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

Elian’s panicked eyes flashed across his mind—his hands pressed to his throat, blood pouring through his fingers.

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

Erith pulled away from his unfocused stare up from the flames.

Standing beside him was Sandin—a tall, rough figure with long, ragged hair and an unkempt graying beard.

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 and toss more wood into the front—the fire’s burning uneven," he called out to the men nearby, clear and firm.

"You'll find the rhythm soon enough,” Sandin said, clapping a hand on Erith’s shoulder. “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."

He unfurled a small cloth from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Rish was a fool, but he caught on quick enough. You will too."

A shadow crossed over Sandin's face. “It’s a shame… what happened to him and the others.”

“Right. You’ll do fine, kid.” He clapped Erith’s shoulder once more. “If the line’s about to halt, give me a shout. Last day before we tear down and move. 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—nearly three weeks since the Narrows—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 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 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.

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 whispering, do something… anything…

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 he suspected this quiet gesture of sympathy had come from the Vice Captain.

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

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.

His gaze fell toward the side of the tent, the ground left empty except for his boots—where Elian would be asleep far earlier than Erith, always drifting over in his sleep until he found him.

The sight of them there, filling the space where Elian should have been, twisted something in his chest. He knelt and dragged them back to the front of the tent, lining them up by the entrance.

His eyes lingered on the bare patch of ground inside the tent. He drew in a slow breath, then shook the thought from his head and straightened his posture.

Stretch farther this time.

The Kaida within him extended past his reach, out into the camp. Its invisible tethers brushed the strong pulses of the barrier cart’s Kaida, thrumming at the center of the grounds. Beneath that powerful thrum lay the duller hums of the blades issued to sifting pairs, and the vibrant notes from the gems a few officers carried.

He strained with each sweep he pushed farther out, until his Kaida collided with the faint yet unmistakable chaos of Mura near the camp’s edge, just outside the barrier's reach.

Murasi.

Smaller ones—harmless. The kind that lurked in the shadows and stayed there.

An hour passed before Erith opened his eyes again. The faint chatter in the camp had faded along with the setting sun.

Erith laced his boots before feeling around the tent for his torch. Peering out through the canvas opening, he found the row of tents dark and silent.

The scent of ashen campfire smoke hung in the air as he slipped from his tent, carefully closing the flaps behind him. He pulled a long thread from his pocket.

Tonight isn’t a night to sneak off, I can’t drag you back from a place like this.

He shook Elian’s words from the back of his mind, looped the thread loosely around the tent’s closing, and set off into the night.

Tall grass swayed lazily at the camp’s edge, nearly reaching Erith’s shoulders as he pressed into the field. 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 collected a few small branches for a modest fire.

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.

Embers floated lazily into the sky as flames crept over the tinder. 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.

The flames steadily rose and fell with each stick he added to the fire.

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

Find where it came from.

Hours passed before Erith’s eyes drifted open once more.

With an exasperated sigh, he pushed himself upright, irritation tugging at his tired expression as his gaze swept over the stones that encircled him.

He shifted out of the ring and reached for the torch, but hesitated as his attention caught on the Murasi, still watching from the clearing’s edge.

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

The Murasi didn’t flinch. Instead, it edged nearer. No larger than a rabbit, its form shimmered faintly, woven from threads of dark blue that warped the air in a gentle ripple around it.

Erith pressed his hand into its shifting form and set his other gently against its side. The moment his hands touched, its body gave way.

Thin wisps of smoke unraveled from the creature into his palm, drawn along invisible threads until the last of it bled away and only the quiet of the night remained.

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