What Time Doesn't Ask For

The alley reeked of blood and soot. Silas pressed his back against the crumbling brick wall, one hand clutching the hilt of his blade, the other held out to steady Cassian behind him.

"We're not going to find him if we die first," Silas muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

Cassian didn't respond. His jaw was tight, knuckles pale as he gripped his own weapon, eyes constantly darting through the darkness. "Ophel," he whispered. The name of his little sister was echoing through his head.

She had been at the estate when the city was attacked. He had left her with the house guard.

Silas moved first, ducking low and fast across the narrow gap between buildings. Cassian followed, his mind solely on going home for his little sister, Ophelia. They'd cut through the merchant district, avoiding the main roads.

When they reached the remnants of the Veyne estate, Cassian froze.

It wasn't as destroyed as the other buildings surrouding. But the windows were broken, blood could be seen on the white walls and no guards are visible.

"Ophel!" Cassian hissed, ignoring Silas's attempt to pull him back.

He rushed through the broken entryway, the foyer dimly lit by the firelight of a nearby building. There was movement—shuffling—inside the sitting room. Cassian pushed through without thinking.

"Cass!" Silas called out.

Three enemy soldiers turned at the sound of the crashing door, two holding drawn blades, the third looming over a girl on the ground.

Ophelia. Her dress was torn, hair matted with dust, eyes wide with terror.

"Step away from her," Cassian growled, blade already swinging.

One of the enemy soldiers thrust their blade toward Cassian.

Cassian ducked with a sidestep to avoid the blade and closed the distance with one long dash. His dagger slid upward in a sharp arc, cutting clean across the soldier's exposed throat. The man crumpled as he realized his death.

Three more surrounded him.

The second soldier, a burly figure with an axe, let out a growl. His body pulsed with reinforcement magic. He raised his axe overhead with monstrous force and brought it down like a hammer meant to split stone.

Cassian thought of blocking the attack but he darted aside just as the axe shattered the ground beside him in a violent quake. Dust flew. Cassian spun around the man's back and rammed his sword deep into his kidney. The axe-wielder bellowed in pain, swinging wildly. Cassian ducked again, this time sweeping the man's legs with a low kick. He toppled, and Cassian didn't hesitate—he drove his dagger straight into the man's heart.

The third came fast.

Magic crackled like lightning around his feet—his body reinforced for speed. The spear he carried blurred in his hands as he closed the distance in an instant, the tip already lunging toward Cassian's chest.

Cassian blocked once, but the second strike grazed his shoulder before he could fully recover. Blood sprayed from the shallow cut.

The enemy smirked and lunged again, but Cassian parried, stepped into the strike, and shoulder-bashed the spearman, knocking him off-balance. In the same motion, Cassian brought his blade upward—but the man recovered quicker than expected, twisting his spear in a whip-like arc toward Cassian's head.

A blast of water slammed into the space between them.

Cassian was flung backward, rolling twice before he steadied himself. A fourth soldier had joined the fight, both hands glowing a pale blue—elemental magic.

"Long-range support," Cassian growled under his breath.

The water mage didn't wait—she conjured another massive orb of water, swirling like a miniature tide, and hurled it toward Cassian.

But before it could land, a wall of fire erupted in mid-air, colliding with the water ball. Steam hissed violently as the two forces clashed, evaporating in a hiss of fog.

Silas stood just behind Cassian, palm extended, fire dancing along his fingertips. His cloak fluttered behind him from the force of the clash.

"I'm limited." he muttered.

The fire around Silas pulsed once—then split into a dozen searing fireballs, each burning bright like miniature suns.

He flicked his wrist.

The fireballs screamed through the air, weaving past Cassian and slamming into the water mage. The first two struck his barrier. The third shattered it. The rest engulfed him in a pillar of flame.

Silas exhaled slowly as his gaze met Cassian's.

Cassian wiped the blood from his shoulder and nodded.

"Cass," a voice whimpered.

He looked down. Ophelia had crawled toward him, hands shaking as she cried.

"I'm here," he breathed, pulling her into his arms. "I've got you, Ophel."

Silas kept watch, his sharp gaze scanning the street. "We need to move. Now."

Cassian released Ophelia from his arms. "Can you walk?"

Ophelia nodded and got up to her feet as she wiped the tears on her face

They hadn't gone far before Silas halted, his hand lifting for silence. A soft rustling from behind a collapsed bakery made him draw his blade again—but then a familiar voice reached them.

"Don't!" Lilian Hale stepped out of the shadow, her expression fierce. "It's me."

Cassian blinked. "Lilian? What—"

Behind her, a frail woman clung to her arm, white cloth wrapped over her eyes. Her steps were careful, but she moved with a strange dignity despite her vulnerability.

"Mother?" Silas said, stunned.

The woman tilted her head toward his voice, lips parting in a slow, relieved smile. "Silas…"

Lilian nodded once. "We need to go. Now. There's a safehouse near the eastern ridge. If we hurry, we might make it before sunrise."

Ophelia changed into a dirty but undamaged clothes.

The group moved swiftly under the veil of night, their footsteps light against the shattered stone roads. The wind carried the acrid scent of ash and smoldering wood, mingled with the bitter stench of blood.

Cassian walked beside Ophelia, hand hovering protectively near her back. Lilian led them, her eyes sharp despite the exhaustion clinging to her frame. Silas stayed near his mother, offering quiet guidance whenever she faltered.

They slipped through back alleys and broken corridors, the city's ruins stretching like a graveyard around them. The moon hung low, half-veiled by smoke, casting everything in ghostly silver.

"We're close," Lilian whispered over her shoulder. "Once we pass the ridge, we'll be within view of the safehouse."

Silas glanced upward. "Too open out here."

They reached the edge of the eastern ridge—a collapsed wall offered a narrow path into a small clearing just below the remnants of a bell tower. From there, they'd need to sprint across a short stretch of open street to reach the hideout tucked beneath the cliff face.

"Quick," Lilian said. "One at a time. I'll go first."

She darted across, her figure slipping like a shadow between broken carts and crumbled bricks. Cassian followed next, guiding Ophelia with a steady grip. Silas stayed behind with his mother, waiting for their moment to move.

But as the wind shifted, Silas froze.

A sharp cry echoed faintly in the distance—followed by movement atop the bell tower ruins.

Cassian heard it too. His head snapped up. "Wait."

Figures.

Silhouettes.

A patrol unit, armed and scanning the streets below.

Silas swore under his breath. "They're watching the road."

They crouched lower, pressing themselves into the shadows. Lilian ushered Ophelia behind a broken pillar, her hand reaching for the dagger at her hip. Cassian positioned himself in front of them, blade drawn.

"Too many to fight head-on," he muttered.

Silas's fingers ignited with faint embers, but he didn't attack. Not yet.

One of the soldiers leaned forward, squinting down at the street where they'd just moved. "I saw something move down there."

Another soldier joined him. "Go tell the captain. Might be survivors."

Silas tensed. "They saw us."

Cassian clenched his jaw. "We can't run in this open ground."

But Lilian's eyes flicked toward a crumbled building nearby. "We draw them away."

"What?"

"I'll lead a diversion through the ruins. I know this part of the city." She met Silas's eyes. "You take them to the safehouse."

Silas looked like he wanted to argue—but his mother's hand found his.

"Go," she said gently. "Let her."

He gave a reluctant nod.

Lilian moved fast with her body reinforced—hurling a stone across the street before darting the opposite way, her silhouette disappearing into the narrow gap between two ruins.

Shouts followed.

The patrol broke formation, several soldiers rushing in pursuit.

Cassian exhaled, then motioned. "Now. Move."

They crossed quickly, silent as ghosts. No alarms rang. No more shouts followed.

Finally, they ducked into the safehouse entrance—a narrow passage masked by vines and rubble—and slipped down into the cool, earthen interior.

It was quiet. Safe, for now.

Silas helped his mother settle onto a cot, his fire dimming to nothing.

Cassian leaned against the wall, his arm still bleeding but his eyes clear.

Ophelia hadn't let go of his hand since they entered.

But Lilian hadn't returned.

Minutes passed. The silence stretched thin.

Then—

A sharp whistle cut through the air outside. Short. Shrill. Echoing like a blade drawn in the dark.

Cassian's head snapped up. Silas was already moving, rising from his mother's side, steps near soundless as he approached the entrance.

They crouched low behind the edge of the collapsed doorway, peering out into the ruined street.

Figures moved across the ridge above. Soldiers. At least four. One pointed, his voice sharp.

"There! One of them!"

Cassian followed the direction of his hand—

And his heart clenched.

Lilian.

She darted across the broken road, her cloak catching the moonlight just long enough for them to recognize her. But the soldiers weren't guessing anymore. They were sure.

"Should we report it?" one of the soldiers barked.

"Already sent the signal," came the reply.

A red flare streaked into the sky—piercing the night like a bleeding wound.

Cassian swore under his breath.

"They saw her," Silas muttered. "She drew them on purpose."

"She knew they'd see her," Cassian said, voice tight.

Then, a beat of silence. Silas' gaze cut toward the eastern edge of the ruins.

Footsteps. Two sets. Rapid but controlled.

Then a flicker of movement.

Not enemy soldiers.

Not more of the patrol.

Cassian stepped forward, stunned.

"Wait..."

From the shadows emerged two figures, moving in perfect sync—battle-worn, bloodied.

Julian. And Rowan Renhart.

Julian skidded to a stop as soon as he spotted them, his eyes scanning the group like he couldn't quite believe it. His gaze landed on Ophelia—then on Cassian. His breath hitched.

"Cassian?" Julian said, his voice hoarse.

Cassian didn't say anything at first. He just stared—then strode forward and pulled Julian into a brief, firm embrace.

"About damn time," he muttered.

Rowan exhaled in relief, a tired grin breaking across his face. "You're alive. You're all alive."

Ophelia ran to Julian next, crashing into his arms.

Julian smiled weakly. "Good to see you too, Ophel."

Silas stepped forward then, eyes flicking from Julian to Rowan.

"You came from the western side," he said.

"Through the old canal route," Rowan replied. "It's bad there. Patrols everywhere. We were nearly caught twice."

Cassian's eyes flicked back toward the ridge.

"We can't stay long. Lilian drew their attention, but it won't buy us much time. Once they don't find anyone there, they'll sweep the ruins."

Silas nodded. "Then we—"

"Lilian's here?" Julian cut off Silas with a burst of emotion.

"Until a moment ago, yes. She ran off to buy us time to run, I'm sorry, Julian, we shouldn't have let her leave alone." Cassian said, unable to meet Julian's gaze.

"Nah, don't be. Her going off alone might've been better." Julian replied, his hand on Cassian's shoulder.

"What do you m—"

"Talk later, we're running out of time," Silas said, his expression stern as he crouched to let his mother climb onto his back. He adjusted her weight carefully, then stood. "Let's go deeper into the tunnel."

Julian stepped forward, voice steady but quiet. "Let me carry her."

Silas glanced back, brows knitting. "Why?"

"I'm the least useful in a fight," Julian said bluntly. "Your fire's better for lighting the way—and we might need it fast."

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Silas gave a short nod and knelt, letting his mother slide gently down.

Julian moved to take his place, crouching low. "I've got you, ma'am," he said softly.

She reached for his shoulders with graceful, searching hands.

He lifted her with care, settling her onto his back. She was light, but the responsibility felt heavy.

Silas led the way, flames flickering to life in his palm.

"Alright," he said. "Let's move."

JULIAN HALE

I adjusted her weight on my back.

We hadn't spoken in nearly ten minutes. Only our footsteps echoed through the ruined tunnel, broken now and then by the distant drip of water from above. Silas led the group, his ever-burning flame hovering just above his open palm, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls.

Rowan walked just behind him, his eyes flicking toward his younger brother every so often—watchful, worried.

"You're bleeding," Rowan said quietly, nodding toward a gash on Silas' arm.

"I know," Silas replied, not slowing, not looking back. "I'm fine."

"You should let me—"

"I said I'm fine."

The words were sharp, maybe too cold.

Rowan fell silent, jaw tightening. He glanced at me, then at Ophelia walking beside Cassian, then back at Silas again, as if searching for something he couldn't name.

I could see him caring for his little brother.

But Silas didn't want it. Or maybe he didn't know how to accept it anymore.

The way Rowan watched him like someone guarding a flame from the wind. The way Silas ignored it like it didn't matter.

And maybe it didn't.

But maybe it did.

We walked on.

She stirred again, gently this time.

"…Rowan," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He blinked and stepped closer. "I'm here, Mom."

I felt her smile against my shoulder. "And Silas?"

Silas didn't respond, but he kept walking. His flame wavered slightly.

"He's leading us," Rowan said after a beat, his voice careful. "He's just… focused."

She chuckled—quiet, breathy. "He's always been like that. Even as a boy… always marching ahead, pretending not to care, but never letting anyone fall behind."

Silas said nothing.

"Mmm," she hummed. "And Rowan… always picking flowers and pretending they were swords."

Rowan gave a sheepish laugh. "You remember that?"

"I remember everything, my sweet. Even the things you think I didn't see."

The air changed.

Her body stiffened slightly on my back.

Her disability of being unable to see must be a sensitive topic.

Even Silas slowed, just a little.

"You two…" she murmured. "You only have each other. Don't waste time on silence."

Rowan looked back at us. "What are you talking about? You're here, too!"

Ms. Renhart gave a soft laugh, breathy and thin. "For now. But I've seen the way time moves in war. It doesn't ask for permission."

Silas's jaw tightened. He didn't turn around.

I kept my eyes on Silas's back, his firelight drawing long shadows that danced like ghosts on the tunnel walls. Everything felt too quiet—like the world was holding its breath.

Ms. Renhart's breathing was light against my neck. Not ragged. Not desperate. Just… soft. Fading, maybe. But calm. There was no fear in her, and somehow that unsettled me more than if there had been.

She didn't feel like a burden.

She felt like something we were already losing.

Cassian walked close to his sister, eyes flicking back every few steps like he was afraid she might disappear.

And Rowan still glancing at his brother. Silas, pretending not to notice.

He didn't need to.

Maybe that's the difference between us.

I'm still looking behind me. At what we've lost. At who's still here. But the more I do, the less it seems to matter.

Because every step forward takes something.

And I'm starting to think… the only way to keep going is to feel less.

Not nothing.

But less.

So I carry her. And I walk. And I don't think about the fact that someone will die soon.

I just keep moving.

Because if I stop—if I care too much—I won't be able to start again.

And I can't afford that.

None of us can.