Varang did not stop running until the forest closed around her like a held breath.

Her lungs burned, chest tight with more than exertion—fear, fury, the shock of survival still ringing through her bones. Ash clung to her skin. The echo of what she had fled trailed her every step, a reminder that power could turn cruel faster than fire could spread.

She did not go to allies. She did not go to warriors.

She went to her sister.

The path narrowed as she neared the hidden refuge, roots rising like ribs from the earth, bioluminescence dim and watchful. This place remembered them as children—shared shelter, shared blood, whispered promises made before the world hardened around them. Varang slowed only when she reached the threshold, pride cracking at last.

When her sister emerged from the shadows, Varang’s resolve finally gave way. Not to tears—never that—but to exhaustion, to the quiet relief of being seen without judgment. She bowed her head just enough to admit the truth she could not say aloud.

She had lost. She had escaped. And she had nowhere else left to go.

For the first time since the flames rose, Varang allowed herself to be sheltered—not by strength, but by blood.