They stopped when the road vanished under the fog. The forest opened into a clearing, its edges half-swallowed by white. Broko decided it was good enough for the night. He dropped his pack, muttered something about starving, and began to gather dry branches.
Aros said nothing. He only sat near the fallen log and pulled his knife from his belt, checking the edge with his thumb. The light of dusk made his face look carved from ash.
Gemma sat beside the fire when it finally took. The smoke rose slowly, curling around them like a tired spirit. The heat felt strange after so many days of damp air and silence. She could smell the sea again, faint, distant.
Broko returned with a rabbit he had trapped earlier. He skinned it with practiced hands and set it on the fire with a small stick. The smell of roasting meat spread, filling the space between them. Diana poured a little water into a pot and threw in a handful of dried herbs.
For a while, no one spoke. The crackle of fire was enough.Then, perhaps because silence had grown too heavy, Broko spoke first.
"It's a good time to know about each other, don't you think?" he said, staring at the flames. "I can go first"
Gemma looked up. Broko's eyes were fixed on the rabbit, his tone calm, as if describing the weather.
"I used to lock people up," he said, voice low. "Back in Calad. The Light said doubt was a crime, and I was a loyal man. They gave me a cell key and told me to keep the world safe from questions."He poked the dirt with a stick, eyes unfocused. "My boy got taken one morning. Said he'd mocked a sermon. They put him in my block."
Gemma glanced at him, unsure she'd heard right.
Broko smiled, a thin, uneven thing. "I left his door open that night. Figured faith could decide what to do with him. By dawn, they said the Light found him floating in the canal."He looked up at the stars, then at the flames. "That's when I stopped locking doors. Talon found me drinking by the docks. Said guilt makes good soldiers. He was right."
No one replied. The fire cracked again, louder this time, as if the wood had something to add to the conversation.
Broko looked at Diane:
"Do you wanna go next?"
Diana leaned back on her elbows. "I was a mapmaker," she said. "The Priesthood needed new borders after the Purge. Holy lines, they called them. Places too impure for the Light to enter."She picked up a small branch and traced circles in the soil. "Every town I drew vanished a week later. The maps I made told them who to cleanse."
Her voice didn't shake, but her fingers did. "I thought I was helping build a safer world. I was just helping erase it." She tilted her head and smiled faintly. "Now I draw for myself. Roads, rivers, places that no longer exist. It's easier to remember them than to forgive myself."
Gemma's throat tightened. She wanted to say something kind, but no words came. She looked at Aros, who didn't looked back at her. These people, real people, damaged people. And Gemma felt sorry for them
Candriela sat across from them, her face lit by the fire. She hadn't said a single word since they stopped. Her eyes moved slowly, watching each of them as if measuring the weight of what they said.
Gemma tried not to look at her. Every time the firelight touched the woman's scars, she remembered the sound of bone breaking in the forest that morning: the dull rhythm of Candriela's boots against skulls. The memory stayed with her like the echo of a scream she hadn't made. She wondered how someone could look so calm after doing something so violent, and the thought made her stomach tighten.
She was a monster. How "the good ones" could be working with her?
Diana nudged Aros. "Your turn, hero."
Aros hadn't moved in a while. His gaze was fixed on the fire, but it didn't seem like he saw it.Gemma watched him closely. There was a kind of stillness in him that wasn't peace, just the absence of movement.
He spoke eventually, not lifting his head."It was in Vallares," he said. "The revolt. I was there to kill King Valeo. I was supposed to scare him, make him suffer and then...end him."
Broko looked up, curious. Diana stopped stirring the pot.
Aros continued, voice low. "We planned small explosions across the city. Nothing lethal. Distractions. Enough for the people to move, for the army to lose order. But the fire spread faster than anyone expected. One of the caches was near the western district. My wife was there. Sari. And our daughter, Maria."
He paused, long enough for the wind to shift.
"I never thought fire could hurt others. Not when I stormed the castle, not when I killed a score of guards, not even during the hours I spent breaking Valeo. I only wanted to feel full again...I found my family two days later. The house was gone. The city had gone quiet by then. They called me a hero."
Broko muttered, "Heroes always make the best ghosts."
Aros didn't answer. His knife reflected the firelight, a small trembling line of red and gold.
Gemma thought of asking what Maria had looked like, but something in his expression warned her not to. He wasn't there anymore; he was back in the smoke.
The rabbit was almost done. Diana sliced it into pieces and handed one to each of them. The taste was strong, bitter, but none complained.
The fire dimmed as they ate. The forest around them had gone utterly still. Even the insects seemed to be listening.
After a while, Broko asked, "And you, little one? What's your story?"
Gemma hesitated. "I don't know," she said finally. "I don't remember much from before the fire."
Diana tilted her head. "What fire?"
"The one in Calad. When they burned the quarter by the docks." She stared into the flames. "They said it was a purification. I just remember the noise. And him." She nodded toward Aros.
Broko looked from one to the other. "He found you there?"
"Yes."
Aros said quietly, "She doesn't need to talk about that."
"No," Gemma said softly. "I don't mind."
No one spoke after that. The silence felt heavier than the words.
Candriela stood at some point and moved away from the fire, standing just outside its light. Her back was to them, her massive shape cutting a dark silhouette against the trees. She didn't eat. She didn't sit. She just listened, her head tilted slightly, like someone trying to catch a sound from very far away.
Gemma wondered what her story was, but she didn't ask.
The night stretched thin around them. The fire crackled and hissed, sending small sparks into the air. Each one rose for a moment before disappearing.
Gemma leaned closer to Aros. "Do you ever think about her?"
He didn't look at her. "Every time I close my eyes."
She thought of saying something else, but stopped. The words felt too small for what hung between them.
Diana eventually spoke again, quieter this time. "Strange, isn't it? We all ended up here. All of us running from something that already caught us."
Broko grunted in agreement. "The Light likes to collect its mistakes."
Candriela turned her head slightly, her voice deep and low. the first time Gemma had ever heard it."Mistakes"
Then she fell silent again, stepping back into the dark until her shape vanished completely.
The others didn't follow her. They sat until the fire began to fade, the last of the meat gone, the warmth dissolving into the damp air.
When Gemma finally lay down, she kept her eyes open for a long time. The fire's glow flickered against the inside of her cloak, and every time she blinked, she saw Aros's face reflected in it: the same look he had when he killed, the same look when he remembered. He could be scary, very scary
She listened for the hum, the whisper that sometimes came with the night, but it didn't come. Only the crackle of the dying fire, and the breath of strangers who, for one night, almost sounded like home.