Another month passed.
The air stayed thick with rot and rusted iron. The torchlight burned lower these days, as if even the fire had grown tired of watching people break.
Levi spoke more now.
Not often. Not with ease.
But sometimes—late at night, when the guards had gone quiet, when the pit didn't call for blood—he'd say a word. A name. A place. A memory.
Thane never pushed.
He just listened.
One evening, when the silence had stretched so long it became its own presence, Levi spoke without warning.
"She used to braid her hair before she scolded me."
Thane glanced over.
Levi sat with his back against the wall, legs pulled up, wrists resting on his knees. The iron cuffs still bit into his skin, but he didn't flinch anymore. Didn't feel it.
"She said it helped her feel less angry," he added, voice hoarse. "I always thought it just made her look stronger."
Thane didn't interrupt.
"She was small. My mom. But when she was mad, she looked ten feet tall."
Levi let his head fall back against the stone.
"I never apologized. Not really. Not before we fought that night. She said I wasn't a child anymore. That I didn't need her like I used to."
A pause.
"I hated her for that."
Thane shifted a little, knees pulled close. "Sounds like she knew you were hurting."
"She was too tired to see it," Levi whispered. "Or maybe I was too tired to show it the way she needed."
Silence again. A softer one.
"She was carrying it when she left," Levi added after a long while. "The baby. She looked different. Softer. Like maybe this time… she'd get to raise one without hiding."
Thane's expression barely changed. But his hand—cuffed loosely by his side—tightened for just a breath.
"I used to hope she'd find a village. Somewhere far from here. Somewhere they wouldn't recognize the look of a runaway on her. That Kaan would keep them safe."
He turned his face slightly toward Thane. "That she'd name the baby after fire, maybe."
Thane tilted his head. "Why fire?"
Levi's gaze dropped.
"Because even when it dies," he said quietly, "it still leaves light behind."
Thane didn't reply.
He couldn't.
Not for a moment.
Because in that second, watching Levi's eyes—still rimmed with shadow, still full of war—he realized something.
The boy hadn't survived.
He was surviving.
Day by day. Memory by memory. Word by painful word.
The next day, Thane told a story about a broken clocktower that only chimed at night—and the girl who used to sneak up and pretend it sang just for her.
And that night, when Levi finally spoke again, he asked Thane a question.
Not sharp. Not bitter.
Just curious.
"Do you think people can forget what they are if they survive long enough?"
Thane didn't answer right away.
Then, softly:
"No. But I think they can decide who they'll be next."
Levi didn't say anything else.
But he didn't curl away, either.
And when the guards came later, dragging another man to the pit, Levi didn't flinch.
He just kept looking at the torchlight.
As if waiting for it to flicker. Or maybe… to grow.
…..
The cell hadn't changed—still stone, still rust, still dark—but something else had.
Levi.
His silence no longer felt like defeat. It felt like choice.
He spoke more now—small, quiet things, never forced. Never loud. But enough.
Enough to let Thane see the pieces that hadn't been crushed completely.
They'd been sitting in silence again—one of those long stretches where the only sound was the occasional cough from another cell, or the low, distant groan of someone being dragged back from the pit. Thane was sharpening a sliver of bone against the edge of the wall, careful, casual. Levi was tracing the iron links on his cuffs with one finger.
Then—out of nowhere—Levi smirked.
Thane looked up.
Levi didn't glance over, just kept watching the chains. "Didn't you say you were getting out of here?"
Thane arched a brow.
Levi's smile didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was real. Small. Wry. "Been two months. Your great escape plan running late?"
Thane exhaled a quiet laugh, slow and soft. "Still working on it."
Levi hummed. "You're gonna get old in here."
"I already was."
Levi shook his head, the smirk fading just slightly. But the edge in his voice was gone. It wasn't mockery. It was… teasing. Close to it.
Thane nodded once, like he accepted the shift without needing to comment.
Then footsteps echoed down the corridor—heavy, armored, and familiar.
Levi's body tensed, but only slightly.
One of the guards approached, stopped in front of the cell. A tall man with a short blade at his hip and a permanent scowl etched into his face. He said nothing, just studied the two of them for a long moment.
"New schedule starts soon," the guard muttered. "Fights'll run double. Pitmaster wants the runt broken in again."
Levi didn't look at him.
But the smirk vanished.
The guard's eyes lingered too long—on Levi, then on Thane.
And then he added, lower now: "You'll know when the time's right."
Then he turned and walked away.
Thane's head tilted slightly.
Levi frowned. "What was that?"
"Probably nothing," Thane said lightly—but something behind his eyes had sharpened.
That guard wasn't like the others. His voice was steady. Too steady. His eyes too clear. Not dulled by cruelty, not lit by greed.
And Levi had seen him before.
Not often. But enough.
The man never watched the pit matches. Never laughed. Never jeered.
He just observed.
And now… he'd said something strange.
Levi rested his head against the stone again.
The silence came back, but it wasn't empty this time. Not even a little.
Thane resumed sharpening the bone shard. Levi closed his eyes.
The silence that followed felt different now. Not the emptiness that usually pressed against the walls of the cell like a weight—but a quiet that held breath. Held intention.
The guard's words hung between them like a thread strung too tight: You'll know when the time's right.
Thane didn't comment again. He just scraped the edge of the bone slowly across the stone floor, the rhythm purposeful. Focused. Levi could tell now—it wasn't just for the sake of sharpening. It was meditation. Muscle memory. Something to keep his hands busy while his thoughts ran miles ahead.
Levi opened his eyes.
He watched him work for a while. Just the curve of Thane's shoulders, the way his knuckles flexed and relaxed between passes. How steady he stayed even when the torchlight flickered and shadows crawled up the walls.
"How long've you known?" Levi asked at last, voice low.
Thane didn't look up. "Known what?"
"That guard."
Thane paused only for a heartbeat. "Long enough."
Levi scoffed quietly. "You're a shit liar."
Thane smiled at that—thin and faint. "Then it's good you don't believe me."
Silence again.
Levi's thumb traced the same ring of rust on his cuff, over and over.
Eventually, he spoke again. "The way he said it. That wasn't just some 'keep your head down' advice. It sounded like a signal."
"Maybe it was," Thane said carefully.
"You waiting on something?"
Thane turned the bone between his fingers. "I always am."
Levi watched him. "What is it?"
He didn't answer.
Didn't have to.
Because Levi was already thinking. Already threading pieces together. Not fully. Not clearly. But enough to sense it—the tension in the air, the way Thane had changed ever so slightly since that first week. The way he watched people. How calm he stayed. How precise.
"You're not a slave," Levi said, more certain now.
Thane met his eyes.
"I'm in the same chains you are," he said softly.
"That's not what I meant."
They stared at each other for a long time.
Levi wasn't sure what he expected—denial, maybe. Deflection. But Thane didn't give him either.
He just held his gaze.
And finally, Thane said, "I didn't come here to fight."
Levi leaned back, shoulders pressing into the wall. "But you've fought."
"I've survived."
They both went quiet again.
The torch outside sputtered. A shout echoed from somewhere down the corridor, followed by the dull crack of a whip. Someone whimpered. Metal dragged. Then—silence again.
Levi closed his eyes.
The next few days passed in a hush that felt like a held breath. Levi spoke more, though not often. Stories came in slow fragments, always at night, and Thane listened like he was building a map from them—piecing together a world Levi had tried hard to forget.
And Levi noticed things too.
How Thane always positioned himself between Levi and the door when footsteps passed.
How he never asked about magic, but always glanced at Levi's wrapped forearm when the torchlight hit it just right.
How the same guard—the one who watched, not hunted—walked slower near their cell now. Sometimes paused. Always quiet.
Something was building.
Levi could feel it.
But he didn't ask.
Because for once, it felt like the world might be holding its breath for him, not against him.
And the next time he looked up at Thane through the cell bars, he didn't just see a stranger anymore.
He saw a waiting blade.
One that hadn't been drawn yet.
But would be—soon.
....
They came for him in the quiet.
No jeering. No taunts. Just boots on stone and the hollow clink of chains unhooked from the wall.
Thane looked up as the guards reached for Levi.
Levi didn't resist. He stood, letting them cuff him without a word. The manacles bit down harder than usual, but he didn't flinch. His body was used to it now. What it wasn't used to… was the feeling crawling up the back of his spine.
Something was wrong.
Or maybe it was right. He couldn't tell anymore.
The pit was colder than usual.
The walk there felt longer, but not in time—only weight. Like the air thickened with every step. The guards didn't speak. Even their usual mutters were absent. When they reached the gate, one of them nodded sharply, and the barred door groaned open.
The smell hit first.
Sweat. Blood. Sand and iron.
Then the noise. The crowd wasn't full, but they were louder. Hungrier. Their shouts were sharper. Some called his name. Others called for his blood.
Levi stepped into the ring and kept his eyes low.
The announcer's voice rang out like thunder:
"Desert-born and half-dead—but not done yet—Levi!"
Mocking laughter. Scattered coins flung to the floor.
He kept walking until he reached the center. His bare feet left prints in the sand—faint, fragile.
The opposite gate clanked open.
His opponent emerged.
Not a slave. Not this time.
A fighter.
Thick arms. Armored forearms. A deep, broken nose and a heavy spiked cudgel resting in one hand like it weighed nothing. The man rolled his shoulders once, then locked eyes with Levi.
He smiled.
Levi didn't return it.
He'd stopped smiling weeks ago.
The bell rang.
No one moved at first.
Then the man came forward, measured and heavy, like someone used to killing with rhythm, not speed.
Levi shifted his weight. Waited.
The first blow came low—too fast.
He blocked, but it jarred his whole arm.
The second hit his ribs.
Not a crack. But close.
Levi gasped but didn't drop.
He countered. A quick jab, meant to distract. It worked—barely. The man stepped back, and Levi lunged for the thigh. His blade glanced off the leather.
Useless.
Then came the third strike.
Straight to the shoulder.
Levi's knees buckled. The pain was instant and screaming.
He stumbled, sucking air.
Not enough.
His opponent didn't give him time.
A boot struck Levi in the gut.
He doubled over, coughing blood into the sand.
The crowd loved it.
"Up!" someone barked from above.
But Levi wasn't sure he could.
He moved on instinct, dodged just enough to avoid the cudgel swinging down again, then rolled across the dirt. His side screamed in protest. The old wound at his ribs had reopened.
He could feel the blood.
And then—
The pressure.
It started low. In his spine. Like a hum beneath the skin. A spark buried deep behind his ribs.
The man charged again.
Levi raised his arm to block—
And the cudgel hit something that wasn't him.
It stopped midair.
A shimmer. Faint. Almost invisible.
But there.
It bent the space between them. A ripple like heat above a flame.
The crowd went silent.
Even the fighter hesitated.
Levi blinked.
His chest ached. Not from the strike—but from something burning inside.
The mark on his forearm pulsed.
Not a glow.
A heat.
The shimmer vanished.
And Levi surged up.
He struck—not hard, but sharp. A slice across the leg. The man snarled.
Then another blow came. Heavy.
Levi blocked—barely.
He was too slow now.
Too tired.
The pain behind his eyes blurred the world.
Another hit.
This time to his temple.
He fell.
Hard.
His mouth filled with blood and sand.
He tried to get up—
The cudgel hit his back.
The crowd screamed for more.
His fingers twitched in the dust.
Another hit came—lower, across the side.
His breath caught.
The next blow didn't come.
Not because the fighter relented—but because the air itself cracked.
A sound split through the pit like a bolt of pressure snapping loose. Not thunder. Not steel. Something wrong. Something sharp, ancient, magical.
The cudgel froze inches from Levi's back.
Then the ground shook.
A wave of force blasted across the arena—not visible, but real. Sand scattered. Chains rattled. Several nobles in the crowd shouted in alarm.
Levi blinked against the dust.
The world blurred again. Sound spiraled—distant, close, layered. He felt cold and hot at once. Felt weightless.
Then—
Screaming.
Not the crowd this time.
The guards above.
The noise changed—boots running, weapons drawn, someone shouting orders in clipped, cold authority.
The cudgel dropped beside him.
He didn't lift his head. Couldn't. His body buzzed with a strange energy—like every nerve had been lit, then snuffed, leaving only smoke behind.
Voices clashed around the pit now. Not the crude drawl of mercenaries or slavers—but sharp, clear voices. Controlled. Trained.
"Arrest anyone with crest sigils—move!"
"Shield the slaves!"
"Secure the lower tunnels!"
Steel clanged against steel. A rush of footsteps thundered across the gallery. Levi rolled halfway onto his side, coughing into the sand. His ribs shrieked. The blood in his mouth tasted like rust and bile.
His eyes cracked open.
White cloaks.
Gold insignias.
Blades shaped for war, not show.
Magic crackled through the air—not the wild, raw heat like his, but honed, cut clean and precise. Controlled mana. Bound in glyphs and symbols, carried by people who didn't flinch when it surged.
Mage Knights.
Real ones.
Levi didn't believe it.
He couldn't believe it.
He staggered to his knees with a low groan, spitting blood, eyes flicking across the chaos. One of the fighters had dropped their weapon and bolted—only to be struck in the chest by a bolt of blue flame and crumple without a sound.
Another Knight landed in the pit with a gust of wind—lightfooted, armored, face hidden behind a half-mask of iron and cloth. They saw Levi and moved toward him.
He flinched.
Rolled back.
His hand reached for the weapon he'd lost—no longer even there.
The figure slowed. Lifted both hands.
"I'm not here to hurt you."
Levi's lip curled. "Everyone says that before they do."
The Knight hesitated—just a second. Then they nodded, almost to themselves.
"Name?"
Levi didn't answer.
He crawled backward instead, breath ragged, shoulders bowed like a dog ready to snap.
Another figure dropped into the pit on the opposite side—this one younger, wrapped in deep blue robes streaked with silver trim. A mage, clearly. Not masked.
They crouched and whispered to the Knight, who tilted their head in response. A moment passed. Then the younger mage looked at Levi.
And Levi saw something he hadn't seen in weeks.
Pity.
He hated it.
A growl rumbled low in his throat. His arms trembled.
Then—
"Get away from him."
The voice cut through the pit like a knife.
Familiar.
Levi turned his head, blinking through the haze of pain and dust.
Thane stood on the edge of the ring, hands still chained, escorted by a guard who wasn't restraining him—just walking beside him like a shadow.
The Knight turned.
Thane stepped down into the sand slowly. Deliberately.
"He's not a threat," Thane said. "Not to you."
Levi stared at him.
Thane looked the same—calm, tired, distant—but something behind his eyes burned. Not with pity. With fury.
Levi pushed himself to his feet, wobbling, blood still seeping from his shoulder.
"What is this?" Levi croaked. "What are they?"
Thane didn't lie.
"Mage Knights," he said.
Levi's jaw clenched. "Why now?"
Thane stepped closer. "Because the nobles who ran this place finally got careless. Because people like me have been trying to burn it from the inside. And because people like you… survived long enough to be noticed."
Levi laughed once—dry, bitter, sharp.
"Great. So I'm a case file now?"
"No," Thane said. "You're a witness."
Levi swayed.
A Knight stepped forward. "We can take you out of here. Heal you. Feed you."
Levi looked at her—really looked.
And then past her.
To the cells above. To the blood still fresh in the sand. To the body of a boy he'd once fought beside at one point in time while he was there, now lifeless near the wall.
He took a step back.
"Don't touch me," he said.
No one moved.
He looked at Thane. "I don't trust them."
Thane nodded once. "Then trust me."
It wasn't a plea.
It was a promise.
And Levi—after everything—nodded back.
Once.
That was all he gave.
Thane turned to the Knight nearest them. "Give him space."
The Knight hesitated. Just long enough for Levi to notice. Then she stepped back, lifting one hand to signal the others. The circle around the pit loosened. Weapons lowered. No one rushed him.
Levi didn't thank them.
He didn't look at them at all.
The adrenaline ebbed, leaving pain in its wake—sharp and blooming, radiating from his ribs, his shoulder, his spine. His legs trembled, threatening to fold. He locked them in place through sheer will, jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
A healer moved closer anyway. Older. Grey hair braided tight. Clean hands already glowing faintly with magic.
"Let me—" she began.
Levi flinched back like he'd been struck.
"No."
The word scraped out of him raw, cracked from smoke and blood. Still, it landed.
The healer froze.
Thane didn't correct him. Didn't soften it. He just watched Levi carefully, like he was learning the shape of a new boundary.
The healer tried again, gentler. "You're bleeding. Your ribs—"
"I said no." Levi's voice didn't rise. That was the worst part. It didn't need to.
Something stirred behind his eyes—heat, low and warning. Not flaring. Not out of control. Just present.
The mark under his bandages pulsed once.
The healer felt it.
She stepped back.
"All right," she said quietly. No offense. No anger. Just acceptance. "When you're ready."
Levi swallowed hard. His vision swam. The pit tilted.
Thane was there immediately, not touching him, just close enough that Levi could feel him. Solid. Familiar.
"You don't have to be strong right now," Thane said low. Not for the Knights. For Levi.
Levi shook his head once. "I am."
It wasn't pride.
It was fear.
If he stopped holding himself together—if he let someone else take over—he didn't know if he'd come back the same.
The Knights began moving around them, efficient and quiet. Prisoners were being freed. Chains unlocked. Names recorded. Orders barked and obeyed.
Life reorganizing itself without him.
Levi stayed where he was.
A Knight approached Thane, murmured something under their breath. Thane nodded, then looked back at Levi. "We need to get you out of the pit. Just out. No healing. No questions."
Levi hesitated.
The sand beneath him was soaked dark. Blood—some his, most not. He stared at it like it might grab him if he moved.
Finally, he nodded.
Thane didn't help him stand.
He let Levi do it himself.
The moment Levi put weight on his right leg, white-hot pain shot up his side. He hissed through his teeth, breath stuttering. His knee buckled.
Before he could hit the ground, Thane caught his elbow.
Just that.
Not a hold. Not a restraint.
Levi froze.
For one terrifying second, his body screamed trap.
Then Thane loosened his grip slightly. Gave him room.
Levi let out a shaky breath and straightened again.
"…Don't," Levi muttered.
Thane nodded. "I won't."
They moved together—slow, uneven. Every step felt like crossing a blade's edge. The pit's edge loomed closer, higher than it had any right to be.
Levi stopped once more.
Thane followed his gaze.
The boy's body still lay near the wall.
Small. Still.
Levi's chest hitched.
"They didn't cover him," Levi whispered.
Thane looked. His jaw tightened.
"I'll make sure he's buried," he said. "Not here."
Levi swallowed. His fingers curled, nails biting into his palms.
"…Good."
It wasn't enough.
But it was something.
When they reached the stairs, the same guard from before stood waiting—the quiet one. No weapon raised. No rush. Just watching Levi like he'd been watching all along.
"You did well," the guard said quietly.
Levi's head snapped up. "Don't."
The guard held his gaze for a moment, then inclined his head. "Fair."
He stepped aside.
The stairs were brutal. Levi climbed them one at a time, breath tearing in and out of his chest. The noise of the pit faded behind them—replaced by orders, steel, boots, the sound of an ending.
At the top, the air changed.
Cooler. Cleaner.
Levi nearly staggered at the difference.
A tent waited nearby—white canvas marked with gold thread. Inside, he could see a cot. Clean linens. Water. Light.
The healer was there again, standing just inside the flap.
Levi stopped.
"No," he said immediately.
Thane turned. "Levi—"
"I'm not going in there." His voice was firmer now. Grounded. "Not yet."
The healer frowned slightly. "You'll collapse if you don't rest."
Levi met her eyes. "Then I'll collapse out here."
Silence stretched.
The Knights watched. Curious. Assessing.
Thane searched Levi's face—not for weakness, but for intent.
Finally, he nodded. "All right."
The healer looked at him sharply. "He needs—"
"He needs control," Thane replied calmly. "Right now, that matters more."
He turned back to Levi. "There's a fire line behind the tents. No one goes there unless they're on watch. You can sit. I'll stay close."
Levi considered that.
Then nodded once more.
They moved again—slower this time. When Levi reached the fire line, he sank down onto the packed earth with a breath that shook all the way through him. His back hit the ground. He stared up at the sky.
Open.
Uncaged.
Too much.
His hands trembled.
Thane sat a few paces away. Not looming. Not guarding. Just present.
Minutes passed.
Levi's breathing evened out.
The pain didn't lessen—but it stopped climbing.
The healer approached once more, careful, respectful. She set a canteen on the ground within reach. Didn't touch him.
"Water," she said. "You don't have to drink it."
Levi eyed it.
Then, slowly, he reached out and dragged it closer.
Didn't open it yet.
The healer stepped back.
Trust, offered.
Not taken.
Not forced.
The sun dipped lower, light softening. The camp settled into a different rhythm—one not built on screams.
Levi closed his eyes.
Night came without asking permission.
It slipped in slow and quiet, cooling the air, dimming the campfires to low embers. The Mage Knights settled into watches and rotations, armor clinking softly instead of screaming. Somewhere farther off, someone laughed. It sounded wrong in Levi's bones.
He didn't move from the fire line.
The ground beneath him was hard-packed earth, uneven with roots and old stones. He sat with his knees drawn up, arms looped loosely around them, chin resting on his forearms. His body hurt everywhere now that the shock had fully drained away. Each breath tugged at his ribs. His shoulder throbbed in time with his pulse.
He welcomed the pain.
Pain was familiar. Pain meant he was still awake.
Behind him, the white tents glowed faintly with lantern light. Too bright. Too open. Too easy to imagine hands pulling the flaps aside while he slept.
He didn't sleep.
Thane hadn't left.
Levi didn't look at him, but he knew exactly where he was. A few paces back, near the edge of the firelight, seated with his back to a tree. Far enough not to crowd. Close enough to matter.
"You're going to pass out sitting like that," Thane said quietly after a while.
Levi didn't answer.
Minutes stretched. The forest hummed around them. Insects. Wind in leaves. A distant owl call that made Levi's shoulders tense before he could stop himself.
"I can move farther away," Thane offered. "If that helps."
Levi's jaw tightened. "No."
Thane stayed where he was.
Another stretch of silence.
Levi's fingers flexed against his sleeves. Clean cloth. Still strange. He kept expecting to feel grit or blood crusted into the seams. There was nothing there.
It made his skin crawl.
A healer passed by once, slowed when she saw him still sitting there. Thane lifted a hand slightly. Not a signal to stop her—just enough to say not yet.
She nodded and kept walking.
Levi noticed.
He hated that he noticed.
Eventually, his head dipped forward without his permission. Just for a second. His eyes slid half-shut.
The ground beneath him shifted.
Sand instead of dirt.
Heat slammed into his lungs. Smoke clawed down his throat. Screams rose around him—too many, too close.
Levi jerked awake with a sharp inhale, heart hammering, hand flying to his side like he still had a blade.
The forest snapped back into place.
Trees. Cool air. Firelight.
His breath came fast and shallow, chest burning. He stared at the ground until the tremor in his hands eased.
Thane hadn't moved.
Didn't speak.
Didn't pretend not to see.
After a moment, Levi rasped, "I'm not sleeping."
"I didn't ask you to," Thane replied.
Levi swallowed. His throat felt raw, like he'd been screaming instead of dreaming.
Another silence settled—heavier now, but not crushing.
A Knight approached from the edge of camp, boots quiet on the soil. Younger than most. She stopped several steps away, hands visible.
"Captain wants to know if you'll eat," she said. Polite. Careful. "We have broth. Bread."
Levi's stomach twisted violently at the word eat. Hunger flared sharp and nauseating all at once. His body wanted it. His mind recoiled.
"No," he said immediately.
The Knight hesitated. "You haven't had anything since—"
"No."
Thane glanced at Levi, then back to the Knight. "Leave it nearby."
The Knight nodded, set a covered bowl and wrapped bread a short distance away, then retreated.
Levi stared at the food like it might lunge at him.
Minutes passed.
He didn't touch it.
Eventually, he spoke again, voice low and rough. "If I eat… it means this is real."
Thane considered that. "And if it is?"
Levi's mouth twisted. "Then it can be taken away."
Thane didn't argue.
After a while, Levi reached out—not for the bowl, but for the canteen the healer had left earlier. He took a small sip. Just enough to wet his mouth.
That felt dangerous enough.
The night deepened. Fires burned down to coals. Watch calls passed between Knights in measured intervals. No screaming. No chains.
Levi's body didn't know what to do with that.
His eyes drifted shut again—only for a heartbeat this time.
A whip cracked.
A child screamed.
Levi's breath hitched, a sound tearing out of him before he could stop it. His eyes flew open, wild, searching.
Nothing.
Just trees.
He pressed his forehead to his knees, shoulders curling inward.
"…They used to make us sleep in shifts," he muttered. "In the pits. If you slept too deep, you missed the signal. Missed the chance to move."
Thane nodded slowly. "You don't have to do that here."
"I know." Levi's voice dropped. "That's the problem."
Silence.
Then, quietly, "If I sleep… and wake up back there—"
"You won't," Thane said firmly.
Levi shook his head. "You can't know that."
"I know this," Thane replied. "I won't let them take you back."
Levi laughed once, brittle and humorless. "You sound real confident for a man still wearing chains."
Thane glanced down at his cuffs. Then back at Levi. "Chains can come off."
Levi didn't respond.
But his breathing slowed again.
Eventually, his head tipped back against the tree trunk without him noticing. His eyes stayed open this time, fixed on the dark canopy above. Leaves swayed gently, breaking the starlight into fragments.
It reminded him of something—campfires long ago, before everything burned. Before he learned how to listen for footsteps instead of crickets.
His eyelids drooped.
This time, when they closed, nothing came crashing in right away.
Just darkness.
Just the sound of the forest breathing.
He didn't sleep.
But he rested.
And for Levi, that was new.
Thane stayed awake all night.
He didn't move when Levi's breathing finally evened out. Didn't stand when dawn crept pale and soft through the trees.
When the sun finally brushed the edge of the camp, Levi stirred. His eyes opened slowly, unfocused.
For a terrifying second, he didn't know where he was.
Then he smelled pine instead of blood.
He exhaled.
He hadn't been taken.
He was still here.
Thane noticed the moment Levi woke. "Morning."
Levi blinked at him. "Did I—"
"You didn't sleep," Thane said. "But you didn't run either."
Levi huffed weakly. "Low bar."
Thane's mouth twitched. "You cleared it."
Levi pushed himself upright with a quiet grunt, wincing as his ribs protested. The bowl of broth still sat where it had been left, untouched but warm.
He stared at it for a long moment.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he pulled it closer.
Didn't drink it yet.
Just held it in his hands, feeling the warmth seep into his palms.
A small thing.
But it was his choice.
And that mattered more than anyone else there understood.