I walked to the camp where Clare had gone. People were talking—wounded, yes, but alive. And for the first time in days, hope was growing among them.
Thanks to Clare.
I watched from a distance as she moved from tent to tent, giving orders, offering comfort, rationing supplies. Morale was rising. It warmed something inside me to see people smiling again, even if only faintly. It made me feel... close to life.
Some eyes turned toward me as I passed.
Not all were kind.
But not all were bitter, either. A few held something softer—confusion, maybe even hope. And the question behind every look was the same:
What happens now? Why hasn't help come?
The fire should have drawn attention. The smoke had risen for miles. Even if the blaze was contained to Sanctbridge, someone should have come. A neighboring town. A scouting patrol. Anyone.
But no one had.
It felt... deliberate. As if someone—or something—had decided to let us burn.
I pushed the thought aside and kept walking.
A child limped past me, clearly looking for help. I approached them gently and led them to a nearby medical tent, where I found bandages and salve to tend to their burns as best I could. My hands moved automatically—slow, but sure.
A familiar voice broke through the quiet.
"You don't even look back for a second," Clare said.
I turned. She stood in the tent's entrance, holding a medical bag. Her expression was unreadable, but her voice was softer than it had been before.
"Why do you help like this? In your state, no less? I'm sure it's painful."
"It's manageable," I said quietly, finishing the bandaging. "I believe I deserve it, somewhat."
Clare stepped inside, moving to refill her supplies. She hesitated for a moment, then glanced over at me.
"Why deserved, if I may ask?" Her voice lowered, almost uncertain. "It's hard to admit… and I still have my doubts, but… I'm sorry for what I said earlier. You've helped. That's clear."
I looked over at her, then back at the child resting on the cot. I was silent for a while.
Then: "I should have done more. I should have stopped the fire from happening."
My voice cracked. I didn't meet her eyes.
"I'm sure you did everything you could," she said gently.
She moved to the child, who was now sleeping soundly. For a moment, her gaze softened—but then her brows drew together, and something in her expression shifted.
"There was nothing you could've done about the fire," she said. "It was... weird. Unnatural, yet natural."
I looked at her. "What do you mean? That's paradoxical. Nature doesn't behave that way."
She turned toward me, smiling faintly, then let out a quiet laugh. Just once.
"I don't think that's true," she said. "Nature can be beautiful... and still be cruel. Gentle, and still devastating."
She dipped a towel into a bowl of water and began gently wiping ash from the child's skin.
"But this fire…" she continued. "It didn't feel like nature at all. It felt... intentional. Not like something that happened. Like something that was meant."
I looked over at the body of the child; his wounds were deep, yet he was sleeping peacefully.
"I'm glad you decided to tell me this, Clare, you're very kind."
She nodded and walked out with a simple smile.
The day faded quickly into night. I did what I could to help, tending to the wounded while trying to make a place for myself to rest. It wasn't much. Just some cloth and salvaged timber. Shabby, but shelter.
I could have left.
I could have run away from it all. The guilt. The ruins. The stares.
But I stayed.
I don't know why—not really. Only that it felt right. And yet… was that truly right? Was that virtue? Was it sacred, even if no god remained to recognize it?
The answer, or something like it, stirred quietly in my chest. Not spoken, not certain—but present. Like a coal still glowing in the ashes.
My spirit clung to that warmth, and it grew brighter as I sat in silence, searching for answers I might never find.
And though I had no way of knowing what was happening, something was.
I closed my eyes and endured the night.