Promises on Dim Light

The forest swallowed the light.

Smoke curled through the trees like a living thing, thick and low, carrying the taste of ash and metal. Each breath burned their lungs, choking them both. Behind, the sky glowed red, with Lumenór still burning, its towers collapsing one by one into the horizon.

Lia didn’t dare look back again.

Her arm was wrapped around Kate’s waist, holding her upright as they stumbled through roots and fallen branches. The knight’s weight was heavy, her breath shallow beneath the armor. Blood trailed behind them in dark drops, lost quickly in the soot.

“Just a little farther.” Lia whispered, more to herself than anything.

Kate didn’t answer. She kept moving, maybe out of duty, maybe out of instinct. One hand was pressed against her side, over Lia’s, covering her wound, and the other gripping her sword like it was the only thing keeping her standing.

The forest was silent except for the sound of their steps and the distant crackle of a dying kingdom. Birds had fled long ago. The wind carried the faint toll of shattering glass, echoing from the city they had left behind.

Lia’s throat ached. The smell of burning herbs and hot stone clung to her skin, and with it came the memory of her mother’s garden - the same scent, now turned to ruin.

Lumenór was gone.

Not wounded. Not besieged. Gone.

The thought almost broke her knees. She tightened her grip on Kate, the only other heartbeat left from that place, and forced herself to keep walking.

“We’ll find shelter,” she said softly. “We’ll find something.”

The knight’s head tilted toward her, eyes unfocused but steady.

“Keep… Moving.” Kate murmured.

The silence stretched for a long time, as both fled from the castle. More and more the ashes were left behind, the air still filled with smoke but somewhat clearer.

Then, the fragile peace around them broke with a stumble.

Kate’s knees hit the ground, her armor scraping against stone and roots. Lia caught her before she could fall fully, but the knight’s weight dragged them both down.

“Kate..!”

The answer came out as a strangled breath. Blood was running again, warm through the cracks in her armor, soaking the golden plates that once gleamed like sunlight.

Lia’s pulse spiked. She dropped to her knees beside her, tearing the edge of her sleeve.

“Hold still.”

“We can’t stop,” Kate hissed. “They might be following…!”

“You can’t walk like this!”

“Doesn’t matter. My duty-”

“Stop saying that!” Lia’s voice cracked, sharper than she meant, as she stopped the knightess in her tracks. Smoke drifted between them, curling like ghosts. “All you ever talk about is duty, dying for someone else! You’re not…! You’re not supposed to die for me.”

Kate’s eyes lifted, unfocused but still steady, her expression unreadable.

“It’s what I was sworn to.”

Lia shook her head, pressing the cloth against the wound, trying to keep pressure.

“Then I don’t want it. I don’t want oaths, or duty, or sacrifice. I just want you to live. You can’t leave me alone!”

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Only the forest breathed, with branches creaking, and fire whispering far away. Lia’s hands trembled, smeared with blood and ash. Kate stared at her, the line of her jaw tight, but something in her eyes softened.

“You shouldn’t be the one keeping me alive.” Kate murmured, voice hoarse, avoiding the outburst.

“Then maybe stop making it so hard.” Lia muttered, with a frown that didn’t quite convey everything she was feeling.

The silence that followed wasn’t hostile this time. It was raw, human - two people stripped of everything but the need to keep moving.

Kate exhaled slowly, lowering her head.

“There’s… A cabin nearby. I think.”

“Then we go together,” Lia said, helping her up. “And you’re not walking alone.”

Smoke drifted through the trees like a closing curtain as they pressed on. The princess kept supporting the knightess, both limping toward the faint promise of shelter.

They reached the cabin just as the last of the light gave out.

The forest had turned to shadow, with trunks blackened by smoke, and leaves slick with ash. The little structure stood crooked beneath an old oak, its roof sagging under a curtain of moss. It looked less like shelter and more like a tomb that hadn’t realized it was empty.

Lia pushed the door open with her shoulder, the hinges crying out. A wave of cold air met her: damp, moldy, and with something faintly sweet, the ghost of old herbs long dead. She half-carried, half-dragged Kate inside.

The floor groaned under their weight. What little sunlight remained filtered through the cracks, casting long, broken stripes across the walls. Dust hung in the air, turning the golden light gray.

“Sit - no, lie down.” Lia muttered, voice trembling. She eased Kate onto a wooden cot covered in what used to be a blanket. The fabric disintegrated at her touch.

Kate’s eyes fluttered open for a second.

“We… We should keep moving…”

“You’re not moving anywhere.” Lia pressed a hand against the armor, then froze. With the little light she had, she could see her palm came away wet and dark.

The cut was deep. The healing spell she’d cast before had only stopped the corruption, slowing the blood flowing out. That magic had faded; the blood is coming out stronger now.

She threw away the old piece of clothing she was using to keep pressure, ripping a new rag out of her own dress again, and pressed it against the wound once more. Kate tensed, gritting her teeth, but didn’t make a sound.

“Hold on,” Lia whispered. “Please just… Hold on.”

She looked around frantically. The shelves along the far wall were cluttered with jars, their contents reduced to powder and cobwebs. She opened one: dried lavender. Another: something that might have been sage centuries ago. In the corner, a small stack of papers rested beneath a broken lantern.

She brushed them clean. The pages were brittle, covered in tight handwriting, with diagrams of roots and symbols she didn’t recognize. Herbal notes, maybe spells. She ran her fingers over the ink, desperate to find something useful.

But the words blurred in the fading light. Most were unreadable, written in a dialect older than her mother’s lessons.

“No, no, come on…” she whispered, voice breaking. “Please, something, anything.”

A soft sound made her turn - Kate, shifting, her breathing shallow and uneven.

A fever had started.

Sweat gathered along her temples; her skin had gone pale beneath the dirt and blood. She murmured something incoherent, sometimes names, orders, maybe prayers. Lia couldn’t tell.

She threw the useless notes aside and knelt beside her, pressing the last clean strip of cloth to the wound, her hands trembling. The light in the room dimmed to nothing but the weak flicker of the moonlight.

“Don’t do this,” Lia whispered, leaning close. “Don’t leave me here alone.”

Outside, the wind rose, dragging the smell of burning wood through the cracks. Inside, Kate’s breath came slower, her pulse fainter.

Lia sat beside her, knees drawn close, watching the fever take hold. Sweat gleamed on Kate’s forehead, and Lia softly wiped them off with her hand. Her skin had gone pale, lips cracked, armor still stained with drying blood.

“You’re burning up…” Lia whispered, looking around to find anything that could help. Her eyes stopped at an old cauldron on the corner, filled with stale water from a roof leak, and Lia quickly got to it. She ripped another strip from her dress, this time from the skirt, and wet it, wringing it before coming back to Katherine’s bedside.

She pressed a damp cloth to the knight’s temple, but the heat only grew. The herbs she’d found, crushed mint and a few brittle leaves of fever root, she made a paste with them and spread them on Kate’s temple. However, they did almost nothing.

Lia closed her eyes and took a breath. She held out her hands over the wound, palms trembling. She could still feel the faint pulse of warmth that had answered her before there, fragile, golden.

“Please,” she murmured. “Just… Once more.”

The air stirred. For a heartbeat, light flickered in her fingertips. Then sputtered out like a dying ember.

Nothing.

Lia bit her lip until she tasted blood. Her vision blurred. She tried again, and again, and again, whispering the words her mother had once taught her, the syllables of focus and calm.

‘The light listens only when your heart is still’ her mother had said.

But Lia’s heart wouldn’t still. It pounded against her ribs, wild with fear. She couldn’t stop shaking.

“Why won’t you-” Her voice broke. “Why won’t you listen?”

The glow faded completely, leaving only darkness.

Lia pressed her forehead against Kate’s arm, her tears mixing with the blood and sweat.

“I can’t lose you too,” she whispered. “Not you.”

She forced herself upright, wiping her face with the back of her sleeve. She took what little remained of the herbs and mashed them into a paste, spreading it gently over the wound. Anything to slow the bleeding, to cool the fever. It wasn’t enough. She knew it wasn’t enough.

Still, she worked.

She worked until her hands were raw, until the moonlight was gone, until she could barely keep her eyes open. When she finally stopped, the cabin was silent again, save for the faint, fragile rhythm of Kate’s breath.

Lia leaned forward, voice hoarse but steady.

“You’ll live,” she whispered. “Even if I have to learn every spell in the world, I’ll make you live.”

Outside, the forest whispered, cold and endless. Inside, Lia watched the last spark tremble, and refused to let it die.