of his tent.

The Vice Captain's words swirled to the forefront of his mind.

Survival can be its own burden—we're the ones left to endure after what's been lost.

The memory of the Vice Captain's pained composure, a mixture of sadness and empathy, lingered with him for a moment. Erith shook the thought away, straightened his posture, and took a deep breath.

Looking down at his crossed legs, he forced his expression to harden before slowly letting the tension ease. With a steadying breath, he closed his eyes.

Let yourself flow outward. Find the air around you. Expand past your reach.

An hour passed before Erith opened his eyes again. He listened for noise amongst the camp, but the faint voices had faded along with the setting sun.

Erith reached for his boots and laced them slowly before feeling around the tent for his torch. Peering through the tent flaps, he found the row of tents dark and silent.

The scent of ashen campfire smoke clung to the air as he slipped from his tent, carefully closing the flaps behind him. From his pocket, he pulled a long thread and looped it loosely around the tent's closing.

He hurried toward the outskirts of the encampment, where a field of tall grass swayed lazily with the breeze. With one last glance over his shoulder, he crept forward, wading deeper into the field.

The grass thickened, nearly reaching Erith's shoulders and obscuring his view. He found a tree nearby and climbed just high enough to survey his surroundings.

The camp was barely visible. Ahead, a clearing between the grass lay under the open sky. Erith hastily pushed toward it as clouds began to gather, covering the moon.

In the clearing, he fumbled through his pockets until he pulled out a metallic striker. He struck his torch alight, the flame casting a warm glow as he gathered a few sticks for a modest fire.

He searched along the shadows at the edge of the clearing between gathering sticks, until something stirred.

A small, shadowy figure with a faint blue sheen crept along the edge of the clearing, its form barely visible against the darkened grass.

Erith paused, tracking the figure as it moved. He crouched, grabbed a few stones to form a circle around him, all the while keeping the figure within sight.

After a moment, he let his attention settle on the crackling fire. Embers floated lazily into the sky as he watched the flames flicker and sway. A flash of white seared through his mind, the Murasi's claw tearing through the ruins in a memory that felt as real as the night air around him.

What was that feeling?

It gripped him, elusive yet familiar, as if trying to recall how to move a limb he'd forgotten. There was a strange familiarity to it, like something ingrained in him yet somehow out of reach.

With a steadying breath, he added more sticks to the dwindling fire, watching the flames grow and fall as if trying to mirror the rhythm in his own thoughts.

After a while, Erith settled between the stones, sinking into the same meditative focus he'd found before.

Time seemed to blur as he alternated between his heavy focus and occasional glances at the stones, then toward the figure lingering at the clearing's edge.

Erith drew a deep breath and closed his eyes once more.

Find where it came from.

Eventually, his eyes drifted open and traced the stones encircling him. With an exasperated sigh, he reached for his torch, his attention catching on the faintly glowing figure of the Murasi toward the clearing's edge.

Steadily, he inched closer until he was within a few feet of it, extending a hand outward.

The Murasi didn't flinch but edged closer. No larger than a rabbit, its form shimmered faintly, woven from threads of dark blue that emitted a distortion gently rippling the air around it.

Erith pressed his hand with its form and placed his other hand gently on its side.

Thin wisps of smoke unraveled from the creature into his palm until only the still air of the night remained.

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