A blur of motion, then the crack of bone. Ana stood over him, his surprise mirrored in the shadows of her eyes. Caden sprawled across the ashen ground, the dust settling into his hair, into the red smear of blood on his arm. For a moment, Ana's heart matched his ragged breathing. Too hard. Her jaw clenched, pushing back the tide of memory and guilt. Her mind still saw another boy, another time, the ghost of her past transposed onto Caden’s too-young face. A trick of the light, she told herself. Nothing more. But the air between them pulsed with tension and unsaid words. Caden broke the silence, his voice thin but certain: "What’s wrong, Ana?"

The words reached her like an echo from the past, dragging her into the mire of recollection. She blinked, the world around her fading into the sharp clarity of memory. A different clearing, less desolate, filled her mind. There, she had trained with Ethan. Her companion, her friend. The loss still bled fresh beneath her skin, raw as the wound now staining Caden's arm.

Ethan's laugh rang out in her memory, bright and full of life. He had been just a boy, but stronger than his age suggested. Their bond had been forged in the fires of shared hardship, each of them leaning on the other as they fought against the inevitability of their world. Ana remembered their matches, fierce and unrelenting, but always tempered with a warmth she could never recover.

Now, the emptiness of Ashenheart closed in, pulling her back to the present, back to the anxious expression on Caden's face. His concern tore through her defenses like a blade, and she stiffened against the unwanted rush of emotion.

"Nothing," she snapped, the lie as bitter as it was automatic. "Just—focus."

He sat up slowly, cradling his injured arm. The sincerity in his eyes, the hurt that wasn't just physical, twisted something deep within her. She turned away, refusing to let him see the depth of her conflict, the way the memory of Ethan had gutted her.

The sparring match resumed, but her rhythm was broken. Her strikes were off, unsteady, fueled by the confusion she couldn't quite shake. Caden noticed, his movements more cautious as he read the tension in her stance. The air between them was thick with uncertainty, the weight of Ana’s past smothering her present.

"You're distracted," he observed, his voice low but clear.

Ana's frustration mounted. She lashed out with a kick, less precise than she intended, catching him off guard. He staggered back, wincing as he tried to regain his footing. The raw edge of her own emotions was more than she could bear.

"Again," she ordered, though the command held none of its usual conviction. Caden hesitated, the concern still written plainly on his face.

She felt herself unraveling, each memory of Ethan pulling at the threads of her composure. He had been her anchor, her spirit in a world that cared nothing for them. And when he fell, a part of her fell with him. That same part ached now, seeing Caden’s earnest effort, his stubborn resolve. It was too familiar, too close to what she had lost.

"What's wrong?" Caden asked again, his persistence both admirable and infuriating.

Her heart twisted in on itself, a knot of memory and pain that she couldn’t untangle. "You're what's wrong," she snapped, harsher than intended. The admission was raw and ugly, leaving her exposed. "I don't—" She stopped, unable to find the words to explain, to soften the blow.

Caden flinched, more from the unexpectedness of her response than from the fight. His eyes searched hers, trying to understand. Ana felt the weight of his gaze, and something inside her broke free—a rush of vulnerability she couldn't afford.

"Leave it," she barked, abrupt and final. The command was as much for herself as it was for him.

The sparring match dissolved into silence, the fight leaching out of both of them. Ana's breath came fast, matching the tempo of her racing thoughts. She couldn't face him, not now. Not with Ethan's ghost haunting every corner of her mind, every corner of this barren world.

Caden watched her, saw the turmoil she couldn't hide, and slowly rose to his feet. He was bruised, bleeding, but the hurt in his eyes ran deeper. He turned away, knowing she needed space but aching with the knowledge that he was shut out.

Ana listened to the sound of his footsteps fading into the vast emptiness, each step a reminder of her failure to protect, to connect. She stood alone in the center of the clearing, the ash swirling around her like a cloak of regret.

When he was gone, when the world was silent and desolate and hers alone, she let herself feel the full weight of the memories. She had wanted Caden to grow strong, but not at the cost of his spirit. Not like Ethan, not again. She closed her eyes, Ethan's laugh echoing in her mind, and let the darkness of her past wash over her.

The pressure of it twisted her insides and gnawed at her control, trying to unravel the patchwork of strength she’d built from years of hurt. Each ragged breath drew her closer to the past, a chasm she'd vowed to leave behind, and it took everything she had to wrench herself back to the brittle remains of the present. This was not supposed to happen again.

It was easier to let anger fill the space. Easier to let anger swallow the distance, the time, the loss, so it couldn't swallow her instead. The cold, hard certainty of that thought finally dulled the edge of her panic, leaving behind an emptiness that she could manage.

This was why she stayed distant, why she kept to the fringes of attachment. Because the cost of caring was too high an investment for the inevitable yield of sorrow. Caden was her responsibility, sure, but she couldn't let him become more. She couldn't let him become another Ethan. The more she saw Caden's strength, the more she saw the potential for that strength to be crushed by a world so unforgiving.

Yet there was no denying the familiar sting at the corners of her eyes as one tear escaped, hot and unwelcome, leaving a bitter line across her lips before she could remember how to stop it. Ana's breath hitched.

She swiped at her face savagely, anger rising to drown out any other weakness. This was absurd. She knew better than to give in to this ache, this hollow feeling.

Ana breathed in the stale, dry air of Ashenheart and let out an exhale thick with restraint. The dust settled back to the ground, and so did her will.