In her hand was a white cookie dusted with fine sugar, 'snow cookie', Kion had called it, with a strangely proud glint in his eye when he offered it.
Too sweet.
But she bit into it anyway, the sugar cracking under her teeth like frost. She chewed slowly, watching the dull glow of the mana-sconce fade and pulse in their usual rhythm.
There was no way out.
Not up here. Not down there.
She’d combed the entire cave, twice.
The upper ridge where they’d first descended, mapping every curve, groove, and glowing thread.
The lower ridge, too, with the disturbed soil where the 'bli-' flower had bloomed, its brittle corpse still curled like a warning in the dirt.
Even the corridor leading back toward the truth door had been checked, rechecked, and exhausted.
Retracing the entrance in the Bronze Vault? That door was long dead. She’d spent seven straight days trying to open it while transcribing the vault’s contents. Whatever mechanism had allowed their entry had snapped shut, and made it very clear it wouldn’t open again.
And she had no intention of stepping into that webbed corridor again. Ever.
That left the river.
The one thing she hadn’t been able to confirm. The one route Kion said might lead to the surface.
She glanced down the darkened corridor toward the distant trickle of rushing water.
It mocked her. Every current, every foam-laced swirl whispered risk. The river pounded through jagged rock, the occasional silver glint revealing the stones buried underneath, sharp and cruel.
He said he could shield them.
A bubble of air to breathe, a spell to soften the crashes and carry them with the current. She remembered the way he’d offered it. Unbothered, like it was easy. Like drowning was just another thing to plan around.
She hadn’t said yes. She didn’t even trust it. But it kept circling back, every time she ran out of exits. A dome of gold-tinged mana between them and the chaos.
It was the only option left.
She took another reluctant bite of the cookie and eyed the fairy sitting across from her, perched on his heels and crunching happily through his second one like sugar was its own food group. He looked disgustingly pleased with himself for convincing her to eat at all.
Kion didn’t even seem to mind her obsessively circling the cave, checking every exit again and again like she thought it might miraculously change overnight. He’d let her be. Kept pace. Waited.
Now he met her gaze expectantly, mouth full, as if waiting for her to say what she already knew.
No other way. They were stuck.
She wiped sugar dust from her mouth and swallowed with effort, “can I have... something else?”
He perked up, “why? You don’t like snow cookie?” He polished off the last bite and reached for his satchel without waiting.
“Too sweet,” she muttered.
“Well, that’s the point of cookies,” he said, affronted, but pulled out a ration bar and tossed it her way.
She caught it, unwrapped it with careful fingers, and sniffed. Then paused. Then finally took a bite.
The ritual was still there, the need to confirm even the smallest things. Another thing she hadn’t been able to shake, even with Kion’s bottomless bag and calm reassurance.
He never commented, only watched, as if he knew pressing would only make her stop trusting him faster.
She swallowed the second bite before he spoke again.
“So...,” he said, shaking a little vial into his acorn mug and watching it swirl into shimmering blue liquid, “what’s the plan?”
She didn’t answer immediately. She stared at her ration bar, chewing methodically, eyes distant. Thinking.
He didn’t push.
Instead, he cupped his hands and summoned another bubble. Palm-sized, glowing faintly red-gold, thicker than the others he usually used. He floated it across to her like an offering.
“Feel free to test it,” he said, casual, “squish it. Rip it. Toss it at the wall. Whatever helps.”
She took it.
Sometimes she wondered how he could read her so well. The words, yes. But more than that, the weight behind them. The hesitation. The thoughts she didn’t even say aloud.
It was like he could read her mind.
...Or was he?
She narrowed her eyes at him, curling the suspicion tight. He was still fiddling with his mug, not noticing.
She shaped her thought carefully. Sharp, direct.
Touch your ear if you can hear this.
He blinked at her, “What?”
She kept staring. Internally again, louder.
Come on, touch your ear.
Kion shifted uncomfortably.
“Umm... Lunlun? Do you need... anything? More food? Drink? ...Clothes, maybe? Not sure my clothes will fit you, though,” his voice trailed off like he was trying to cover for not knowing what was happening.
She didn’t answer. Still stared. Still focused.
And then she snapped it out in her head, a clear push.
I’ll trust you if you touch your ear. Now.
Kion flinched.
Not just a blink. A flinch. Shoulders tightening, wings twitching. A gut reaction.
Her stomach dropped.
Did he just--?
No.
No, no. Coincidence. It had to be. Right?
She squinted harder at him. He was staring back now, fully confused, like a butterfly caught in a lantern’s light. Antennae would’ve suited him. His wings already fluttered too delicately.
“You flinched,” she mumbled.
He flailed slightly, “well, your stare is... weird. I’m so, so afraid. Please stop,” his voice was light, but his brows knit faintly in confusion.
Too innocent. Suspiciously innocent.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
She turned her head away, fast, like she could erase what just happened by erasing it from sight. She heard him exhale, a sharp breath of relief.
She was just overthinking.
Probably already too drained from days in this ruin, too close to the edge.
And yet the feeling lingered. The ruin was messing with everything else. Who’s to say minds weren’t next?
The weight of it pressed against her chest again, the awareness of time slipping.
How long had they been here now? Eleven days?
Day six, she’d started rationing.
Day seven, he noticed. Offered his food. She accepted, begrudgingly.
Day eight, her water ran out by evening.
Day nine, she was drinking from his flask, still clinging to what little food she had left.
Day ten, her bag was taken, along with every last scrap of supply. That made her fully, completely reliant on him.
She’d had nothing since. Wouldn’t have even survived the day if he hadn’t insisted on keeping the barrier up.
And now, day eleven, she had no choice but to consider his offer as the only possible exit.
So she sat in the corridor and ate what passed for dinner.
She hated how neatly the numbers lined up.
How precisely the timeline charted her descent from independence to dependence.
It wasn’t survival. It was surrender by slow arithmetic.
His satchel was magic, yes, but magic had rules. Magic ran out. She didn’t believe in bottomless anything.
And even if it didn’t run out, she wasn’t willing to rot here just to test the theory.
Beyond that river might be another kind of hell, but this was a slow one. A quiet one. And she didn’t want to die to stillness.
She tapped the notebook strapped to her hip, grounding herself, then reached for the bubble he’d given her, fingers closing around its soft, gelatinous edge.
There was no other way.
She turned it slowly in her hand. It looked fragile, like a soap bubble caught mid-glow, impossibly light, impossibly clean, but when she pressed her thumb into its side, it pushed back. Firm, resilient.
She squeezed. It barely dented. She twisted it hard, then pinched until her nails dug into her fingertips. Nothing.
She slammed it against the nearest wall.
It bounced.
Still a perfect sphere. No flicker, no pulse, no crack.
Writ frowned, rotating it in her palm.
Kion, hovering just nearby, watched her like a student waiting for his exam score. Eager, wide-eyed. But oddly quiet, not the least bit alarmed by her repeated attempts to torture-test his spell.
“I thought any attempt to damage a barrier would affect the caster,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes.
Kion dropped onto his back midair, limbs loosely folded like he’d landed in a bed of clouds.
“Well, sure. if you don’t have enough mana to handle the blow,” he said smugly, one hand behind his head, “which I do.”
She rolled the orb between her palms, still skeptical, “and you can scale this up? Big enough for both of us?”
“Easily,” he didn’t even need to lift a finger. Mana gathered like it was magnetized to him, forming another sphere beside him, larger this time. Big enough to hold a person.
She narrowed her gaze, “and you didn’t need to cast.”
That only fed the gleam in his eyes, “never do. Not with this kind of magic.”
Writ stepped forward and ran her fingers along the surface of the larger bubble. The barrier gave slightly under her pressure. Firm, thick, solid like condensed light. No shimmer of weakness.
“Do you want to...” Kion’s voice dropped, gentler this time, more careful, “try getting in? I can... simulate some impact, see if it holds under stress. But only if you want to. No pressure.”
She considered.
Nodded once.
Kion mirrored the gesture, the amused glint gone, replaced by quiet focus.
The bubble shifted under his control, opening to allow her in. It sealed shut the moment she crossed the threshold, the translucent walls folding in around her like a second skin.
Inside, it didn’t feel much different than his usual thinner barrier bubbles. Just... quieter. More insulated. Sound dulled, her own breath louder in her ears.
She reached out, tapped the edge, then pushed harder. The surface resisted like a reinforced membrane.
She pressed mana into her palm, struck it. Nothing. Then her blade. Still nothing.
Writ frowned and spread her senses, seeking a fault line, a weakness. She found none.
"Okay," she said at last, tension creeping into her spine, "slam it."
“You sure?” Kion asked, “I’ll need to levitate you a little, make sure you don’t absorb any shock.”
Another nod.
The barrier shifted again, raising her gently off the ground until she hovered in its center, motionless. Then Kion moved, fast. She barely had time to brace.
The bubble slammed into the soil with a crack like thunder. Rubble trembled. Dust swirled.
Writ’s hands flew instinctively to cover her ears, even from inside the barrier. Outside, Kion had already extended another shield, protecting the tunnel mouth from debris.
When the dust finally settled, Writ was still floating, untouched. Not a bruise. Not a tremble.
But her body didn’t move. She couldn’t move. The inside of the bubble held her like a suspended core. Every attempt to shift, to steer her position, failed.
No give, no tilt. Just weightless, motionless containment.
The panic came quick. Cold. Familiar.
It felt like--
“You only need to tell me,” Kion’s voice broke through her thoughts. His tone was gentle, not pressing, “I’ll release it. I won’t hold it longer than you wish.”
That grounded her.
“Release it,” she said, breath uneven.
“Will do,” he snapped his fingers, and the bubble softened, then lowered her to the floor with careful control. Her boots hit the ground solidly.
Then the sphere vanished, no dramatic flare. Just a soft pop. Gone.
Kion drifted toward her, “you okay?” His expression was calm, but there was a crease in his brow, “you seemed... shaken.”
She blinked, then studied him, her gaze skimming over his limbs, searching for strain, cracks in posture, anything to mark exhaustion. There was nothing. Not even the slightest sag in his wings.
“How long can you keep that up?”
Kion shrugged, “if I’m only keeping it active, no other casting until I drain out... Record’s five hours. Three, if I’m soaking too much impact. Depends.”
Her thoughts stalled.
That was... unreal. Beyond military-grade endurance. But then another piece slotted into place.
“You barely held it for two hours last time,” she murmured, eyes narrowing, “and you looked so... drained. Exhausted.”
He tilted his head, gave a tired smile, “blame the flower. The miasma in that place... way worse than this cave. Easier to survive a waterfall than to stand in that bloom.”
The realization hit harder than she liked.
That flower had been that dangerous, and he’d contained it. Easily.
That meant... He could contain her.
Even if she ran. Even if she fought.
“Stop,” Kion said, not unkindly. Just firm.
She blinked, startled. “What?”
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop. If you’ve got a complaint, just say it. I’m not gonna bite.”
Her eyes narrowed. She stared at him for a moment, the pieces fitting together slower than she wanted. Her pulse didn’t like what they spelled.
Then flatly, “why didn’t you touch your ear earlier?”
A beat.
His confusion was too instant, too unrehearsed to fake, “touch my ear? Huh? Why would I--?”
She scowled, “how do you get me right? Did I get rusty? Am I that easy to read now?”
He scratched his head, grimacing, “Well... that’s... hard to explain...” his voice softened, “no. You’re not rusty. You’d still win a pokerface contest at the Accord. Easily. But...”
The name hit her like a skip in the current. Brief, but jarring.
He looked up, met her gaze.
“I pay attention. Earnestly. That’s why.”
Something in her chest twisted. Not painfully, but... sideways.
She blinked. Didn’t answer.
Instead, she turned, walked a few steps to the far wall, then curled up against the stone. Tucked her head between her knees. A retreat. Hiding, without hiding.
And Kion didn’t push.
She shut her eyes, curled tighter.
Letting him see this, feel this, was a mistake. She knew better.
She’d built walls for a reason.
But even now, she couldn’t tell him to go.
And he didn’t try to close the distance either.
Just stayed. A steady presence in the silence, unspoken but felt.
Waiting.
She made the walk again.
Not with hope. Not anymore. The corridor had long since given up all its secrets. Stone, soil, and the stubborn silence in between.
She’d mapped every step, tapping her notebook at regular intervals, more times than she cared to count.
There was no exit hidden here. That, at least, she could be sure of.
She paused at the cutoff point where stone met soil. The dead end stared back.
In front of her, soft bursts of mana thudded faintly against the wall. Kion, practicing. Or maybe playing. She glimpsed the flicker of light.
A bubble barrier, smaller than his usual one, with what looked like a cookie inside.
He launched it. Let it hit the wall. Repeat.
"Welcome back," he said without looking.
Writ gave a short nod. Words weren’t necessary.
She padded to the edge of her usual corner, slid down beside the pillar, and curled into herself. Quiet, tired.
Tomorrow.
She closed her eyes, forehead resting on her knees.
If the corridor truly had no way out, and she knew now that it didn’t, then the river was all that remained.
Risky, yes. But she’d tested the bubble. It held. Mostly.
Still... he said the flower’s miasma weakens his barriers. And the cave below was soaked in it.
She wished she could try it first. Just once. Take the bubble, ride it through the river, see if the seal held in that suffocating air.
But the current was too fast. Once they dropped in, there was no pulling back. No anchor, no reversal. Just flow, and fall, and whatever waited below.
It had to be one and done. No rehearsal. No misstep. No space for her spiral to eat her alive.
She hated this.
Pick your executioner: The ruin. Or the river.
Another choice that wasn’t a choice.
She could almost hear the Treshfold instructor's voice.
“Choice is an illusion. You obey, or you disappear.”
At least this time, “the Accord” wasn’t one of the options.
...Although, in truth, they still were.
She wouldn’t be here if not for them. Both deaths, should either claim her, would count as their tally. Just numbers to file away in some report.
She clenched her jaw.
She hated the thought of dying with their name still coiled around her neck.
But dying without it?
That wasn’t an option either. Not for someone like her. Not for a shadow carved in Treshfold to fit no world outside the Accord.
She let the silence stretch again.
Another thud echoed from Kion’s direction, his bubble ricocheting off stone.
She didn’t move.
If this really is the end... then I guess my death wouldn’t be as lonely as I thought it would be.
The sound of thuds, soft but deliberate, halted.
She glanced, just briefly. Kion had turned, his eyes on her now, no more practice, no more noise.
She tucked her face deeper into the crook of her arm and stilled her breath, feigning sleep.
She couldn’t bear any gentle word, any reaching kindness. Not tonight.
Not when the simple truth that she might not die alone, that someone was trying so hard not to let it happen, already felt like a kind of triumph.