When laying down means to rest and hunt quietly

In the morning, Koharu woke them complaining about being hungry.

“I am a little hungry.” Rure agrees, munching on some fruits Kagen handed them. “A village must be nearby.” Aerael says coming from his little air travel.

They smelled smoke long before they saw flames, but it was not the bitterness from war fire. This was a warm, domestic smoke with lingering smell of cooked meat. Neoru grumbled. “I am hungry, something for good meat.”

The smoke curled lazily above low rooftops and stone chimneys, drifting between windmills with creaking blades from age rather than warning. Fire and winged sigils marked the same gates.

Kagen instinctively slowed. Aerael stopped outright.

Neoru frowned at the sight, “That’s not possible.”

“It is,” Rure said, her voice quiet with wonder. “They’re coexisting.”

The village in front of them lay in a shallow basin between cliffs, sheltered from the world’s cruelty and earth’s hunger. Winged folk walked around openly, unmasked and their wings were folded or loose with comfort. Fire smiths worked beside them, bare hands shaping metal while winged children ran through sparks without fear.

There were no altars, no siphoning stones, and no guarded sanctuaries.

Just life.

Kagen felt something twist painfully in his chest at the sight of his villagers. “They should be dead,” he said, then immediately hated the words that left his mouth.

A winged woman appeared at the gate, unimpressed. “We get that a lot.”

They were welcomed without ceremony, that alone was a bit unsettling but not an unwelcome experience.

Unscripted Village That Refused

They stayed.

For a night.

Then another.

No one asked Rure to bless them. No one asked Kagen to prove his strength. Neoru was offered a place to rest without expectation. Aerael was not bowed to or feared. This unsettled them.

Fire and winged elders openly shared a meal, arguing over the level of salt and harvest rotation for the next summer rather than arguments over doctrines. Children learned both wind weaving and controlled flame. Rure watched it all, bells muted beneath her cloak. They could tell the children were a mix of a fire and wing parents.

“This village shouldn’t exist.” Neoru said one evening, with a voice so low afraid his circle didn’t hear him.

Aerael replied, “That’s what makes it dangerous.”

“Or honest,” Kagen scoffed.

The difference to him mattered. It shouldn’t exist, but the thought it does hits them a little harder than usual.

At night, the tension between the three of them sharpened through absence. Neoru slept longer, days draining him more easily now that he refused to heal beyond what was freely given. Kagen burned wood outside long after it was needed, watching the sparks fade like things he couldn’t save.

And Rure—

Rure stood between them without choosing. They did not know how to move from this village. They wanted it to be home.

Not yet. Aerael noticed like he always did.

Quiet Conflict

It came to head without a scream.

Neoru found Rure near the edge of the basin, her fingers brushing the tall grass that whispered to her. He knelt beside her, carefully.

“You’re pulling away,” he said.

“I’m only listening,” she replied, fingers dancing over the plant.

“To whom?”

She hesitated, that was answer enough. They felt as if she still did not trust them enough with her secrets.

Kagen watched from a distance, his jaw tight, fire restless beneath his skin but he did not dare approach. Did not interrupt. That hurt more than anger would have.

Later, Aerael confronted him—not as king’s certainty, but as a witness, and as a companion.

“You love her,” Aerael said.

Kagen didn’t deny it. He never denies the truth. “That was not supposed to be a problem.”

“It is when you burn inward.” His laugh was sharp. “And what do you do when you want something you were trained to never touch?”

Aerael didn’t answer.

Because the answer was standing at the edge of the village, bells quiet, heart torn in three directions. But Aerael knew it was different here, with their circle.

The Order Arrives

Winged soldiers did not arrive with banners.

They did arrive with permission.

Certainty moved fastest when it cloaked itself to be reasonable.

The winged order descended at dawn—five figures only, their wings bright and spreading wide enough to mesmerize. Their masks unfractured. They did not draw weapons; they did not raise voices of combat. They bowed.

“Aerael,” their leader said, with a smooth voice and practiced reverence. “You have been summoned.”

The village grew quiet at the words.

Aerael stepped forward before Rure could. “I am no longer the king’s.”

The leader smiled faintly. “That is not how certainty works.”

Behind them, he felt sigils connect to his, igniting—binging sigils. The air thickened with pressure as wind refused Aerael’s command.

Rure felt it immediately, they did not come for war, it was to reclaim a deviation.

“You have been spreading instability,” the leader continues. “Fire uncontrolled, grieving earth… winged souls released without doctrine.”

Rure felt bothered, were they not affected by the stories of what their king had done? Neoru moved to Rure’s side. Kagen flared from beside her.

And the village stood between them.

Fire smiths raised shields. Winged elders and folks stepped forward without their masks.

“This is our home,” one said. “You do not decide what certainty looks like here.” The Order commander’s gaze hardened, taking in the face of the elder.

“Then you have chosen erasure.”

Aerael moved forward. He stepped closer, alone.

He removed the binding clasps from his wings. Let the scars show.

“You taught me certainty was order,” Aerael said, his voice steady and commanding. “But you failed to teach me what to do when order feeds on the living.”

“You were meant to command,” the leader replied. “Not a question.”

Aerael shook his head. “I was meant to end cycles, not preserve cages.”

Then, the leader struck first.

Wind met wind, fire surged and Neoru anchored the soil. Rure binded her sigils, the village joined them. A refusal to adhere to the king’s commands.

Binding cracked, sigils failed and the order’s representatives were forced to retreat, exposed.

The leader looked to Aereal once more, “You are no longer certainty,” he said. “You are fracture.”

Aerael replied calmly, “Good.”

That night, Rure stood between Neoru and Kagen once more.

“A shrine maiden does not belong to just one,” she said softly. “Not yet. Not while the world is still deciding who it is.”

Neoru nodded, pain quiet but present.

Kagen looked away—then back at her, her eyes promising him a better future.

“Just… don’t disappear.” She promised nothing.

Aerael watched it all silently, expecting a future with his circle.

Rure could not keep everything a secret too long. But her heart was not hers, it was borrowed from those who lived and continued to live in this world. It was meant for them, not her circle.

Certainty shattered.

Choice was not yet formed.

And far beyond the basin, the winged order prepared an eradication.