Pain dragged Akilliz south.

  It wasn't the bandit's slash stitched tight across his forearm. This was deeper. A hook behind his sternum, pulling like a fishing line through flesh. Every step toward the Mistwood eased it just enough to keep him moving.

  The demon's doing. Maybe. Or just desperation wearing his face.

  Impossibly tall trees of the Mistwood rose before him like a wall between realms. Trees wider than his father's entire forge, trunks spiraling upward into immeasurable heights. These giants had stood before Lumara was even a thought. Their bark was thick as dragon hide, grooved deep with silver patterns that seemed deliberate.

  He pressed his hand against one.

  It groaned. Low and resonant. The sound rumbled through the ground and up through his boots and into his bones. It felt like they were alive.

  His hand jerked back.

  Easy, Aki. Just trees. Big trees, that's all.

  Night deepened. The canopy thickened until the stars vanished, only pale fragments of the moon were piercing through.

  Then the mist began to fall.

  It drifted down from the high branches in veils of faint blue light, each droplet shimmering as it descended. Beautiful and unnatural. The mist pooled on the forest floor rising to his ankles, then his knees, swirling with every step.

  The air thickened. Scents of night-blooming flowers mixed with wet earth and ozone tickled his nose.

  His vision blurred at the edges.

  The mist, it must be messing with my eyes.

  Sounds distorted. Rustles became footsteps. Tree groans twisted into voices calling his name. Whispers curled through the fog, almost words, never quite.

  Lights appeared.

  Small at first. Pinpricks of gold and silver darting between trunks, weaving through the mist. They left trails that hung in the air, glowing threads that faded slowly.

  One zipped close to his face. He flinched. It spiraled around his head once, twice, close enough he felt warmth, heard something like distant bells and then it shot away into the dark.

  What ARE they?

  He didn't want to know. Didn't want to find out if they were friendly or just... waiting.

  A figure stood between two trees ahead.

  He froze.

  Tall. Slender. Watching him.

  Ma?

  No. Not Ma. Just branches. Twisted into a shape that looked like a person until he blinked and it was just wood again.

  His heart raced as his palms began to sweat despite the chill night air sinking in.

  Get it together. It's not real. None of it's real.

  But how could he be sure?

  His sense of direction failed completely. No path. Just endless trunks in every direction, each one identical to the last. The mist turned everything into shifting shadows and false shapes.

  Akilliz walked faster. He needed to rest and find shelter.

  A small clearing appeared ahead nestled between two massive trunks. The ground was soft with moss that glowed faint green in the misty light.

  He stumbled into it and dropped his pack.

  I need a fire. Warmth. Something real.

  He gathered dry twigs with shaking hands, arranged them in a rough circle. Snapped his fingers. The spark came weakly, his focus was scattered but it caught all the same. The flame sputtered against the damp mist before strengthening.

  Warmth bloomed. Real and solid. The fog retreated slightly from the firelight.

  "There," he muttered, sinking down beside the flames. "See? Real. Not in your head."

  He unpacked bread and chewed mechanically, forcing himself to focus on the texture, the taste. Anything to anchor himself.

  The fire popped. A log shifted.

  Akilliz glanced up at the towering trunks, their bark catching the orange glow. "I won't burn you," he said quietly. "Just need a rest. Then I'll move on."

  One of the trees groaned. He chose to take it as acknowledgement

  Movement caught his eye.

  Blue liquid pooled on a broad leaf nearby, glowing brighter than the mist. Droplets hung suspended on fine threads of moss, each one shimmering like a tiny star.

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  He leaned closer.

  The dew wasn't just water. It pulsed faintly, alive with light that seemed to breathe.

  Ma would've known what this was. Or maybe, what it could make.

  He pulled a vial from his pack carefully. Tilted the leaf. The dew flowed like liquid moonlight, cool against the glass. He corked it tight and held it up to the firelight.

  It glowed in his palm, soft and persistent.

  He tucked the vial away and leaned back against a boulder. The fire crackled. His eyelids grew heavy.

  Just a few minutes. Then he'd figure out which way—

  A sound.

  Close.

  His eyes snapped open. His hand found Frostbane's hilt.

  Shapes moved beyond the firelight. Tall and silent. Too graceful to be human.

  His breath stopped.

  They materialized from the mist like ghosts taking form. Six of them. Maybe more behind. Robes of white and gold, flowing like water over impossibly tall frames. They had hair like spun silver with too perfect faces, beautiful in a way that made his chest ache and his instincts scream danger.

  Their eyes met his.

  Prismatic and calculating, sweeping over him, over the fire, over the clearing with cold precision.

  Elves.

  This was Real. Not a hallucination.

  Ma's stories hadn't been enough.

  The lead elf stepped forward. His gaze fixed on the flames with disgust.

  "Mortal." The word was quiet. Precise. Like naming a type of insect. "Thou have lit flame upon sacred ground."

  Akilliz scrambled to his feet, hands raised. "I didn't know - I'm just trying to reach Luminael. I need—"

  "Silence."

  The word cut like a blade. Not loud or harsh, but absolute.

  His throat closed.

  Another elf moved to his pack without asking. Began pulling items out with efficient movements. Ma's journal. The Lightspire Bloom still wrapped carefully in cloth. The vial of glowing dew, set apart from the rest with deliberate care.

  The lead elf's eyes moved to the dew vial. Something passed between the elves - no words, just a look.

  The elf held the Bloom up to the firelight. It pulsed in response, soft and steady.

  "Aurelia's blessing." His tone didn't change. "Harvested."

  The lead elf's eyes shifted to pale blue. "Where did thou acquire this?"

  "Frosthelm. I climbed the mountain myself. I needed it to save my mother but I-" His voice cracked. "I was too late."

  The elf examining his pack held up the dew vial. "Sacred dew." The lead elf's voice dropped lower. "Collected without leave. This is forbidden, especially to your kind."

  "I didn't know! I just…it was beautiful. I thought-"

  "And these writings." Another elf flipped through Ma's journal, scanning pages with inhuman speed. "Lunar Tonic. Starpetal Salve. Feverfew Kiss. Knowledge taught within our halls."

  He looked up. Met the lead elf's gaze.

  They spoke in their own tongue then. Rapid. Musical. Completely incomprehensible. Akilliz caught his mother's name and the word for mortal repeated like an accusation.

  The lead elf raised a hand. The others fell silent.

  "Thou hast violated sacred ground. Lit flame upon hallowed earth. Stolen what is restricted. Carried knowledge not freely given." He paused. "It is our custom to quench the life of any who light fire within the wood."

  Akilliz's heart stopped. "Please. I'm just trying to learn. Like my mother did. She trained in Luminael. Elowen of Lumara. She-"

  An arrow hissed through the air.

  Pain exploded in his shoulder.

  He screamed. Stumbled back. His hand flew to the shaft buried deep in muscle, blood already soaking hot through his tunic.

  "Who loosed that?" The lead elf's voice cut through the clearing.

  Light and musical laughter rippled from the shadows.

  "Does it matter?" One of the archers lowered his bow, smiling faintly. "One less human to foul our woods."

  Another chuckled. "Let him bleed. The creatures will find him by dawn."

  Akilliz collapsed to his knees, vision graying. The pain was immense, radiating down his arm, up his neck. He tried to grip the arrow but his fingers wouldn't work. It felt like his entire body was going numb.

  The lead elf stepped closer. Looked down at him with those shifting eyes.

  "We are taking this one to the Council. We cannot have him bleeding out like the others."

  Others.

  How many humans had they shot?

  The elf turned to his companions. "Cauterize the wound. Bind him. We leave before it festers."

  "No!" Akilliz tried to move. Strong hands pinned his arms. "Please-"

  One elf walked to the fire. Drew Akilliz's own sword from where it leaned against his pack. Thrust the blade into the flames.

  Understanding hit like cold water.

  "No! Don't, please!"

  They pulled him upright. Forced him to his knees. Someone gripped the arrow shaft.

  "Hold still, mortal."

  They yanked.

  The world exploded into red agony. He screamed, throat raw, vision flashing white. Blood gushed hot down his chest, his back where the arrow had punched clean through.

  Am I going to die here?

  The elf with the sword returned. His blade glowed orange-red, heat radiating from it in terrifying waves.

  "No-" Akilliz's voice broke. "Please don't-"

  They pressed the flat of the blade to the entry wound.

  Flesh sizzled. Smoke rose. The smell of burning meat, his own meat, filled his nose. He screamed until his voice gave out, until there was nothing left but animalistic sounds, raw and broken.

  The blade lifted. Moved to his back. Pressed down again.

  Fresh screaming. Fresh fire. The world tilted and spun.

  Ma. Ma..help me. Please.

  Darkness clawed at the edges of his vision.

  "Bind him."

  Glowing ropes snapped around his wrists. Cold and burning. He couldn't feel his hands anymore.

  "Move."

  Someone lifted him. The world swayed.

  They hauled him onto a horse. Tied him to the saddle. His shoulder was liquid fire, his back screaming, but at least the cauterization had stopped the bleeding.

  For now.

  The elves mounted in silence. Kicked their horses forward.

  The Mistwood began to move around him, trees parting as if granting passage. The mist retreated. Dawn light crept through the canopy, pale and cold.

  Time blurred. He drifted in and out, pain dragging him under then shoving him back to consciousness with fresh waves of agony.

  The sway of the horse beneath him.

  Blood crusted on his tunic, stiff and brown.

  His bound wrists screaming where the ropes bit.

  Whispers in Elven he couldn't understand.

  Then the trees ended.

  They emerged onto a vast plain of emerald grass stretching endlessly toward the horizon. The air cleared, sharp and clean after the Mistwood's thick fog. Wildflowers dotted the field in waves of gold and violet as the early morning sun rose.

  The elves dismounted. He fell more than climbed down, boots hitting earth that felt too solid.

  "Walk."

  He stumbled forward, every step jolting the wound. Then turned,and saw it.

  Luminael.

  The city rose from the plains like something pulled from a dream and carved into stone. Spires of ivory and gold pierced the sky, impossibly tall, impossibly delicate, catching the dawn and throwing it back as pure radiance. The city was built into a mountainside, layer upon layer of gleaming architecture that pulsed with inner light. Bridges of crystal arched between towers. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

  And the most terrifying.

  This was where Ma had walked. Where she'd learned to brew cures that saved lives. Where she'd become the healer Lumara loved.

  And where he might die for the crime of wanting to follow her.

  The elves mounted again. One reached down, gripped his uninjured arm, hauled him forward.

  "Move, mortal. The Council awaits thy judgment."

  They rode toward the distant spires.

  Akilliz walked, stumbling with pain, the wound now a throbbing heartbeat that matched the fear burning in his chest.

  Ma's fabled city waited ahead.

  Beautiful, sacred, and merciless.