"Oh yeah," Launa answered in a heartbeat. She had had one too many dreams about that exact situation.

  "Even if that meant you were put in prison as well and we couldn't see each other anymore?"

  Launa smiled, turning on her side to face Lys. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

  Lys shrugged. "Just curious."

  "If I was able to think about it rationally and I could see that the cons outweighed the pros then maybe I wouldn't. But I don't know if my brain would work if he was in front of me. When someone hurts you that much, when they've made their home in a deep scar inside of you, you lose the ability to use logic when they're involved. But!" She smiled. "I can count on you now to help if I get too emotional, right?"

  Lys scoffed, sitting up to leave. "Why would I do that?"

  "Come on! We're friends now!" Launa cried out. "You liiike me!"

  BERYL

  A frost stronger than anything Béryl had ever felt woke him from his dazed slumber. His languid eyes slowly opened to the cold room which had been his entire world for the past couple days. Heat was a forgone guest inside the bunker, and his only friend was the cloud of vapour escaping his mouth at every breath.

  He started shivering again.

  He was tired of it. He had done nothing but shiver since they brought him here. His mind was muddled. The room spun slowly. Up was down and down was up. His dark feet contrasting with the light floor were so numb, he felt like he was floating. He knew he couldn't be, but he couldn't focus on reason. He couldn't focus on anything, really. Far from everything.

  Why was he here again?

  He couldn't remember.

  He was cold.

  So cold.

  So cold.

  He needed warmth.

  "Remember," A distorted voice said. "You really don't want to use your Fire Dancing right now."

  He remembered, felt it wrapped around his every limb. He remembered a rope. they called it. It had a proper name he was sure, but he couldn't place it. This rope was more than flammable. It was riddled with powder which would explode at any contact with heat and create a gigantic, hungry white flame. If he ever used his fire by mistake to warm himself up, there would be nothing of him left. Only a memory of a body, and the heat a white flame.

  . He thought.

  Freezing water was thrown on him again. This time, he was awake enough to feel the salt seep into his wounds from yesterday's interrogation. Still, he found comfort in the burn. In feeling anything other than the constant chill.

  "You lied to us," The voice said. "She wasn't at the spot you spoke about."

  Who were they talking about? She? Spot?

  Ah.

  .

  He knew she wouldn't be there. Or maybe she somehow spotted the soldiers. Though they would have sent Ghosts to deal with her. Ah, Ghosts.

  "I c'n't he'p yo' th'n," he said, his words slurring. He managed to lift his head to look at the man in front of him. He was a stark contrast to the white and cold room. His burgundy wool robe ate him from his jaw to the floor, pooling behind him. A fancy sweeper. He was bald, and one of those paler people who's face never stopped shining red

  . He thought.

  He chuckled.

  "You think this is funny Cadet Josp?"

  "No shir," he slurred. "Ma' I p'ease he'd hom' 'ow?"

  "Not until you tell us all you know about Lys."

  Béryl racked his brain, trying to remember the events of the day prior. "I a'read' di', shir. I thi'k."

  "Well think again. Otherwise, I'm going to have to bring in a friend."

  "A fshriend?" For some reason he found it funny. Friends were funny. Tomatoes having friends. The daily life of a tomato. Tomato and friends. "I'm c'ld."

  "And you'll die from it if you don't tell me what I want to know."

  "I d'n't k'oow." He let his head go down. It was too much effort to hold it up. He didn't want to do anything. Just sleep.

  There was silence.

  The silence was nice.

  Talking made him think too much. He didn't want to think. Thinking was hard.

  He was cold.

  He wanted to go home.

  He wanted to sleep.

  Someone yanked his head up, someone who wasn't the tomato. They had hair. Bright hair. They were holding a watering can. He thought.

  Before he could think of his imaginary plants, water was ran straight into his throat. He tried to close it, but the water was determined, punching its way down his oesophagus and trachea.

  It was painful.

  So painful.

  The water moved as if it were alive inside of him. It spiked, grating and cutting every bit of flesh it came in contact with. It whirled in his stomach, punching it up and down. It assaulted his lungs, punching and scratching, filling every inch. The water was filled with salt, and every scratch burned like blue fire.

  He couldn't breathe.

  He was drowning.

  Pain.

  He couldn't breathe.

  He was drowning.

  Pain.

  In an instant, all the water left, as painful in its exit as in its entry. Béryl couldn't focus on anything other than the sea of blood and bile he coughed up, most landing on his bare knees. He coughed like his life depended on it, he was sure it did. There seemed to be no end to the blood in his throat. He felt it slither out of his mouth, down his neck and chest.

  "Awake now?" Tomato said.

  Béryl nodded, unable to feel the tears streaming down his cheeks.

  "Now, I trust you'll want to talk more."

  The Private's tears increased. "I r'lly d'n't kno'. S'e le't 'fter I ga'e h'r a fl'wer."

  "What kind of flower?"

  "Why?"

  Tomato frowned, and his 'friend' with the can came closer. Béryl was fully awake now.

  "No- No stop! I'm s'rry! I-"

  The water barrelled down his throat again, this time thick with his own mucus and stomach fluid. It burnt everywhere it went. It punched everywhere it went. It scratched everywhere it went. The salt burned. He was drowning.

  Again, and again, and again.

  The water left.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Béryl's knees and feet were soaked with his own blood.

  "What kind of flower?"

  "Whit' and-" cough. "yell'w, like a" His mind was in shambles. He knew it had a name. A name.

  Name.

  Name.

  "A Narcissus."

  "You fucking idiot," Tomato said.

  He beckoned his 'friend' again.

  "NO! STOP! PLEASE!" Béryl screamed at them to stop, but was no match for the water invading his body, all while the watering can filled his vision. The pain was too intense for him to close his eyes, so he could do nothing but stare at the dark wood of his torturer.

  Why was this happening?

  What had he done?

  The pain filled him, becoming its own entity inside of him. It seemed like it would never stop. It spread everywhere, to his feet, to his heart, to his mind. He just wanted it to stop.

  Stop.

  Please.

  Please.

  Stop.

  The pain laughed at him.

  Please.

  He would give everything.

  All he wanted-

  All he wanted was just-

  "Why-" He cried out as the water left. His head hung low and his tears joined the blood in his mouth.

  "Because your stupidity is too potent for this world. Do you even know what the Narcissus represents?"

  Béryl didn't care. All his energy was being spent on his tears. Small streaks on his cheeks which were much colder than they should be. Even with his mind muddled he knew he was beginning to get severe hypothermia. He would die soon if they didn't let him out, yet they were hung up on a stupid flower.

  "Le' m' go ho'e," he pleaded. "I'm goi' to di'."

  Tomato grabbed his thick hair with an iron fist. It should have hurt, but his scalp was long numb.

  "It's the Order of Narcissus you useless waste of space. Where Drifters congregate and help each other invade our world. Henalda's most potent enemy."

  "So? Why... Lys?"

  Tomato stayed silent.

  Then he laughed.

  It filled the cold and empty room. Attacked Béryl's ears. It became his world for the few minutes it lasted.

  The laugh of a Tomato.

  "Do you really not know? She's one of them. She's a Drifter."

  Béryl tried to process his words.

  They were stupid.

  Who was the stupid one here? Drifters were monsters.

  Lys was human.

  He'd seen her bleed. He'd seen her laugh.

  Monsters don't do that.

  See. Even he knew the difference.

  He was better than a Tomato.

  He chuckled. "Yo''re st'pid," he said. "Stuuuu'id." He started laughing more. Where he got enough energy to, he didn't know. But it was too funny. He quickly stopped, his throat burning from the assault. "Stu'id." He whispered.

  His head was yanked back, and he met the watering can once more.

  A pebble was thrown at him.

  Another one.

  Another one.

  . He thought.

  Another.

  He opened his eyes.

  "Oh good. You're alive. I was just checking."

  He looked up to find who was talking. It was hard to move. Why was it so hard to move?

  He was in an alley. One of those background alleys in Rasphira abandoned by the moons' light, denying the sod stone of its sparkle. Talking to him was a woman? A girl? With a blindfold. Sitting on a roof as if it were her property.

  "I saw that. I would say that the one who stabbed you was in the wrong, but why were you carrying such an obviously large amount of money in this part of town?"

  Oh. Right.

  He was stabbed by a Water Dancer.

  He'd heard some were able to create water blades by spinning the water at an incredible speed. But it wasn't taught in military training. He wondered what other surprises he would find that weren't taught in his program.

  "I didn't think anyone would attack a soldier." He groaned.

  The woman laughed. "Talk about being naive. I've barely been here for a year and I know better."

  "Ha ha." He winced as he tried to straighten himself up. "Are you going to keep staring at me?" Although staring wasn't the right word since she was wearing a blindfold.

  It was unsettling.

  Usually, people with blindfolds were being forced into submission, robbed of one of the most used senses. But, somehow, it made her seem powerful. As if seeing was meant for lesser beings. Beings who could only look up at her in wonder.

  "Where are you stationed?" She asked.

  "Why do you care?"

  "I'm the only thing sitting between you and a clean bandage but sure, be defensive." She shrugged.

  He groaned.

  "Eastern Garrison, starting next week."

  She perked up. "The one on Lake Seir? With the large intelligence division?"

  Béryl frowned. She knew an awful lot for a street rat. "What's it to you?"

  She jumped. The soldier almost panicked as she did, but she didn't fall with the bone-breaking crunch he had expected. She fell as if on a cloud. Floating for a few seconds before gracefully letting her feet touch the black stone.

  She was an Air Dancer.

  An Air Dancer.

  He had never seen one in his life. No one around him had ever seen an Air Dancer. No one trained him to fight them. How could you fight air? Could she just suffocate him at any time?

  This was bad.

  Really bad.

  "Relax," she said, crouching before him. "I'm not going to hurt you. Move your arm."

  Béryl didn't like this one bit. He started to wonder if she was a bad illusion caused by blood loss. But when she groaned and moved his arm herself, he knew she had to be real. He felt cold air enter his wound, and she winced.

  "That's pretty deep," she said. Was that how she 'saw'? With air?

  He felt himself being lifted up, and started to panic. She shushed him as she would a child.

  "Don't move, you'll make it worse."

  He was lying on air, yet he felt strangely secure. She took off his red uniform, being careful around the wound. He heard a loud rip, and next thing he knew, he was being bandaged up with a strip of her cloak.

  "Is that okay?" He asked.

  She shrugged. "I go through a lot of these."

  She lifted him back down against the wall, right next to the spot stained with his own blood. She told him to wait there.

  "You're just leaving me?"

  "Do I look like I have any medicine on me? Just stay put."

  . He thought. He watched the black sky above. He should've been in a nice warm bed by now, after having started packing for his new position in the Garrison. What was he to tell his superiors when they would say he missed roll call? That he was stabbed and saved by an Air Dancer?

  Demotion it was then.

  The Air Dancer came back, carrying a short man on her back. He seemed to be as displeased to see Béryl as Béryl was to see him. He really didn't want to involve himself with the underground world of the capital. The man, he called himself Hyx, inspected his wound and took out a small black box from his bag. He frowned at it, then turned to the woman.

  "This is expensive," He said.

  "I know," She answered.

  "I hope you're prepared to work your butt off for the next month to make up for this."

  She smiled. "Anything you say, oh dear leader."

  He chuckled as he tossed the box to her. "Go on then. I'll be back to my work. I don't want to be involved in whatever you're doing here. I'll see you at dinner. If you stay out past sunrise there'll be no more dessert left for you."

  "Thanks Hyx. I'll keep that in mind."

  Hyx stood up to leave, glaring at Béryl as he did. A protective glare. One that screamed . As if she was the weak one in this situation.

  "Your dad?" He asked as Hyx was out of earshot.

  She smiled, crouching to apply the ointment to his wound. It stung like nothing he had ever experienced, but he kept a straight face, unwilling to show weakness. "Might as well be," She answered.

  "We have to keep out for each other in this city. There are tons of found families here and there. The moment you mess with one is when you die."

  Béryl gulped. "So, how come I'm not dead? What do you want from me?"

  "Information," she said, focused on the ointment. Her hands were delicate, gentle, almost comforting, a stark contrast to her unsettling half-covered face. "I want information on a prisoner and on a woman the army is surely trying to find."

  "Well, that doesn't seem dangerous for me at all."

  Her hands stopped. "You know, I could just kick you and leave and you won't make it to see the sunrise."

  He chuckled nervously. "I said dangerous, not impossible."

  She smiled. Her hands moving once more "Good."

  "I'll need names. Yours and the ones you're looking for."

  "You'll need to wait for mine," she said. "But I can give you the others. Mordo and Leesha Houj. They lived in New-Sher and-"

  Béryl grabbed her wrist. He knew he was squeezing too hard as she winced, but he couldn't stop. His mind had come to a standstill. The name spun around his tired mind. Teasing him. Projecting him back to the worst day of his life.

  "How do you know Leesha Houj?" He said, almost out of breath.

  She cocked her head. "How do know Leesha?"

  "I want her dead." The words felt so nice to say out loud. As a soldier, he had sworn to protect the people, dedicating his life to Henalda. But there was one thing he wanted more than anything, and that was to burn Leesha Houj's face off until nothing but charred meat remained.

  "Well, I want her , so that might be a problem," the woman said.

  "What do you know about her?" His heartbeat rose. He got dizzy. He shouldn't get excited in his predicament, but this woman might get him closer than he had ever gotten. Closer to the one thing which had driven his life for so long.

  "How about this," she started, sitting back. She almost melted into the black of the alley, but to Béryl, she was a beacon of hope in a long night. "You join the Eastern Garrison like you're supposed to, you bring me information on where her husband is held, and I may be able to share some info. But then you have to share all information about Leesha that you come across as well. No secrets."

  This was an awful deal. He knew it. A five-year-old would know it. They had different goals. She would go behind his back. One-up him. Cut ahead.

  But he didn't have much choice. She was the closest thing he had to a clue.

  "Give me your name and we have a deal," he said. "I don't trust people who won't even give me their names."

  She smirked. "Fine. It's Lys."

  Béryl frowned. "Very funny. No. Seriously. What's your name?"

  *  *  *

  A wave of cold gripped him once more. Freezing, every drop attacking his skin. He looked up to see Tomato, a self-serving smirk on his face.

  "Can't have you dying on us just yet. You need to stay awake, Cadet."

  "Why?" He couldn't take it anymore. Everything was spinning. There seemed to be three Tomatoes in front of him. They were wearing blindfolds. Like Lys's that night. The night in which he made a deal which never came to fruition. Sure, he was up for a promotion soon because of her contributions, but he had gotten nowhere with Leesha.

  Nowhere.

  She always avoided army detection. The only clues of her whereabouts were found days after she had already left. The intelligence division was less hunter and more dog chasing after its owner. Lys was his only chance to get relevant info, and as soon as she had found something, she had run off.

  Now he was going to die here.

  For nothing.

  "You still haven't told us where you found the Narcissus."

  Questions again? Questions were annoying. He had no strength left to care. "New-Sher. In the r'ins of M'rdo and 'eesha Hou''s hou'e."

  "And why were you there?"

  Annoying.

  " 'ooking fo' Lees'a."

  There was a laugh.

  "Is this why you worked with Lys? To find the woman who killed your family? You betrayed the General for some little revenge plot?"

  Every word he said was annoying.

  "Jus' lemme 'o." His words were mixing into each other. His voice shaking from tears.

  Everything started to go black.

  He was going to die.

  He was going to die.

  He was going to die.

  " 'emme 'o."

  "You think we'll let you go when you've just admitted to grand treason?" He pushed his face closer. All Béryl could see in his blackened vision was red. "No. You're going to stay here, alone, basking in regret until your heart stops." He stepped back, but Béryl had no strength left in his eyes to follow him up. His gaze now stuck on a crack in the cold floor.

  The last thing he would see.

  "Maybe in your next life you'll be born with a bit more of a brain. I hope it serves you-"

  He stopped. Why did he stop? There was noise. A lot of noise outside. Doors being slammed open. He wished they would shut up. It was too loud. They came closer.

  Then closer again.

  Again.

  He heard the door of the room to his right opening. Then footsteps. Before he knew, his own door was being slammed open, a gust of warm wind filling the room.

  Ah, he was hallucinating again.

  Lys was here.