Under Fire
Collin and his friends had fallen asleep around the fire, cradled in the soft arms of the sheltering inlet, lulled by the hush of waves turning against the shore and the whispering wind in the cliffs. At some point in the night, the temperature dropped, but they were too wrung out to care.
By morning, they sat cross-legged in the damp sand, sharing what remained of their dried fruit, bread, and meat. Niall still looked pale and wrung out, but at least he’d stopped shivering. Collin’s clothes were still damp, his limbs stiff and sore, and all of them were aching for clean sheets and a proper meal.
As they packed up and stamped out the campfire, Clive and Collin took turns telling Logan about the Autumn Celebration. Logan had never been, though his mother had visited once, long ago. When they described the Daughters of Venus, his eyes lit up like he’d just spotted treasure beneath the waves.
“I’ll introduce you to a few girls who work at our bakery,” Clive said with a wide grin.
Logan chuckled, raking a hand through his salt-crusted hair. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”
“Just don’t lose your soul along the way,” Clive said, clapping him on the back.
Collin smiled, feeling the lightness of the morning finally settling into his chest. “Come to Chroma,” he added. “There’s no better place to find your soul—or a girl who’ll help you look.”
The friends said their goodbyes by the trailhead, trading promises to meet again soon. Collin watched Logan disappear along the coastal path, yellow hair catching the sunlight like a flare.
The morning heat pressed down like a weight, heavy and unrelenting. Even beneath the canopy of trees, the air hung thick and unmoving. At first, Collin and Aries talked—retelling pieces of the near-drowning with bursts of laughter and disbelief—but soon the heat wrung the words out of them. It was easier to walk in silence, heads down, legs dragging as the trail rose steadily beneath their feet.
Collin felt baked through, like someone had left him in the sun too long and forgotten. The trek home from the Singing Cove always seemed twice as long as the journey there. He loved the place—loved the wildness of it, the quiet, the feeling of being on the edge of the world—but god, he hated this hike. Maybe that was the point. Maybe the cove wouldn’t feel like a secret if it were easier to reach. Grandfather used to say that anything easy to reach was easy to take for granted.
Still, he would’ve traded all the poetry in the world to be home already. He had to teach this afternoon—how in the stars was he supposed to stay awake? Maybe he’d hand out a project and let the children manage themselves. Even then, keeping his eyes open would be a battle. All he wanted was to lie down—anywhere, really—but preferably in his own bed, sheets cool and clean, with no sand stuck in the creases of his knees.
He ruffled his damp hair and watched a small avalanche of grit fall to the path. His scalp itched from the salt, his clothes clung to him like wet paper, and he stank of brine and sweat. A yawn overtook him mid-step—wide and jaw-cracking. The walkstretched on. He didn't remember the last time a good day had left him this tired.
Aries kicked at something underfoot and uncovered a long branch buried beneath the damp forest floor. He picked it up and tested the weight, then began stripping away the dead leaves. “You feeling better?”
Collin shifted his bag higher, wincing at the pull in his shoulder. Maybe he was better. Or maybe he was too hot, too sore, too worn down to figure out whatbettereven meant. “There’s nothing like almost dying to give a man a fresh perspective on living.”
Aries smirked and twirled his makeshift walking stick. “Logan’s an interesting fellow. I wonder when he’ll find his soul.”
“Hopefully soon. Thank the gods for him.”
“What do the gods have to do with it?” Aries asked, his tone sharp, almost lazy in its dismissal.
“You must believe some higher power was watching over us.”
“No gods. Just Logan. Right place, right time.”
Of course. Collin bit back a sigh.Not this again.He was too wrung out to start a debate he knew would lead nowhere. They had never agreed on this—not even as children. One of his clearest memories was his mother’s voice at bedtime, guiding him through a simple prayer. He didn’t know if she believed every word, but he had clung to that ritual like a rope in the dark. Even now, he sometimes prayed just to bring her back to him, even if only in memory.
As he got older, he started writing his prayers—quiet, private things in the back pages of old notebooks. Not to get answers. Just to sort through fear, doubt, longing. It helped, the way writing always did. His mother had planted that seed, the belief that something larger—call it divine, call it fate—moved unseen through the world. He didn’t picture gods walking amongstmortals in disguises. But sometimes, a moment felt too precise to be random. Sometimes, the world felt... brushed by intention.
Aries didn’t see it that way. He never sneered at Collin’s faith, never mocked it outright—but he made sure Collin knew how little he trusted anything he couldn’t touch or measure.
