When the fracture is filled with gold

The night settled carefully over the cliffs, afraid to disturb the moment. They were still in the winged village. They only made camp beneath a stone overhang where the wind softened into a low hum. Fires were forbidden here, Kagen felt it. His hands clenched loosely at his sides, the fire within him restless and unspent beneath his skin. Leaving a tingling flicker in his palms.

Neory lay back against his pack, eyes closed resting with a shallow breath. Healing always took something with it and tonight, it was silence.

Rure knelt beside him, looking over his wrist, careful not to wake him by her touch. Her fingers hovered above his sigil. She had learned that sometimes a silent presence was the kindest restraint. She slowly sent him her energy, helping him recover faster, his sigil lighting up at the exchange.

“You should sleep,” she said softly.

Neoru smiled without opening his eyes. “You always say that when you’re worried.” She did not deny it. Sleep was the best medicine.

Aerael stood apart, facing the open sky. His wings fluttering softly behind him, Kagen looked on watching the scars that ran down them. Moonlight traced the fracture into his mask where he had chosen not to repair it. It was from Rure. One wing twitched faintly, an old pain that made itself known.

Kagen watched him for longer than he meant to.

“You could’ve ended it.” Kagen said at last, breaking the calm silence over them. “One strike.” And he could have commanded the whole order there with them, at that moment. He left to think but they all could hear it.

Aerael did not turn, thanking Rure for the drink Koharu handed to him. “And turned certainty into slaughter?”

Fire flared with a brief anger. “Sometimes that’s what certainty demands.”

Aerael finally faced his angry circle. “That’s what the fire crackling inside you believes. Until it burns something it cannot remake.” Kagen shuts his eyes, laying next to the fire, calming.

The silence that followed was taut, but it was not hostile.

Rure rose slowly, positioning herself between them without making it obvious. She had learned how to do that, too. But she did not make her presence quiet.

“You saved them,” she said without looking at Aerael. “And you saved us.” She grabs Kagen’s hand, the one with the sigil and caressed over it so lightly that it helped his fire calm down even more.

His gaze moved from the stars and to what she was doing. His eyes were searching. “I did not save. I chose.” Rure could only think about why it was difficult for them to show some kind of affection when it was her trapped alone for the sake of the purity of her power.

That word lingered within her. He chose.

Neoru shifted, pushing himself upright despite the tremor in his hands. “Them choose this,” he said quietly. “Like we have chosen.” He wanted to say, stay. At least until the water village.

Aerael’s brows furrowed at the thought. “You know what awaits there?”

“Yes.” Neoru answered. “Memory that refuses to rot.” He grumbles, laying back down.

Rure felt a subtle pull beneath her feet, the land was calling them forward. Earth always waited patiently. But it was possessive.

“Walk beside us. We want the same as you.” She spoke. Aerael considered this. With deliberate care, he removed his mask entirely and set it on the stone between them.

“I will walk,” he said. “But understand this, certainty does not soften.”

Kagen scoffed quietly, why must this winged man speak like that about himself. “Neither does fire.”

Rure almost smiled. They were complete! The sigil on their palms lighting up with the good news.

Later, while the others slept or pretended to, Rure stood at the edge of the cliff again. She felt the wind move towards her.

“You dream the future.” Aerael said not accusing. “I do.” She smiles at him, offering a hand to him. He grabs her palm, but she turns his over, tracing the sigil Koharu imprinted on the circle. How Koharu.

He felt her slowly shifting her energy to help with the exhaustion that flowed through his body. “What is the world like?” She knew he meant many tomorrows.

“It held too much; life is peaceful again.” Or so she hopes.

Below them, the world continued to stretch wide and waiting. Somewhere beyond the cliffs lay another earth village.

Fire had sacrificed itself for the future.
Earth had preserved itself until the future felt suffocated.

And now—

Now they would choose whether memory was meant to be honored…
or released.

The wind will carry them forward.

The Earth Village

At the next dawn, the circle decided there was no time left to waste. Koharu told them to stock up on food and materials they will be needing for an even longer journey.

Aerael offered to fly them, but Rure wished for them to travel on foot. There is something in the earth that she needed to witness. The path to the next earth village was more dust than green.

It pressed them forward, like wind decided there was only one direction for them to take. Their steps slowed, even Kagen’s stride lost its sharp urgency, his fire dimming beneath his skin. Rure felt it in her chest, like a suffocating wind.

Each breath seemed thicker, fuller before reaching her lungs with a painful strike. The soil beneath them was dark and dead. Countless footsteps wiped away by the wind that was getting stronger. Neoru paused often, hand hovering over the ground without touching it.

“It is a sick land.” He told them. “I felt it decaying even before we arrived.”

Aerael’s wings twitched uneasily. Wind moved differently here, opposing his every command. “If this is memory, it should fade,” he said. “This doesn’t.”

They passed markers along the path, stone slabs etched with an earthly cipher. Cracked and some were removed. Moss had claimed them, slowly turning dark. Rure stopped at one that looked familiar, the characters remembered something. She brushed her fingers over a name she did not know but the bells at her waist chimed softly.

“Keepers?” She asked Neoru.

The sight of trees grew closer together as they walked further past the barren land, their roots breaking at the lack of water. No birds sang, no villagers seen. It was a desert. Up ahead, the land seemed to rise gently, they could see similar terraces through the trees. Stone structures blended seamlessly into the hillside. This time, this earth village did not live within them, they lived above them with stone walls and vines keeping them together. Rure rushed to Neoru.

“I think this place does not want a shrine maiden.” She could feel it strongly, but she could not explain it.

Aerael glanced at her, seeing how Neoru silently agreed. “The it will resist. Should we move to the next village?”

Neoru swallowed. “It will cost us.” So they walked on.

As they neared the village, the welcoming smiles of the villagers felt hollow to Neoru. Rure was reminded of the time when children were pulled away from her, afraid to touch her. This time it was with hostility, elders whispered to one another. She noticed the faint glow under their feet where the soil was pulsing unnaturally. Her gift humming within her, sending her sigils a silent warning. She was a threat here.

Aerael was first to sense that beneath the village, something cold caught his ankles. Wrapping around his legs, moving towards his wings that sat injured. Kagen let the fire thrum within him, knowing that Neoru would speak for them.

“You cannot bring her here,” a voice hissed from the crowd.

Stone walls vibrated faintly with suppressed energy. The ground beneath them pulsed like it was angry but Rure felt something hidden beneath the tremor, she felt it felt trapped.

Kagen moved instinctively to stand before her, noticing a sorrowful tug that followed the pulse. Fire flared across his palms in warning, sparks crackling against the dry earth. Neoru crouched low, sensing the decaying from the corruption that ran through the soil. The King has taken this earth.

“It feels alive.” Aerael voices out what they were thinking.

The villagers advanced in unison. They wielded staves, rods, and rocks. Rure’s presence caused the earth to twitch beneath their feet. She realized then what the earth was telling her. Kagen watched her lose composure.

“I need to get in,” Rure looks at them. Panicking at the sudden pull towards the source of life inside. They could see how heavy it pulled against her strings, her bells ringing, causing her to be even more desperate unknown of the source she needed to get to.

Kagen turned sharply, “absolutely not.”

“Rure—” Neoru began.

“I need to go down,” she clarified with no room for arguments. “I need to.” She demands with a broken voice. “They’re kept there.”

The word kept rang wrong in the air. The bells around her waist sent them a warning. A visitor.

The King stepped forward then, his form tall and unnaturally still wearing robes heavy with jewels and embedded sigils glowing faintly against the dark cloth. “Your kind is not welcome here shrine maiden,” he said calmly. “You are disrupting my balance.”

Rure met his gaze, bells at her waist chiming in the deathly silence, sharp and clear. “You mean control.”

The King’s gaze left hers and moved towards Aerael. His certainty.

“You have fallen. I have no use of you anymore.” But his dark stare gave away that he would be taking the shrine maiden in his stead. The ground answered them, and the earth began to split under his control. Not to trap them but to expose what lay beneath the village. His village.

Stone pillars descended deep into the soil, acting as stairs arranged in concentric circles like a buried sanctuary. Within them were figures kept—winged, human, elemental—all frozen in mid-breath, their bodies locked in the moment and crystallized by earth. Sigils were carved into their chests and on the crystal with a siphoning light that fed the village above them. They were sleeping.

Aerael inhaled sharply at the sight. “Soldiers,” he whispered. “Winged.”

“And others,” Neoru said, voice breaking at the sight of lost men and women. “From every clan.”

Kagen’s eyes turned dark red, fire buring ten times worse from within. He makes sure to find Rure beside him.

The King lifts his chin. “Sacrifice is necessary.”

“No,” Rure answered back, she steps forward as the earth parted willingly beneath her feet. “This is hoarding.”

The ground welcomed her. Her sigils shouted after her falling form.

Then the world went quiet for Rure. She heard her.

A voice, soft and faint, threading through the soil that ate her up like a reminisce of a past that was not hers.

Rure.

The sigil at her palm burned in familial recognition.

The earth shifted again, drawing her towards the center of the structure. She could see that the other circles were fighting with the King who now have winged soldiers fighting for him from above. There at the center, bound deeper than the other frozen, encased in layers upon layers of sigil, was a shrine maiden.

Her robes were ancient. Her bells were cracked and rusted. Her eyes were closed but her presence overwhelmed Rure. Their souls were crying from within.

You took too long, the voice said gently but without blame. But I am glad you came.

Rure fell to her knees in front of the floating figure. The shrine maiden’s hair was dark like hers; she wore the same sigil on her palm. Rure looks around to find her circle.

“They kept you,” Rure breathed heavily, with a soft sob. “For centuries.” Not wanting to confirm that her circle was massacred to get to her.

He did, the maiden replied. The King feared what came after the grief. He feared releasing what kept him whole. So he taught them to preserve, never let go of the decaying part of him.

Images flooded Rure’s mind, the King binded the maiden at the end of her service, convincing her that it was her duty, a necessity she needed to live for them. Using her as the power of anchor. To trap the first soldiers. Then more. Then others.

Then the image shifted to when she was tortured with engraved sigils unto her skin as they slowly killed her circle, one by one. In front of her. She felt them cut the strings that tied them together, a heartbreak worse than that of a lover, a soul intwined never meant to meet in the afterlife. The King has caused her great pain for centuries and more.

They kept feeding on souls.

I have done my part, the maiden said softly. I want to rest; I want to pass on. I want to be with my circle. They are waiting for me.

Rure could feel the lingering energy from her circle keeping her company. She was too afraid to experience anything close to this. She could hear the trapped maiden smile softly.

Tell them the world needs this returned. Mother Spring is not happy.

Above, as the battle broke fully.

Villagers followed the winged soldiers, lunging forward at the three members of the circle against them. Kagen moved like a living breathing flame, he controlled his fire, walls of heat forcing space before striking flesh. Neoru braced himself, pulling the corruption from the ground and letting the dead soil beneath them crumble instead of healing it.

Aerael took flight, fighting the winged soldiers from above. Wind screamed outward from the strength of his wings. He kept the King from descending after Rure. Koharu using magic to make soldiers for them helped keep the fighting to their advantage.

The three searched for a sign of Rure.

“I will release you,” she promised. “And them.”

Then grieve, the maiden said. Teach them how.

Rure rang her bells, whispering a soft prayer.

Once. The sigils cracked.

Light poured outward from her center, every exhale brightened the power leaking from her chest. One by one, the frozen soldiers shattered into dust and wind, their souls rising, free.

Aerael caught them. The momentarily sight of winged souls shocking the soldiers in the sky. Watching as Aerael caught them, every soul passed through his wings, through the scars as if they were being cleansed, and guided to their release.

On the land, the villagers collapsed, sobbing and screaming at the grief they’ve kept for generations hitting them completely for the first time.

Kagen set a controlled fire along the corrupted terraces, helping burn away the rot as souls are being released. Neoru knelt in the ash, healing what could live, letting the rest return.

Rure stayed until the shrine maiden’s form dissolved into light.

Thank you, she whispered, fading. Go gently.

When Rure emerged, the King was on his knees, power within him remained but he was weak. Certainty had broken him. Some of the winged soldiers retreated, escaping with the King.

The village stood smaller by dawn, ash still seemed to rain down on them. But they were alive.

They were mourning.

And finally free from what was holding them.

Somewhere beyond the hills, another path awaited them.

Slowly, the earth, at last, began to breathe.

When the Earth Learned to Grieve

Morning came carefully; the circle was left to the villagers whose sight with darkened clouds were erased from sight. The elder apologized profusely at what had happened. Soon they will abandon their land to live among more earth villagers. The village was smaller than before, and the lives it took left a smaller number to live on.

Ash clung to the terraces where fire passed with a soft whisper of a peaceful promise. New shoots already pushed through the scorched soil, stubborn to live, now that the rot was truly gone. The village wept, and their tears cleansed them for a new world.

People gathered in small circles, clutching at the stones that no longer hummed with borrowed energy. Some pressed their foreheads to the ground in silent prayer. Other spoke of names like prayers they had forgotten to speak. There were no rituals prepared for this kind of ending.

Rure stood at the edge of the terrace, bells quiet at her waist for the first time since the release. She felt hollow but not empty, just hollow. There was a difference, one made room.

Koharu rested against her calf, still and warm.

“They’re grieving correctly,” Neoru said softly beside her. His voice sounded drained from healing and choosing what not to heal. His hands were wrapped in linen; his sigils dim and resting.

Rure whimpered. “It hurts.” For the first time, showing a weakness that she couldn’t keep within her.

“Yes,” he moves closer to her, giving her a warmth only her circle could offer. “That’s how we know it’s real.”

Below them, Kagen watched villagers dismantle the last of the siphoning stone, destroying something that was a part of their history. He did not sleep, none of them had. Fire lingered beneath his skin, subdued but unsettled, like it didn’t trust the quiet yet. When one of the stones cracked too sharply, he stepped in without thinking, adjusting the burn and steadying the collapse with practiced care.

Aerael stood farther away.

Always at the threshold now.

His wings were folded behind him, his feathers dulled from guiding too many souls through a safe passage. He had not spoken since dawn. Several villagers approached him, some who thanked him, others who spat at his feet. He accepted both without comment.

Rure watched him for a long moment before he was walking over.

“They forgave me,” he looked at her with tired eyes, quietly speaking. “Some of them.”

“They were never yours to forgive,” she shook her head. Something in him eased, just slightly.

Kagen approached, with slower movements now, the edge softened by the ash and exhaustion. He stopped a few steps away, fighting the urge to close the distance. “You didn’t burn the center,” he said to Rure. “Even though you could’ve.”

“I was asked not to,” she replied, watching her circle with so much affection. Koharu wiggles in her lap, asking for a pet.

Kagen exhaled. “I hate kings.” Aerael gave a soft laugh before pulling him down with him beside Rure and Neoru.

“You’re going to have a difficult life.” Neoru lets out a breath that might have been a laugh. Rure silently agrees. “She was a shrine maiden.” She lost her circle, she wanted to add in, but she finds that she couldn’t. But she had a feeling they just knew.

For a moment, the four of them sat there watching the reclaiming of the villagers in a quiet alignment. No sigils were flared, no wind pulled against them, and no earth pressed them forward. Just a shared gravity between companions.

They did not stay long.

The elder for this earth village approached them before noon, eyes red, and hands trembling as they pressed a simple offering into Rure’s palms: a pouch of unmarked seeds and bells.

“We will be smaller,” she said. “But we will be ours.”

The four bowed their heads. “That is enough.”

As they left the terraces behind, the land simply no longer resisted. It lets them go. The path narrowed into a ridge where stone gave way for the green again. Wind returned to Aerael’s command, Kagen felt the soft sizzle of fire letting him rest, and Neoru walked slower than usual, favoring one side.

Rure noticed. She always did. She slowed to match him.

“You didn’t heal yourself,” she asked. He smiled faintly, “I couldn’t, not yet.”

She reached for his hand without thinking. He stiffened—then relaxed, remembering it was Rure, her fingers curling loosely around him, caressing the sigil in his hand. Giving him a soft push of energy to heal. Kagen noticed but said nothing. Aerael noticed too—but looked away.

Some bonds were meant to hold. Others were meant to stretch.

That Night

As they made camp beneath the open sky once more, Rure was whisked away into a dream.

She saw the Winged Order fracturing from doubt. Soldiers began removing their masks, sigils failing to light. Certainty splintering where grief was allowed to exist. She dreamt of them returning to the hidden sky village.

Aerael was already awake.

“You felt it too,” he said. Rure nodded, offering warmth. He accepted.

“The Order will come,” he continued, whispering from resting on her lap.
“Not all at once, maybe not openly. But they will come.”

Kagen rolled onto his back, staring at the stars with them. “Good,” he said, reaching out his hand with the sigil, wanting to touch. Rure grabs it.

Neoru sighed. “You say that like you’re not bleeding inside.”

Kagen didn’t reply, only clenched his fingers against Rure’s. Sending a little bit of warmth into her palm.

She closed her eyes, Koharu mumbling beside them. “We keep walking.”

Neoru looks at the little fox. “To where?”

“Where memory still thinks it can decide the future.”

Aerael shifted the wind, playing with the breeze as he sent them flowing through his circle. Friends. He wanted to keep them forever; with the wind he will carry.