chapter 8 The weight of shadows

The dawn was a muted affair. The sky, streaked with pale grays and faint purples, did little to ease the weight of the night's lingering tension. The ruins of the village felt colder in the early light, the stone walls more imposing, the silence more profound. I had hardly slept, my thoughts restless as I stared into the dying embers of the fire. The stillness only deepened the gnawing feeling in my chest—the feeling that, no matter what we did next, it would never be enough.

Darius was already up, moving silently through the remnants of the church, his eyes scanning the horizon as though he were searching for something—or someone. His silhouette against the rising light was as sharp as ever, his movements precise, calculated. I envied his calm, even as I resented it. It was easy to be composed when you didn't question every decision you made.

I pushed myself to my feet, brushing the damp earth from my cloak. My muscles ached from the tension of the previous night, but it wasn't physical pain that weighed me down. It was the certainty that the Templars would be on our heels soon, that the reprisal we had set into motion would come crashing down with all the force of the storm we had unwittingly unleashed.

"You're quiet," Darius remarked without turning, his voice as cold and distant as ever. "Too much thinking. It'll get you killed."

I ignored the jab, choosing instead to focus on the landscape before me. The rolling hills seemed peaceful, a stark contrast to the firestorm we had left behind. But I knew better than to trust the calm of the surface. Beneath it all, the world was moving, turning, and we were nothing more than pieces on a chessboard.

"I'm thinking about what comes next," I replied, my voice steady despite the churn of unease in my gut.

"That's the problem, Elara," he said, finally turning to face me, his expression unreadable. "You're thinking too far ahead. You'll lose yourself in the 'what ifs.' Focus on what's in front of you. Survive now. Think later."

"I'm tired of surviving," I muttered, but the words hung in the air between us like an accusation I couldn't take back.

For a moment, Darius said nothing. His eyes—those eyes, cold and calculating—seemed to weigh me, as if deciding whether or not my words were worth responding to. Finally, he sighed, the briefest hint of something human passing across his face.

"Then stop surviving," he said, his voice softer than I expected. "Fight for something."

Fight for something.

It was a simple enough idea, but hearing it from him—seeing how he lived by it, breathed it—made the weight of his words press down on me even harder. What did I want to fight for? Was it revenge against the Templars? Or was there something else buried beneath all the pain, beneath all the destruction?

"I don't know what I'm fighting for anymore," I admitted, the vulnerability surprising even myself.

Darius didn't respond right away. Instead, he straightened, his face hardening once again. "Then figure it out. Because you won't survive long without purpose."

I nodded, though I wasn't sure I believed him. It wasn't purpose that kept me moving. It was survival. And as much as I hated to admit it, I was starting to wonder if that was all it would ever be—fighting to stay alive until the next battle, the next fire, the next loss.

"We leave in an hour," Darius said abruptly, breaking the silence. "The Templars will have already begun their search. We'll need to move fast."

I nodded again, though I wasn't sure where we were going this time. The village was a dead end. The cove was a distant memory, a burning ruin that was only a small part of a larger game being played at a scale I still couldn't comprehend.

"Where do we go after this?" I asked as I packed my few belongings. "There are no more safe places."

Darius hesitated, his gaze briefly flicking to the horizon. "We go to the capital. We'll find allies there—men who understand the stakes of this war."

The capital. The heart of the Templar order.

I didn't need to ask why we would go there. I knew what he was thinking. The Grand Master was the one who pulled the strings, the one who orchestrated everything from the shadows. But to take him down—if that was what Darius truly wanted—it would take more than just us. We would need to infiltrate, to unravel the Templar's hold on the city itself. And that kind of mission would demand more than just fire and blood.

It would demand everything.

"Let's get moving, then," I said, determined not to let doubt overtake me. Not now. Not when we were this close.

Darius gave me a sharp nod and motioned for me to follow. The path ahead was uncertain, the future a blur of shadows and smoke. But there was no turning back now.

As we made our way toward the edge of the village, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched. Every rustle in the trees, every shifting shadow felt like it could be a Templar scout, closing in. The quiet dread built up in my chest, but Darius seemed unbothered, his focus fixed ahead.

"You're being paranoid," he said, as though reading my thoughts. "If they're close, we'll know."

I wasn't so sure. But I didn't argue. There were too many other things to worry about, too many dangers that we couldn't see yet.

As we walked, I found myself asking the same question again: What am I fighting for?

And the more I thought about it, the more the answer seemed to slip further from my grasp. Maybe it was vengeance, maybe it was survival. But if it was truly something else—something worth all the bloodshed—I would have to find it soon. Because if we kept walking down this path, there would be no turning back. The fire would consume everything in its wake.

And I wasn't sure if I'd still be standing when the flames died down.