Silver streaks crawl to my fingertips, cracking like fractured glass. My hand feels numb, as if it were more a pound of lead than a hand.
That light from the Inquisitor didn't come from him. It came from the Saints. A mere clash with an Inquisitor left me unable to feel the weight of my blade. The silver crawling up my hand is cold. It bites deeper each time I flex.
I stumble through the alley, ash still stuck to me. The world tastes like burned paper. Marines patrol past the mouth of the alley, holding their rifles tight, enforcing the Inquisition's edict under the banner of order. I can feel the city's heartbeat replaced by the march of black powder and iron.
If I'd never stopped for the boy, I would already be across the Albion Sea. I would be gone by now. Bruis is behind me, and these silver streaks would've been eliminated. But the boy, Cole. A Seer, of all things. Why did he have to be a Seer?
Now I'm trapped between the Inquisition and the sea, hunted by men who pray to the same Saints whose power attempts to bind us.
The Dauntless are not meant to be rooted. We're the fire that burns within the darkness. We do not falter. The Dagda did not create us to follow the will of others but only to do what we must. Our duty must come before all others.
I force my numb hand to clench, flexing until the pain snaps my wrist—white fire flickers along my tattered coat, gathering in my palm.
I have to find the boy before sundown.
Flames in my palm rise. There's a sharp pain that I quickly ignore.
I focus. Somewhere in the city, a fragment of my fire, still burning within Cole, is weak and flickering, barely lit, drowned by the distance from me.
I close my eyes, breathing slowly, letting numbness fade enough to listen. The world narrows. I can feel the din of the city, the stink of the docks, the sour humidity in the air, the fog rolling in with the tide. Hidden among dozens of mortal men, my flame gutters to a spark.
I see the boy. I see Cole.
He's not where I left him in the docks, but no farther than a quarter league. The marines in the street transfer farther into the city, announcing martial law.
The fire in my palm flickers, pointing northeast toward the docks.
The streets of Bruis are chaotic. Marines shove through the market crowds, shouting orders, forcing both men and women, rich and poor alike, into their homes. The city feels like a dying animal, its body spasming beneath the Inquisition's grip.
I walk through it all unseen.
My form slides between men like smoke, their bodies phasing through me. I drift past a merchant shouting for lost wares, children clutching onto their mothers, and preachers praying in the streets, pastoring the people. The lockdown will remain in place only until the rebels are caught. Yet I pass them, despite their gazes being trained on me.
To them, I am less than a shadow.
My footsteps never echo, and my coat flutters without wind. I pass through like mist. I keep walking, each step shortening the distance between me and the boy. The small flame I left in him is clear enough for the fire in my palm to lead me to Cole.
But something pulls at the corner of my vision.
A small figure half my size stumbles from the fog, covered in tattered clothing and bare feet. A girl. She can't be more than eight. Her shoeless feet slap against the cobblestone, looking through me.
No, that's wrong. She's looking at me.
Her eyes meet mine.
She slowly stumbles toward me, despite the chaos. Carts are driving past, dozens of people are running and shouting, dust is flying upward, and she stops a few feet from me.
"Please..." she says, her voice trembling despite the rising noise covering the entire street. "Please, mister. My mother... my mother needs help. She's sick, so sick, mister. She can't get home. Please, help her."
I stop in the middle of my stride. I can feel the air going still.
No mortal should be able to see me. The human eye can't pierce The Veil Between Planes. Yet this little girl stares straight at me like I was just another man.
I should move, keep walking. I can't afford this, and I won't waste time. I have to get Cole.
And yet, my gaze is stuck on the girl's hand, reaching out toward me so helplessly.
"Where is your mother?" I ask. The girl grins brightly, and her teal eyes look at me as she takes my hand and pulls me forward.
"Thank you, mister. Thank you for helping me. She is over here, in the catacombs."
The Catacombs? What's a child doing in the catacombs?