The rain had weakened by morning, but the air still carried that metallic taste of a storm that refused to end. The road stretched across a wide, colorless plain, a wound of stone and mud that split the land in two. Far ahead, veiled by mist, the faint outline of Bondrea rose like a memory of a city that should not exist.
They were close.
Broko walked a few paces ahead, his boots sinking into the mud. "Talon said we'd meet someone before we reach the gates," he muttered. "Digiera. A smuggler. Gets people in and out of the city without setting off alarms."
Diana adjusted her cloak, her eyes on the horizon. "If she's not caught already."Broko grinned, though it didn't reach his eyes. "She's too smart for that. Too mean, too.""You say that like it's a compliment.""In our line of work, it is."
Gemma followed quietly, her cloak clinging to her legs. Every time she looked up, she caught Broko or Diana watching her, quick glances, then silence. Not hate, not fear exactly, but something in between. The air around her felt heavier since the causeway, as if the world itself had learned to keep its distance.
Aros hadn't spoken since dawn. He walked apart from the others, his jaw set, his gaze fixed on the endless gray ahead. Even his silence sounded angry.
Gemma wanted to say something, to fix whatever had broken between them, but the words felt clumsy. The rain had washed them away.
The sky began to open in patches. Shafts of pale light broke through the clouds, spilling over the flat expanse of land. The wind picked up, carrying the smell of fish and distant salt: the breath of the fishmonger heart of Bondrea.
When Broko finally turned, his patience had run out.
"I want to know what that was," he said. "Back at the marsh. The light. The voices."Aros kept walking. "Keep moving.""I'm not talking to you," Broko snapped. "I'm talking to her."
Gemma froze. "I don't know what it was.""That's not an answer." Broko's tone sharpened. "You burned three Custodians alive, girl. You think that's something the rest of us can just ignore?"
Diana's hand twitched near her knife. "Broko...""Don't 'Broko' me," he said. "We all saw it. The same white fire they use when they purge a district. You don't call that the Light?"
Gemma stepped back, shaking her head. "It's not the Light. I didn't want it to happen."
Broko pointed at her. "That's what they all say. Maybe you and your old man are the Priesthood's next miracle..."
The sound of metal rang out, the sound of Candriela's gauntlet gripping Broko's collar.
She lifted him effortlessly off the ground. Her expression didn't change; her voice was low, measured. "Not power of the Light," she said. "It's a wound, not a gift. And if you open your mouth again, I'll close it for you."
She dropped him into the mud. The thud echoed flatly in the gray air.Broko stayed down for a moment, breathing hard, mud on his hands, rain on his face. He didn't look at Gemma again.
Aros finally spoke. "We keep moving."No one argued.
They walked on, through a land that felt emptied of color. The horizon shifted: from hills of wet grass to the first scars of civilization: wooden pylons, rail tracks swallowed by mud, and broken signs with half-erased symbols of the Priesthood. A flock of black birds turned over the skyline like a torn banner.
Aros slowed his pace until he was walking beside Gemma. "Stay behind me," he said.
She nodded. When the others walked ahead, he caught her arm gently."You need to listen carefully," he said, his voice barely above the wind. "If things go wrong in Bondrea, you can't hesitate."
"Wrong how?"
"If they turn on us. Broko, Diana, even her." He nodded toward Candriela's distant figure. "You need to be ready."
Gemma frowned. "Ready for what?"
He looked at her, tired eyes under the bruised light of the sky. "To kill them if you have to."
The words froze her more than the cold.She stared at him, searching for some trace of doubt, but there was none, just that same expressionless calm he wore when speaking about death.
"I don't want to hurt anyone," she said softly. "They're helping us."Aros's voice was flat. "Help ends when fear begins. And fear's already here."
She hesitated. "Is that what a good guy would do?"He didn't answer at first. His gaze drifted toward the city , the black skyline rising slowly through the fog. "There are no good guys, Gemma. Just people trying not to be the worst."
Before she could speak, Broko's voice cut through the wind."Hey! Look ahead!"
They turned.
The plain sloped downward, and there it was: Bondrea.
Wooden docks stretched like ribs into the dark water, where ships swayed under the weight of the rain. Lanterns burned in rows along the harbor, their reflections trembling across the waves. Towers of weather-worn stone leaned over the shoreline, wrapped in ropes, nets, and the pale smoke of distant fires.
The wind carried the cries of gulls and the low hum of engines from rusted trawlers that never seemed to rest, a rhythm that rose and fell like the breath of something half-alive.
Broko wiped the mud from his cheek and let out a low whistle. "Well, there it is," he said. "Home, sweet hell."
For the first time, she wondered if the Light had built it… or if something older still ruled beneath the waves.