The light was soft when it returned. Pale gold crept through the cracks in the wooden walls, brushing across the floor in quiet strokes. The hearth had been rekindled—its fire low and steady, just enough to hold back the edge of morning's cold.
Neo stirred. Pain met him with quiet confidence. Not sharp, not screaming. Just deep and dull, like something left behind in the bones. His throat ached raw. His ribs pulsed when he breathed. His head throbbed slow and steady behind his eyes.
He blinked against the blur of sleep and memory. The ceiling above was familiar—rough beams, pale light. Thal's hut—but the scent in the air was not.
Something warm. Savory. Crisp. It hovered faintly, just enough to remind his body what hunger was. He turned his head, wincing.
Alinda stood by the fire, stirring a pan with the methodical rhythm of someone who had cooked over a thousand campfires. She had shed her coat; her armor was pared down to lighter plates, and beneath them a sleeveless black tunic. Leather straps wrapped her thighs, pouches clipped with precise symmetry. When she moved to grab a spice pouch, the firelight caught the flex of muscle in her arms—casual strength, unhurried.
He looked away almost immediately, heat rising beneath the ache in his chest. Embarrassing. He'd nearly died. Tor was still unconscious. He wasn't even sure if he could sit up without something tearing.
She moved like nothing about this morning was strange, her weight shifting fluidly as she stirred. No humming. No idle words. Just the whisper of fire and the clink of the spoon.
Neo closed his eyes for a moment, exhaled slow. He cleared his throat and immediately regretted it. It felt like sand had been poured into his lungs.
"You're awake," Alinda said. No surprise in her voice.
Neo groaned and tried to sit up, wincing as his ribs protested. His voice came rough and uneven: "What… what time is it?"
"Morning," she said. "Not that it matters. You weren't going anywhere."
He let his eyes drift. Tor lay nearby, breathing strong and slow. The hut was quiet. "…What is that?"
Alinda stirred the pan again, then shot him a glance over her shoulder, her expression flickering with faint amusement. "Food."
He groaned. "Last time you gave me something, it tried to commit war crimes in my stomach."
She smiled slightly. "That was medicine."
Neo rolled his eyes. "Same difference."
"You'll eat it," she said. "You need strength."
She stepped over without a word, handed him a small wooden bowl, then settled back by the fire, cross-legged, letting him eat in silence for a moment.
Neo watched her for another breath—the strength in her posture, the grace in how she carried it. Then he let his head drop back with a quiet grunt. "…You didn't have to stay."
Alinda didn't respond right away. The fire crackled softly, and the room settled around the weight of the quiet. Then she spoke, just loud enough for him to hear. "I know."
She stirred the pan one last time, then began plating food with the same steady care she brought to everything else.
Neo groaned as he shifted upright, cradling his ribs. He managed it, breathing easier now, though the pain still hummed beneath every motion.
"Thanks," he muttered, staring at the food.
"You'll like it better than the potion," she said, then paused as she noticed her eyes on him—not hard, not pressing, just focused. Watching him the way someone watches an ember to see if it will catch. Her tone shifted—still calm but laced with something firmer beneath it. "But… we still have questions."
The spoon hovered halfway to his mouth before Neo froze. He didn't need to ask what she meant.
As if the moment itself had been waiting for that line, the door creaked open.
Neo jerked, flinched so hard the bowl nearly slipped. His back slammed the wall, heart pounding.
Fall stepped into the room without a sound. Snow dusted his cloak. White hair spilled loose beneath his hood, pale eyes glowing faintly. The light in the room dimmed slightly—not in truth, but in sensation, as if the world itself were cautious of his passing.
Alinda didn't look at Fall immediately. She reached out slowly and moved the kettle off the flames, setting it on a stone with deliberate care—buying time, or perhaps giving herself something to do with her hands. Only then did she turn, her expression neutral, almost bored.
Neo's pulse surged. Alinda wiped her hands on her tunic, then crossed her arms, leaning back against the wall near the hearth. A position that looked relaxed but put her between Fall and the door.
"It's all right," she said, her voice light, almost teasing. "He's not here for round two."
Fall stepped in further, his gaze passing over Neo—brief, cool, enough to settle weight into the space between them. Neo met it, tried to hold it, and failed. His eyes dropped to the food.
"Questions, yes," Alinda said, "but not from him." She stood and brushed her hands against her thighs, turning to face Fall. "You've had your say."
Fall said nothing. He crossed the room and found a place near the entrance, standing with the patience of stone. His cloak whispered faintly as he moved.
Alinda returned to her spot by the fire, but she didn't sit. She stood near the mantle, one hand resting on it, her focus locked onto Neo with quiet expectation—not pressure, not threat. Just truth.
"Let's try again," she said. "Start at the beginning." Then, without ceremony: "How did you draw blood from the Harbinger?"
Neo blinked. "I didn't go in there to fight," he said at last. "Not really. I just… I needed to see it. I had this feeling that what I was seeing wasn't the truth. That it was wearing something."
"I blinked," Neo continued. "Like I always do… but this time it went deeper. It felt like something tore. The world didn't move—I did. When I landed, I was in a place that looked like ours but it wasn't. The sky was wrong. The land was black and red, like someone scraped all the colour out of existence and left it raw."
He looked up slowly. "I was in the Rim."
Alinda's eyes narrowed—not with disbelief, but with confirmation. She said nothing, but her hand on the mantle tightened slightly.
"I always thought the Rim was just a story," Neo said. "Something the old bastards talked about to scare kids."
"It's not a story," Alinda said, and this time her voice carried a different edge—less steel, more reverence. "No one's ever seen the Rim and come back. Because no one's supposed to."
"I could finally see the Harbinger," Neo said. "Not the storm. Not the shadow. The real one. It was wearing the Typhon like a cloak."
"And you struck it?" Alinda asked, softer.
He nodded. "I didn't think. I just moved. My blade connected. It bled."
Alinda's hand fell from the mantle. She didn't speak immediately, but her gaze flicked toward Fall, then back to Neo—a silent calculation.
"We haven't," Fall said, his voice cutting through the room like ice. "We hold them. Stall them. Kill the shell. Delay the return. That is all."
"You weren't supposed to see anything," Fall snapped. "You were not meant to enter that realm, child."
"I've always been able to," Neo said. "Since I was little."
Something shifted in Fall. Not his body but everything else. The stillness grew colder. Denser. Alinda didn't move but her focus locked onto Fall now, like a blade sliding into place.
Fall stepped forward. The wood groaned. "You think the Rim is a playground? A gift?" He moved closer, his voice dropping. "The Rim is not yours. It is not meant for the children of dust. The fact that it lets you pass is not a blessing. It is a question."
Neo's pulse kicked. "What question?"
Fall stood inches away. "Why you're still alive."
Alinda's arms uncrossed. She took half a step forward—not intervening, but ready, her expression losing its casual edge.
"The Rim is not a gift," Fall said again. "It is the breath between endings. The space that exists not after death but between decay and consumption. A wound in the fabric of existence that never closes."
Alinda stopped breathing for a moment. She looked down at the fire, then up at Fall, her eyes narrowed—no longer amused, now wary.
"You entered it," Fall continued, "and you walked. You stood in a place where gods dare not linger."
Alinda's shoulders squared. She took a full step forward now, standing beside Neo's shoulder, no longer pretending to lean against the wall. She was watching Fall carefully, her head tilted, studying his posture like a swordsman studying an opponent's guard.
"You entered," Fall repeated, "and the Rim let you pass. That should terrify you."
Alinda tried to break the spell. "Well," she said, folding her arms with forced lightness, "that got heavier than breakfast usually does."
Neo blinked. She continued, her tone playful: "I could make tea next time."
Fall didn't react. His gaze hadn't moved from Neo. Then: "Where is Thal?"
Alinda's arms dropped to her sides. The levity vanished instantly. She looked at Neo with sudden intensity, shaking her head almost imperceptibly—a warning.
Neo hesitated. "He left."
Fall's eyes narrowed. "With who?"
"Some humans. One of them I know. Nyra."
Alinda closed her eyes briefly, a grimace flashing across her face. She turned away, pacing once toward the fire, her hand coming up to rub her temple—a gesture of weariness, or perhaps calculation.
"They came to Snowdrift weeks ago," Neo went on. "Said they needed a guide through the Kruul Lands. Thal agreed."
Alinda stood by the fire, her back to them, her shoulders tense. She stared into the flames, listening.
Fall turned toward the window. "He left his post."
"He didn't abandon anything," Neo tried.
"He left," Fall repeated. Final.
Alinda turned around, her voice calm but firm. "It wasn't like that." She took a step toward Fall, then stopped, realizing the futility. She looked at Neo, her expression softening with something like pity—or fear.
"He trusted me," Neo said.
Fall didn't blink. "That was a mistake."
Alinda's jaw tightened. She looked down at the floor, then back at Fall, her eyes darkening.
"You're not saying everything," Fall said to Neo.
"He mentioned the Archons," Fall continued. "The Kruul King. But you hide the shape of it. The root." He paused. "Thal followed them into this. A war not his own."
Neo tried to speak but Fall interrupted: "Why?"
"Because it's more than just some border skirmish," Neo said. "The Kruul King has started wiping out entire human territories. He's dragging the Archons out of hiding. He's making them suffer."
Alinda had moved back to Neo's side. She placed a hand on his shoulder—not gently, but firmly, as if grounding him, or perhaps holding him back from saying more.
"And so, you stop him?" Fall asked.
Neo nodded. "Someone has to."
Alinda's fingers pressed harder into Neo's shoulder. She was looking at Fall now, her eyes narrowed, her head tilted—she could see where this logic was leading, and she didn't like it.
"Pointless," Fall said. He stepped forward. "All of it. Pointless. The cycle begins again. It doesn't matter who starts it."
"That doesn't mean we do nothing," Neo said.
"You are one of them," Fall said. "A Kruul. Fighting Kruul. Speaking like you understand the shape of what this is."
"I didn't ask to be born Kruul."
"But you were," Fall said. "And now you carry their war. Their hatred. Their fire. All wrapped in Thal's shadow and your own confusion."
Alinda's hand fell from Neo's shoulder. She stepped back, her arms crossing tightly over her chest—a defensive posture, her eyes flicking between Fall and the door, calculating distances.
"I'm trying to do what's right," Neo growled.
Fall raised a brow. "Right? For whom?"
Alinda spoke up, her voice quiet but cutting through the tension: "He's trying, Fall. That's more than most."
Fall didn't look at her. He turned, his voice dropping lower, colder: "Let them tear each other apart. These are matters of the dust born. Their wars. Their gods. Their lies."
He paused, his words chilling the heat from the hearth. "Thal should have known better."
Alinda uncrossed her arms. She looked pale, her usual bronze skin seeming to dim in the firelight. She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it—seeing something in Fall's posture that silenced her.
"You really think all of this means nothing?" Neo asked.
"I know it does," Fall said. "Because I have watched it burn before and it will burn again. The names change. The flags change—but blood never does."
With a final glance toward Neo, his voice like the weight of something falling slowly: "The moment Thal joined them… he made himself small."
Alinda's breath caught audibly. She stood frozen, her hand halfway raised as if she'd been about to gesture, to deflect, to joke—but the words had cut too deep. She looked at Fall with open worry now, all pretence of amusement gone, her eyes wide and dark in the firelight.