Lance tried and failed to catch up to the shrinking forms of Terlin and Jason, quickly losing them in the rainstorm as the man she loved roared like a wild beast, kicking up mud in torrents as he chased after Terlin on all fours. She forced her legs forward, boots threatening to suction free from her feet with every step. The storm's howl ate her voice when she tried to yell after them, the only answer the slap of rain on her skull and the thrum of her pulse in her ears. She could barely see through the downpour—just a churned trail of mud and water, the clawed impressions Jason's hands and feet left behind as he barreled through the wet forest floor like a wild dog.

She darted past the twisted and blown apart body of Terlin's Watchers, not sparing them a second glance, the mud trying to drink her boots as she went. The rain battered at her face, blurring her vision with moisture. Her lungs burned, muscles already screaming in protest as she fought to move through the forest floor, but the thought of Jason's retreating form sent a jolt of desperate energy through her trembling limbs. She had to move faster.

She bent forward slightly, chin tucked against her collarbone, rain streaming off the tip of her nose as she leaned into the storm's fury, each step a battle against the wind that tried to shove her backward. In all her years in the Watch, she'd never seen rain like this—a living wall of water that didn't fall so much as assault, each droplet striking like a tiny silver bullet, transforming the forest into a roaring, drowning world where the boundary between air and water had nearly ceased to exist. The battered path Jason had carved through the forest was dissolving before her eyes—miniature rapids gouged channels through the mud, swallowing his tracks in violent, churning torrents that threatened to sweep her feet from under her with each step. As she had the thought, she lost her balance, sending her sprawling forth, hands reaching for something to catch herself. She clawed desperately at a sharp bush, lined with thorns, and felt her palm shred against it, skin peeling back in ribbons as her fingers locked around it. Blood mixed with rain and mud as she howled a curse that tore her throat raw. She rose to her feet, ignoring her shredded palm as she moved forward. The smell of churned earth was thick, almost metallic as she struggled to keep a good pace.

She kept her mind on the trail, refusing to let herself think about what Jason might do if he didn't get control of himself. The memory of his face—barely human, teeth bared, black eyes wild—flickered in her minds eye. She couldn't lose him. Not to Terlin, not to the storm, not to the black hunger that was now devouring him! He was hers, damn it!

Lance's next step met nothing but air. Her stomach lurching as the ground disappeared beneath her, revealing a muddy slope that plunged at a sickening angle into shadow, rainwater cascading down its surface in rivulets that gleamed like mercury in the dim light. Lance's momentum hurled her forward like a rag doll, arms flailing wildly against the void. Her boots betrayed her, ripping free of the earth as she plummeted down the embankment in a violent, bone-jarring tumble. Jagged stones tore through her leggings, roots smashed against her shins with sickening cracks, each impact sending lightning bolts of agony through her limbs as her body ricocheted from one brutal collision to the next. Her jaw cracked against something unyielding and she spat blood, but she didn't stop—she couldn't. She rolled with the slope, and when the ground leveled she staggered upright, clutching her side where the pain had gone sharp and deep.

She didn't care.

The world spun like a mad carousel, trees and sky smearing into a nauseating blur of green and gray. She blinked—once, twice, three times—each flutter of her eyelids a desperate attempt to claw back control as her skull throbbed with the fury of a war drum. She reached for Foundation, knowing that she couldn't do anything with it yet, but still desiring to feel its warmth in this frigid cold. The Flame, though she could do nothing with it yet, seemed to fill her with not just warmth, but energy, her exhaustion fleeing somewhat. Ahead, the mud bore fresh wounds—five parallel trenches where something had raked through the earth with terrible force. Each gouge was filling slowly, rainwater turning the deepest parts into tiny, trembling mirrors that caught what little light remained. She wasn't far behind, she could still catch up! She limped quickly forth, teeth grit so tight her jaw buzzed. Her body was racked with pain, but she barely noticed. Only the trail mattered. Only Jason mattered.

A massive oak loomed in her path, its bark cracked and peeling where angry flames had licked up one side. The acrid scent of charred wood cut through even the rain's relentless assault. Where leaves should have rustled overhead, only blackened skeletal branches reached toward the sky, their naked silhouettes stark against the storm clouds. The intense rain had saved the other half of this tree, but what had caused the fire in the first place? Considering that this was along the trail where Jason had been chasing Terlin, it could only mean that he had used his Dok-ah, and had seared this tree by mistake. Even Terlin wouldn't purposefully burn a tree of the Faewood… perhaps this had been the result of a lightning strike instead? The sight of the ruined trunk punched a hole of grief in her chest. Lance slowed for a moment, palm pressed against the sodden bark. Burned, yes, but not by lightning as she'd hoped—It could have only been Terlin's Dok-ah, the flame had started from beneath the canopy, not above. Even the Harkmother herself would be exiled for far less than this, this was a crime worthy of execution on its own. Terlin must have been desperate—no, more than desperate. Terrified.

And still, he'd done it. Lance dug her nails into the half-charred bark, the pain a small, sharp anchor. It pained her, but she had to leave the tree behind, there was nothing she could do for it, and Jason needed her help. She followed the muddy furrows, heart pounding with anger and grief for the burnt tree. She could only hope that a Fae hadn't been occupying it. Each footfall squelched, leaving her own trail in the half-liquid muck. She pressed on. The storm thickened into a living thing, lashing the world with a curtain of water. She felt like she was beneath a heavy waterfall, rather than a storm. Her cloak was a sodden lump dragging at her neck, boots so waterlogged she could feel the freezing slosh between her toes. Each step was a fight against the sucking grip of the earth and the shrieking wind that threatened to knock her sideways, leaving her wishing that she knew how to fly. The trail Jason left behind was a streak of devastation—like a massive plow had been dragged through the forest.

The sky darkened, lightened, then darkened again as lightning-cracked clouds shifted above the canopy. Her legs burned, then numbed, then burned again. Twice the rain slackened enough that she could hear her own ragged breathing, only to return in sheets that drowned all sound but its own fury. She couldn't tell how much time had passed since this pursuit began, it could have been minutes or hours for all she knew. Time was a loop of pain and effort, her mind strobing between the memory of Jason's snarling face and the next patch of mud, the next hurdle of root, the next half-glimpsed sign that she was still on the right path.

A white-hot crack split the darkness. The world flashed negative—black trees against white sky—then plunged back to shadow before her eyes could adjust. Her teeth rattled with each lightning strike, her skull vibrating like a struck bell. Purple ghosts danced across her vision as she stumbled forward, hands outstretched. Her boot caught something and she pitched forward. Cold shock slapped her face, filled her nostrils. Mud sucked at her cheek, pulled at her hair. Her limbs felt leaden, her eyelids heavier still. The raindrops drummed against her back heavily, spikes of ice punching through her sodden clothes. Her pulse throbbed behind her eyes in time with the storm's rhythm. Should she just give up? There was no way she was going to catch up to Jason now, not with how frozen she was, not with how many injuries she'd already accrued… A part of her didn't want to rise again, but she grit her teeth.

No, not like this!

She roared through clenched teeth, a primal sound that tore her throat raw as she forced her broken body upright, muscles screaming in rebellion, mud sucking at her limbs. Despite her efforts to rise, she knew that following the trail like this was going to end up killing her, she was frozen to the bone, aches piling up, terrified— why was it that every time she had to chase after that damn fool's trail she had to suffer this way? She'd make sure she'd be prepared for the pilgrimage next time for certain. She couldn't smile despite the thought, the humor did nothing to warm her frozen bones. She took a deep breath… determined to push forth through the mud again, until she remembered a key detail about her last pursuit of Jason.

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She had used her chains to latch to the ceiling of the cavern, she could just do the same thing here! She couldn't pierce the bark of the branches overhead, but that was fine, she would just wrap the chains themselves around the branches. She reached for the hilts of the blades at her hip and flung them up, the length unspooling with a metallic hiss through the slush of rain. The blade at the end caught a limb above, wrapping twice, before locking with a satisfying snap. Lance braced, then yanked hard. The chain pulled her upward, boots scraping bark, mud and water falling away in a cold sheet as she rocketed toward the canopy. The second chain followed, a flick of her wrist sending it snaking ahead, latching the next branch in the sequence. She found the rythm quickly, quickly moving through the forest as if she were levitating.

She swung from branch to branch, never more than a few feet above the ground, the chains wrapping and releasing, her arms burning with the effort but moving almost without conscious thought. The forest floor blurred beneath her, a smear of black mud and splintered green. She could see the trail now, more clearly: the gouges in the earth, the broken plants, fresher, less filled tracks, she was starting to gain now.

Eventually though, a branch on an old dead tree gave under her weight. She fell, but caught herself mid-plummet with the other chain, the sudden stop nearly wrenching her shoulder from its socket. She grunted, teeth clicking together, vision sparking white. She hung for a moment, breath hissing through clenched teeth, before swinging herself up and over, landing in a crouch on a thick limb. She scanned the forest ahead, looking for movement, for any sign of him.

A flicker of motion—a pale blur against the washed-out color of the world. He was less than fifty paces ahead, a long yet horribly skinny shape hunched low, clawing forward with a speed that made her heart lurch. Lance launched herself forward, the chains singing, the wind smearing tears and rain across her face. Her body wanted to quit, muscles in revolt, but she forced herself to match Jason's pace, to keep him in sight. She wove between trunks, ducked low when she had to, let the chains do most of the work.

She landed on a branch and froze, face a grimace. She could see the edge of a clearing, the ground churned and bare. He was still howling, still mad, having apparently not found any sources of meat… she shuddered, but not from the cold. She remembered what he had told her once about this state, that only meat could satisfy the hunger once he got to this point, or rather, that in this state he would only desire meat, nothing else. Jason could eat anything if he were in a rational state, the grass, the bushes, even mud perhaps, but he was in no way rational now. She could hear the animalistic roar that cut through the rain like a blade, and it rattled her teeth in her skull, forcing her to clutch her ears.

He darted into the open, and only then did she see the shape in the rain—an antlered deer at the edge of the clearing. The animal hesitated for a breath, and Jason was on it. He collided with the deer as a blur, the two tumbling through the mud with the sound of cracking bone, as if the animal had been struck by the Rhino. There was a wet, meaty crunch, and the animal's scream was choked off in an instant. Jason's hands—no, claws—buried themselves in the deer's neck, ripping open the fur and skin, the motion so violent and so fast that Lance could barely follow it.

She was moving before she realized it, her own chain lashing out, catching the lowest branch. The impact jarred her whole body, but she gritted her teeth and swung forward, closing the distance in three desperate arcs. She landed in the clearing, boots skidding, the metallic taste of fear bubbling up in her throat. The smell hit her first—iron and hot blood, animal and man, and something else, something sour and wrong that made the hairs on her arms prickle.

Jason was hunched over the deer, his back to her, shoulders shaking with the force of his feeding. He tore at the carcass in great, wet mouthfuls, his jaw working with a speed and violence that was not human. Blood ran down his chin and painted his arms, pooling in the hollows of his collarbone and elbows.

She took a step forward, the squelch of mud under her heel impossibly loud. Jason froze for an instant before he straightened, slower than before, the motion deliberate and wary. His head turned slowly toward her, mouth caked with blood as the carcass of the deer twitched at his feet. His eyes were black, with only a dot of gold in its center. It was like looking into a pit, with a single gold coin in the bottom. She couldn't see Jason there, not the man she knew, not even a ghost of him. All she could read in those eyes was a deep hunger, like she'd seen in the eyes of starving animals. Instead of charging her immediately though, he went back to work on the nearest source of meat, the deer, kneeling over it and pulling out chunks of meat in huge mouthfuls. The deer should be more than enough to bring him back to sanity… at least she hoped, but even though she found him in such a state, she couldn't bring herself to flee. Lance was scared, but more than that, she was relieved. She hadn't lost him, Jason wasn't dead!

"Jason," she said, and it came out a whisper.

He kept scarfing down the deer, breaking apart a rib bone in his jaws as if it were nothing, teeth grinding the bones down quickly before he gulped. Steam billowed off his slowly growing body, his diminished form slowly returning to its former musculature. Lance felt as if she should have tried a bit harder to get his attention, but thankfully common sense won out, and she allowed Jason to finish eating the deer… every inch of it. Just as with the rabbit after the battle with Tuji, all that remained was a puddle of blood and fur, not even the antlers had been spared. Jason stood slowly from the filling puddle of watery blood, looking down at his bloodied palms, his hands shaking slightly.

She didn't think he knew that she was there, but it was clear he'd come back to himself. Despite that, she kept her chains at the ready, prepared to lash them to the trees above to help her escape, should Jason charge after her.

"Jason." She said, a bit louder this time to be heard over the rain.

He immediately turned, backing away from her with terror in his golden eyes. Relief filled her as she stepped toward him, but Jason put up a single, bloody hand.

"Stop, I can't-" He grit his teeth, "I'll hurt you, I'm a mon-"

"Shut up!" Lance snarled, shocking him, "Don't even start with that, I didn't slog my way through all this only for you to start 'I'm a monster waaah' crap." She continued, strutting up to him, the heat of anger warming her face against the freezing rain, "I've already made up my mind, Jason, I'm not leaving your side, no matter what you say, or what you think you are. I know who and what you are, and I don't care, I'm with you until the end, so don't try to push me away!"

"But I-"

"No buts!" Lance shouted, jabbing her finger sharply into his chest, before wrapping him in an embrace, despite the blood still staining him, "Be logical, you asking me to leave isn't going to work, so just drop it… I'm here for you." She said softly, relishing the warmth of his body against the freezing rain, "Please don't push me away."

He hesitated for a long while, before, to her elation, he wrapped his arms around her. He shuddered, but she doubted it was from the cold. His body was actively steaming, the raindrops evaporating quickly as they touched him.

"They made me wear them-" He choked, "Lance, the armor, the Phalanx… it's made from my brothers and sisters, I was wearing their bones this whole time." She looked up at him, not seeing the tears in the rain, "I can't wear it- I can't-"

She'd never seen him this pained in all the time she'd known him. A deep grief was in his eyes, along with revulsion and horror. His capacity for emotion was five times greater than that of a normal mortal— Lance could only assume that he was at that limit, and it was destroying him. She couldn't blame him for that, to find out that your greatest tool was an amalgamation of your kin's corpses… Lance couldn't even begin to imagine how she'd feel in his shoes. Lance pressed into him tighter.

"I'm here for you, Jason… its safe, but you can't try to bottle this in. This time, this once, let it out, share your grief with me, and I'll help you bear it." She sniffed, "Please."

Jason's jaw worked, his face twisting as if he were chewing through a mouthful of glass and nails. For a moment Lance thought he might bolt—run screaming into the trees, vanish forever. Instead, his knees gave out. He hit the mud with a heavy, graceless thump, splattering her shins with gore and rain. His hands curled into the sludge, fingers digging deep enough to tear the roots beneath. He made a noise, low and broken, and then his chest heaved and the noise became a howl, a sob, an animal's death-cry.

Lance dropped with him, her knees slamming the ground on either side of his hunched, quaking body. She pulled his head against her chest, locking her arms behind his neck, letting his shuddering breath soak her shirt with blood and snot and tears. The storm drowned out everything but the sound of him breaking. Each sob was a hammer-blow, a crack in the armor she'd thought he'd never take off.

She wanted to say something—anything—but decided against it. It was best to just let him pour out his agony. He clung to her, hands gripping the back of her shirt so tightly she thought he might tear the fabric. His body shook with each breath, and the steam that poured from his skin made the air around them a pocket of warmth in the freezing rain.

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