Bloodlit Descent: The Readari Trials

The trees stretched high enough to vanish into darkness.

Kier stepped quietly into the Verdant Spirewood, the third floor of the dungeon, and paused just beyond the sloped path. He tilted his head back. The canopy above was a breathing ceiling of bark and moss-veined leaves, thick enough to blot out even a sliver of sun. But light still trickled in — not gold, not white, but blue and green, pulsing faintly from the bioluminescent mushrooms that clustered around roots and trunks like glowing parasites.

The ground felt alive beneath his boots.

Soft moss carpeted the forest floor in uneven tufts, and clusters of pale fungal blooms blinked slowly in the shade like slow heartbeats. No wind. No birdsong. Just the sound of his breath and the occasional crackle of unseen foliage rearranging itself above.

Kier narrowed his eyes.

"Verdant Spirewood," he muttered. "Here we have some predators with patience. And some predators with not so much patience." His voice was quiet. Not for stealth, for reverence.

There was a pressure to this place. Not heavy like mist or fear, but old. Watching.

He walked.

Not quickly, not carelessly. Each step was deliberate, the kind of movement that said, I'm not prey. His axe remained strapped across his back, the dragon emblem half-faded, but always there. Just like the weight behind his ribs — steady, patient, restrained.

The light shifted.

Something snapped high above. Not loud, but not natural either.

Kier stepped back into the deeper shade and let his fingers brush the handle of his axe. His steps made no sound as he angled toward a low incline, moving along a trunk as wide as a cottage.

A shape dropped behind him.

He didn't flinch.

The Canopy Stalker landed silently on four limbs, sleek and long, its feline body coated in bark-colored fur that shimmered slightly against the mushroom glow. Its eyes were wide, lidless, and vertical — predator's eyes.

Another one landed on a low-hanging branch to his right.

And a third.

They didn't hiss. Didn't roar.

They moved.

The first lunged.

Kier pivoted just enough. The axe was off his back before the beast's claws could stretch — a blur of steel. He struck upward, catching the stalker in mid-air. It slammed into a tree with a muffled crunch and crumpled.

The second leapt from the side. Kier didn't turn. He ducked, planted a foot, and drove a back-kick into the beast's ribs. It yelped and went tumbling into a spore patch, coughing on the sudden burst of spores.

The third tried to flank from above.

Kier turned, spun low, and swept the axe in a tight arc. The flat caught the beast across its midsection. It landed hard but alive.

He waited.

The three stalkers stood, shook, looked at him.

They didn't charge again.

They ran.

Kier exhaled through his nose, slow and steady. Rolled his shoulders once, then slid the axe back into its strap.

"That's right," he muttered. "Keep running."

Kier adjusted his scarf and continued on, undisturbed.

The deeper he moved, the more the Verdant Spirewood stretched into vastness. It felt silent and endless, as if the world had forgotten how to make sound. The ancient trees stood apart like colossal pillars, their trunks wide enough to swallow buildings, their crowns lost in darkness. Between them lay open ground, soft with moss, lit only by the faint glow of spirit fungi and drifting spores that shimmered like falling stars.

He kept to the edges, veering off the main path not for exploration, but to avoid the distant voices of another Raider party. He didn't want to be seen. Didn't want to be remembered.

"This strategy is pretty stupid of me. If I want to improve my image I have to be around people…but I guess I'm a little antisocial today." He said to himself while scratching the back of his head.

The forest changed around him.

The ground sloped gently. The air thickened here. It was warmer, older, wrapped in a stillness that pressed against the ribs. The faint glow of blue-white petals scattered in the moss caught his eye. Then more. Dozens.

And then he saw it.

The Hollowbloom Den.

A cradle of thorns and vine, half-hidden at the base of an immense hollow tree. Ghostly flowers—Hollowblooms—coiled over its surface, their translucent petals pulsing faintly with light from within. The blooms seemed alive, breathing in tandem with the hush of the air.

Kier froze.

And from the far side of the den… movement.

The deer emerged like drifting mist. Three of them. They were tall, thin-limbed, their bodies sheathed in black, bark-like fur cracked through with glowing blue veins that pulsed softly beneath their skin. Their antlers curled like living roots, some draped in strands of pale moss.

They watched him.

But they didn't flee. Didn't lower their heads to charge.

One—smaller than the others, its eyes like liquid silver—took a step forward. Then another. It moved with surreal grace, hooves making no sound on the moss. Kier remained still, his breath shallow, one hand instinctively resting near the haft of his axe, but he didn't draw it.

Closer.

Closer still.

The deer's breath misted faintly in the cool air as it reached him. It extended its long neck, lowered its antlered head, and softly, delicately, pressed its snout against his outstretched hand.

Its nose was cold. Its breath smelled of moss and rain.

For a heartbeat—just one—the world held its breath.

The Hollowblooms pulsed.

The den shimmered.

And something in Kier's chest… eased.

The deer blinked its hollow silver eyes, then without sound, it turned. It stepped away, slow and unhurried, returning to the soft grass beyond the den. The others followed, their movements weightless, and soon they were grazing again. They were silent creatures from a forgotten age, unbothered by his presence.

Kier let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His fingers twitched at his side.

"…Didn't mean to find you," he murmured, quieter now. Almost reverent.

He took a step back. Then another.

The Hollowblooms stirred faintly, their ghostly petals closing in slow, drowsy motions. The air softened. The moment passed.

And Kier… turned away, slipping back between the ancient trees, vanishing without sound into the wide blue stillness of the Verdant Spirewood.

The Hollowblooms stirred faintly behind him as Kier moved on, vanishing between the massive trees. He didn't rush. Didn't speak. Even his breath came quieter now, as if some piece of the stillness had followed him, woven itself into his bones.

The Spirewood stretched ahead—open, vast, and endless. Time moved strangely here. The glow of the moss and the rise and fall of the forest floor blurred into one soft, living dreamscape. It felt too wide. Too quiet.

But not peaceful.

The air shifted.

A subtle wrongness so faint most would miss it. Kier didn't.

He slowed. His eyes flicked upward.

The canopy wasn't breathing the same way it had before. The trees, those towering giants, swayed less. The moss underfoot felt thinner. The light… sharper.

"Something's off."

A whisper of sound caught his ear. High. Metallic. Distant.

He adjusted his pace, angling toward a low ridge framed by curling roots. Then he heard it again.

Whirr—zzzip—!

His body moved before his mind caught up. He dropped low, throwing himself sideways just as something silver-white sliced through the air where his neck had been—fast enough that the wind of it burned cold against his skin.

CRACK—!

The impact struck the stone behind him. Not with an explosion. Not with magic. But with the brittle shatter of glass detonating from the inside out. Gleaming razor-thin shards erupted in a deadly spray, scattering through the trees like crystal needles.

Kier's breath caught. His pulse quickened.

He knew that sound.

"Shit. Needlewings," he muttered, too quiet for anyone but the Spirewood to hear.

Panic locked in. If they hit you, you died. If they missed, they died. No middle ground.

Another screeching arc of silver. Another impact. Another blast.

Dozens now. The air was alive with them.

Kier bolted—

His breath ragged. His heartbeat pounding louder than the shrieks.

He reached the nearest tree—a massive spiral of moss-cloaked bark—and leapt. Fingers snagged a low branch. He swung up with practiced ease, boots finding purchase, arms pumping as he climbed higher.

One—two—three strides up—

Whirr!

A Needlewing sliced the branch just beneath him. It shattered in a sharp, crystalline crack, but he was already lunging forward, grasping a higher limb and pulling himself into the air.

The first landing came fast. He hit the next branch with both feet, momentum snapping his tunic behind him. Before he could lose speed, he pushed off again, launching toward a neighboring tree. The wind whistled in his ears.

Another leap—

Another silver arc—

A Needlewing screeched past, carving a line through Kier's left arm. Fabric split. Blood welled.

He grit his teeth. Ignored it.

The next branch was too narrow, and his foot slipped off moss-slick bark. He caught the edge with one hand, bark cracking beneath his grip.

"Not stopping now."

He flung himself upward, boots catching the next limb just enough to launch again. Leaves whipped across his face. The air smelled like crushed mint and pollen-dust, the Verdant Spirewood felt alive and breathing around him. Sunlight filtered through veils of moss and massive petal-fans that bloomed midair like umbrellas, glowing faintly in the shade.

Zzzrrr—BOOM!

One Needlewing clipped a branch below and detonated—its body bursting into jagged bone shards. Shrapnel tore through Kier's back like teeth.

"Ghh—!"

Pain flared, hot and raw.

Then gravity took him.

He slipped.

There was no branch beneath him now.

No footing.

Only open air.

The ground—a living carpet of blooming thorns and coiled vines—rushed up to meet him.

"WELP! No time to think!"

He twisted midair, blood already soaking into the back of his coat. His pupils thinned, veins glowing faintly blue. Instinct screamed.

He inhaled sharply, and let the blood pour out.

It shimmered behind him in streamers of red, then snapped into form. Ropes of hardened blood shaped mid-fall, spiraling outward like webbing. He flung an arm forward. The bloodshot line caught a thick, bark-skinned vine high above and latched.

"What the hell am I dooiiinnngg!!?"

Kier yanked—hard.

The rope tensed, slingshotting him in an arc. His body flung sideways through a curtain of glowing leaves, his scarf trailing behind like a whip of shadow.

A flash of green. A rushing blur of branches.

He reached as he spotted a high limb wrapped in thick moss and slammed into it shoulder-first, barely catching the edge.

Bark cracked. The whole branch dipped.

He groaned, dragging himself up. Blood smeared the moss beneath his palms. Needles still clung to his back, but the worst was past.

Above, the Needlewings shrieked in confusion, darting through the treetops like glass daggers.

Kier just lay there for a moment, face pressed into the cool moss.

"…I hate flying."

Still, he forced himself higher, away from the Needlewings grasp.

The air thinned. The sound of the Needlewings lessened.

At last—

He reached the very top. The canopy broke open into open sky, branches swaying in gentle currents of mist and light. Kierslumped against the trunk, breath ragged, chest heaving.

But for the first time in what felt like hours, he let out a breath.

"…I'm alive."

Then he looked up.

And the world…

Stopped.

Above the emerald veil of leaves, the sky unfurled into the Skyroot Ascent—a sacred breach where the forest gave way to something older, purer. Open air stretched into infinity, framed by ancient spires of living wood, and within that boundless cradle… they soared.

Birds.

Hundreds. No, thousands of them wheeling through the heavens in a storm of impossible color. Wings spun from sapphire and molten gold, from emberlight and lunar silver, from glass and ghost-flame. Each one unique. Each one alive. An endless, breathless river of motion and music, too vast for the eye to hold, too radiant for the heart to name.

Some glided like whispers of silk. Some flared in arcs of wildfire and frost. Some sang haunting, bell-like notes that rained softly through the branches like petals spun from sound.

The sky itself seemed to pulse with them, an open cathedral of flight and living myth.

Kier's fingers slackened on the axe.

The weight of the fight, the blood, the breathless scramble, all of it dissolved. For a heartbeat—just one—he was no exile, no monster, no hunted thing. He was small. A shadow beneath a sky carved in motion and light, in a world that had never once belonged to him.

And somehow… that was comforting.

"Well," he murmured, lowering himself onto a thick branch, "not a bad place to die. Or nap."

He exhaled through a dry laugh and fished a handful of dried fruit from his pouch, chewing absently as the wind stirred the leaves around him. No monsters. No threats. Just breath and the view before him.

***

Eventually, his feet found the forest floor again.

The Skyroot Ascent loomed ahead—impossibly vast, its base wider than most towns. He tilted his head back, lips parting without meaning to.

"Still can't get over how massive this is," he muttered.

That's when he saw it.

A flicker of wrongness. Subtle. Half-hidden beneath roots and moss. He crouched, fingers brushing the scorched bark.

"A rune?" His voice dropped, soft. Uneasy.

His blood knew it.

Not like a memory. More like… a name half-spoken. A presence trying to belong where it shouldn't.

"Not from here," he whispered, eyes narrowing. "But it's trying."

Heat flushed through his veins—familiar, eager, alive. It stirred beneath his skin, whispering without words. It wanted to answer. To wake. To respond.

Kier's breath caught.

His Moonlight Eyes gleamed—silver shot through with electric threads of blue. The hum behind his eyes built, higher, sharper, as if something unseen was reaching back.

But he didn't move.

He breathed in.

Held it.

Let it go.

The glow receded. The blood quieted.

"No," he murmured. "Not for curiosity. Not for fear. Not unless I have to."

He rose, casting one last glance at the ruined rune. He didn't just memorize its shape—he memorized its feeling: something foreign that had bitten deep, something the land itself hadn't rejected… only endured.

That was worse.

Turning from the Skyroot, Kier set off toward the stairwell. The path felt longer now. The glow of the moss returned in slow ripples, hesitant, as if the entire floor was holding its breath alongside him.

At the threshold, something moved.

A Hollowbloom deer stood motionless—black bark-like fur veined with slow pulses of blue light. It watched him. Eyes gentle. Still.

Kier offered his palm, soft and slow. The deer stepped close enough to sniff his fingertips… then turned without sound, vanishing back into the silvered thicket.

"Didn't think so," Kier said softly, lowering his hand. "Smart."

The air ahead shifted. Warmer. Not the warmth of summer—

The warmth of flame.

A single ember drifted past him, glowing blood-red in the soft mushroomlight.

He sighed, rolling his shoulders, gripping the axe across his back as he stepped forward.

"Next floor's fire," he muttered. "Can't wait to be medium-rare."

***

The first thing Kier noticed about Floor Four was that it hadn't changed.

The Emberbud Wilds.

Same scorched terrain. Same burning pollen drifting like lazy sparks. Same strange hush beneath the crackle of fire-fed wind.

"Still hates boots. Still stinks like someone tried to roast a garden and gave up halfway."

The moss was gone. Mushrooms still glowed along the bark, but the blue and green hues here were dim, almost like it was shy. The light was no longer soft. It flickered. Shifted. Made the shadows crawl.

He walked along a slope, following a faint trail of trampled ash where something large had passed.

The air pulsed with heat, not unbearable, but steady, like standing too close to a forge that wasn't quite angry yet.

Kier adjusted his scarf above his nose as a gust kicked up red petals. The petals landed onto the floor-and exploded, though it was soft.

"These damn flowers again. Still exploding, still overly dramatic."

He passed a patch of emberbuds. A few quivered as he walked by, sensing the motion. He didn't touch them.

He knew better.

A breeze stirred. Heat shimmered in the distance. Somewhere ahead, something let out a faint, guttural bark.

He paused.

Listened.

"Right on time."

They came out of the haze with fire in their throats.

Three Ashmane Hounds. Their manes glowing like coal, jaws already wide. No stalking. No patience.

Just fury.

Kier didn't draw his axe right away. He stood still, body loose, shoulders easy.

"They always come in threes. Always think charging headfirst will end differently this time."

The first hound hit the ground hard, claws sparking against the ash-crusted soil as it lunged. Kier slid sideways, let it pass, and cracked its ribs with a knee to the side. As it hit a patch emberbuds and exploded, he spun, drawing his axe in one clean arc that caught the second hound mid-leap. It hit the dirt in two twitching pieces.

The third beast hesitated.

For half a second.

Then it roared and charged anyway.

Kier met it with a forward lunge of his own, parrying its claws with the haft of his axe, twisting under its body, and slamming the blade into the back of its neck.

It hit the ground and didn't get up.

Ash and steam rose around him.

He didn't gloat. Didn't even curse.

He just stood there, eyes heavy.

"They never run. Not here. Not this low, it's sad really."

He exhaled through his nose, flicking stray blood from the axe edge.

"I guess it still bothers me a little that I have to kill them…"

His foot nudged one of the bodies. It twitched once, then went still.

Still warm. Still wild. But not alive.

"Well, while I'm at it, I guess I should finally start collecting some Soulshards." He said to himself, rolling his neck.

He moved on, stepping around a fractured rock formation where he knew the Cindertail Hares liked to nest. They were twitchy things—small, aggressive, and more flammable than they had any right to be.

"At least they're honest. They show up, try to blow you up, and die doing it. No pretense."

He walked quietly through a patch of cracked stone, the ground humming beneath his boots. In the distance, a flicker of motion caught his eye.

He slowed.

And sure enough—

A hare darted from under a stone root, tail glowing like a lit fuse.

Kier raised an eyebrow.

"Oh look. Company."

The hare skidded to a stop, twitched once, then charged.

He didn't draw his axe. Not this time.

He snapped a throwing knife from his belt and whipped it forward. The blade hit just behind the creature's shoulder.

It popped mid-air.

Ash and sparks.

The others—because there were always others—burst from the rocks a heartbeat later. A chorus a small, red and orange explosions sounded out.

Kier sighed, more annoyed than alarmed.

"There's never just one. Not here. Not ever."

He moved fast, graceful in the tight terrain. He spun, ducked, kicked one into a flower patch—instant explosion—and met another with the flat of his axe, sending it tumbling. Two more circled, tails glowing.

He sheared one in half mid-hop, that one couldn't explode. He hit the Soulshard. The other he kicked into a stone.

Silence returned.

Eventually.

Kier stood still.

Ash floated.

"I don't like killing them," he thought, eyes narrowing. "But it's worse when I start liking how good I am at it."

He pulled the knife from the first hare's remains and picked up every Soulshard that dropped.

"Eh, I'd rather not walk back to the dead, angry hounds," he mumbled to himself. "Someone else can have their Soulshards. A gift from a curse." 

Kier walked through the ashen forest, his blood-tipped hair catching the red light like it was absorbing it. His boots softly crunched against a tree root. Insects that looked like fireflies flew through the air, though these never flickered, just always glowing red. It was beautiful, in a sense. 

"Guess I'm just weird on top of being scary. I think a place that kills people every day is beautiful." 

He sighed softly as he pulled his scarf back down, and it revealed a very faint smirk.

"Hah, guess that's just me," he said, looking at the fireflies. "But I'm fine with being weird. Comes with anyone who never had any friends." He laughed self-mockingly, but even so, his eyes softened, and those blue veins lit up slightly, as if regaining a little life.

He walked a little further, but then came the voices.

Kier slowed his pace as the ash ahead began to shift just slightly. Voices, too casual for the Emberbud Wilds, filtered through the haze like murmurs through smoke. He paused near a half-burned tree, gaze narrowing.

A group stepped into view.

Five of them. Young. Polished. Aldrathar Raiders, judging by the silver gear with a light-blue outline. They walked like they belonged here. They didn't seem arrogant, just confident.

But that wasn't what made him stop.

It was her.

She walked ahead of the others, boots leaving soft prints in the ash, not rushed, not cautious, but curious. Sky-blue hair, long with a few strands braided, drifted in the ember-warm air like something half-spun from mist and memory. A few streaks of silver caught the firelight, glowing at the ends like frost meeting flame. Her eyes were a piercing cool blue, rimmed in a deeper blue—sharp, intelligent, but with something soft behind them, like a question waiting to be asked.

She wore light armor designed for movement. Frost-lined plating over a fitted tunic of muted indigo and glacier-gray cloth. Her white gloves were worn in the palms from use, and two small spirits hovered behind her, one like a trailing shard of moonlit ice, the other a gentle gleam of soft-white radiance.

She was… stunning.

Not just pretty. Not just memorable.

Stunning in a way that made Kier forget, for just a second, that he was in a place where everything tried to kill him. Even the people.

"Well," he thought, "that's new."

He realized too late that he'd been staring.

And that's when she noticed him.

She blinked, eyes locking on his through the haze, and tilted her head, curiosity flickering across her expression.

"Here we go. Cue the script."

Then she smiled.

"Hey," she called, voice light but steady. "Didn't expect anyone solo this deep. Or were you just waiting for dramatic lighting to make an entrance?"

"Eh?" Kier let a dumb sound escape his mouth from her reaction.

"That's…new. Again." He thought, digging his boots into the ground to bring himself back together.

"I guess I should talk to her. Besides, I don't think I can just walk away at this point."

Kier stepped forward slowly, half-hidden in the shifting glow. He took a deep breath before responding.

"…No. You just caught me off guard."

She raised a brow. "Because I talked, or because I'm here?"

Kier gave a small shrug. "You'd be the first person who made me stop just by walking."

That actually startled her. She blinked, lips parting slightly before she gave a confident half-laugh.

"Wow. A compliment and a mysterious intro? You planning to vanish in a puff of smoke next?"

Kier smirked faintly. "Only if it'll impress the spirits."

The frost one behind her twitched. Not with fear, just…interest. Kier glanced at it.

"Intermediate Frost spirit huh? That one seems to like you."

"She should. I named her after my sister's least favorite drink."

Kier gave a short, real laugh.

She stepped a little closer, eyes studying him now. "You're not like the others I've seen. You move differently, and your whole aesthetic is just…how do I put it? Interesting?"

Kier's smile faded slightly. "I guess that's one way to put it."

A beat passed.

Then, quieter: "What's your name?"

"Sierra," she replied, voice softening. "And you?"

He paused. Hesitated.

"…Kier."

She didn't flinch. Didn't shift. She just nodded once.

"Well, Kier… it's good to meet someone who actually watches where they're going. Most of the boys I've been stuck with today walk like the floor's apologizing to them."

He raised an eyebrow, amused. "Lucky them. You're pretty easy to walk toward."

There was a moment of silence.

Then she looked away, just briefly, like she didn't quite know how to hold that compliment.

"Thanks," she said, almost under her breath. "That's… different."

Kier nodded. "Yeah. It's different for me too."

Sierra tilted her head again, studying him with more focus now. "Your hair's insane, you know that? All white and red at the ends. It's like if winter was dipped in fire."

He blinked, caught off guard. "…Thanks?"

She grinned. "Not teasing. Just saying. And those eyes—" she leaned forward a little, as if trying to confirm what she was seeing "—they're silver, but they have veins of blue in them, like frost crawling across a mirror. That real?"

"Unfortunately," Kier muttered.

"That's not unfortunate," she said. "That's cool. Kinda haunting, but… cool."

Kier gave a low laugh. "First time someone's said that without flinching."

"Well, I don't flinch easy," she said as she puffed out her chest trying to look tough, then paused, voice dipping a little lower. "Besides, you don't seem like someone who asked to be stared at. But I'm looking anyway."

Kier was just about to get a light quip ready as he was warming up to this girl. The only girl, or person for that matter, to genuinely talk to him like he wasn't a demon sent from hell.

But then—

"Sierra. Get back. Now."

A tall boy stormed forward, grabbing her arm. Two others stepped in beside him, shifting into tighter formation.

"That's Kier Veyne," one hissed. "The demon arts user."

Sierra turned back toward Kier. Her gaze lingered, searching. Her spirits shifted uneasily behind her.

"…Is that true?" she asked.

Kier didn't move. But he let out a soft sigh that sounded more exhausted then he intended.

"Yeah," he said softly. "But I haven't drawn blood today. If that makes a difference."

"Blood users are dangerous," another boy snapped. "Cursed."

Kier kept his voice level and raised his hands defensively. "She came to me. I didn't ask her to."

"You shouldn't be near any of us."

The girl with the shield stepped up. "She didn't know. She wouldn't have talked to you if she had."

Kier's eyes went back to Sierra.

Her expression hadn't twisted into fear. Just… confusion. Caution.

But that smile from before was gone.

The warmth in her eyes, too.

He exhaled slowly and nodded once.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "For talking to me. For the compliment. For not looking away… at first."

He adjusted his scarf onto his nose like he was trying to hide his expression and stepped back into the drifting red haze.

Kier vanished, leaving only faint bootprints and a trail of red pollen drifting in the air.

Sierra stood still.

The others didn't.

The tall boy at her side—Kerin, probably already spinning some heroic fantasy in his head—stepped in front of her again, jaw tight. "You okay?"

She didn't answer right away. Her frost spirit hovered at her shoulder, unusually still. The light spirit dimmed slightly, its glow less sure than before.

Kerin reached for her arm again.

She pulled it free—not harsh, but deliberate.

"I'm fine."

"That was Kier Veyne," said the girl with the shield. "You've heard what he's done. The Red Moon incident. The blood flares. He's a walking curse."

Sierra looked toward the haze.

"I didn't see a curse," she murmured, half-whispering.

"What?"

She turned back, blinking slowly, like pulling herself out of thought. "Nothing. Just… he didn't feel like the stories made him sound.""Stories don't lie," the other boy snapped sharply—Marco, voice clipped and hard as iron. He stood rigid, arms folded with military stiffness. "You saw his eyes. You felt the pressure coming off him. That wasn't normal."

"No," Sierra agreed quietly. "But neither was the way he talked."

They all stared at her like she'd said something dangerous. Like the mere act of saying it out loud had cracked some unspoken rule.

The girl with the shield stepped closer. "You didn't know who he was."

"I didn't," she admitted. "And I still don't. But for a moment, he didn't seem… wrong."

Her frost spirit drifted forward slightly, turning to glance once more into the ember haze Kier had walked into.

Her light spirit hovered lower, flickering in rhythm with her breath. 

Kerin scoffed, too loud. He stepped closer again, running a hand through his hair in what was clearly meant to look casual. "You don't actually trust him, do you?" He shot a quick glance sideways, eyes flicking to her face and then awkwardly away.

Sierra crossed her arms, not defensive, just closed off.

"I don't trust anyone I've known less than ten minutes," she said. "But I also don't write someone off because of some rumors."

Her spirits pulsed again, first calm, then uncertain. Not afraid. Just… watching her now.

No one else spoke.

In the distance, another emberbud popped. A small burst of red light, here and gone.

The silence stretched.

Then Sierra broke it, almost absentmindedly:

"He complimented me."

There was a beat of stunned quiet.

Levi—who'd been fidgeting nervously with the hilt of his daggers—startled, his voice soft and awkward: "…A-and?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Just… felt like the first one in weeks that wasn't trying to impress me. He just said it. Like it might be the only chance he'd ever get."

Kerin's jaw clenched. "Don't tell me your falling for that thing."

"I'm not," she replied. "I'm just… thinking."

She turned toward the path again, not looking at any of them.

Her frost spirit followed a few paces behind. Her light spirit lingered a second longer, flickering once, then followed too.

Sierra walked in silence.

Ash shifted beneath her boots, soft and warm like falling embers.

The others trailed behind, their voices fading. For once, no one tried to fill the quiet.

"He just… said it. Like it wasn't rehearsed. Like he didn't think he'd get to say anything nice again. Or maybe like he didn't think he'd be allowed to."

She glanced down at her hands. Still steady. No tremble. No unease.

He didn't feel wrong. Not the way people made it sound.

"He moved like someone used to watching his own shadow. Like someone who didn't take trust lightly—who didn't give it lightly, either."

She heard a few small explosions in the distance, and guessed who they were from.

"And his eyes…they weren't hollow. They weren't cold. They looked like someone trying really hard not to be seen… and really hoping someone would anyway. He almost looked like me…back then…"

Sierra let out a slow breath, brushing a few loose strands of blue-silver hair from her face as the red haze thickened ahead.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"Only if it'll impress the spirits," she echoed silently.

It shouldn't have made her laugh. But it did.

Just a little.

She didn't know what she was supposed to feel about him.

But she knew how she did feel.

Curious.

And maybe, if they crossed paths again…

She wouldn't look away. Not this time.

Because Sierra Skye was just too curious for her own good.