She had scoured the outskirts of Inima for the last two days, drenched in the incessant icy sleet of rain that did not pause throughout, without avail.

To an onlooker, she would have appeared to be just a normal young girl around fifteen or sixteen, perhaps on the poorer end, judging by the patchy job of clothes she had on. Her hair was black and loosely braided under a very old, very unkempt olive green hat, her hair was the same as the night sky that stretched above her, and if the onlooker paused long enough, he would catch a glimpse of her pale eyes, pale like the silver that decorated her fingers.

But if the onlooker were observant enough, he would see that her fists clenched tightly as she walked, and her feet moved with purpose yet no destination, as if she was seeking something, but that something was something she herself wasn't sure of, and if this observant onlooker paused long enough, he would see her cast glances behind her shoulder, almost like a mouse always expecting a cat to pounce on it, and then the onlooker would feel a sense of pity, pity that someone was so frightened, and pity that she was probably too frail to defend herself. But here, the onlooker was wrong, for if there was one thing Fiera Celosis could do very well, it was to defend her damn self.

"...did you find it?" a frail voice asked when Fiera, having finished her long search for the day, quietly slipped into the abandoned rice mill at the outskirts of Inima. She had, over the last few days, made it her hiding hole, not that she had much to hide; it was more to act as a shelter for her travelling companion, Rose. Rose was aroused from deep, sickly slumber not by the furious stampeding rain but from the soft footfalls of Fiera on the wet mud.

"Not as of yet," Fiera replied, "Have you slept well?"

Rose gave a half-nod as a sleepy smile spread across her small round face. Her blonde curls were rumpled because of her sleep, and mud had drenched her back, and yet, through all the wet, damp, muddy darkness, Rose's watery blue eyes and sleepy smile somehow warmed up the mill. She is the fragile one, Fiera thought, resisting the thought of starting a fire to warm herself up.

"What will you do, then?" Rose asked as Fiera stamped out an uneven part of the ground to sit on, "I think I should come with you if it's me -" Rose paused.

But Fiera could sense what she had been about to say, 'If it's me, I can find it. Because I am of the Blood. Privy to the Crown.'

Somewhere, she wanted Rose to say those words, so Fiera could take offence and maybe even start a fight, but it was possibly the damp weather getting to her.

Celosises were meant for the damp weather.

"I am sure they will scout us out," Fiera said, "This had more to do with my anxiety than actually seeking them out."

Although she made a half-hearted attempt to look cool by leaning on her elbows, she was pretty sure her face gave away her worry. But Rose, thankfully, was too tired to push the issue. She groaned before falling onto her makeshift bed; it was the only part of the mill that was not wet, possibly because Rose had taken all the water damage. Fiera could sense that Rose was still awake, so she stayed still, trying to while away the time. She didn't trust 'them' enough to believe they would actually be searching for her. 'They were probably happy she never made it; in fact, if she had to bet, she'd bet that they were hoping she was rotting dead in a ditch somewhere.

"Fiera," Rose whispered.

It took Fiera a split second to sit on her haunches. Rose had her arm raised, and Fiera knew that she was trying to listen to the water. If there was one damn good thing with all this damn damp weather and the goddamn incessant rain, it was that Rose had heightened her senses. The water spoke as easily to Rose as it dampened Fiera's fire.

"Three people," Rose whispered, and Fiera helped her into a sitting position, ready to carry her on her back if need be. From above, water continued to drip on them.

"Enemies?" Fiera whispered.

Rose frowned, "I don't know."

Fiera turned her back to her, wrapping up Rose's clothes securely, "Climb up, then. I don't want to risk it." And just as Rose was about to climb up, Fiera stiffened. It had been years since she had felt this specific sensation. It was like a trail of fire down her neck. There was a Fire-Practitioner around.

And he probably sensed her too.

"I think we're too late. I can sense a Water-Practitioner." Rose whispered, clutching the fabric at Fiera's shoulder.

"I sense a Fire-Practitioner," Fiera muttered. "Might be a scouting party by the Crown."

"I certainly hope so," Rose said.

They waited in anticipation, and in a moment, Fiera heard splashes. Feet splashing in the water, three pairs of legs. There was no one screaming her name as she had imagined or any fancy, sophisticated tracking spell-work that had tracked her down. And just like that, as she was thinking about what to expect and what her response and reactions should be like, three individuals entered the abandoned rice mill.

They entered rather messily, even though none of them talked, squelching, making noises in the mud and ruining the harmony of the steady sleet of rain. They didn't approach her, and she couldn't see their faces, covered in hoods protecting them from the onslaught of the rain. She felt Rose's grip tighten.

"Fiera Celosis?" The one on the right shouted.

Fiera rose to her feet, opened up her palms facing them, the universal sign of peace, "I identify as Fiera Celosis. You will find the Letter of Revoking my Banishment in my left pocket -"

"There's no need for that," The one in the centre shouted; he pushed back his hood, revealing brilliant auburn hair, it was his Fire that she had sensed; he was their Fire-Practitioner, "Who is your companion? Are they unwell?"

"Rose," said Rose, "I am a Water-Practitioner." Her voice was feeble and didn't carry over the rain, and the three people came forward. The one on the right, who had called Fiera's name, approached Rose, kneeling to possibly ensure she still wasn't Fiera's hostage, which had been the case a month ago. And the quiet one on the left began examining Rose and whatever was left of their belongings.

The auburn-haired one approached Fiera.

"Fire-Practitioner," Fiera mumbled as the red-haired man unboxed his glasses from his pocket. Now that she got a closer look at him, and he was at least a foot taller than her, he looked vaguely familiar, with auburn hair, pale brown eyes and a beautiful aquiline nose. "Have we met before?"

"We have," he smiled, and dimples appeared on his cheeks, "Although I don't think you will remember. I saw you when you were three years old, last."

"I'm sorry I -"

"My name is Aaron," he said, "Aaron Crimsonvale."

Of course, the name was familiar to her. Though she had never met him, her Revokement from Banishment was exclusively because he had tirelessly championed for her rights ever since he had taken over the Institute as its youngest Head, four years ago.

"Aaron," she muttered, taking his outstretched hand into hers and lowering her head to it, "Aaron, thank you. Thank you."

They had finished examining and attesting Rose. The quiet one had already lifted her to his arms, and they both gave the nod to Aaron before quickly slipping out as if to give her a moment alone with him.

"Shh," Aaron was saying, "Now you're here."

"Yes. Yes. Yes." Fiera whispered.

"Let's get you some warmth, shall we?" he pulled an arm around her, his Fire offering more warmth than she had had the fortune to hold in the last few years, she could feel herself relaxing, properly relaxing, and her eyes welling up with tears. She had never thought that she'd come so far one day; she'd come so far to walk into Inima as a free woman, as a woman revoked from banishment. Just as she was heaving a sigh of relief, Aaron said,

"We'll go to the Institute, and in three days, the Crown is making a visit."