Finality

Lior's fingers twitched by his side. His feet moved on their own, trailing after the woman like a ghost tethered to something it didn't understand.

He didn't know why.

It wasn't because she was an easy mark—he had already passed up the opportunity to take from her.

It wasn't because she was special—just another stranger in the shifting crowds of Blackmire.

But there was something about her.

Something about the way she walked, slow and aimless, like she had nowhere to go but forward. Something about the way the market swallowed her without touching her, like the filth of the world couldn't cling to someone who had already sunk too deep.

So he followed.

She passed the stalls of rotting fruit, of dried fish covered in flies. Past the children weaving between legs, the men haggling over weights of grain. Past the gamblers and the beggars and the thieves.

To the gates.

Lior hesitated.

Was she leaving?

But she didn't step past them.

She turned.

And he followed.

The world grew quieter the farther they walked. The distant noise of the market faded, swallowed by the wind, by the hush of this place, by the graveyard.

Lior stopped at the edge of it.

The woman did not.

She walked forward, towards a lone fire still burning among the ashes.

His throat went dry.

Death.

That was all he could feel here.

The cemetery smelled of it, of burnt cloth, burnt flesh, burnt memory. He had never been to a burning before, but he knew how it went.

The Lord of Truth's followers believed in the cleansing fire.

The final rite. Ash to the wind.

But as Lior stood there, staring at the remains of whatever person had been burned, all he could think of was the decay that came before it.

The woman, the ghost of a woman, stood before the fire.

There was no one else.

No mourners.

No priests.

Only the woman, moving toward the very end of the field—where a fire burned.

A quiet, steady crackling filled the silence. The flames licked at something dark, something indistinct, and for a moment, he couldn't quite process what he was looking at.

Then—

Realization hit him like a weight to the chest.

His stomach turned.

The fire was eating it.

Flesh.

Bone.

A body.

Burning.

Lior felt something crawl up his spine.

He had never seen a dead person before. Not with his own eyes.

He had heard of it. Heard the way people whispered about someone passing. Heard the way Cass spat out the word killed. Heard the stories from other kids in the market, how so-and-so was found with a knife in his back, how Old Man Harvin never woke up, how the rats got to the body before the guards did.

But hearing about death wasn't the same as seeing it.

And this—

This wasn't just death.

This was erasure.

The fire was turning them into nothing.

No body to bury. No face to remember.

Just ash.

Just gone.

Lior's hands clenched. His heart hammered against his ribs.

This was the first time he truly understood what it meant to end.

To be here one moment, and then—

Nothing.

Not even a corpse left behind.

Not even something for the world to forget.

Because the world wouldn't forget them.

It would act as if they had never been here at all.

His breath came shallow and uneven, but the woman didn't move. She stood before the fire, eyes hollow, watching it take the last of whatever had once been hers.

She didn't cry.

Didn't speak.

She just watched.

And for the first time in his life, Lior felt fear unlike anything he had ever known.

Not the fear of getting caught.

Not the fear of being chased, of being hurt, of starving.

But the fear of being erased.

Of disappearing.

Of someday being nothing but a pile of ash in the wind, with no one left to know he had ever existed.

Then—

Her voice cut through the silence.

Soft. Empty.

"Why didn't you steal?"

She didn't turn to look at him.

Didn't acknowledge him, except for those four words.

A single tear traced down her cheek.

Lior couldn't answer.

Because he didn't know.

The fire crackled, its glow casting flickering shadows across the hollow planes of the woman's face. The flames hissed as they devoured the last remnants of someone who had once walked this world, laughed, cried, breathed. Someone who had once been.

And now—

Now, they were nothing.

Just heat and smoke and rising embers.

Lior swallowed, his throat dry.

He didn't know how to answer. He didn't even know if there was an answer.

For the first time in his life, his hands had hesitated. He had felt the weight of her coin pouch in his palm, felt the familiar heat of a momentary victory, the knowledge that he was about to take something for himself, something he needed.

And yet—

He had let go.

Because he had seen her eyes.

And now, standing here, watching her watch the fire, Lior understood what had been in them.

Emptiness.

No fear. No grief.

Just the hollow stare of someone who had already lost everything that could be taken from them.

And what was a handful of coins to someone like that?

He shifted where he stood, his fingers twitching uselessly by his sides.

"I didn't want to," he said finally. The words felt weak, meaningless.

The woman exhaled through her nose, a slow, tired breath.

"Then you'll starve."

Lior clenched his jaw.

"I won't starve," he said.

A pause. Then, a dry chuckle—so soft it barely existed.

"You sound sure."

He was.

Wasn't he?

Lior swallowed, the taste of ash thick in the air. "I know how to survive."

Another silence stretched between them, long and unbearable.

Then, she spoke again.

"Did they?"

Lior frowned.

The fire crackled, louder than before.

She still wasn't looking at him.

"Did they know how to survive?" she asked again, her voice flat, empty. "The people burning in front of you."

A shiver ran down his spine.

He had no answer for that.

Because he knew.

He knew that whoever they were, whatever their life had been before this, they hadn't survived.

They had lost.

And now, they were gone.

The woman took a step forward, closer to the flames. The heat licked at her, but she didn't flinch.

"They weren't weak," she murmured, almost to herself. "They weren't fools. They fought. They bled. They did everything they could."

Her voice wavered, just barely.

Lior felt like a child again, standing too close to something he wasn't meant to see.

"But it didn't matter," she continued, softer now. "Because the world doesn't care."

The flames swayed, rising higher, as if they agreed.

Lior's stomach twisted.

He had always known the world was cruel. He had seen it in the hunger lining his mother's face, in the exhaustion darkening his father's eyes, in the bruises on Cass's knuckles.

But there was something different about this.

This wasn't just cruelty.

This was finality.

"Do you believe in the Lord of Truth?" he asked before he could stop himself.

The woman let out a breath that might have been a laugh.

"Do you?"

Lior hesitated.

Did he?

He had seen the priests. The prayers. The way people whispered the name like it could save them from their own lives.

But when had the Lord of Truth ever answered?

He didn't know.

He had never asked for anything.

And even if he had—

What god would listen to someone like him?

So he didn't answer.

The woman didn't push.

She just stood there, watching the fire as it ate the last of the body.

The air smelled of smoke and charred flesh.

Lior felt sick.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the woman shifted.

Her body sagged—just slightly, just enough for him to see the exhaustion weighing her down.

Then, she turned.

Her gaze met his for the first time.

Her eyes were dark, rimmed in shadows.

They had been hollow before.

Now, they were simply tired.

Tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.

She looked at him for a long moment.

Then, she walked past him.

She didn't say anything else.

Didn't tell him to leave.

Didn't tell him to stay.

She simply left.

Lior stayed where he was.

The fire crackled, and the wind picked up, carrying the scent of burning ash into the sky.

For the first time, he wondered if this was what waited for him, too.

If one day, he would end like this.

Burned away.

Forgotten.

Gone.

He shivered.

And for a long, long time—

He didn't move.

***

Raquin leaned back against the rough wooden bench, stretching his arms along the top rail as he watched the boy across from him.

The old well beside them stood crooked, its stones chipped and darkened by age, the rope hanging limp from its rusted pulley. The wooden frame creaked in the lazy breeze, an old thing that should've collapsed years ago but somehow still stood—much like everything else in Blackmire.

Around them, the market buzzed in its usual rhythm, though this far from the main stalls, it was more subdued. The scent of dried fish and damp wood mixed with the acrid tang of burning coal from a nearby smithy. A group of boys ran barefoot past them, their laughter sharp and quick as they weaved through the crowd, slipping unseen between workers and merchants who had long since learned to ignore anything that didn't directly concern them.

A dog lay curled in the dust near Raquin's feet, its ribs pressing against patchy fur, watching the street with the same tired wariness of every creature in this city.

And across from him, sitting stiff and quiet, was Lior.

Raquin let his gaze settle on the kid, his head tilting just slightly.

Thin but not fragile. Dirty but not weak.

He'd seen plenty of street rats in his life. Some survived. Most didn't.

And yet, this one...

This one had something else.

A stillness that wasn't quite fear, a sharpness in his eyes that Raquin had only ever seen in men twice his age.

Even now, the boy wasn't fidgeting. Wasn't speaking. Wasn't doing anything, really.

Just sitting there, watching him with that same quiet intensity, like he was trying to figure him out.

Interesting.

Raquin ran a thumb over his knuckles, glancing up at the rooftops, where crows perched in clusters along the wooden beams, heads cocked like they were listening. A few traders sat under faded awnings, counting coin or arguing over weights. The city never stopped moving, never stopped breathing.

He looked back at the kid.

"So," he drawled, "did you sleep at all, or did you just come straight here?"

Lior blinked, his expression smooth, unreadable. "I slept."

"Mm." Raquin smirked, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You sure? Because you look like someone's been feeding you nightmares all night."

No reaction. No shift in his face, no nervous twitch of his hands.

Raquin liked that.

"You're quieter than I expected," he continued, watching Lior's expression closely. "Most kids your age would've been running their mouths by now. Talking big about how they're gonna take over the city, get rich, never go hungry again." He let out a slow, amused breath. "You? You're just watching me."

Lior met his gaze, unblinking. "You're interesting."

Raquin laughed. "Am I, now?"

The boy gave a small shrug. "You don't talk the way most people here do."

"Sharp ears," Raquin mused. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a thin, worn coin, rolling it between his fingers. "You always pay attention like that?"

Lior hesitated, just for a second. "I have to."

Raquin's smirk faded slightly.

Ain't that the truth?

He let the silence stretch between them, watching the way Lior's fingers twitched against the edge of the bench, the way his gaze flickered toward the movement of the coin.

He wasn't greedy. But he was interested.

Good.

Raquin flicked the coin up, caught it, then pocketed it again.

"All right, kid." He leaned back again, stretching his legs. "You impressed me yesterday. Not an easy thing to do."

Lior stayed quiet, waiting.

Raquin grinned.

"You wanted an opportunity?" His fingers tapped against the wood. "Well, I've got one for you."

Lior's head tilted slightly, watching him carefully.

Raquin let the moment linger, then leaned in, voice lowering just enough to make the boy listen harder.

"I'm going to introduce you to that man," he said.

Something flickered in Lior's expression.

Doubt? Interest? A mix of both?

Raquin grinned wider.

"You up for that, kid?"