chapter 6 The cost of fire

The Ligurian coastline now pulsed with fire and smoke, the glow reflecting off the restless waves as though the sea itself had caught alight. The air was thick with the acrid tang of burning wood and gunpowder, a suffocating reminder of the destruction we'd wrought. Yet, despite the chaos, the cold weight of unease settled in my chest.

Darius stood at the edge of the cliff, his silhouette sharp against the inferno below. He looked like a man entirely at ease with the sight of devastation, but his stillness betrayed something deeper—calculation, perhaps, or a satisfaction he wouldn't allow himself to show openly.

I pushed myself to my feet, brushing ash from my face. "Don't look so pleased with yourself," I said, forcing steadiness into my voice. "This isn't a victory—it's a message."

"And a message is sometimes the sharpest weapon," Darius replied, his tone measured. "Do you think they'll underestimate us after this?"

"They won't need to. They'll hunt us now," I shot back, gesturing toward the burning cove. "You think the Grand Master will let this go unanswered? We've made ourselves targets."

He turned to look at me then, a glimmer of something dangerous in his gaze. "We were always targets, Elara. We've just reminded them why they fear us."

His words hung heavy between us, and for a moment, the only sound was the distant crackle of fire below. I hated that he was right. For all our careful planning, this attack would ripple far beyond what either of us could predict. The Templars didn't take such losses lightly. Retaliation was inevitable.

"Come on," Darius said, already turning away from the cliffs. "We need to move before their reinforcements arrive."

I hesitated, casting one last glance at the cove. The ships, once symbols of the Templar's power and reach, were now nothing more than charred ruins. The warehouses had collapsed into smoking rubble, their contents obliterated. I wanted to take pride in what we'd accomplished, to revel in this blow against our enemy, but instead, a strange hollowness gnawed at me.

I hurried after Darius, picking my way carefully over the rocky terrain. The path leading away from the cliffs was narrow and treacherous, winding between jagged outcroppings of stone. The mist had begun to thin, swept away by the heat from the fires, and the night seemed darker without its veil. Each shadow felt sharper, more watchful, as though the Templars were already on our trail.

"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice low.

"There's an old village further inland. Abandoned, but the ruins make for a good hiding place." Darius glanced back at me, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Unless you'd prefer we camp here and wait for the Grand Master's men?"

I glared at him but didn't rise to the bait. Instead, I focused on the path ahead, my mind turning over what had just happened. This alliance—if I could even call it that—was fragile. Darius was too smooth, too confident. A man like him was dangerous, not just because of his skills but because he never showed his hand. I couldn't shake the feeling that he was always three steps ahead, pulling strings I couldn't see.

The ground leveled out as we moved deeper into the hills, the sound of the sea slowly fading behind us. Ahead, the faint outline of crumbling buildings emerged from the darkness—an old stone church, the skeleton of a bell tower, cottages reclaimed by vines and moss. The village must have been abandoned for decades, left to rot and forgotten by time.

"We'll rest here," Darius said, stepping into the shadow of the bell tower. He knelt and began rummaging through the satchel at his side, pulling out a small tinderbox. "There's no light from the fires here. We'll be safe enough for the night."

Safe. The word felt hollow after what we'd just done.

I dropped onto a low stone wall, my muscles aching with exhaustion. My hands were still stained with soot and blood, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop hearing the explosion—the way it had roared through the cove, splintering wood and tearing through the silence. It was a sound that would haunt me.

Darius struck flint to steel, coaxing a small flame to life. He looked oddly peaceful in that moment, the firelight dancing across his sharp features. It unnerved me.

"You've done this before," I said finally. "Haven't you?"

He paused, his hands stilling for just a fraction of a second before he looked up at me. "What makes you say that?"

"The way you moved tonight. The way you planned the attack, like it was a script you'd memorized." I watched him closely, searching his expression for cracks. "You've burned Templar outposts before."

Darius didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back against the base of the bell tower, staring into the fire. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more distant. "You've seen the Grand Master's ambitions. He doesn't want control of cities or kingdoms—he wants control of the world. Every warship, every weapon stockpile, every grain of powder fuels his vision."

"And you?" I asked softly. "What fuels you?"

His eyes met mine across the fire, steady and unreadable. "Let's just say I've seen what happens when men like him get what they want."

There was a weight to his words that unsettled me, a hint of something raw beneath the surface. For all his arrogance and sharp wit, Darius was hiding scars—ones I doubted I'd ever see. I wanted to press him further, to demand answers, but I stopped myself. He wouldn't tell me, not yet.

Instead, I looked back toward the distant horizon, where the faint glow of the burning cove still lingered. Whatever darkness we'd unleashed tonight, it wasn't over. The Templars would come for us, sooner rather than later.

I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders, the chill of the night settling into my bones. "We're running out of time," I said quietly.

Darius nodded, his gaze fixed on the fire. "Then we'll have to move faster."

And in that moment, I knew our uneasy alliance wouldn't hold forever.