The hour passed in tense debate. Shun stood at the center, silver hair glinting as he listened to each voice, from Toren's gruff warnings to Xin's calculated strategies. The non-Emergents offered halting opinions, their trust in Shun outweighing their fear.
Meanwhile Belial drifted toward the edge of camp, his boots crunching over pale, crystalline dust. The air carried a faint taste of iron and ozone, a sharp reminder that this planet's atmosphere was only half-tamed, barely clinging to habitability. Beyond the uneven circle of tents and the soft glow of portable heaters, Raven sat as he always did: apart, silent, a solitary figure etched against the fading light of the twin suns. The knight never mingled with the others, never shared in their laughter or warmed his hands by their fire. He took his post and watched, a sentinel in black armor, faceless, emotionless.
Belial had long since stopped trying to read anything beyond the steel plates and the narrow slit of Raven's visor. There was no point. The man was a fortress, impenetrable, his thoughts locked behind that unyielding mask. Yet Belial trusted him. Trusted him enough to sleep soundly while Raven stood guard, to follow him into an ambush without a second thought. It was almost absurd, the depth of that trust, when Belial had never even seen the man's face. A bond forged not on words or gestures but on something deeper, something unspoken that held firm in the face of this hostile world.
He slowed as he approached, his boots stirring small curls of crystalline sand that shimmered faintly in the dying light. The horizon burned a muted red where the two suns sank toward the glassy, alien sky. Jagged spires of frozen minerals stabbed upward from the plains, like the bones of some long-dead giant. Methane hissed faintly from hidden vents, a soft, sinister sound that blended with the wind's low moan. Shadows stretched long and thin across the barren landscape. This world was a killer, its sunrays scorched, its air poisoned, its nights teeming with unseen monsters—yet it held a stark, brutal beauty that clawed at Belial's chest, demanding he notice it.
He dropped to one knee beside Raven, then settled onto the cold ground, feeling the chill seep through his suit. He didn't speak at first. The silence here was heavy but not empty, filled with the distant keening of wind over the spires, a high, mournful note that seemed to carry the planet's secrets. He watched the last streaks of daylight scatter across the barren land, fracturing like broken glass.
"You seem bigger," Belial said at last, his voice light, teasing. "Been working out?"
Raven turned his helmet slightly, just enough to acknowledge the words. "Doing my job," he replied, his tone low and flat, neither boast nor complaint.
Belial's lips twitched into a faint grin. Jackpot. That was the opening he'd been waiting for, the crack in Raven's armor he could pry at. Now came the harder part—reaching for whatever passed for a heart inside that steel shell. He rested his elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The suns were nearly gone now, their light bleeding into the sky like spilled wine.
"Why did you have to fake your death?" The question slipped out, sharp and unbidden, cutting through the silence like a blade.
Raven didn't flinch. Belial hadn't expected him to. But the quiet that followed was heavy, pressing against his skin like the edge of a knife. Belial's grin faded. He hadn't meant to ask it so bluntly, but the words were out, hanging between them, demanding an answer.
He looked down at his hands, gloved fingers flexing against the crystalline soil. There were a dozen reasons he could give, none of them the whole truth. He'd fought a Prime alone, a reckless act that should've killed him. He'd chased fragments of lost history buried under this planet's sands, secrets older than humanity itself. He'd searched for something without a name, driven by a pull he couldn't explain. All of it was true, and none of it was enough.
"It's complicated," he said finally, his voice quieter now, the words tasting like ash.
Raven's visor caught the fading light, gleaming like a shard of obsidian. "You ever have a real friend?" the knight asked, his tone even, almost curious, as if the question were no more significant than asking about the weather.
Belial's head snapped toward him, caught off guard. "Only one," he said, aiming for nonchalance but landing somewhere rawer, flatter.
"Yes." Raven's voice held no self-pity, no elaboration. Just a single word, sharp and final, a blade honed on one side.
Belial studied the faceless helmet, searching for something—anything—in the blank steel. Who had that friend been? Alive? Dead? Betrayed? Or something worse, something this planet's cruel beauty seemed to promise? He wanted to ask, to dig deeper, but he held back. Sometimes silence drew more than questions ever could.
He turned his gaze back to the horizon. The last sliver of the second sun vanished, leaving the sky a deep, bruised purple. "Well," he said after a moment, "I only ever had one. I didn't know and I still don't know how friendships work."
The wind shifted, carrying the faint hiss of methane from a distant vent. His words felt small against the vast, hostile sky, like pebbles dropped into a canyon. "I'm a person that tends to ruin things," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "Ruin what's worth having. I'm not suited for that. The things that make up who I am won't allow it."
Raven remained motionless, a black silhouette against the darkening world. Listening. Or not. With him, it was always hard to tell.
Belial's fingers dug into the crystalline soil, the grains sharp against his gloves. "But I did end up with a companion along the way…" The confession slipped out, raw and unpolished, like a wound he hadn't noticed until it started bleeding.
Raven didn't respond, but the silence wasn't cold. It was patient, steady, like the man himself. Belial exhaled, his breath clouding briefly before the suit's filters whisked it away. He leaned back, propping himself on his hands, and stared up at the sky. Stars pierced through the darkness, faint at first, then brighter, sharper, as the last traces of daylight bled away.
Behind them, the camp buzzed faintly with life. Someone laughed, a sharp bark that cut through the quiet. A heater hummed, battling the creeping cold. Belial ignored it all. Out here, with Raven, the world felt different. Bigger. Harsher. More honest. The planet didn't care about their struggles, their secrets, their losses. It simply was, and in its indifference, there was a kind of truth.
"I faked my death because I had to," Belial said, his voice low, steady now. "Not because I wanted to. There was something I needed to find. Something bigger than me, than any of us." He gestured vaguely at the spires, the sands, the endless sky. "This place… it's got secrets. Old ones… deathly ones."
Raven shifted slightly, the first real movement since Belial had sat down. The faint creak of his armor was the only sound. "Secrets worth dying for?" he asked, his voice as even as ever.
Belial snorted, a dry, humorless sound. "Worth faking it, at least."
The knight didn't laugh, didn't nod. He just sat there, his visor fixed on the horizon, a silent guardian in a world that offered no mercy. Belial wondered what he saw through that narrow slit. The same barren beauty that gripped him? Or something else entirely, something only Raven's eyes could find in the darkness?
The stars burned brighter now, a scattering of cold light across the alien sky. The wind keened through the rugged spires, a mournful song that spoke of time and loss and secrets older than the bones of the earth. Belial sat beside Raven, two solitary figures at the edge of the world.
A protector and a slave...
Belial pressed his lips together. The silence stretched between them, brittle. A selfish question hovered at the edge of his tongue, threatening to shatter the fragile peace.
Finally, Shun raised a hand, silencing the group. He turned to Belial, who hadn't moved from the cliff's edge. "Direct route," Shun said. "We move fast. We fight if we must. No one gets left behind."
Belial turned, his grin returning. "Bold choice, leader. I knew you had it in you."
Toren muttered under his breath. Xin adjusted his strap, eyes already scanning the path ahead. Rose's teasing smile returned, faint but resolute.
Shun stepped closer to Belial, voice low. "You'd better be right about this."
Belial met his gaze, gold against blue. "I'm right about one thing. We're all going to die"