He dreamed of Sorin.
Back beyond the valley, past the earth, deeper than waking sight. Further still - into the barracks that second evening, where a candle burned low and fruit was split like ritual. Laughter came first, Sorin's laughter, stepping into silence ahead of words. Warmth shaped the air before meaning did. How it rang. That exact pitch.
Outside, the sky leaked pale light through one small window. He stayed flat on his back, quiet. The dream hung close, fragile like glass when touched too hard. A breath could scatter it. So he waited. Moments passed without sound. Then memory thinned, slipped away.
Maybe Sorin'd speak up if he knew what was going on. He wondered that, standing there.
It started back in the valley, a quiet hum under every thought. How Sorin might react to the long walk. To the banners waving above crowds. To what history would write down later. The border pass, the icy water crossing, the place where nobody bothered asking names. His words now lived inside like a second mind. Turning grim moments into something almost funny, just enough so they didn't burn when seen head-on.
He might wonder if battles are just digging for value where none should be found.
Kael gave it some real thought.
Sure, that's how it happened. You really believed they cared about the flags? Not likely.
It came out flat, no anger behind it. Just how things were, like knowing the sky stays up. Raised where floors cracked and dreams cost too much, he'd learned early - watching officials lie smooth and steady - that shock gets you bent. He shaped himself on that, stayed clear of wonder, chose stiffness over snapping. Surprise ruins; Sorin refused ruin.
Kael sat up.
It hit him then - same choice, different shape. Sorin chose it like sunlight, splitting apples among friends, voice bright with humor. Kael stepped into it like a locked room, hands full of sharp queries, silence his only reply. One carried kindness, the other restraint. Same frame built from opposite bones.
Off he went, searching for the rest.
Bren sat outdoors, early light around him, fingers curled around the cold stone taken from what remained of the scorched settlement. Better rested now, somehow. Rest had brought back a trace of how he once appeared - not purity, never that again, yet some of the old honesty, the way he used to meet your eyes, unafraid to speak up when silence wouldn't do.
"What are we doing," Bren said.
Kael sat beside him. "We're going to find someone."
"Who?"
"General Auren."
Bren turned his gaze toward the man.
"He paused," Kael said. "On my face. He knew exactly which face to pause on in a column of two hundred. He knows what the symbol means. And I think - I'm not certain, but I think - he may be the only person in this entire structure who knows what's in those books and is not the person who wrote them."
"You think he's not part of it."
"I think he's a general who has never lost a battle being used by people who needed a winning general to execute a resource extraction project, and I think he may have figured that out, and I think that makes him the most dangerous person available to us."
Bren rolled the stone between his fingers. Maybe even the one who could hurt us worst
"Yes," Kael said. "Both are possible."
"Sorin would say that's not a great set of options."
"Sorin would say it in a way that made it funny."
Bren nodded. A pause came then. Truly, he meant it
Out there among the early light, empty where Sorin should have been - that spot stayed full anyway, just by being bare. They allowed it room without speaking up, since truth mattered now more than comfort ever did again. What remained between them clung to real words, little else.