Song vibe: Arson - Jhope

  ________

  NOCTURNE

  Haven Highway, The Lowlands

  Nocturne held the reins loosely between his fingers. The highway was quiet, save for the rumble of the cart’s wheels and the old chestnut’s hooves plodding against the road. Between the pine trees, the shadows shifted—but nothing stirred. Still, his eyes endlessly scanned for threats.

  He spared a sideways glance. Saphira slept beneath his cloak, curled tightly, knees drawn in. Her breath fogged faintly in the cold.

  Nocturne kept his eyes on her longer than he should have. She’s too pale. Almost frail, he thought. She’ll recover her strength in Firestone—I’ll see to it.

  His gaze swept the trees again, watching the dark beneath the branches. His body stayed locked, tension held tight in his shoulders. Even now, his mind mapped out how someone might attack the cart—angles, cover, timing.

  Stay in the mindset of my enemies, he told himself. One moment of rest and I’m exposed—and worse, she's harmed.

  Even after slaying Golgog, his anxiety had not faded—it only worsened. The visions the spawnlord had forced into his mind still returned—death, betrayal, his own hands soaked in blood. Jaw tightening, he forced the thoughts back into the dark. His hands trembled with the effort.

  He glanced again at Saphira, still asleep. The hell-leopard, contentedly curled in her lap, cracked one bronze eye and hissed low, protective.

  Nocturne chuckled under his breath. The smallest fraction of tension uncoiled in his chest. She knows now—about Edwin, about me, about our marriage. And yet, she still trusts me.

  For the thousandth time, his gaze drifted to the curve of her belly. Yesterday, he had felt the child kick beneath his palm. In that instant, everything had shifted. It’s not just about survival anymore. These two people—my wife and my child—are my centre now.

  A small, unbidden smile touched his lips.

  Then came the guilt, like a punch to the ribs. Fye. I don’t deserve this.

  Saphira stirred, wincing as she rubbed her lower back.

  Nocturne reached over and drew the cloak higher over her shoulders. His hand paused, brushing the bandage beneath—where her father had cut her.

  One day, Crassus will pay. Wound for wound. I won’t forget.

  Her eyes opened.

  Nocturne braced, expecting her hand to push his away. Instead, she reached for him. Her finger brushed his bare wrist—a light, slow motion. His skin prickled. Heat surged through him so fast it made him dizzy, shame and want colliding in his chest.

  “Did you lose it somewhere?” she murmured, her finger gliding along the exposed skin. “The charm I made for you.”

  I’d forgotten. Nocturne inhaled sharply. You fool.

  “I understand if you don’t want to wear it,” she whispered. “I only wish that...” she hesitated, biting her lip, “On the wall, you could have shown it. As proof of our time together. Maybe then, I wouldn’t have had to tell everyone about our baby.”

  He took her hand into his, raised it, and kissed her wrist.

  Above: "Without your charm, I would have died."

  “Without your charm, I would have died.” He stopped and set her hand back in her lap.

  Don’t traumatise her, he warned himself, shifting away. She’s been through enough.

  He spared her a glance, even knowing how much it would cost him. Her brows were drawn, her eyes wide.

  Fye, he swore, She deserves to know what power she is capable of. He exhaled.

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  “As I fought Golgog, it was the end." His voice grew quieter, almost swept away by the winter breeze. "No block. No parry. I raised my arm—better to lose that than my head.” Detached, he held up his forearm in the same blocking motion. "Golgog's blade sliced through my armour, but it couldn’t cut through my flesh." His hand drifted back to her wrist, brushing it gently. “Then the charm turned to ash.”

  “It saved you?” she echoed with a shiver. “My lifeforce. I never thought—”

  “It caught even Golgog off guard.” He hesitated before forcing the words out: “Then, I killed him.”

  A shiver ran through her.

  He did not speak of how Shadowrend nearly consumed him, or of the black ichor that sprayed over his arms. Not even of how he had driven his dagger into the central eye—again, and again, and again—until the spawnlord stopped twitching.

  But one memory still echoed. Golgog's final taunt, the tendrils taking root deep in his mind: Your victory is meaningless. The prince of darkness has already awoken.

  The words had stayed with him, echoing through his dreams. It kept him awake long after the battleground had gone still. I'll tell Felix. He flinched. August, definitely. But not until the dust had settled.

  Nocturne heard a sound beside him—a wet snuffle, muffled quickly. He did not need to see her face to know she was crying. He held his breath, wishing for the numb comfort of silence.

  “Because of my father,” she whispered, voice trembling, “you nearly died.”

  “Evil doesn’t stop unless someone stands up.” He kept his tone level and detached.

  A silence stretched between them. Then Saphira said, softly—almost with reverence, “What’s it like, inside a spawnpit?”

  The cart jolted over a rut. She rocked toward him, caught herself.

  He stared straight ahead. The answer sat, stuck on his tongue. But it stayed there, thick and sharp. He felt a single bead of sweat drop down his neck.

  “I’m not a child,” she pressed.

  “Then don't ask."

  “I just... I want to understand my husband,” she murmured. Her shoulders slumped, and she crumpled down into herself. “The life you’ve lived. What it cost to protect me...please.”

  The cart jolted again, hard enough to rattle his thoughts loose. The reek of the spawnpit rose in his mind unbidden—thick, decaying, corrupt. A stench that clung to skin and soul both. He could always find the pit by the stench. Then, he could see the bodies—strung up like warnings at the edge, some still breathing, some moaning.

  His hands stayed steady, but his pulse thudded beneath every knuckle. He kept his gaze on the distant mountains.

  “The 'spawn torture everyone they take,” he murmured, barely audible. “It doesn’t matter who. They break you for the sake of it.” He paused for a moment, just to inhale. “I’ve seen the feeding pits. Captives penned up like cattle. Starving. Chewed through alive.”

  He heard her breath catch beside him.

  “They don’t need to breed. But they do.” His voice was too calm. “Not for survival. Just to see what happens.”

  A long silence lingered between them.

  “Deeper still is the spawnlord’s chamber. That’s where he takes the strong. And turns them.”

  His jaw locked. His throat burned with the memory. He blinked rapidly, the world swaying in place.

  Fye. Stop talking.

  “But you can save them, the people you find,” she said suddenly, desperate. Her voice cracked. “Right?”

  “I’ve only brought back a few,” he said. “The ones who didn’t drink the poisoned water. Even then—most lost their minds.” His chest tightened. “Without mental shielding... the mind collapses. Shatters. There’s nothing left.”

  His breath stuck halfway down. He stared straight ahead. He was not going to say it. But the words broke loose anyway.

  “You want to know why I didn’t believe the baby was mine?” He did not wait for her answer—even saying it once nearly broke him. “Why I looked at you and doubted?”

  He let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh—but it cracked apart halfway out.

  “Because Golgog took our night and twisted it. He carved it into something else. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you... not with me. With someone else. His hands on you, child in your belly.” His grip on the reins turned white. “And then he showed me what I could become. What I could do to you.”

  The memory slammed into him—unwelcome, unstoppable. His hands on her. Her silence. The way she had trembled with fear.

  “He made me a monster,” he said, voice low, broken. “And for a while... I believed him.”

  A fault line cracked in his heart.

  And then—her hand rested on his arm.

  He looked down, restraining the instinct to pull away.

  “I should have trusted you and not asked,” Saphira whispered, her fingers threading through his.

  He could feel the tremors in her hand; the racing of her pulse; the way she breathed slowly, trying to calm herself.

  I went too far, he thought. She can't handle it. No one can.

  Then, she guided his hand to her belly, letting him feel the life underneath his palm—soothing her, comforting him.

  “I should’ve known what the real world is like," she said, her voice coming out as a broken whisper. "I'm sorry for prying..."

  "I'll make your world better, so you'll never experience mine." Nocturne turned his gaze back to the horizon. The mountains blurred behind a thin wash of mist.

  His throat burned, raw and dry. Slowly, he exhaled as his thumb traced the curve of her belly. Stop. It's wrong of me to touch something unbroken with hands like this.

  “I spoke too much," he said, feeling her flinch beneath his touch. “There will be things I don’t tell you. Not because I don’t trust you. But because...” He paused. “Because speaking it tears it open.”

  She did not answer straight away. She leaned in and pressed her forehead to his arm. “You don’t have to,” she murmured, her breath warming his skin. Then—her voice so soft he almost missed it—she said, "You don’t have to go back to another spawnpit. Not again. Not if you don’t want to.”

  A counter-argument formed on his lips. He bit it back—for her sake, not his—but in the silence, the words sank in deep.

  No one has ever asked me if this is what I want to do. It's never felt like a choice.

  The cart rolled on, wheels crunching over gravel and frostbitten leaves. Nocturne watched the mountains without seeing them, her words still echoing beneath his skin. He never answered her. He just held the reins, and let her rest—warm, breathing, and safe—beside the arm that knew nothing but war.

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