Apologies spilled from the boy’s mouth as if it was impossible for him to hold them back. The only time he stopped apologizing was when he paused to breathe - or to grimace as he brushed his burnt hand and forearm against passersby.

  Sahvra didn’t want to stop until they were home and safe, but he was trying her patience. Not because he apologized, but because she recognized the pattern. He sounded like someone used to being blamed.

  The bazaar was the crown jewel of the Residential District. Even as they pushed through the thinning crowds, its wealth still lingered - polished storefronts, well-dressed traders, minor nobles mingling with the city’s most successful merchants.

  “What’s your name?” She finally interrupted him, punctuating the question with a quick, pointed look. He stammered himself into momentary silence.

  “Tavi,” he answered after another dozen or so steps down the path to home.

  “First time that’s happened?”

  He nodded and they continued on in silence.

  As one moved further away from the central hub, the surroundings shifted quickly - especially when traveling south.

  The crowds thinned as they continued in silence, and the workshops and storefronts gave way to residential buildings once more. The sounds and smells of the market faded behind them, replaced by the clucking of chickens and the distinct scent of horse manure.

  People milled about as afternoon chores wound down. One woman swept her stoop while two men replaced a wagon wheel. Passersby moved out of the Wildkin’s way as if by instinct, though many offered reassuring smiles - or concerned looks - when they spotted Tavi’s burns.

  “Does it always hurt - like, do you always burn yourself when you call on fire?” Sahvra asked.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Tavi said quietly, “First time that’s happened.”

  “Not the best timing, was it?”

  “... No.”

  Eventually, they crossed through the last of the district gates.

  Sahvra always found it disconcerting how heavy the air immediately felt, and how jarring the silence was - no market barkers, no joyous laughter. Her nose scrunched at the smell of sewage that was ever-present from the poorly maintained drainage grates in the road.

  But what drew her ire the most was the number of Wildkin she saw. It felt as if the city had collectively decided to hide them all away and turn a blind eye thereafter. She would admit to some benefits - patrols were rare, and those that did get assigned never risked staying long.

  “We have an order we’re doing this in,” Sahvra broke the silence first. Tavi couldn’t help but jump at the suddenness. “Infirmary for your arm. Elder Vazash to discuss what happened. Kitchen for something to eat. Do you have a safe place for the night?”

  Tavi gave a tentative shake of his head.

  “You do now.”

  They rounded one last bend in the broken road, which emerged into a public square that she suspected was once a market. In its place stood the home she had claimed for herself - a sprawling, mismatched building that had been cobbled together from whatever supplies could be repurposed or scavenged or stolen. A pair of equally mismatched double doors framed the front entrance, propped wide to admit a steady flow of people.

  She thought it was charming in the way only an ugly thing could be.

  She took Tavi by the uninjured wrist and drew him inside, stepping deftly past the small gathering queued outside. She guided him over the threshold and into the large foyer, crowded with people seeking aid. Sahvra was unsurprised. Tavi looked overwhelmed.

  She never slowed her pace nor gave Tavi the chance to question or second guess what was happening as she tugged him along into the makeshift infirmary that connected with the main foyer. It was full of couches, chairs and dinner tables - organized only in the sense that you could move between them. Small carts and large cabinets were scattered throughout and held their various supplies - though Sahvra was sure anyone could see that nothing here was what one might call professional.

  She led him to an unoccupied, rickety-looking wooden chair and motioned for him to sit. Tavi eyed it with open distrust before he eased his weight down onto it, pausing briefly when it creaked in protest. When it didn’t fail, he settled in completely.

  Sahvra tried not to look amused.

  “This next part is going to be unpleasant, but necessary,” she said gently, as one of the other women who worked in the infirmary made her way over to them. She carried a bowl of warm water in one hand and cradled additional supplies in her other arm - soap, a soft-bristled scrub brush, a jar of medicinal poultice, and bandages. “Let her do what needs to be done. She’ll send you up to Elder Vazash when she’s done. I’ll be there.”

  Sahvra didn’t wait for confirmation. She clapped Tavi on the shoulder as she passed - brief, but reassuring. She stepped into a hallway that led toward a set of stairs. Her ears folded back when she heard the boy protest and cry out in discomfort.

  She continued her way through the maze of a building - up one set of crooked stairs, down another hallway, down another set of stairs. When she’d first arrived, she’d thought the building had been thrown together without thought — additions forced wherever they could fit. The longer she’d lived within it, however, the more she’d come to appreciate how easily those who belonged there could navigate it… and how quickly those who didn’t could become lost.

  Soon enough, she arrived at a solid wooden door with an ornate design, depicting a savannah dotted with sparse trees at sunset. The colors were faded and the paint chipped, but Sahvra could still tell it had once been beautiful. She knocked once - a quick, sharp motion - before she pushed inside and stepped into the room, nudging it shut behind her with her foot.

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  The room was large, yet Sahvra always felt faintly claustrophobic in it. Vazash seemed to organize it by gale-force winds alone. There were several tables, and not one of them had open space - covered with scrolls and books and half-written correspondence or personal notes. She did appreciate the bookshelves - beautifully crafted and spanning from floor to ceiling. They stored not only books but knickknacks, statuettes, and other small baubles.

  Perched on the edge of a chair behind an equally chaotic desk was Vazash himself.

  She considered him a bear of a man - both in the literal sense, given the fuzzy ears atop his head - and figurative sense, given his burly stature. She was quite certain he could maul his way out of any situation that required it, even if he was an Elder in both name and age.

  “Sahvra,” he said, though he never looked up from the letter he was writing.

  “Elder,” she replied with warmth in her voice, “I’ve brought a new stray home. The fancy city guard harassed him so much that he discovered the Path he must walk.”

  Vazash paused his work, tapped the tip of his pen against the paper a moment, then motioned at her expectantly. She explained all she had seen and all that had happened, from the original unrest to the strangely kind captain to their walk home. The Elder was quiet while she spoke, focused on her with an expression that she could only describe as measuring.

  “What Path is that?” Vazash asked and stood from his chair.

  “Fire,” she responded, though she knew from experience it was best not to offer more information than what was requested. The Elder preferred these conversations structured. Sahvra had learned long ago that it was better to stay within those bounds than push beyond them.

  Vazash nodded in understanding, though his expression tightened - likely not at the Path itself, but the timing of its manifesting. He strode to one of the cluttered tables. He moved a few items aside until he uncovered a thick, worn leather book. Its title was faded but legible: A Survey of the Paths. Once he had retrieved the book and set it aside, he returned each object precisely where it had been. She had always been amused by the ritual.

  “I’ll talk to him,” he said, as he settled back down behind his desk. A frown creased his brow as he focused on Sahvra again. “They’re asking for papers.”

  “They are. I spotted a registration booth, but didn’t have time to investigate it.”

  He leaned back, rubbing at his chin while his fingers drummed against the chair arm.

  “I had hoped the rumors were just that, but this isn’t the only first-hand account I’ve heard. Official word always takes so long to get to us. It seems they not only expect immediate compliance, but demand it.”

  She remained silent. Vazash was musing aloud, and interrupting him mid-thought had a way of turning brief conversations into lengthy ones.

  “You called them the ‘fancy’ city guard. The Emberwatch,” he looked to her as he spoke, and Sahvra nodded in response. “The captain did you a kindness - and a disservice. Though –”

  He paused for a moment, tilted his head to the side. Sahvra chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep from prompting him. She was certain she was in lockstep with his line of thinking. She was glad his pause was not an extended one.

  “Though it does present us with an opportunity. Register yourself - bring whatever identification documents they give you back here.”

  And we’ll reverse engineer whatever they’ve done so we can forge them, she finished his sentence in her head.

  Before any additional words were exchanged, there was a confident rap on the door behind her, before it swung open. The volunteer who had tended to Tavi entered first, and nearly had to drag the teen in by his uninjured wrist.

  “He’s nervous,” she said, with amused exasperation, before she pointed a finger at Vazash, “So be nice!”

  “I am always nice,” he responded, expression deadpan.

  The woman rolled her eyes and exited, leaving Tavi wide-eyed and frozen where she’d left him. Even a few feet away, Sahvra could smell the medicinal herb blend that had been used in conjunction with the bandaging of his arm.

  “Sahvra, you may go,” Vazash said, nodding at her once as he did. She bowed her head in recognition and strode to the exit. She clapped Tavi on the shoulder as she passed, as she had done earlier, in the hope of reassuring him. As the door snapped shut quietly behind her, she heard the Elder speak again - in a softer, gentler tone.

  “Tavi, was it…?”

  The boy nodded.

  “Good,” Vazash said, as he opened the worn leather book he’d set aside earlier. “Now tell me how you set the city on fire.”

  ***

  An hour or so later, Sahvra was at the top of the broken clock tower that rose from one end of the shelter. Much of the lower tower had been converted to cramped but functional living quarters, used as overflow for busy seasons - though she noticed they were full more often now. It had been a slow creep, she thought - and the realization hit her suddenly during her ascent.

  Where she sat now was where the clock face would have been were the tower still functional. She’d been one of the people who helped convert it into a balcony instead, which she had pitched as a lookout tower to Vazash to get approval. In reality, she had just wanted a place she could go to be alone with her thoughts and enjoy the view.

  She sat facing north as late afternoon bled into evening. From here, she could see the Scalebound Keep - an immense, monolithic structure that dominated the skyline. She found it incredibly impressive - and terribly oppressive. She’d never been inside, but she knew the stories and heard the legends - that dragons had once roosted along its uppermost towers.

  As the sun dipped lower, the stone began to glimmer - so subtle she would have blamed it on a trick of the light if she hadn’t known what she was looking at. Soon the shimmer grew bright and steady, the Keep sparkling in iridescent colors - reds and greens, golds and silvers. This was how the capital had long ago become ‘The Glittering City.’

  Some claimed the shimmer came from dragon scales set into the stone.

  The sight had once filled her with joy and hope, soothing her nerves and easing whatever trials the day had brought.. This evening, it only caused a vague sense of dread to sit heavy in her chest. Since Solvere had won the election, she saw the Keep as less a proud symbol of Emberthain’s history, and more a testament to its cruelty and thirst for power.

  Maybe the truth is somewhere between the two.

  The thought did little to reassure her, but it did push her mind back toward more immediate concerns. Soon, she would need to register - and most likely, she would need to find a location outside of their District, given they would likely recognize her and the captain’s ruse would have been all for naught.

  Her thoughts drifted from the reality of the following day to the captain now. The act had made little sense to her in the moment, and even less now. She did not understand what had been in it for him - and she had never known someone to help without expecting the favor returned, often with interest.

  She pushed the thoughts away after a few minutes of turning them over in her head - they would do nothing but drive her mad, because they had no answers.

  As the sun was nearly finished setting, and the Keep’s iridescent glimmers faded, she ran her conversation with Vazash over in her head again. He’d already heard other reports, and had already spotted an opportunity to sow deceit and inaccuracy in the official records.

  Lastly, as the Keep faded back to darkness, she thought of Tavi. The memory of Vazash’s gentle voice lingered. She held onto it as the lights of the Keep dimmed - steadying herself for whatever tomorrow would demand.