The settlement faded behind them, its chanting and clatter of drills swallowed by distance until only the steady crunch of boots on stone remained. The air outside was cooler, thinner, touched by the bite of winds that swept across the high cliffs. Overhead, the false sun glared down with an unwavering stare, but here beyond the settlement walls its light seemed wrong—spread too evenly, casting shadows that didn't behave the way shadows should.
Noah stopped at the ridge and let his gaze sweep outward. From this vantage point, the land looked like a scar: broken ridges and plateaus stretching into the haze, punctured by dark mouths of collapsed caverns. In the distance, a spire of bone jutted from the earth like a snapped rib.
Abel's silhouette joined his at the edge. He didn't say anything, just stood with his spear angled loosely in one hand, the other resting at his belt. He looked utterly at home even here, framed against desolation.
Noah, on the other hand, tugged his robe tighter and squinted at the horizon. "You know, if you wanted to take me out somewhere romantic, this really isn't the spot. Ten out of ten for atmosphere though. Bleak, miserable, vaguely apocalyptic. Just my type."
Abel didn't look over. "If I wanted romance, I wouldn't bring you here."
"Charming," Noah muttered, stepping down onto a slant of rock. His boot slipped in loose gravel and he caught himself with a flail. "Great. Love that the ground's trying to kill me before the Saint even gets the chance."
"Then watch where you step." Abel finally glanced at him, expression neutral, though the corner of his mouth threatened to betray something warmer.
They descended into a shallow gorge where the air cooled further, funneled by stone. The walls here bore faint carvings—worn spirals and half-legible figures, as if some older hand had tried to map out the false sun's dominion. Noah traced one with his fingers. It felt almost warm, like the stone remembered.
"Think these were left by people who came before?" Noah asked.
"Or by people who tried to leave," Abel said.
The path wound deeper until the gorge opened into a collapsed cavern. Shards of crystal jutted from the rubble, catching the false light and scattering it into fractured beams. At the center stood a mural half-buried by rockfall: a circle of figures kneeling beneath a blazing sun. Above them, painted larger than life, was a single silhouette with outstretched arms—its head crowned by too many rays.
Noah tilted his head. "Guess we found the Saint's fan club."
Abel stepped closer, brushing dust from the wall. "Look carefully."
Noah did. The kneeling figures weren't whole. Their faces were blurred, melted, as if deliberately erased. The sun above them wasn't painted gold, but black.
A chill feathered down his spine. "Okay. Not fan club. More like warning label."
They stood in silence for a long moment, the air heavy with something unspoken. Then Noah coughed into his fist and tried for levity. "So. Explore creepy ruins, check. Any chance of a cave full of snacks, or is this strictly bones-and-ominous-symbols tourism?"
Abel gave him a look so flat Noah almost laughed.
"Right, right," Noah said. "I'll stop complaining. At least until I trip and break something. Then it's your fault."
Abel turned away first, scanning the cavern shadows. "Come. There's more ahead."
Noah lingered one breath longer, eyes fixed on the black-painted sun, before he followed.
The cavern's silence stretched too long, so Noah filled it with words, his voice bouncing faintly off the stone.
"The priestess was clear," he said, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. The shallow pool reflected the false sun like a broken coin. "If we want to beat him, we can't just smash at shadows. We need him to slip. To show his hand. Which means…" He exhaled, slow. "…I'll need to face him. Directly. Talk to him. Offer him something."
Abel's head turned slightly. His expression didn't change, but his fingers tightened around the shaft of his spear.
Noah laughed, sharp and without humor. "Problem is, I've been dodging him. He wanted daily meetings, remember? Every evening, without fail. And I've—" He gestured vaguely. "I've skipped, what, four? Five? With everything else happening, I just… didn't go. And he hasn't said a word about it. No guards sent to drag me, no Kindled knocking on the door. Nothing."
He shook his head, restless energy sparking through him. "Why? If I'm supposedly so valuable, if he needs me—why ignore me? It doesn't make sense."
Abel's silence lasted too long. When Noah finally looked over, he found the older boy watching him with something that wasn't just worry. Fear flickered beneath the calm surface.
"What?" Noah demanded.
Abel's voice was quiet, but it struck like a blade. "You have been meeting him."
The words landed so wrong Noah almost laughed. He blinked, throat dry. "…What?"
"I've seen it," Abel continued. His gaze didn't waver, though his knuckles whitened against the spear. "Every night. A Kindled comes for you. You go with them. To him. You return before dawn."
Noah's mouth worked, but no sound came out. He searched his memory, clawed at it. Empty. Blank nights, one after another.
"That's—" He cut himself off, shaking his head violently. "No. No, Abel, I'd remember that. I'd know if I—"
But the denial curdled even as he said it. Because what if he wouldn't remember? What if that was the point?
His laugh came out thin, cracked. "So what is it then? Did he plant memories in you? Make you think you saw me walking off like some midnight sleepwalker?" He grasped at it, desperate. "Or did I… actually go? Did I sit in front of him, talk to him, listen to him—and then he just scrubbed it clean?"
The pool's surface rippled, distorting the reflection of the false sun. Noah stared at it until his stomach turned. His voice dropped, ragged. "Which means… I could've already asked him something. He could've told me things. Important things. Maybe even mistakes. And now—" He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, hard, as if he could force the memories back through sheer will. "Now it's gone."
The silence of the cavern pressed tighter.
Abel didn't move. He watched Noah with the stillness of someone who wanted to reach out, but knew there was no comfort to give.
Noah's breathing turned uneven, chest stuttering as the possibilities collapsed inward like walls. If the Saint could take whole nights from him, how much of himself was even left untouched? How many truths had already been erased?
His voice broke as he whispered, "What the hell did he already take from me?"
The words hung in the chamber like ash.
And somewhere far above them, the false sun flickered. Just once. Enough to make the cavern seem darker when it steadied again.