Arty dragged his legs through the dense snow, feeling them get soaked by the melting snow. Frigid winds stabbed him at every step, threatening to unravel the tightly shrouded heat he’d draped over himself. Yet even as his defences were torn from him, he continued to pull at any ambient heat there was around him, ignoring the prickles going up and down his arms.

Ceicilia’s words echoed in his mind even as the descending snow hid the inn from view. From the moment they left the capital, Arty had let his intuition guide him, following the flow even as they approached the northern reaches of Nazak. He hadn’t even once thought of what they should do, instead, wanting to put distance from the capital itself.

The thought of what they’d need to pass through the border legally crossed his mind. Passports, visas, and other documents were required to cross the border, but he had once heard rumours that the border wasn’t that well guarded, with whole sections completely opened to those daring enough to attempt the crossing. Now, with the border closed, any push further north would be met by prowlers and sentries, and then if they’re caught, they’d be repatriated back to the capital.

Back to where they should never step foot in.

Arty felt his meal threatening to escape as he tried not to retch, his mind spinning as he tried to conceive a new plan. He couldn’t let Eli return home, even if she had recovered faster than him and threatened him at blade point. There was no one left to welcome them with open arms, to show them the path to safety and he wouldn’t tell Eli why.

He wallowed in his thoughts for a long time, wandering aimlessly down street after street until he stopped at a junction, not knowing where he was. Every street he looked down featured the same white background, with barely any distinct landmarks to guide him. Every building and alley were covered in snow, pilling higher than he had ever laid his eyes on and forming an impenetrable wall against the frigid winds. Rows upon rows of lanterns hung above the frozen whiteness, winds pushing and pulling them in an attempt to bring them down.

Yet he could only admire the sights around him for just a moment, taking in the scenery he would never have been able to experience in the capital, before his eyes laid upon a dark spire in the distance. The bright gold statue at it’s tip towered over the abandoned houses, casting a dark shadow over the town below.

Even from where he was standing, Arty could tell that the spire was free from snow, a singularity within the winter wonderland. Curiosity took over him, accompanied by the cuss he let out. He remembered what Cecilia had told him earlier about the town, unsure of whether he was mistaken.

An Elementalist, he thought, eyes still staring at the spire. Maybe it’s…

Slowly, Arty walked towards the spire, forcing himself not to run as he dared to hope that someone friendly was there. He wanted to believe that they weren’t alone, that they could find someone to help them. And when he turned the last corner and stared at the massive church in front of him, his excitement died down, lost to the rocky rubble covering its base.

But something nagged at him at the back of his mind, and it took him a while to notice why. The lanterns around the church were lit, casting a beacon within the dying blizzard. Even from afar, he could make out uniform patterns to the rubble, creating a sort of star around the church. He knew there weren’t many patrons in the Inn when they first walked in, and he knew none of them would’ve made the trip just to cover a symbol of worship with rubble.

So, who did it?

Arty barely sensed the person behind him, a hand grabbing him by the collar and pulling him deep into a side alley before he knew it. He felt his assailant grunt as he struggled, trying to escape the vice grip, before being thrown into the snowbank behind him and landing with a bone shattering thud. He felt the air within him get forced out, completely unexpecting the sudden landing as he coughed, looking for the person responsible.

The man towering over him stood menacingly, his snow gear covering every part of his body as he stared at Arty from head to toe. A knife hung from his belt, it’s hilt completely worn down and in tatters. “What’s a kid like you doing out here without a jacket on?” he asked, scratching his head while he squatted down, his voice strangely gentle. “Isn’t it cold, lad?”

“I was… preoccupied with something,” Arty mumbled, trying to catch his breath. He looked down at his tattered clothing, cursing himself for his carelessness. He had forgotten the events of yesterday, of what he did before sleeping, that he left the inn without his jacket. Worst still, he left the Black Dahlia in the room completely unattended, and if Eli found out…

“Well, you better go back and get it. Don’t know how you aren’t freezing already,” the man sighed, offering a hand and helping Arty to his feet. His uncalloused hands surprised Arty, nearly causing him to shake off the man’s kindness. “Sorry if I was a bit rough. There’s dangerous work ahead and you could’ve gotten yourself hurt if you kept going.”

“No worries,” Arty answered, eyes now staring at the man in return. He didn’t need his power at full strength to sense the increased heat in the man’s body, nor did he need to have Electrokinesis to sense the bullshit he just heard. “One question, though. Who are you and why are you here?”

“Me? I’m a part of the mining crew down in the hole over there,” the man answered, his eyes narrowing as he took a slow step backwards. “Why? Something wrong?”

Arty swallowed his saliva, his instincts telling him he should leave the gnawing feeling behind. “You claim to be a miner,” he starts, his suspicion too great to abandon. “Yet there isn't a speck of dust on you. Care to say how?”

Arty felt the blow coming this time, jumping backwards and avoiding the cross thrown at him. Before he could recover, the man barreled towards him, throwing off a combination of jabs and kicks, forcing him to retreat further into the alley.

Taking a gamble, he countered, deflecting a jab and throwing a cross of his own, creating breathing space for himself as the man jumped back to avoid the blow. Yet, even as Arty caught his breath and got into a stance, he couldn’t help but feel nervous about the encounter, unsure of his chances of surviving the fight.

“Nimble little bugger, aren’t you?” the man mused, drawing the blade from his belt. The short blade seemed to blend into the surrounding shadows, hiding it’s true length as the man switched its hold from side to side. “I can’t let you leave, kid. You’re too curious for your own good.”

Arty didn’t reply, conserving his energy as he mentally ran through the scenarios. Unarmed against an armed man larger than him in an enclosed space, in any normal situation, would be a prime example for mugging. But there was something the man didn't know, and that he wasn’t powerless, even though he couldn’t draw his blades to defend himself.

Out of habit, he got into his sword stance, fists far from his core and presenting a wide opening for the attacker. Not that it’d do me any good, he thought, seeing the man’s eyes widen, then narrowed at his movements.

Behind him, he imagined a hovering sphere, willing the heat enshrouding him backwards and focusing them at that point, ignoring the sudden cold taking hold of him. The surrounding snow melted around him, then evaporated into the air as he continued to pull more heat backwards, ignoring the sharp pains all over his arms.

The man hadn’t been ignorant. He rushed forward, dodging from side to side, unsure of the nature of the attack he was going to face. Arty felt a smirk come up even whilst his body grew extremely cold, then hot, pushing himself past his current limits. Behind him, he envisioned a dense fog, willing the heat behind him to disperse into the freezing air.

The man had been focused on him when the fog formed around them, obscuring Arty from view. In the fog, Arty could sense the heat from the man as he dodged the knife thrown towards him, missing his face by a margin before taking a step, throwing an uppercut that connected right at the man’s jaw with a sickening crunch.

The man stood there for a moment, head bobbing about from the impact before he stumbled and collapsed backwards like a ragdoll onto the wet floor below. Arty froze, not believing what he had done. His heart pounded in his chest as he pulled back his arm, unsure whether it was shaking from the cold or the adrenaline.

He could taste blood in his mouth as he quickly regathered the heat around him, reforming a shroud around himself. A pinprick pain took over his arm yet, he ignored it, biting his cheeks and resisting the urge to scratch his arm.

What have I done… he thought to himself, taking a slow step forward into the dissipating fog and checking on the unconscious man in front of him. He allowed himself to become too nosy and if the man wasn’t alone, Eli would be in danger. He could’ve given her more time to recover, yet he blew it because of his curiosity.

Haiya could’ve been a safe refuge for them, a place for them to recover from their overexertion of power. It could’ve been a place for them to hide, to weather out the storm that they’d found themselves in. Maybe they could’ve stayed there, made a new life in a place where no one knew them…

No, Arty thought, laying the man down into a more comfortable position. The noose around their necks would only be tightening even tighter if they stayed. They had to cross the border into Nazak, seek asylum there and get protection against the men in black armour.

Anything to keep Eli away from the hell that awaited them.

Leaving the man behind, he walked out of the alley, taking one final look at the church in the distance. His curiosity still gripped at him, telling him to investigate further. But he ignored those thoughts, turning back towards the direction he came from and making the long trek back towards the Inn.

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