When Fire Remembers

Chapter 20 - Beneath the Pines

Aksanaa wiped the blood from her cheek with the back of her hand as she watched the limp body of the Galabon lion at her feet. Its heavy, unnatural form lay still, jaw agape in a last, breathless snarl. Her dagger was still lodged deep in its ribs, slick with dark blood.

Above, Saelwyn and Runi leaned further over the open flaps of the trap.

The creature’s corpse lay still, sprawled awkwardly in the dirt. Aksanaa staggered back from it, chest heaving, barely able to stand. She knelt beside Daghan, bloodied and breathing hard. Grön released his grip from the beast’s broken neck and looked around the pit, eyes wide.

“Boss!” His voice cracked. “Are you alive?”

Daghan groaned faintly, shifting. Aksanaa was already at his side, cradling his head with one hand, her other trembling from pain and exhaustion.

“He’s alive,” she whispered.

“I’ll carry him,” Grön said. “You climb first.”

“No,” she said. “I’ll help.”

They worked together, calling for a rope from above. Saelwyn tied one end to a nearby pine trunk, while Runi threw the other down. Grön lifted injured Daghan carefully and Aksanaa tightly tied the rope around his waist. Runi and Sealwyn pulled him with all their might while Grön also supported him underneath. Aksanaa climbed next, wincing as the scrape of rope stung her bruised palms. Once at the top, she turned and wanted to reach out for Grön but the half giant climbed out with the help of the rope with an unexpected ease. Grön was the last to emerge—grunting as he climbed, hoisting himself up with raw strength, dirt and blood streaking his arms.

When he finally rolled out onto the grass beside them, the group lay panting in silence, bruised, bleeding, but alive.

Saelwyn ran a hand through his sweat-wet hair, still pale. “We need to stop. There’s no way we’re moving farther today.”

“No arguments there,” Runi said. “We’ll camp near the stone wall. It’s open enough to see danger coming.”

They set up camp under the pine canopy, not far from the trap. The dying light cast long, gold bars through the trees, and a fire crackled in the center of their makeshift circle. Blankets were laid out, and Daghan was set gently against a tree trunk.

Aksanaa sat nearby, arms wrapped around her knees, watching as the light flickered across his face. His usual sharpness was dulled now, his skin pale beneath the dried blood, but the tension in his jaw remained.

“We need healing herbs,” Saelwyn said, checking Daghan’s pulse.

“Do you know where to find some?” Runi asked, already standing.

“I know, but I will need your help identifying the right ones, Runi.” Saelwyn said. Runi nodded.

Sealwyn hesitated just before leaving, glancing at Aksanaa.

“I’ll be fine,” she said before he could speak.

He nodded reluctantly and followed Runi into the woods, leaving the camp in the growing hush of twilight.

Only the wind and the fire remained now. Grön sat cross-legged on a rock, sharpening a blade with slow, methodical strokes, his eyes half-lidded. Aksanaa sat quietly beside Daghan, who lay wrapped in a spare cloak, breathing slowly.

She watched his chest rise and fall.

Then his voice, rough and low, broke the silence.

“You scream louder than I expected.”

She rolled her eyes. “You fall harder than I expected.”

Daghan chuckled, then winced. “Fair.”

Aksanaa turned toward him, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Daghan’s eyes followed the movement, lingering on the strand before settling on her face.

They shared a glance in silence—one heavy with exhaustion, pain, and something else,

“You shouldn’t have jumped in front of me like that.” Aksanaa said.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes still half-closed. “If I hadn’t, you’d be dead.”

“And if Grön hadn’t jumped in, we’d both be dead.”

Daghan let out a breath, half a chuckle. “Grön’s good at smashing things.”

Aksanaa followed his gaze to where the half-giant sat, still facing the trees like a watchful sentinel.

“I can see that,” she said, a faint smile touching her lips. “Remind me to never get on his bad side.”

They fell silent again.

Then, quieter: “Why did you do it?” she asked. “Why save me?”

He didn’t answer at first. The fire snapped between them.

“You remind me of someone,” he said finally.

Her brows lifted. “Who?”

“Someone I couldn’t save.”

A silence nod.

She couldn’t say anything. She was familiar with the feeling. She looked at the fire, uncertain of what to say. But when she glanced back at him, his eyes were on her—clear, honest, for once not guarded behind his usual smirk.

“What about you?” he asked. “You said… you’re not from this world. How did you end up here?”

Aksanaa’s breath caught. Her first instinct was to lie—to deflect.

But the night was soft. The fire was warm. And his gaze didn’t feel like a threat.

“I was offered,” she said. “As a sacrifice. In my old tribe. They said the gods would take me.”

Daghan didn’t speak, but something in his expression shifted. Just for a moment—a flicker of rage beneath the calm.

“They threw me through the gate,” she went on. “I thought it would kill me. But I ended up here. In this world. Alone.”

Daghan turned his face toward the fire. “Monsters aren’t always beasts. Sometimes the ones closest to you leave the deepest wounds.”

She nodded faintly. “And… here I am.”

For a long while, they sat in silence, letting the fire speak for them. Shadows danced across their faces. The pine trees whispered above.

When he spoke again, his voice was low but steady.

“If it didn’t break you then, it built something in you. Whether you asked for it or not.”

Her gaze flicked to his.

And just for a second—she felt understood in a way she hadn’t in years.

A sudden, loud cough pulled Aksanaa back from the old memories she had lost herself in.

Daghan coughed again—rough and deep—enough to shake his whole body and contract his chest in pain. Aksanaa’s head snapped toward him. The fabric over his ribs had darkened with pooled blood. Fresh.

“You shouldn’t move,” she said, already reaching for fresh cloth and a water flask. “The wound’s reopened.”

“It’s just a scratch,” he muttered, voice raspy. “I’ve seen worse.”

His color, however, had drained further from his face.

“Sure.” Aksanaa mocked dryly.

She knelt beside him, hands steady. “Arms up.”

Daghan obeyed with a reluctant grunt. As she unraveled the blood-soaked bandages, the gash on his side glistened in the firelight—raw and angry. Her fingers brushed against his skin—hot, taut, lined with bruises and old scars. Beneath her touch, his muscles coiled like they still remembered battle.

She tried not to notice. She really tried.

But the line of his abdomen flexed beneath her palm, and the moment lingered half a second too long.

She pulled her hand back fast. “Sorry. Slipped.”

“Did it?” he asked, voice low. That arrogant smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Seemed intentional.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she snapped, fumbling for the water. “You’re bleeding. It’s normal to be delusional when you’re losing this much blood.”

“Well, if this is how you treat bleeding men, some might fake a few more wounds.”

She gave him a pointed glare, though her ears felt warm.

“Try faking a concussion. Maybe then you’ll stop talking.”

But Daghan wasn’t done. “You know, none of my healers ever blushed this much.”

She tightened the new bandage a little too sharply. He winced—but didn’t complain.

“Then clearly,” she muttered, “they were paid generously to put up with your nonsense.”

He chuckled under his breath, watching her work. But when she leaned closer to tie the final knot, her hair fell forward, brushing against his chest. They both stilled.

And Daghan found himself catching that cinnamon-sweet scent again.

A second passed.

Maybe two.

Then she pulled away, sat back, and busied herself folding cloth.

“Done,” she said quickly.

Daghan leaned back on one elbow—stunned, not by the scent, but by how much it had affected him.

And he hoped the darkness, thickening with every second, was enough to hide his confusion.