The first thing he felt was warmth.
Not the suffocating kind of heat that choked lungs and blistered skin, but the gentle kind—residual, comforting. A warmth that clung to him like steam and safety.
Noah stirred.
He was curled in the same rocky nook where he'd fallen asleep, his clothes draped nearby, still slightly damp but wearable. The air inside the cave smelled faintly of stone, moss, and something mineral—the hot spring still bubbling quietly just a few feet away.
He sat up slowly.
His muscles ached, but not the dangerous kind anymore. A dull soreness—earned, manageable. His fingers still tingled from the cold of the night before, but the blood in his veins ran thicker now, steadier.
Noah reached for his clothes. The fabric felt stiff at first, clinging coldly to his skin as he dressed, but soon his own body heat warmed the cloth. He rolled his shoulders, flexed his legs, shook out the stiffness.
Then he walked toward the mouth of the cave.
Light greeted him.
Not harsh sunlight—no, the sky outside was still overcast, pale and silvered, but the storm had passed. The wind still moved through the highlands in sweeping gusts, rustling tall grass and making the damp stone glisten. Patches of mist clung to the ridgelines. The smell of rain lingered—fresh and earthy, mixed with crushed leaves and damp soil.
He stepped outside.
The world looked... new. Washed clean. The fires were out, smothered by the storm. Charred treetops smoked in the distance, but the air was breathable again. He could even see where the flames had torn through the lower forest—blackened gaps, twisted branches, collapsed canopies. But now that the smoke had thinned, Noah could make out familiar shapes beyond the ruin.
The temple.
It stood far off across the valley, framed against the horizon by a burned crescent of forest. From here, he could see the collapsed spires, the cracked mosaics, and the rubble-strewn paths. It was a broken thing—but it gave him something vital:
Direction.
"Alright," he muttered, pulling his hood up against the wind. "If that's the temple... then the Menari village should be... that way? Probably."
He squinted, tracing a mental map in his head. It wasn't precise. In fact, it was barely a guess. But it was all he had.
And at least now, with the fire gone, the forest no longer blocked his view.
Noah glanced once more at the cave behind him—its jagged entrance now just a shadow in the hillside. Then he turned his back to it and started walking across the highland.
The path wasn't easy.
The ground was uneven, slick with mud. His boots stuck with each step, and the wind never fully relented. But he kept going. The rhythmic sway of the grass, the cry of distant birds, the clean smell of post-storm air—all of it grounded him in a way that felt almost meditative.
Noah kept walking.
The highlands stretched wide around him—rolling hills of slick stone and tall, rain-heavy grass. Birds darted overhead, flashes of wings and color, and every so often he caught sight of small animals darting between tufts of brush—hares, pale antelope, even something that looked like a fox with long, graceful ears.
The quiet wasn't so quiet anymore. Nature had returned.
And for a while, Noah allowed himself to just... feel it. The whisper of grass brushing against his fingertips. The weight of his own body, dry now, grounded. The taste of clean wind on his tongue.
But the peace couldn't hold forever.
He found his thoughts drifting—first to the Menari. To the village's children. The warmth of the fire at the community dinners. The stories. The food. The fleeting sense of safety.
Gone.
Maybe.
He didn't know what the Legion of Helios had done after the fire. He didn't know if they had found the village. If they had turned back—or marched straight toward it with their golden armor and self-righteous war.
He bit his lip.
"No," he muttered. "Don't think like that."
But he couldn't help it. He could still feel the echo of the pillar's power, the way it had burned through everything. If the Legion had turned their gaze toward the Menari, if they'd brought that same energy to the village…
He clenched his fists.
What if it was rubble now? What if there was nothing left?
He shook his head. Kept moving.
Eventually, the stone beneath his feet gave way to soil. The slope grew gentler. The grass grew shorter. Noah realized, with a jolt of cautious hope, that he was descending.
Downward.
Back toward the forest.
He turned to glance behind him, toward the distant temple ruins. Just visible now—blurred by haze, framed by dead trees.
Then he faced forward again.
The slope funneled into a narrow path, and then—without fanfare—he crossed the threshold.
Back into the woods.
This part of the forest had been spared.
The trees here stood tall and dripping, their bark slick with rain. Moss bloomed in thick patches across their roots. Leaves glistened like they'd been polished. The smell hit him all at once—wet earth, crushed green, and something almost sweet, like flowers hiding just out of sight.
Light filtered through the canopy in broken pieces, catching on raindrops still clinging to branches. The forest floor was soft beneath his boots, rich with fallen leaves and petals. Birds called in the distance—muffled, but present.
Noah paused.
Breathed.
This place felt untouched. Like the fire had never come close.
A small miracle.
He kept going, heart thudding with a fragile, growing hope.
Please let them be safe, he thought.
Please let there still be something left to return to.
The forest stretched before him, parts of it blackened and broken, but others left untouched. He could see where the fire had devoured everything—and where it had spared life.
Noah descended the slope.
He didn't know how long the walk would take. He wasn't even sure if he was headed in the right direction. But he could still make out the burned husk of the temple from afar, the clearing where it once stood now exposed like a scar. If that was north, then the Menari village had to be south. Somewhere beyond the next ridge.
"I swear," he muttered, "if I have to start relying on moss and stars, I'm just gonna lie down and let nature win."
The deeper he walked, the more alive the forest became. He passed clusters of birds hidden high in the branches. Small deer darted between trees. The charred scent of smoke faded, replaced by fresh pine and damp earth. But something still felt off.
The silence wasn't peaceful. It was tense. The kind that sits in the lungs and waits.
Noah frowned.
The forest was holding its breath.
Still, he pressed on, following instinct, memory, and hope. He scanned trees, rocks, anything familiar from the last time they'd come this way. Slowly, the land sloped again—downward.
A valley.
Maybe.
Then—footprints.
He stopped dead.
Dozens of them. Deep. Fresh.
Noah crouched, heart pounding. The rain should've washed away anything from before. These tracks were new.
Too many.
He swallowed hard.
The Menari knew how to hide their trail. This… this wasn't right. Had someone fled? Or were these soldiers?
His pulse jumped. He started moving—faster now. Following the path.
The land dipped more steeply. Trees grew thinner, more spaced out. He was close. He knew it. Every step made his gut twist tighter. He didn't want to see what waited.
Then he smelled it.
Blood.
Noah skidded to a stop at the edge of a clearing.
Corpses.
Legionnaires. At least six of them. Bodies sprawled in the mud, armor broken, blood pooled beneath them like rotten ink.
He stepped carefully between them, breath caught in his throat. Some had arrows jutting from their backs. Others were burned. A few bore the strange scorch patterns he remembered from Lada's magic.
His hand hovered near a kinetic card. Just in case.
A whisper of movement.
He turned—too slow.
Something slammed into his back, throwing him face-first into the ground. A knee pinned his spine. A blade at his neck.
"Stop!" a voice barked. "Check him!"
Another figure stepped into view, spear raised.
"He's not armed," the second voice said after a pause. "But—wait. Look at his face."
A pause.
Whispers. Then:
"It's him. The blessed of Lada."
The pressure lifted.
Noah rolled onto his back, gasping.
A group of Menari stood around him—mud-streaked, armed, tense. But the expressions were shifting. Wariness fading to disbelief. Then relief.
One of them, a young man with a scar down his cheek, offered a hand.
"We thought you were dead," he said. "Come. The others will want to see you."
Noah took it.
As they walked, he asked: "Abel? Cassian? Are they safe?"
"They are," the man said. "Minor wounds. Nothing serious."
"And the high priestess?"
A pause.
The man's jaw clenched.
"She lives. But… she no longer sees. The battle with the pillar—it took her eyes."
Noah's breath hitched.
The man looked away.
"We've killed every search party that's gotten close. We're trying to delay them. But the Legion is getting closer."
He didn't need to say more.
Time was running out.
They were getting closer—he could tell by the shifts in the terrain, the dips in the path. The valley must be near.
And then they broke through the final thicket.
Noah froze.
The village was still standing.
But it was not the place he remembered.
Tents had been erected as the longhouse didn't have enough room for the wounded. Pagodas now shielded rows of wounded, their bodies wrapped in cloth, moaning quietly or lying still. Smoke from cooking fires mingled with the sharp scent of salves and blood. The sounds of children laughing—gone. There were no dancers in the square, no flutes or drums, only the rhythmic chant of healers and the shuffle of soldiers sharpening blades.
Even the elderly were training. He saw an old man leaning heavily on a carved staff, demonstrating forms to a group of younger men with stiff, pained movements. No one laughed. No one rested.
A village on the edge of a knife.
Then he heard it.
"Noah!"
The voice cracked with emotion.
Before he could turn, a body collided with him—arms wrapped tight, lifting him off the ground.
"You're alive! Oh god, you're actually alive!"
Noah choked on a surprised laugh as Cassian's face pressed into his neck. The taller boy was trembling. He held Noah like he would never let go, and when Noah pulled back slightly, he saw the dark circles under Cassian's eyes, the exhaustion that lined every inch of him.
He hadn't slept. Not for a long time.
"I thought—" Cassian's voice broke. He swallowed hard. "I thought we lost you."
Noah touched his shoulder. "I'm okay. I made it."
Cassian let out a breath and finally released him—only for Noah to be met with another presence, quieter but just as fierce.
Abel.
He stood just a few feet away, his face pale and drawn with weariness, but his eyes burned with unspoken relief. He didn't run. Didn't speak. He just walked up to Noah and rested a hand lightly on his arm.
That was enough.
Noah searched his face. "You're okay?"
Abel nodded once. "Minor wounds. Nothing serious."
Noah nodded, relieved, but a deep, disturbing feeling invaded his heart.
The village was still standing.
But for how long?