The survivors were quieter that afternoon.
Outside, the wind moved the canvas walls in slow, uneven waves, carrying the scent of rain and damp reeds from the marshes. The camp had shrunk somehow, its noise, its confidence, its warmth. Most of the wounded had been moved to the back shelters, and the only sounds that remained were the creak of ropes and the dull thud of hammers somewhere far off.
Gemma walked between the tents, her boots brushing through the wet grass. She felt small in the stillness, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Candriela sat alone beside a low fire, her sword resting across her knees. The blade was clean, polished to a mirror sheen, but her hands weren't. They were dark with soot and ash, and she hadn't bothered to wipe them.
"Can I talk to you?" Gemma asked gently.
Candriela didn't look up. "You just did, kid."
The words weren't cruel, just tired. Gemma hesitated, then lowered herself to sit across from her, legs crossed, the flicker of the fire dancing between them.
"It's about your sister," Gemma said. "About Virea."
For a long while, there was only the sound of the fire. The light painted gold along Candriela's cheekbones, catching the weariness in her face. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady, but distant.
"What about her?"
"I need to understand what I can do," Gemma said, fingers tightening on her knees. "I know more now...about the Light. Things I can't explain. But I still don't know what I'm capable of. And for the Knights, that could mean… everything."
Candriela's jaw clenched. "You shouldn't be anyone's first soldier in a war of grown men."
Gemma leaned forward, her voice quiet but firm. "I'm not asking to fight. I just need to understand myself."
That made Candriela pause. She looked up, eyes narrowing, not in anger, but in thought. Then she sighed, long and low, and looked back to the fire.
"You want me to teach you to fight with something I don't even have."
"Not fight," Gemma said quickly. "Learn. You were close to her, weren't you? You must've seen things."
Candriela's expression softened a fraction. Her gaze turned inward, into memory. "Virea was… impossible," she said, almost smiling. "Always laughing at the rules, breaking what she didn't understand until she did. She said the Light wasn't divine or merciful, it was alive. She thought every spark, every flicker of flame was a voice waiting to be answered."
Gemma leaned closer, the glow catching in her pale eyes. "What could she do?"
Candriela hesitated, her hands curling unconsciously around the sword on her lap. "Everything," she said at last. "She could twist fire until it sang, bend air until it matched her heartbeat. Once, I saw her hold a torch and breathe the flame into a sphere, like glass filled with sunlight. She said each flame was a path, that the trick was learning where to channel it: the fingertips, the palms, the chest. One point of focus, one breath of control."
Gemma's voice trembled slightly. "And you watched her do it?"
"I did." Candriela's voice cracked faintly. "I thought it was madness. Maybe it was."
Gemma looked down at her own hands, pale and trembling. "Could you show me what she meant? The channeling?"
Candriela let out a short, dry laugh. "I can't show you something I don't have, Snowy."
The nickname caught Gemma off guard. "Snowy?"
Candriela's lips curved, half smile, half regret. "Yeah. Your hair's like snow, so… Snowy."
Gemma smiled before she could stop herself. "I like it."
A soft silence settled between them, the kind that doesn't need filling. The fire crackled. Somewhere, a drop of rain hissed as it hit the coals.
Then Candriela's voice, quieter now: "If she's alive, the Valval Priesthood still has an ace up its sleeve."
"She is alive," Gemma said simply.
Candriela turned sharply. "Don't say that if you don't know."
"I do." Gemma's tone was soft, but unwavering. "I hear her. She's different from the others. Louder, but… kinder. She speaks through the Light. I can't tell where, but she's here. On the island."
Candriela swallowed, hard enough for Gemma to see it. "If she's alive… then she's suffering. They use the gifted ones. Drain them until there's nothing left."
Gemma reached out, hand open, palm up. "Then help me find her."
Candriela stared at that small hand for what felt like forever. Her own fingers twitched. Then, as if against her better judgment, she reached out too. Their hands met over the fire, skin rough against skin. The air shifted: warmer, sharper, trembling with something unseen.
"Close your eyes," Gemma whispered.
Candriela frowned. "What are you..."
"Just do it."
Candriela obeyed. The rain had stopped completely now. Even the hammers had fallen silent.
Gemma inhaled through her nose, letting the breath fill her chest. She remembered the voice, Virea's voice, or something wearing it, One point. One breath. She exhaled slowly through her fingers.
Something answered.
A faint pulse of light bloomed between their hands, fragile as a spark at first. It flickered, white and unsteady, then steadied, forming a thin, radiant thread that wound around their palms like it was alive.
Candriela's eyes opened wide. The light wasn't warm; it was present, humming softly, as though it recognized them.
"That's… her color," Candriela breathed.
Gemma smiled weakly. "I know."
The thread rose higher, swirling like a ribbon in the air. For a heartbeat, it formed the shape of a flame, clear, steady, beautiful, then faded into nothing.
When it was gone, Candriela's hand trembled. "How did you…"
"I didn't," Gemma said. "We did."
Candriela looked at her, disbelief and longing fighting for space in her face. "You really think she's alive?"
Gemma nodded. "And she wants you to see her again."
Candriela turned away, blinking fast, her voice breaking. "Then I'll find her. No matter what the Light takes from me."
Gemma looked down at her hand, still faintly glowing, and whispered, "Then we'll find her together."
The last sparks from the fire drifted into the mist, disappearing one by one. And for the first time since Bondrea, Gemma felt no fear in the glow, only purpose.