Varek rode into town just after sunrise. The streets still slept. Syraa’s shop was locked, the market stalls were empty, save for food vendors just preparing for the early risers. The nut vendor waved at him from far when he caught sight of his horse. He was a regular customer now.

Varek’s duty took him to the other side of town this time. There were no promises made, but he hoped to see her later. It had been a couple of days he wasn’t able to get away. He’d been kept busy overseeing the training, and replacing an enforcer who fell ill. By the end of the days, his body was tired from the day-long practice, and his energy depleted from demonstrating control of fire for hours.

He was relieved to leave, yet anxious of the timing. He knew this might stretch longer than he anticipated. Jewellers were never easy to deal with. Sly, opportunist, their ledgers never kept clean. It would take a fight to even get them.

By the time he wrestled the report books out of each shop-owner assigned to him, his head was spinning. He knew other marshals deal with their shops differently. It would have been much easier to beat the books out of them, and nobody would have reproached him for it. But he wouldn’t. The wouldn’t resort to violence every time something got too difficult.

On his way back, he crossed the herbalist shop. Its doors were locked, windows shuttered. He expected it, yet there was an ache inside him he couldn’t place. It was already late, he thought, he could be a bit later. He got off his horse, and walked a few streets. Alone, in the dark, far from crowds, far from the noise.

His feet took him towards the stream once more. He didn’t expect to find her there at this hour. And yet there she was. Sitting in the growing grass, wrapped in a knitted jacket to protect herself from the cool of the night. Blue suits her, he thought. She sat with her knees pulled up, hugging her legs, her hair tumbling around her face.

She didn’t move when the approached, though he was quite certain she heard his steps. He hesitated, slowly closing the distance.

“Syraa?” he called her name. She turned just a little. Barely enough to show acknowledgement.

“Varek,” she greeted, sniffing.

He felt a knot in his stomach as he lowered himself next to her. She wiped her face in her sleeve quickly, but couldn’t conceal the redness on her face.

“Are you crying?” He felt stupid for asking what was obvious.

“No, I’m fine,” she lied, but the tremble in her voice betrayed her.

“Did something happen? Are you hurt?” He crawled closer, wanting to comfort her, but not quite knowing how to.

“No, there’s nothing.”

He watched her for a moment, her eyes fixed on the rippling water, a small tear glistening on her lashes.

“You can talk to me, Syraa. Come on,” he nudged just gently, careful not to overstep.

She swallowed hard, wiping another tear into her sleeve. She let out a shuddering breath.

“Sometimes this feeling is just so… heavy. That I don’t really belong anywhere. Too different for the townsfolk, not different enough to be fireborn.” She sniffed, biting her lips to keep it from trembling.

“What even is a fireborn, anyway? What is that supposed to mean? I don’t know anything about half of my heritage.” Tears trickled down her face slowly. “My mother… she… never talks about my father. I don’t know anything about him, or… how he was. She never… taught me anything about him.”

She buried her face in her arms. “It’s like I’m just half the person I should be,” she muttered into her sleeve.

Her shoulders shook. His hand hovered over her back, but didn’t quite touch.

“Syraa…” he whispered, “you’re not half anything. You’re you. But if you want to learn more about your heritage…” he paused, searching for the right words. “I could help you with that. If you’d like.”

Slowly, her head rose. “What?”

“Seriously. I could show you how to use your fire. We can… train together, if that’s what you want. You name it.”

She blinked away more tears. She looked at him as if she didn’t understand his words.

“Only if you want,” he added. This time, she nodded, swallowing hard. He felt relief wash over him. And then he felt her fingers on his skin, squeezing his hand. She muttered a weak thank you with a shaky breath. For a moment he froze, the touch of her hand startling, unfamiliar, grounding. Then his other hand closed over hers, steady, as if anchoring them both.

Syraa’s hand was already on her bedroom door when her mother’s voice stopped her. She closed her eyes, exhaling softly before turning back.

“Sorry, Mum. I just needed some air,” she murmured, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her red-rimmed eyes.

“What happened, Syraa?” Elaina asked, her face lined with concern in the flickering lamplight.

“Nothing. I told you. I just… needed a little quiet. Didn’t realise it was this late,” Syraa said, slipping into her room.

“You look like you’ve been crying,” Elaina pressed gently. “Did something happen?”

Syraa let out a louder sigh than she intended.

“No, nothing happened…” She dropped her gaze when her mother’s hands settled on her shoulders. Neither spoke, but Elaina’s fingers tightened slightly, urging her to go on.

“Sometimes,” Syraa whispered, “I feel like… I’m missing half of myself. Not knowing my father. Or his heritage. Today was just… one of those days.” She half-turned, bracing herself for an argument.

But Elaina only looked at her, voice softening. “I wish I could make you feel better. But your father left before you were born. Before he even knew about you.”

Syraa finally lifted her eyes to meet hers.

Elaina’s jaw tightened. Her voice sharpened as she stepped back. “He belongs in the past. And that’s where you should leave him.”

With that, she turned away, leaving Syraa in the hush of the lamp’s glow.

Varek rode through the Arcanum gates under the faint glow of moonlight. His heart was heavy, yet full of a quiet, dangerous hope. He allowed himself the smallest smile as he tied up his horse, balancing the stack of jewelers’ ledgers in his arms.

He jogged up a flight of stairs and turned a corner, when a voice startled him.

“Hi, Marshal!”

Varek almost slipped on the polished stone, turning sharply.

“Rin. What are you doing up?”

“Eh, just wrapped up. Training went to ashes… literally.” Rin leaned against the stone fence, grinning as if the night belonged to him. Varek slowed beside him, scanning the courtyard for shadows.

“At least you get to do your supply run again,” Rin teased.

Varek rolled his eyes. “Shut up and eat. I brough some for you.” He tossed the bag of roasted nuts at him, smirking despite himself.

“Ah, you thought of me!” Rin said, delighted, already tearing the bag open.

But the warmth evaporated when another voice cut through the night.

“Having a late night out, Marshal?”

Varek froze. His stomach clenched. That voice. That man.

“Commander Rhal,” he said tightly., straightening himself. “The jewelers don’t part with their ledgers easily.” He shifted the heavy books in his arms as proof.

“You seem far too content for someone who hasn’t started his reports,” Rhal mocked, his eyes narrowing.

“I’ll have them on your desk by morning,” Varek answered, keeping his tone flat, controlled.

“See that you do,” Rhal snapped, before storming off.

Varek let out a low growl, pressing his back against the stone wall. His hands tightened on the ledgers until his knuckles whitened.

“You want me to help?” Rin asked gently.

Varek shook his head as he walked towards his room. “Don’t worry, Rin. I’ll manage.”

He pushed open the heavy door to his quarters, lighting an oil lamp and a few candles, ready to drown in paperwork. But Rin slipped in behind him, still munching.

“Come on, Varek. You’ve covered for me more times than I can count. Let me do this one for you.”

Varek exhaled, caught between irritation and gratitude.

“Fine. Take these two. But do a good job. Don’t embarrass me.”

Rin grinned, mouth full of nuts. “I’d never.”