2405 Tull 3, Kindreth

Rhys lost count of the number of times he blinked his eyes just to get rid of the white sheet over them. The street's silence and the heavy rusty scent hanging in the air wasn't doing them any favors. Where were they? Where were the other miners who got out? Why wasn't anyone pursuing them?

He stumbled forward, memories of the darkness of the caverns a far away wall in his mind. The light drowned out everything, making the passing fairies and carts more like black blobs against the haze. He tightened his grip around Reeca's wrist. She was the only thing keeping him anchored in the world. Without her, he was sure he would freeze in the middle of the road.

They had to keep moving. Ilphar wasn't the one who would let anything he owned be out of his sight. And in his sight, he owned he mines and the slaves he bought. Rhys gritted his teeth. He wasn't owned by anyone. He and his sister, they're free now. Finally.

Rhys shook his head, willing the haze to disappear. It became better after a while of walking aimlessly. The blobs started to take shape and emit somber shades of color. Everything was still a layer of clashing black and white but at least he could see the road now.

By the looks of it, they were in a well-trodden path through a clearing. The dust stirred by each footstep around him reminded him of the mines. He had to remind himself that the mines didn't have light and now he's almost going blind with it. The sound of wooden wheels slapping the earth screamed in his ears, as well as the hoofbeats, the silent, hissing chatter, and the rustle of leaves. Leaves meant undergrowth. Were they in some kind of forest?

A trade route?

Rhys cursed and rubbed his eye with the back of his hand. He pulled Reeca out of the way of a neighing dagrine, its shadow hulking over him in a terrifying mountain. Or maybe that's just because there was an actual mountain over them. Well, whatever. They needed to get out of the way of the main road. They needed the alleys. They needed some darkness.

Then, Reeca made a strangled cry behind him. He stumbled backwards as something heavy pulled on his arm. He turned just in time to catch his sister before she melted into the ground. "What's wrong?" he said. His voice carried all the way down the street due to the silence. Why was it so quiet, anyway?

Reeca didn't speak. Instead, she just slumped against his arm. What...?

Panic heavy in his throat, he ran his hands over his sister's limbs. She didn't like being touched, even as a child, but he had no choice. Half-blind, he reached for her leg. His fingers brushed something liquid running down her shin, past the torn shreds of her muddy trousers. He didn't need his full vision to recognize the dark crimson painting his fingertips when he brought his hand near his face. The stench was unmistakable too.

Blood.

"Gods above," Rhys gripped his sister below the arm and hauled her somewhere. Anywhere. No one bothered to help them and instead went on their regular ways. Was it a good thing? Shouting help would attract all kinds of attention, even those he didn't want and need. No. He needed to solve this on his own.

His back hit a solid wall. He craned his neck at it and realized it blocked most of the early morning sun. That's good. The shade. He needed the shade to let his eyes adjust properly.

Rhys propped his sister against the wall, noting how her eyes were fluttering like varichria wings itching for a flight. He cupped her face, noting how cold her skin was. Dust, mud, and something red streaked her arms, face, and neck in dizzying patterns. "Hey, stay with me," Rhys said, worry thick in his voice.

Reeca didn't reply. She just leaned into his touch. Her chest rose and fell, barely. Rhys's heartbeat was loud in his ears. He had just gotten her out. He couldn't lose her. Not like this.

He scratched his eyes again, never minding the tears or the flaring of the shadows it brought forth. Now's not the time for that. He forced himself to look down, towards his sister's leg. That's where the blood was. It covered most of Reeca's trousers and flowed down her boots.

With gritted teeth, he peeled back the cloth to reveal a long cut slashing down the back of her knee towards her heel. Who in Pidmena's name even did this? Was it one of the soldiers? He did hear her scream once while they were running. Was that when she was hit? To think he made her run and stumble around this godsforsaken town with that.

Rhys pressed his knuckles to his temples and snapped his shut. Okay. Calm down. Breathe. He's not going to help anyone while being a mess, himself. Calm. Okay.

When he blinked his eyes open, the lights weren't as oppressive as they first were. His vision was back, more or less, to normal. It had taken him a full second to realize the sky wasn't as bright or blue as he had initially thought. Instead, a sheet of thick, gray clouds hung over them, as if it was going to rain. That's not good.

The street they were in started making sense too. He kept his senses at their peak as he turned back to the problem at hand. Reeca's wound. Why hasn't it stopped bleeding? What in Umazure did they hit her with? Where was the weapon used for it?

Rhys clicked his tongue. None of that. He called his magic to the surface and examined the wound. It was just a straight slash through the skin. He was no healer but he could meld skin in no time. That's what his synnavaim was good for, anyway.

He tried to ignore the heightening anxiety in his chest, making the air hard to breathe and the growing lump in his throat. He could do this. He has to.

With shaking fingers, he flexed his fingers and tried sewing his sister's skin shut with his weaving energy. His hold of his magic slipped, causing more blood to seep through the skin. Sometimes, he poked the wrong spot and ended up wedging magic straight into the wound. Every whimper from Reeca drove guilt deeper and deeper into his system.

His thoughts oscillated from asking for help to shouldering his way through it. He also kept reasoning against each choice, making it a complete feast in his head. His fingers never stopped shaking. His chest never stopped heaving.

At some point, the sky rumbled and rain started to pour. Rhys called his magic off, halfway done in stopping the bleeding. He raised his head to the heavens, letting the droplets of rain sting his eyes and drench him to the bone. Then, he screamed. Just opened his mouth and let it out.

If this was fate's idea of toying with him, then, he's done. He wouldn't be heaven's plaything. He hated those things. There's no way he'd be one.

His throat hurt when he went back to trying to patch his sister up. That's a pathetic way of dealing with his emotions but what could he do? Being an idiot about it certainly helped. His focus had improved and his magic was much stabler. Good. Fine. Here he goes.

When his magic's warmth had vanished from his system, that's when he realized how much he shivered and how cold it was. Fog had risen from the ground as the torrent of water dripping from the sky increased from a trickle to a roar.

Rhys drove his hair away from his face and wiped water from his eyes. He had nothing with him except the cloth mask he wore around his neck. It was something he used occasionally during excavations to avoid inhaling too much soil and dust. He unclasped it from around his neck and, using the rain, drenched it clean. The puddles of water forming beside him turned murky brown as he squeezed the remaining water absorbed in the cloth.

He moved closer to Reeca who had fallen unconscious now and proceeded to clean the area around her wound. The skin pulsed bright red but after Rhys's amateur weaving, the blood had at least stopped. When he had finished wiping the last traces of red on it, he moved to Reeca's face. She wasn't conscious enough to slap his hand off her so Rhys took the rare time and scrubbed the wet cloth against the smears of dirt and blood that had hardened against her skin.

"It's rare to see such a caring older brother," a woman's voice bled into his ears. "Truly a sight to see."

Rhys cursed. They had been found. It sure wasn't going to be pretty.