A dreary dawn saw them on the road once again. Tempers in the caravan were simmering. The merchants viewed Drevan with open hostility; Amara and Calen did what they could to shield him from the worst of it, but the tension grew heavier by the hour.

On the third day, they stopped at a natural hot spring near the foot of a wooded mountain—the only solace amid the grim weather. The caravan intended to camp for the night, with travelers hoping for a warm, cleansing dip. Drevan, preferring to avoid the crowd, found a more secluded spot down-river.

Calen, having finished tending a minor ankle sprain for one of the drivers, wandered off in search of Drevan. Maybe I can talk to him, he thought, make sure he’s okay. He followed the path along the hot spring’s edge, steam rising in swirls. Eventually, he spotted the tiefling’s broad shoulders rising from the water. Drevan’s horns glinted in the pale sunlight, and his back was turned to the shore.

“Drevan?” Calen ventured softly. “Are you—?”

He froze. Lines crisscrossed Drevan’s back—dozens of scars, old wounds, some jagged, others neat, as if from whips or blades. Calen had seen battle wounds before, but this tapestry of brutality made his stomach lurch. Some scars looked too uniform to be from random fights; they spoke of systematic abuse. Beat him… starved him…

The tiefling stiffened, realizing he was being watched. He turned his head sharply, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here?”

Calen felt a rush of guilt for intruding. “I—I’m sorry, I just wanted to check on— I didn’t mean to…” He trailed off, gaze still riveted on the deep, pale ridges scarring Drevan’s maroon skin.

Drevan’s expression hardened, as though building a wall around himself. “Go back,” he ordered, voice low. “Now.”

“Please,” Calen said, voice trembling. “Let me help you. I can heal the old scars, fade them—”

The tiefling whirled around in the water, furious. “You think I want pity?!” His tone cracked with something raw and wounded. “These scars are mine. I earned them. I live with them.”

Calen raised both hands in a placating gesture. “I’m not pitying you,” he insisted, voice plaintive. “It’s just… it hurts me to see you like this. I can help ease the pain—”

“There is no pain!” Drevan snapped, though his trembling fists suggested otherwise. “They’re just scars. Stay out of my life, elf!”

Hurt flickered across Calen’s face. He took a breath, bracing against the tiefling’s anger. “We’re a team. I care about you. I don’t want you shouldering everything alone.”

Drevan snarled, stepping out of the water. “You can’t fix everything with your magic, Calen. Not every wound goes away so easily. You don’t understand a damn thing about what I’ve been through.” Water dripped from his horns and shoulders, but his voice burned with bitterness.

Calen’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “Then tell me,” he pleaded. “Tell me, so you’re not alone!”

His words seemed to trigger a deeper fury. Drevan tossed aside the rag he’d been using, grabbing his cloak off a nearby rock. “I said get out!”

Startled by the sheer force of Drevan’s voice, Calen stepped back, stumbling in the mud. A moment later, they both heard rushed footsteps—Amara appeared, panting, having followed the heated shouting. She took in the scene—Calen on the ground, tears in his eyes, Drevan half-dressed with rage etched on his face—and her heart seized.

“What’s going on?!” she asked, alarmed.

Drevan rounded on her, eyes flashing. “Nothing. Go away!”

Amara squared her shoulders. “Not until you tell me what happened.” She helped Calen to his feet, her posture protective, though her voice shook with worry. “You’re both my friends. I’m not letting you tear each other apart.”

Drevan shot Calen a withering glare, then turned on Amara. “Don’t you get it? I have my burdens. I don’t need you to fix me. I don’t need anyone.”

“We’re family,” Amara countered, stepping between them, her own fear and concern swirling. “We look after each other. That’s not negotiable.”

“Family?” Drevan repeated, with a hollow laugh. “We barely know each other’s secrets. We don’t even know where your power comes from—who you serve! And yet you think we’re some perfect little group?”

Amara paled. Calen stared at Drevan in disbelief, recognizing the cruelty in his words as a defense mechanism—he was lashing out to keep them at a distance.

But Amara, swallowing hard, forced herself to stand firm. “You’re right. I haven’t told you everything. Maybe I’ve been too afraid.” She reached out, gingerly laying a hand on Drevan’s arm. He flinched but didn’t pull away entirely. “Let me. Tonight.”

Drevan’s lip curled, uncertainty flickering in his gaze. The tension hung thick, broken only by the gurgling of the hot springs. Finally, he shook her off and turned away. “Fine,” he muttered, pulling his cloak over his still-damp body. He stalked off, leaving Amara and Calen to stare at each other in the chilly dawn air.