Chapter Ten: Shadows Over Altair
Dust kicked up behind Orion and Damien as they crested the ridge.
Below them, the town of Altair sprawled across the desert like a weathered stone left beneath the sun.
Trade wagons crawled along the main road beneath towering sandstone formations. Thin pillars of smoke rose from chimneys scattered between closely packed buildings. At the main gate, travelers waited in a slow-moving line while armed guards inspected wagons and watched everyone with the exhausted suspicion of men who expected trouble eventually.
Orion stopped at the top of the ridge.
His cloak fluttered behind him, faded from sun and dust.
His boots were cracked.
His canteen was empty.
The last few days had been miserable.
Hot days.
Cold nights.
Bad sleep.
Almost no money.
And absolutely no sign that rebuilding the Eternal Flame was going to get any easier.
Orion rubbed his stomach.
"If we don't find food soon, I might start eating you."
Damien glanced over.
"You'd be lucky to find any meat."
He spread his arms.
"I'm all bones and regret."
Orion stared down at Altair.
"Town looks alive."
Damien folded his arms.
"Let's hope they don't shoot us on sight."
"If they do..."
Orion started down the ridge.
"...at least I won't die of thirst."
Damien followed.
"You planning on dying today?"
Orion didn't answer.
Damien frowned.
"Comforting."
Altair
They passed through the gates without much trouble.
The guards asked almost nothing.
They simply stared a little too long before waving them through.
That somehow made Orion trust them less.
Altair was nothing like Constellion.
Constellion had noise.
Factories.
Steam.
Industry.
Altair felt rougher.
Meaner.
The streets were crowded with merchants selling whatever they could carry.
A boy snatched a loaf of bread from a stall and disappeared between two buildings.
The merchant saw him.
He didn't bother chasing.
Nobody did.
Everyone seemed too busy watching everyone else.
They passed a saloon with cracked windows and a peeling sign.
The woman behind the counter looked like she kept a shotgun beneath the bar simply to settle disagreements over drink prices.
"Friendly place," Damien muttered.
Orion scanned the surrounding alleys.
"You sure you don't wanna turn around and try our luck with the vultures?"
"We need supplies."
"And money."
"And food."
Damien nodded.
"Mostly food."
Orion sighed.
"We can't take on Five Points on empty stomachs."
Damien glanced toward him.
"You planning on taking on all of Five Points now?"
"Not today."
"Good."
Damien looked toward a nearby restaurant.
"I'd like lunch first."
They eventually found an inn.
Calling it an inn was generous.
One side of the building leaned slightly toward the street.
The sign hung from one chain.
The owner was an old man with a limp, a pipe, and absolutely no interest in learning their names.
He handed Orion a key.
"Lock's broken."
Orion looked at the key.
"Then what's this for?"
The old man stared at him.
"Tradition."
Damien snorted.
The owner pointed toward the stairs.
"Second floor."
Then toward both of them.
"Don't bleed on the sheets."
Orion paused.
"That happen often?"
The old man returned to his pipe.
"Often enough."
The Inn
Orion dropped his pack onto the floor.
"We're running on fumes."
Damien collapsed into the only chair.
"No kidding."
He tilted his head back.
"We're outlaws, Orion."
Orion looked toward him.
"Last time I checked."
"Not what I mean."
Damien sat forward.
"We need to figure out how we're actually going to operate."
Orion frowned.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I don't exactly see us robbing farmers."
"Good."
"Or stealing from rich people and giving everything away."
"Wasn't planning on it."
"And we're definitely not mercenaries."
Orion shrugged.
"Depends on the job."
Damien pointed at him.
"See? That's what I'm talking about."
He leaned forward.
"Who we are doesn't keep us fed."
Orion went quiet.
For a moment, he thought of Cyrus.
Then Jace.
Cyrus had spent years hiding from what he'd been.
Jace had spent years living with what the Eternal Flame had become.
Neither had handed Orion instructions for what came next.
Only principles.
Orion looked toward Damien.
"We don't steal from people who can't fight back."
Damien nodded slowly.
"But if there are gangs out there hurting people..."
Orion continued.
"...people like the ones running towns through fear..."
Damien smiled.
"Then we put them down."
"And if they happen to be sitting on money they stole from everybody else..."
"We take it."
Orion nodded.
Damien grinned.
"Yeah."
He leaned back.
"I can live with that."
A knock came at the door.
They both stopped.
Damien looked toward Orion.
Orion looked toward Damien.
"Expecting someone?"
"Nope."
Orion stood.
His hand rested near his revolver.
He opened the door only a few inches.
A thin man stood outside.
Twitchy.
One hand rested on a cane.
The other clutched a leather satchel.
His eyes darted from Orion to Damien.
"You looking for work?"
Orion narrowed his eyes.
"Depends."
He opened the door slightly farther.
"Who's asking?"
The man swallowed.
"Sirven."
He adjusted his grip on the satchel.
"I move goods through Altair."
"What kind of goods?"
"Spices. Medicine. Tools."
Sirven shrugged.
"Junk people will kill over if you're in the right town."
Orion leaned against the doorway.
"Get to the point."
"I've got a shipment leaving tomorrow."
Sirven lowered his voice.
"Route cuts through Black Fang territory."
Damien sat up.
"Black Fang?"
Sirven nodded.
"Local gang."
His expression soured.
"They've been bleeding me dry for months."
"Protection money?"
"Call it whatever you want."
Sirven tapped his cane against the floor.
"I'm not paying again."
Orion studied him.
"So you want guards."
"I want people who won't run."
Sirven looked between them.
"You protect the wagon, I pay you enough to eat, resupply, and drink until you forget how miserable this town is."
Damien looked toward Orion.
"Strong sales pitch."
Orion ignored him.
"And if we say no?"
Sirven shrugged.
"You stay broke."
He glanced at Damien.
"And hungry."
Damien pointed toward Orion.
"That's mostly his problem."
Orion frowned.
"How'd you even know we were here?"
Sirven stared.
Then slowly looked around the room.
Broken lock.
Cracked wall.
Water stain on the ceiling.
"Let's be honest, kid."
He looked back at Orion.
"Nobody stays at this inn because it was their first choice."
Damien laughed.
Sirven continued.
"People around here keep to themselves."
He adjusted his satchel.
"They also like extra coin."
"I've asked other people too."
Orion crossed his arms.
"How many Black Fangs?"
"Twenty."
Damien whistled.
"That's it?"
"That's not what makes them dangerous."
Sirven's expression became more serious.
"Their leader."
Orion waited.
Sirven lowered his voice.
"Former Five Points."
That got both their attention.
"Combat Core."
Orion's expression hardened.
"What rank?"
"Lieutenant."
Sirven swallowed.
"Word is they threw him out because he was too violent even for them."
Damien stared.
"That's reassuring."
Orion understood the arrangement immediately.
"You hire us."
Sirven said nothing.
"If we succeed, your shipments start moving again."
Orion continued.
"If we die..."
He smiled faintly.
"...there's nothing tying any of this back to you."
Sirven smiled.
"You catch on quick."
He stepped away from the door.
"That's good."
He looked back.
"You just might make it out alive."
Damien sighed.
"Not like anybody else is literally knocking on our door."
Orion looked toward him.
Then Sirven.
"Fine."
Sirven's eyebrows lifted.
"We're in."
Orion pointed at him.
"But if you've left anything important out..."
"I haven't."
"Everybody says that."
"The shipment leaves before sunrise."
Sirven started down the hall.
Orion watched him go.
Damien leaned into view.
"You trust him?"
"No."
"Good."
Damien stood.
"Just checking."
The Canyon Trail
The job began before sunrise.
By evening, Orion understood why Sirven hadn't volunteered to accompany his own shipment.
The caravan followed a narrow trail carved between steep walls of stone.
Rock formations rose on both sides.
Sparse shrubs clung to cracks in the earth.
Heavy clouds gathered overhead.
Thunder rolled in the distance.
Rain began as scattered drops.
Then thin sheets.
Damien rode near the back of the caravan with his hood pulled over his head.
He looked miserable.
Orion rode beside the middle wagon.
Water ran from the brim of his hat.
Damien called forward.
"I thought deserts were supposed to be dry!"
Orion looked back.
"You complaining about water now?"
"I'm complaining about everything!"
Thunder rolled.
Orion almost smiled.
Then—
BANG.
A guard fell from his horse.
Orion's expression changed instantly.
BANG. BANG.
Controlled gunfire.
Not panicked.
Not random.
Two more guards dropped.
Horses screamed.
A driver yanked desperately on his reins.
One wagon tipped sideways and crashed into a ditch.
"AMBUSH!"
Orion jumped from his horse.
"Cover!"
Damien dropped behind an overturned crate.
Gunfire echoed through the canyon.
Then stopped.
Abruptly.
The silence that followed was worse.
A figure stepped onto the ridge.
Long black duster.
Wide-brimmed hat.
A half-metal mask covered the lower portion of his face.
Old Five Points lieutenant insignia remained pinned to his coat like a trophy from another life.
A weathered revolver rested in his hand.
Across his back hung a brutal curved saber.
One of the drivers went pale.
"No..."
The figure looked down.
The driver whispered—
"It's the Reaper."
The man chuckled.
"I swear."
His voice carried easily through the canyon.
"You lot make it too easy."
Nobody moved.
Rain struck the rocks.
The Reaper spread his arms.
"Tell you what."
He stepped closer to the edge.
"I'm feeling generous."
He looked over the caravan.
"If one of you has the balls to face me..."
His hand settled on the saber.
"...I might spare the rest."
Behind the overturned crate, Damien slowly looked toward Orion.
"When we took this job..."
Orion started walking.
"...I was really hoping for an easy payday."
Damien closed his eyes.
"Of course."
Orion stepped into the open.
Rain trailed from his coat.
One hand rested near his revolver.
The other near his blade.
"Yeah..."
He looked toward the ridge.
"...figured this was gonna happen."
The Reaper tilted his head.
Orion stopped.
"Guess I'm your man."
For a moment—
nothing.
Then the Reaper jumped.
He dropped from the ridge in a single controlled leap.
His boots slammed into the muddy ground.
His saber was already in his hand.
He lifted it toward Orion.
"Let's dance."
The Reaper
The Reaper moved first.
Fast.
Orion barely drew his blade in time.
CLANG!
Steel collided.
Sparks scattered into the rain.
The Reaper pushed forward.
Orion twisted away.
A second slash passed inches from his chest.
Orion drew his revolver.
Fired.
The Reaper shifted.
Wind snapped violently around him.
The bullet curved away.
Orion's eyes narrowed.
Star power.
The Reaper grinned behind his mask.
"Come on, boy."
He rushed forward.
Orion fired twice.
Wind redirected one shot.
The Reaper knocked the second aside with his saber.
Their blades collided again.
Orion ducked.
Turned.
Slashed.
The Reaper stepped back.
Too calm.
Too comfortable.
This wasn't a man struggling to survive.
He was enjoying himself.
Deep inside Orion—
something stirred.
Heat.
The Phoenix.
A whisper brushed against his thoughts.
Burn them.
Orion gritted his teeth.
"Not now."
The Reaper attacked.
Orion blocked.
The whisper came again.
Louder.
Burn.
Orion's concentration broke.
Just for a second.
That was enough.
The Reaper's saber sliced across his side.
Blood struck the ground.
Orion crashed backward.
"ORION!"
Damien moved from cover.
Orion raised one hand.
"Stay back!"
He pressed the other against his side.
The wound burned.
Not from steel.
From inside.
Heat spread beneath his hand.
His flesh tightened.
The bleeding stopped as internal flame cauterized the wound.
Pain remained.
But the injury began closing.
Orion stared.
The Reaper laughed.
"Oh..."
Orion looked up.
"...now that's interesting."
Orion rose.
His eyes glowed faintly crimson.
Steam curled from his body as rain struck heated skin.
The Phoenix wasn't whispering anymore.
Orion could feel it.
Awake.
Excited.
Waiting.
The earth beneath Orion's boots began to scorch.
The Reaper spread his arms.
"YES!"
Wind erupted around him.
"This!"
He laughed.
"This is what I live for!"
Orion moved.
Fire exploded behind him.
He crossed the distance in an instant.
Their blades collided.
Flame and wind burst outward.
Rain hissed into steam.
Orion attacked again.
The Reaper blocked.
Wind wrapped around the saber.
A swing released a blade of compressed air.
Orion ducked.
Stone behind him split.
The Reaper laughed harder.
"It's been ages since I've felt a presence like this!"
Orion stopped.
The Reaper's head tilted.
Then—
"...I get it."
His laughter softened.
"Cyrus must've finally kicked the bucket."
Everything in Orion went still.
"What did you say?"
The Reaper lowered his saber.
Orion's jaw tightened.
"You knew Cyrus?"
Slowly—
the Reaper reached toward his mask.
He removed it.
Half his face was destroyed.
Burned flesh twisted from his jaw to his temple.
One eye was pale and useless.
The other burned with hatred.
A jagged smile stretched across what remained.
"Knew him?"
The Reaper laughed.
"The bastard burned half my face off."
Orion stared.
The Reaper touched the scar.
"As if I'd ever forget those flames."
His smile widened.
"I'd been planning on returning the favor."
He looked Orion over.
"But this?"
Wind gathered violently around him.
"This is even better."
He raised the saber.
"Way more fun than killing an old man."
Orion's fire surged.
"Come at me!"
Flame and Gale
The canyon erupted.
Gunfire.
Steel.
Wind.
Fire.
The Reaper swung his saber.
Compressed air tore across the ground.
Orion jumped aside.
Stone exploded.
Orion raised one hand.
Flames gathered.
He threw them forward.
The Reaper answered with a violent gust.
The fire split around him.
He charged through the center.
Orion barely blocked.
"Ten years, boy!"
The Reaper struck again.
"Ten years!"
Another slash.
"They've sent dozens!"
Wind exploded.
Orion was thrown backward.
He caught himself.
The Reaper pointed toward him.
"You know why I still have this power?"
He laughed.
"Because not one of them could take me down!"
Orion breathed heavily.
Cuts covered his arms.
His cheek.
His chest.
Some were already closing.
Others weren't.
The more fire he used—
the slower the healing became.
Jace's warnings returned.
The shard could give.
But it could also consume.
Orion couldn't heal forever.
Couldn't burn forever.
The Reaper rushed him.
Orion stepped aside.
The saber missed.
Orion drove his dagger into the Reaper's side.
The blade ignited.
The Reaper screamed.
Orion ripped it free.
The Reaper stumbled backward.
Smoke rose from the wound.
Orion raised his weapon.
"Give up."
The Reaper looked toward him.
"If you don't want to die."
Blood ran from the corner of the Reaper's mouth.
He grinned.
"Death..."
He tightened his grip on the saber.
"...can have me when I say so!"
He charged.
Orion holstered his revolver.
Then his dagger.
Damien stared from behind cover.
"Orion?!"
Orion raised one hand.
"What are you doing?!"
The Reaper closed the distance.
Then the world seemed to slow.
Orion felt the Phoenix move.
Not merely power.
Presence.
His vision changed.
For an instant—
he wasn't looking at the Reaper.
He was looking through him.
Broken memories flickered.
Men in Five Points uniforms.
A younger Reaper standing among them.
Comrades laughing.
Orders.
Blood.
A battlefield.
Someone screaming for him to stop.
A superior stripping him of his command.
The first outlaw he killed after leaving.
Then another.
And another.
Years of violence.
Until the man beneath the mask had forgotten why he was fighting at all.
Orion staggered.
These weren't his memories.
The Reaper's charge slowed.
His eyes flickered.
For the first time—
the madness disappeared.
He looked tired.
So tired.
Orion heard something within the flames.
Not a command.
Not quite.
Understanding.
The Reaper's eyes widened.
Around him—
the canyon vanished.
He stood somewhere else.
Sunlight.
Grass.
People waiting ahead.
Men and women wearing uniforms he hadn't seen in years.
Friends.
Comrades.
People long dead.
One held out a hand.
The Reaper stopped.
His saber slipped from his fingers.
"...Guys?"
In reality—
he dropped to his knees.
Orion's arm remained extended.
Damien stared.
"Orion...?"
When Orion spoke—
his voice sounded deeper.
Layered beneath something ancient.
"Cremation."
Fire erupted.
A pillar of flame swallowed the Reaper.
There was no screaming.
Only fire.
Inside the vision, the Reaper walked toward his fallen comrades.
Someone embraced him.
For the first time in years—
his face looked peaceful.
Then everything turned white.
Outside—
the flames collapsed inward.
The Reaper was gone.
Only ash remained.
Rain struck the scorched ground.
Silence.
Aftermath
The remaining Black Fang members stared toward the place their leader had stood.
Then ran.
No orders.
No resistance.
They abandoned weapons, horses, anything that slowed them down.
Orion remained motionless.
Rain fell around him.
The Reaper's saber stood embedded in the mud.
Beside it lay his revolver.
And the old Five Points insignia he'd continued carrying long after leaving them.
Orion looked toward the sky.
The fire beneath his skin flickered.
Then weakened.
The rain finally began winning.
His legs gave slightly.
Damien ran forward.
"Whoa."
He caught Orion beneath one arm.
Orion tried to stand.
"I'm fine."
"You're currently losing an argument with gravity."
"I'm fine."
"Sure."
Damien helped him toward the caravan.
"What the hell was that?"
Orion didn't answer.
"Orion."
"I don't know."
Damien looked toward the ashes.
"You turned him into nothing."
"I know."
That was the problem.
Together they climbed into one of the surviving carriages.
The caravan started moving.
Slowly.
Nobody complained about the ruined schedule.
Nobody complained about the rain.
Nobody said much of anything.
Altair
By the time they returned, the story had arrived before them.
Caravan workers talked.
Guards talked.
Merchants talked.
And Altair, apparently, loved a rumor.
Damien noticed something almost immediately.
The Reaper's saber was gone.
So was the revolver.
And his old insignia.
He looked toward Orion.
Orion was half asleep inside the wagon.
Damien smiled.
"Opportunity."
The bounty office was crowded.
Damien pushed through.
A clerk barely looked up.
"Name?"
"Damien."
"Target?"
Damien placed a wanted poster on the counter.
The clerk looked.
Then looked again.
His eyes slowly rose.
"The Reaper?"
Damien smiled.
"Formerly."
The clerk stared.
"You killed him?"
"No."
Damien pointed vaguely toward the street.
"My idiot did."
The clerk frowned.
"Your what?"
"Long story."
The clerk looked toward several caravan workers waiting nearby.
They all nodded.
One said—
"Saw it myself."
Another swallowed.
"Burned him alive."
The clerk looked back down.
Then began counting gold.
Damien watched.
For someone who hated bounty hunting—
he found himself surprisingly comfortable collecting the money.
"Money's money," he muttered.
Especially with Orion barely standing.
Meanwhile, Orion found Sirven.
The merchant looked considerably less confident than before.
Orion stood across from him.
Bandages covered several wounds.
His coat was torn.
He looked exhausted.
Sirven counted out the agreed payment.
Then stopped.
He removed several coins.
Orion watched.
Sirven pushed the smaller pile forward.
"Considering damages—"
Orion looked at him.
That's all.
No threat.
No raised voice.
No fire.
Just one cold stare.
Sirven froze.
Everyone in Altair had already heard the story.
He burned the Reaper.
Sirven slowly looked at the reduced payment.
Then at Orion.
Then quietly returned the missing coins.
And added one more.
Orion raised an eyebrow.
"For the inconvenience," Sirven said.
Orion took the money.
"Smart."
The Inn – Later
Rain continued falling outside.
Orion sat alone in the room.
Damien had gone downstairs.
Probably gambling.
Possibly drinking.
Almost certainly doing both.
A lantern burned on the table.
Orion stared into the flame.
He should have felt victorious.
The Black Fang had been driven off.
The caravan survived.
They had money.
Food.
Supplies.
A dead outlaw with a decade-long bounty would only make the Eternal Flame name spread faster.
Instead—
Orion felt sick.
He looked at his hand.
He remembered raising it.
Remembered the Reaper stopping.
Remembered seeing things he had never lived.
Friends.
Memories.
Regret.
Then—
Cremation.
Orion closed his fist.
"That wasn't me."
The flame in the lantern moved.
Orion stared.
For a moment, he thought he saw a feather inside it.
Then it vanished.
The presence remained quiet.
He could feel it somewhere deep inside.
The Phoenix.
Watching.
Waiting.
Orion lowered his head.
The Reaper had been dangerous.
A killer.
A man who probably would have murdered every person in that caravan without hesitation.
Orion knew that.
But knowing the man deserved to be stopped wasn't what bothered him.
The choice had not felt entirely his.
He had watched himself do it.
Felt another presence moving beside his thoughts.
Maybe guiding them.
Maybe amplifying them.
Maybe something worse.
Orion looked toward the lantern.
"Next time..."
His voice was quiet.
"...if I take a life..."
The flame flickered.
"...it'll be my choice."
Silence.
Then—
a faint pulse of heat beneath his chest.
No words.
No answer.
Just acknowledgment.
Orion wasn't sure whether that made him feel better.
A New Legend
By morning, everyone in Altair seemed to know.
At the market—
"He burned the Reaper."
At the tavern—
"One attack."
At the bounty office—
"Nothing left but ash."
At the gate—
"Some Eternal Flame kid."
Each telling became larger.
Faster.
More impossible.
The Reaper had killed fifty men.
Then a hundred.
Orion had fought him for an hour.
Then five minutes.
Then supposedly one strike.
Damien heard one version where Orion had summoned an enormous flaming bird that ate the Reaper whole.
He immediately decided that was his favorite.
The Eternal Flame name had carried weight before Orion arrived.
Now—
it carried his.
With new supplies and money in their pockets, Orion and Damien changed plans.
They would stay in Altair.
At least for a while.
Sirven might be irritating, dishonest, and entirely too comfortable sending strangers into dangerous territory—
but he had connections.
Merchants traveled.
Merchants listened.
Merchants knew which roads were safe, which towns were struggling, which gangs controlled what territory, and where Five Points activity was increasing.
Wandering blindly from town to town wasn't going to build the Eternal Flame.
Information might.
So they stayed.
For the first time since Beltor—
they had money.
Food.
A roof.
And a direction.
That night, Damien slept like the dead.
Orion eventually did too.
And somewhere deep inside him—
the fire cooled.
Just for a moment.