He dreamed of fire. Its scalding heat boiled his blood, drenching him in sweat. The bitter liquid forced down his throat only served as fuel for the inferno. Clementine tossed and turned, pealing his sticky skin off the bed. Hands tried to restrain him. Their touch like ice on Clementine's fevered flesh. Muffled voices called out, but their soothing words were lost in the roar of the fire. Its crackling hiss was a mocking laugh. Clementine screamed and the bed pitched over, spilling him out onto the floor. The resulting pain from his right leg was enough to make him black out.

Darkness was his cradle. There he remained, comatose and submerged without a single thought to keep him company. An eternity passed in the span of a few wandering seconds. The cradle rocked and Clementine stirred once more. The fire had died in his veins, doused as it were by the liquid blackness of his empty dreams. His clammy skin glued him to the bed. Clementine was too weak to break free. He blinked the pain from his sensitive sight. A familiar ceiling greeted him. Its dripping wood planks were unmistakable. Home. Some sixth sense told him he was not alone either. Clementine swiveled his eyes around his room. There was someone else waiting by the window. A shadow in the dark.

"You're awake." Said the shadow, "They said your fever broke this morning so I knew it was only a matter of time."

Clementine tried to sit up but the effort left him light headed. "How long?" he groaned

"Four days."

Clementine squinted in the dark, waiting as his eyes adjusted to the dull moonlight. Kiera sat on the windowsill, her arms wrapped around her pulled in legs. She looked ready to fold further into herself. Clementine had never seen her so closed off. Dried tears stained her face. Her right hand was swollen and bandaged up to twice its usual size.

"Naz is dead." Said Kiera, "So is Buckets."

Clementine froze, "Kiera…I-I don't-"

"Five others are dead or missing." she continued in the same toneless voice, "More are wounded. Runt worst of all, but he will live. We lost the Buffer. The City Guard moved in before we had a chance to do anything."

The memories came flooding back. The browless man with the round eyes and gaunt face. His needle swords. Naz. Clementine remembered checking his pulse and finding nothing. My leg…Clementine tried lifting his head to glimpse the damage, but he couldn't. The pain was too great. Memories of what happened repeated themselves again and again. A looping movie in his head spliced in with images of fire. Too much. It was all too much. Clementine clutched at his skull. He tried to scream but his throat was scorched dry. That black gnarled pit inside him withered. He had no idea how long he laid there for, but when next he looked up Kiera was gone.

Daylight crept in through the cracks of the wooden planks. Clementine held his book of fairy tales out so that it would catch a sliver of sunshine. He hoped to read but the effort proved too much for his faraway mind. Instead, he observed the illustrations. The detailed sketchings were unlike any other fairy tale book, which either went in a more minimalistic style or cartoonish exaggeration. The stories depicted on these yellowed pages looked as if the artist had seen such things with their own eyes. It was one of the many things about the book that caught Clementine's interest.

The rickety front door creaked open followed by heavy footsteps. Clementine put away the book and waited for whoever it was to make their way to his room. It was a slow and staggered pace. By the time Runt reached the bedroom doorway he was leaning on the walls for support. His face strained and beaded with sweat. He lacked a shirt though bandages wrapped around his abdomen like a second skin. Runt stumbled to sit on the windowsill, right where Kiera sat days ago. Or maybe it was hours ago. Clementine had no real way of telling. Time slipped through his fingers.

"They told me you cried out for Risa when you first woke." Said Runt.

"Did I? Perhaps. I don't remember. I was fevered. My skin burned." He shuddered, "I thought I woke in the past somehow. Forced to relive my most unpleasant memories. Now I realize I've simply gained new ones." Clementine tried to smile like he knew Buckets would, but he couldn't manage it. "You're looking better than I feared. Kiera told me you were seriously wounded."

Runt held one hand to a fresh scar slashed horizontally across his left cheek. "I was…I am. Old Gran tells me some of my intestines were pierced. I can only move now because my aura helps me heal faster than I would have regularly. It's all that kept me alive I suspect."

Clementine looked toward his protruding toes at the end of the bed. From the knee down his leg was covered in makeshift casting and splints making it difficult to discern the full extent of the damage. "I've been trying to wiggle my toes with no luck. I can't feel them. Not even the pain anymore. It's more of a dull throbbing."

"I've been told it was broken in several places."

"Why isn't it healing like your wounds?"

Runt grimaced, "Slashes and stabs are easier to heal. A simple sealing of the wound would do. Even then, deeper lacerations require a focused aura to properly fix internal damage. Your leg was not only broken but severely altered as well. The bone was sticking through your calf. In your fevered state your aura blindly reacted to the pain and tried to heal you. In doing so it healed some things out of place. You may want to consider the possibility that-"

"Enough." Wheezed Clementine through grated teeth, "I don't care about my wretched leg. Just tell me, how did Buckets die?"

"That can wait."

"Tell me." Insisted Clementine, "Please."

Runt turned so he could peer out the window, "When I fell, Buckets stepped in. I know…You always suspected there was more to him. You were right. He fought that monster toe to toe. Not any of those twirling blades could touch him. He had the bastard beat, but before he could deliver the finishing blow…A broken piece of blade stabbed him in the back. Pierced the heart, same as Naz." Runt shook his head in disbelief, "I thought he was weak. We all did and yet all this time…We mistook his unwillingness to fight for his inability to do so. Nothing could've been farther from the truth. Buckets was the best fighter I've ever seen."

"Then how did he lose?"

"Semblance." Answered Runt, "The biggest unknown in all of combat. That man, Oren, waited till the last second to reveal it. It saved his life."

"He got away?" Clementine's voice was biting.

"Guard rushed in as soon as Buckets fell. It was all Kiera could do to drag him out of there."

Clementine clenched his fist so tight his unkempt nails broke skin and he bled. "Oren, you said his name was?"

Runt nodded, "Oren Glass. He was once a student at Haven, that is until he murdered his opponent in cold blood during the thirtieth Vytal festival. I was there. I should've recognized him."

"Has there been any sign of him since?"

"No. Buckets beat him pretty bad. If he still lives, then he's licking his wounds same as us."

"I want to see them." Clementine sat up and reached out an unsteady hand, "Would you help me?"

"You're too weak. You should stay in bed."

"What does it matter? I may never walk on this leg again." The truth of what he said pained him even as it passed his lips. "Please, I can't stay in this bed any longer."

Recognizing his anguish and perhaps empathizing with it, Runt took Clementine's hand. "Have it your way then." He lifted Clementine from his bed. The sudden movement made him nauseous. It took all his strength to keep his right leg hovering over the floor. The cast weighed on him as if his whole leg was solid lead. The throbbing sent tremors up his spine. Runt knelt low so he could swing Clementine's arm around his neck.

It was a slow and arduous journey just to get out the front door. The sun was too bright and shining for a day such as this. The clouds should be crying. After being bedridden for nearly a week the intensity of the unobstructed sun stung Clementine's eyes, causing them to water. Through blurry vision he could just make out the environment around him. Despite being the middle of the day, the streets were empty. Not a soul in sight.

"Where is everyone?"

"At the border." Answered Runt, "The City Guard didn't stop at retaking the Buffer. They tried to push themselves into the Mud District. They intended to stomp us out for good I think. We fought them back though. So far, they haven't tried again."

"Why? They should've been able to crush us."

Runt scowled under the strain of wading through the mud. "You underestimate our ferocity. We're fighting for our lives here. The Guard see that. The desperation on our faces. It scares them. They know they could take us out, but they also know we'd take many of them with us. I don't think they want to risk that."

The wooden homes turned charred black as they walked. Clementine knew where they were going. The only graveyard the Mud District had. When they got to the street they found Kiera already there, standing over the graves. Runt hesitated upon seeing her, but after a few seconds he continued forward. Kiera didn't turn to regard their approach. Her pale brown eyes remained fixed on the freshly dug grave before her. Clementine did not speak. He hadn't the courage. To lose half of yourself in such a way. There were no words.

Clementine observed the new graves. There were no flowers nor trinkets or anything of the like to decorate them. The tombstones were made out of planks of wood. Written on them were their names, the years they lived, and just a few words. Nothing poetic or fake. Plain and true, the nature of the Mud District itself. Naz rested beside his mother. Carved at the bottom of his tombstone were the words, 'A Caring Son'. Buckets', 'A Hero.' These handful of letters were enough to encapsulate everything about who they were in life.

Kiera sniffled, "I wanted to bury him in the wilderness. Someplace beautiful so that when my time came we could lie together. A grove of our own. He deserved that."

Overcome with exhaustion, Runt Knelt. Through ragged breathes he asked, "Why didn't you?"

"I said that's what I wanted. He would've wanted to be buried here. Amongst those he risked his life to protect. He loved the Mud District. Not just the people but the place itself. He died for it. This is what Buckets would've wanted."

"He will be avenged." Said Clementine, "They all will."

At last Kiera turned to face them. "How?" her voice was low but vehement.

"We wait until we recover. Then we-"

"Fuck waiting." She snapped, "Fuck your plans. And fuck you. I'm doing this my own way. Like I should've done from the start." Kiera trudged off at a faster pace than either of them could catch up to.

"Let her go." rasped Runt, "She didn't mean it."

"But she's right. Waiting is what got us here in the first place. I…I thought we could take on whatever they threw at us."

"You thought I could, you mean."

The recognition and acceptance in Runt's tone rocked Clementine. "Yes." He admitted.

Runt nodded solemnly, "Everyone did. They believed so hard in me I allowed myself to be convinced as well. And yet I lost. The one thing they depended on me for. I think that's what broke them most of all. Their illusions shattered in a handful of seconds. That's all it took to bring me down. They lost any hope of victory. Now they fight merely to survive."

"It's not your fault." Said Clementine, "It's mine. I pushed us into this conflict. I wanted it. My whole life I thought I could make anything happen if I just believed enough. If the stories I read as a child were true, then anything would be possible. I depended on that belief. Sometimes it was all that kept me going. Now…I don't know what to believe anymore."

Clementine eased himself in the mud next to Runt. His clothes were in a deplorable state despite his best efforts. Stained with bloodied mud and torn in several places. Clementine sucked air through his teeth as he gently pushed his bad leg out in front of him.

"Do you think we can still win this?" asked Clementine.

"Win?" Runt spoke the word as if he never heard it before. "I don't remember the last time I won anything."

"You won Risa's heart."

The words were meant to comfort him, but they only inflicted pain. Runt's face wrinkled with a sob long and drawn out. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out. His mute cry rippled through Clementine's soul, distorting every frail belief he still clung to. Runt covered his ears and squeezed shut his eyes.

"I hear them still."

"Who?"

"My mother, brothers, and sisters. Risa…" his voice broke, "All those I failed. Voices in my head. I can silence the world but not them. Never them. You like your fairy tales. Tell me, is there anything about a man haunted by those he lost in life?"

"There are stories of ghosts."

"Ah, that's the word. Ghosts. What purpose do these ghosts serve in the story? Why do they linger?"

"They can have many functions." Said Clementine, careful with his words yet holding nothing back. "Usually they remain to correct a wrong. Or help teach those they haunt a valuable lesson. Sometimes they remain solely because those still living refuse to let them go."

Runt let out a hollow laugh, "You think I'm mad. Don't you?"

Clementine straightened and met Runt's eye. "I think you're different. And that's alright."

For a moment Runt remained fixed by that stare. Then he broke away. Runt looked out above Risa's tombstone. His gaze, not a vacant thing. He focused on something. Someone. Clementine caught his breath.

"You see her?"

"Sometimes." Said the hunched giant.

"What is she saying?"

"She says, that you're different as well."

The effort to smile was like tearing off a band aid. "Who wants to be normal anyway?"

Runt's lips slowly peeled back into a grin before breaking into a snigger. The pain in his chest caused him to double over. Clementine found himself chuckling alongside him. The loss he so keenly felt faded with every shake of his shoulders. In their certifiable laughter Clementine thought he heard a third voice as well. Laughing along with them.

He could feel the sunshine through his closed lids. She stood there, her shadow cast upon him. Oren knew it was her. The air tasted of the sweet Rotwheat she'd taken to smoking. That pipe went with her everywhere. The woman had a fixation, ever since she was a child. Oren blamed her father. He raised her wrong in pretending she didn't exist. Now Ira had him trapped. She'd want to talk about what happened with the brown foots. Better to sleep.

"I know you're awake cousin." Ira poked the bowl end of her pipe into Oren's chest causing him to grimace and stir.

"How did you know?" he groaned.

"Look around you. I'm monitoring your heart and it picked up some when I entered into the room."

"You make it sound like I'm in love."

"Love and fear are conjoined twins." She said, "One does not come without the other."

Oren's eyes fluttered open. He was in a one window room not much bigger than a walk-in closet. Surrounded and hooked up to machines. The faint beeping from other rooms throughout the building echoed through his door.

"I always hated hospitals." He complained, "There's always that constant beeping. The floors are unusually sticky for some reason. And the staff are either mean as crabs or too overjoyed to be human."

"This is the best medical care you can get in over a hundred miles. You should be grateful I moved you away from the other patients. I know how they disgust you."

"Yes, nice shoebox you found for me cousin. Real cozy."

Ira circled to the front of the bed, "The doctors say you will live. Though it was a near thing."

"Are you sure? I feel as if I've died and this is my eternal punishment, stuck talking to you in a cramped hospital room. How fitting."

"You wouldn't be talking to me if you had done your job. What happened? Was the giant too much for you?"

Oren laid a hand over his chest. All feeling in his body crumpled to that center point of the sternum. A crushing pressure. The mere touch of his fingertips provoked agony. Even still, an extra dose of pain shot through his lungs with every breath. "No, not the giant. Someone else."

"Who?"

"A young man named Buckets."

Ira raised one perfect eyebrow, "You're serious?"

Moments from their duel flashed across Oren's mind. Buckets' aura, feeding into his fiery eyes like pulsing veins. That damned whistling baton. The vibrations running up his arms with every contact. "He was good, Ira. No…No, that's an insult. Buckets was of a singular skill."

"Evidently not, else you wouldn't be here right now."

"I couldn't beat him in an outright duel." Continued Oren, ignoring her contemptuous tone. "I'd think it would be impossible for just about anyone. He saw through my movements and was swift enough to counter them. So, I had no choice. In order to win, I had to lose. I lowered my aura shields, holding them in reserve so that when he struck me down he'd think he'd won."

"You let him beat you half to death?"

"No. I didn't let him do anything. The strike was coming. I just had to prepare to receive it. And it was just one blow that did this. Just one…and I nearly died. That weapon of his is something else. Never seen it's like before." His gaze drifted to the middle distance, "There was a moment when he stood over me. I was still recovering from his attack. He could've ended me then and there. But he hesitated. Using my semblance, I recalled one of my sword tips he'd broken at the start of our fight. It's all I had the strength to do was just recall one. Yet it found his heart." There was regret in his voice. Almost lamentation. "Fool…should've finished me."

Ira was silent for a long time as she took it all in. "Any idea who he really was?"

"I've heard a story up in Atlas. One of the higher ups in the military wanted to put forward a new program in training Huntsmen and Huntresses. A grueling program from what I've heard, started from birth. Rumor is he used his first born as the prototype. It half worked. The son was a pure-bred warrior. But the stress it had on the boy's psyche was too much. He fled one night, leaving his family household in ruins."

Ira scoffed, "A spook story. Spread by drunk Atlesians in hopes it might bolster their fearsome reputation."

Oren shrugged, causing a lightning bolt of pain to arc through his body. "Perhaps, but if there is some truth to that tale and this Buckets was the runaway prototype…Well, best we keep that secret deeply buried."

"He's dead, isn't he?"

"Unless he has a second heart, yes, he is dead."

"And the boy? Clementine?"

Oren turned his head to stare out the window, knowing full well what was coming.

Ira walked around the bed, putting herself directly in his line of sight. "What did you do?"

"The boy will live."

"What did you do?"

"What I was raised to do!" he snapped, "What we were meant to do. I exploited a weakness. Nothing more. The boy, Clementine attacked me. He resisted. In an attempt to restrain him I may have rendered him a cripple."

Her face sank and she began to pace around the small room. "You bloody maniac."

"Need I remind you that you're the one who sent this bloody maniac?"

Ira turned on him with all the rage of a scorned sixteen-year-old girl. "You were supposed to capture Clementine not cripple him! Did you at least kill Runt Braun?" She saw the answer on his face before he even opened his mouth. "Fuck!"

"Buckets got in my way before I could finish him."

"I never should've trusted you." Her words dripped venom, "I didn't want anyone to suffer. It was supposed to be quick."

"Quick, slow, they all die in the end. What's the difference?"

"By torturing them we inflame their hatred for us while allowing them the time to act upon their reckless rage."

"They would've hated us no matter how I went about it. Wouldn't have made a lick of difference."

"You wouldn't understand. All you know is one thing. Anything falling outside that purview is meaningless to your addled brain."

"I know you." Smiled Oren, "I know your methods. Violence is a last resort. I am your last resort. Always figured you an accomplished negotiator. What happened?"

Ira stuck her finger in her mouth and nibbled on the protruding nails. "Clementine wouldn't accept my terms. His sister burned alive in that fire. Now he's blinded by his own hatred."

"If its vengeance he wants why not give him Moss? All the blame lies with the councilor anyway."

"You think I haven't considered that? If Moss were to die by any means the rest of his ilk would descend. I suspect it's the reason they sent a vain man such as Moss in the first place. The council of Mistral are a proud group, they wouldn't accept a man like that into their ranks without a good reason. They likely sent him to provoke me. His death, the death of a councilman would be the very excuse they need to justify bringing the hammer down on all I've built!"

"Enough." the seriousness in Oren's voice was enough to get her to stop pacing. "Get a hold of yourself Ira. You're acting like a little girl. Have you grown so soft in these few short years? The situation is under control."

Ira chewed on her fingers, ruining her perfectly fine nails. "I'm spread too thin as is. What dependable forces I have I can't just yank out of position, to deal with a domestic problem. That will cause doubt to infect the others. You were my one weapon I could use and you failed. The City Guard is next to useless. They've taken the Buffer but only because you sundered the Mud ranks. They can't even beat back the line of peasants defending the Mud District."

"Use the Ophidians then."

"You want me to bring them into Refuge? Where people can see them?"

"Dress them in guard uniforms. No one will know."

"The real guard would. They'll talk and the rumors will spread. You should hear the rumors circling the precinct about the Mud District."

"Rumors? Since when did you quiver in the shadow of rumors?" Oren stifled a gasp of pain rising from his chest. "What is it you're so afraid of?"

She paused in the chewing of her nails, the tips of her fingers wet with saliva. "It's Clementine. The kid reminds me too much of myself when I was his age. The harder we push them, the more desperate they'll become. That's the last thing we need. With the death of Runt and the capture of Clementine we could've cut the heart straight out of the Mud District's resistance. But now…madness."

"If Clementine is as you say, then perhaps this is natural. The younger generation overcoming the old. Will he stand where you now stand fifteen years down the line? Facing his own younger self rising from whatever empire he creates. Or will the old cliff resist the crashing new waves?"

She shot him a sharp look, "You've grown poetic of late."

Oren gave a crooked smile, "A curse of observation and boredom. Allow me to offer some advice. I've been around. I've seen people killed in ways that would make most grown men sick. But I'll tell you this, nothing breaks a person more than the random offhanded ways of chance. So, if your wish is to take the fight out of Clementine's spirit, then that would be the way."

Ira considered for a time. The burden of responsibility slowly returned to her once again mature face. As if noticing what she was doing for the first Ira withdrew her fingers from her mouth and wiped them on her pants. "Get better soon, cousin. When you're able, I want you back out there to finish what you started."

"And Clementine?"

Her eyes fell to the floor and she sighed, "There was little chance he'd listen to me from the start…Kill him."

Oren dragged his tongue across his teeth, "Now there's the Ira I love and fear."