The fire crackled low, barely a flame, more a red breath inside a ring of stones. Night hung heavy around them, dimming the edges of the clearing. The smell of wet bark and cold earth clung to the air. Aros sat closest to the fire, blanket wrapped over his shoulders, his back propped against his pack. He looked pale, but awake, awake enough that no one had dared suggest he lie down again.

  Seren Dal sat opposite him, sharpening a knife with slow, deliberate strokes. Legs sprawled beside him, leaning back on his elbows, long legs stretched so far they nearly touched the fire. Digiera crouched to the side, balancing on a fallen log, chin resting on her knuckles, her eyes narrowing and widening by turns as if waiting for Gemma’s words to unravel something she already suspected.

  Gemma sat between Legs and Digiera, knees drawn up, hands wrapped around her shins. The shadows from the fire wavered over her face, making her look younger than she was. More frightened. More exhausted.

  Aros kept his voice soft. “Tell us. Start at the beginning. What happened after you left?”

  Gemma glanced at him, and for a moment she looked exactly like the girl he’d first seen years ago on the outskirts of Dromo: wary, thin, hiding something inside her chest that felt too big for her bones.

  She took a breath.

  “It was… quiet at first,” she said. “Too quiet. I walked maybe a mile, maybe more, I don’t remember. Everything inside me was loud. I didn’t want to go, I didn’t want to stay. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  Her voice trembled. Digiera, unusually gentle, nudged her knee. “Just breathe, Snowy.”

  Gemma nodded, swallowing.

  “Jori found me before I found him. I thought I was looking for him, but he was already there, leaning against a tree like he knew exactly which path I’d take. He smiled and said, ‘Good. Saves us the trouble of searching.’”

  Legs muttered, “Creepy bastard.”

  Gemma almost smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes.

  “We walked for an hour,” Gemma said. “No talking. No sound except the branches under our feet. And the whole time, every step I took, I knew I had made a mistake. Not a little mistake… something big. Something that felt wrong everywhere. It was like my bones were screaming at me.”

  Aros clenched his jaw. Seren Dal’s sharpening slowed.

  Gemma went on, voice quiet, but steadying.

  “I was thinking about running. I didn’t know where, but anywhere away from him. And then, out of nowhere, Jori says: ‘Are you thinking about whether I’m going to kill you?’”

  Legs sat up straighter. “And what did you say?”

  “The truth,” Gemma said. “I said yes.”

  A silence settled over the group.

  Aros’s knuckles tightened over his blanket. Digiera exhaled slowly.

  “And he just… laughed,” Gemma said. “A small laugh. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then he said, ‘Don’t worry. I’ve never killed one of my own.’”

  Digiera scoffed. “Oh, comforting.”

  Gemma shook her head. “It didn’t feel comforting. It felt… wrong. Wrong because I didn’t know what he meant. Wrong because he talked like he knew me better than I know myself.”

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  Aros looked at her carefully. “What did you ask him?”

  “I asked him what he meant,” Gemma said. “I asked him who he thought I was.”

  “And?” Seren Dal asked.

  Gemma hesitated.

  “And he said that I didn’t remember anything. And that if I wanted answers, if I wanted my powers back, I needed to meet someone. Someone named Anxio.”

  The name hung in the air like a blade.

  Aros leaned forward. “Anxio. That name you kept saying when we found you. Is he the one who killed the caravan?”

  Gemma blinked. Her gaze unfocused.

  “Anxio… Anxio… Anxio…” she whispered, the word falling from her lips like something pulled out of her, not spoken.

  Her shoulders began to shake. Her breath hitched. Then her whole body jerked once, convulsing as if struck.

  Digiera lunged forward, grabbing her arms. “Snowy...Snowy, hey! Stop. Look at me. Look at me.”

  Gemma’s eyes rolled for a moment, then refocused with effort.

  She breathed hard, tears streaking her cheeks.

  Aros moved to rise, but pain folded him forward, and Seren Dal braced his arm across Aros’s back, holding him steady.

  “Calm,” Seren murmured. “You’re not healed enough to stand.”

  Aros gritted his teeth, but stayed down.

  Gemma wiped her face with the back of her hand. Her lips trembled. “I don’t know what happens when I say his name. It feels like something pulls… inside me. Like something wants to open.”

  Digiera wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Then stop saying it. For now. We’re not in a hurry to meet some nightmare in human form.”

  Gemma leaned against her, still shaking.

  Aros watched her closely, a quiet storm building behind his eyes.

  “Gemma,” he said gently. “You don’t need to force yourself to remember everything tonight. We’ll have time. We’ll rest, get you warm, get me patched up, and then… then you can tell us what happened next.”

  Gemma looked at him. The firelight reflected in her eyes, but something exhausted lay behind them.

  “I don’t want to sleep,” she whispered. “Every time I close my eyes I see the caravan. I see Jori. I see...”

  Her voice cracked.

  Aros inhaled slowly. “You’re safe with us.”

  “I don’t feel safe,” Gemma said. “Not without my powers. Not after what happened.”

  “None of us are really safe,” Digiera said. “But we make do. That’s what rebel scum like us do best.”

  Seren Dal snorted. “She’s right. Safety is a luxury. But loyalty? That we can promise.”

  Gemma frowned faintly. “Why are you all being so kind to me? You barely know me.”

  Seren’s face softened into something almost fatherly. “You’re one of us. That’s enough.”

  Legs nodded. “And besides, you’re interesting.”

  Gemma blinked. “Interesting?”

  “Yeah,” he said brightly. “You survived traveling with a psychopath. That makes you, like, extremely interesting.”

  She almost laughed, a soft, wounded sound, but it was the first genuine expression she’d shown since the caravan.

  Aros steadied himself, shifting so the fire warmed his side. “We’ll continue this in Preta,” he said. “We’re close enough. Once we reach Hirias’s lands, we’ll regroup, get news, and figure out next steps.”

  Digiera shot him a look. “You’re pale as bone, Aros. You sure you can handle the walk?”

  “I’ll manage,” Aros said.

  Seren Dal objected. “You’re still bleeding.”

  Aros’s stare silenced him. “I walk.”

  Legs rose and began pouring water into a pot. “We’ll move when the fire dies down,” he said. “One hour. Enough for everyone to rest their legs and for Gemma to breathe.”

  Gemma hugged her knees again. The fire flickered in her eyes.

  Aros watched her carefully.

  “Gemma,” he said softly. “We’ll hear the rest when you’re ready.”

  She didn’t answer at first. Then, slowly, she nodded.

  “I’ll tell you everything,” she whispered. “But I need… I need a moment to stop shaking.”

  Digiera tightened her hold. “We’ve got you.”

  The wind shifted, rustling through the leaves overhead.The fire popped once, sending a spark drifting upward until it vanished into the dark.

  None of them spoke after that.

  The silence wasn’t empty.It was heavy, like a held breath before a storm.

  And every one of them knew the same thing:

  Whatever Gemma had seen, Whatever she had followed Jori into, Whatever Anxio was...

  It was coming for them next.

  And nothing in Preta, in Sbelto, or in Dromo would ever be the same.