The uneven wood of the cart dug into my back as it rattled along the dirt road. A dull throb pulsed behind my eyes. Sweat clung to my skin, the afternoon sun beating down through the canvas tarp overhead. I wanted nothing more than to open a flap and let in a breeze—but the clatter of boots and idle chatter from the adventurers and soldiers walking beside the wagon kept me still.

  With only the ache in my muscles, the swelling heat, and my own thoughts for company, my mind drifted.

  Today marked somewhere around sixteen days since I’d left my quiet hunting shack in the Duskwoods. A lot had happened. Too much, maybe. The memories flickered past like lanterns on dark water as I drifted in and out of shallow sleep. My hopeful journey to Lanton. Those uncertain first steps. Meeting Bront—and the others. My new companions.

  Come to think of it, we still hadn’t chosen a party name. I wondered if they’d even want my input—after everything.

  The Fell shaman came to mind. The first time I’d drawn on Lunae and Tenebrae’s power. The fallout that followed. Lyria’s suspicion. My fight to earn their trust—not just theirs, but my own. Each memory carried its own sting… or, sometimes, a rare smile. So much had happened in so little time.

  Was it always this way for adventurers? Or was my path just particularly messy?

  My thoughts turned to the escort quest to Tilver’s Crossing. The fear that gripped me when I thought Selene might not survive. The raw panic of fighting for my life, of being hunted. The town had offered us rest—but only barely.

  And then came Lyria’s capture.

  I remembered the way my heart had pounded. The fear. The desperation. I couldn’t have saved her without Lunae and Tenebrae. That truth sat heavy in my chest now, especially after last night—after the fight with Prince Elledor.

  Tenebrae’s possession.

  My failure.

  I shifted, trying to wedge more of the burlap sack beneath me to soften the planks. Reaching for my waterskin, I took a few short sips and wiped my brow.

  My stomach growled.

  I pushed the hunger aside, letting my thoughts drift instead to the task ahead.

  [Cleansing the Fellwood]

  The Guild had posted the notice hastily—on the very day of the Mayor’s address—following a request from the Knights of Golden Light. The quest description had been vague: Join the caravan to Night’s Reach. Help establish a base camp. Begin cleansing the Fellwood under the supervision of Gold-rank adventurers and a detachment of Lanton’s soldiers.

  I knew little about the town of Night’s Reach, only that it sat at the edge of the old Moorewood forest—now warped and renamed the Fellwoods. I knew even less about the Gold-ranked party leading the operation. They were said to be some of Lanton’s finest, with a perfect success rate since their debut.

  That fact alone troubled me. If they had to call for help… the threat awaiting us in the Fellwood might be beyond anything we could imagine.

  And then there was the other matter. Since adventurers began vanishing nearly a fortnight ago, none had returned as Fell-warped thralls. Not one.

  None but the bandit we faced on the road to Tilver’s Crossing.

  Were the rest lying in wait within that cursed forest? Were they planning something worse?

  Would our efforts—would we—be enough?

  My stomach growled again.

  I let out a quiet sigh and shifted, fumbling through my pack until I found the strip of jerky I’d stashed earlier. It was dry and tough, hard to chew. Even my jaw muscles ached. Still, I forced down a few bites. It was better than nothing.

  I kept doing the only thing I could while hiding out in that third wagon: thinking.

  There was still the matter of Selene and Lyria. Bront and Kaela… they seemed like they could stomach it. Not that it didn’t bother them—of course it did—but I think they understood. It was desperation. I hated it as much as anyone.

  Selene, though… I had a hunch she wasn’t acting out of scorn. More like she was standing guard. Protecting Lyria. Call it intuition, or maybe just hope.

  Either way, by tonight I’d have to crawl out of this cart. They’d need supplies to set up camp, and that meant I couldn’t hide forever.

  I’d confront them. No… I’d confront her.

  My stomach growled again, louder this time. The jerky in my mouth was too dry and stiff, and even chewing felt like a chore. I sighed, leaned back, and let my eyes fall shut.

  A breath before it happened, I felt it—some shift in light, a prickle of instinct.

  My eyes snapped open just as a gold-ringed hand slipped through the cart’s canvas, dangling a glossy red apple between two fingers.

  It dropped, hit the floor with a soft thud, and rolled until it bumped my side.

  I blinked down at it.

  Thanks, Kaela.

  * * *

  The wagon shuddered and groaned as it came to a slow halt. The sound of creaking wheels and shouted orders filtered through the canvas, muddled by the throb in my skull. My eyes cracked open just as the sky beyond the seams of the tarp began to dim—sunset.

  I must’ve dozed off.

  Not that it helped much.

  Every inch of me still ached. My shoulders, especially, burned with the ghost of Tenebrae’s weight—like embers pressed into the muscle. Even breathing felt just a little too sharp. I shifted with a wince, trying to stretch out my legs without making too much noise.

  Boots crunched outside. A gruff voice barked instructions. Someone nearby laughed. Others groaned, thankful to finally stop for the night.

  The anxiety settled in like a stone in my gut.

  They’d be unpacking soon. Setting up tents. Starting fires. Eating.

  Which meant I couldn’t stay hidden in this cart much longer.

  My hand drifted to the half eaten apple resting near my side. I must’ve dozed off while eating it. The remaining skin was bruised now, but it was still edible. I stared at it a moment before taking a bite—slowly, chewing despite the soreness in my jaw.

  Sweet. Crisp. Probably stolen.

  Thanks again, Kaela.

  Outside, the golden light of dusk cast long shadows across the land. I peeked through a flap in the canvas. We’d stopped just off the road, near a wide stretch of grassy plain, where scraggly shrubs and jutting stone dotted the landscape. In the far distance, the mountains loomed sharp against the sky, a pale river wound, like a silver thread cutting across the valley below. Behind us, the road curved gently into hills, tracing the path we’d taken from Lanton.

  We weren’t there yet. Another day, maybe two.

  But we were close.

  I let the flap fall back and leaned against the wagon wall, steeling myself.

  My chest tightened at the thought of stepping out. Not because of the pain—though that was bad enough—but because I knew who would be waiting.

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  Bront might be surprised, but would probably greet me with a nod and no judgment. Kaela would probably crack some joke to test my nerves.

  But Selene… and Lyria…

  I wasn’t sure what to expect. A cold shoulder? Harsh words? Nothing at all?

  Maybe I deserved all three.

  I tossed the apple core aside, wiped my hands, and pushed myself upright, my joints popping in protest.

  No use waiting any longer. Time to face whatever waited out there.

  I drew my hood, pushed the canvas aside, and stepped down from the wagon.

  The breeze hit me first—cool and earthy, rolling off the mountains in the distance. A welcome change from the stale, closed-in air I’d been breathing all day. I turned back and pulled my pack from the wagon, keeping my head low as adventurers and soldiers moved around me in a tide of noise and motion.

  No one looked twice. No one called out.

  Good.

  They’d set up camp in a grassy clearing beside a rocky knoll. I stuck close to the wagon line, walking carefully along the edge—head down, eyes scanning.

  There—

  A few carts back, I caught sight of Bront’s massive frame helping unload some of the rear wagons. Further beyond, nestled beside some jutting stones, Selene, Lyria, and Kaela were staking out what would be their tent for the night.

  My stomach turned.

  I’d gone directly against Selene’s orders by sneaking into the caravan. After last night, I didn’t have much ground to stand on. I froze a moment—then turned away.

  Instead of approaching, I veered toward the front-most wagons.

  I spotted Ron near one of the lead carts and made for him. My jaw clenched, not in anger, but disappointment—at myself.

  I was only prolonging the inevitable, and I knew it.

  Still, my sore feet kept moving, carrying me away from the people I needed to face.

  I approached Ron like a shadow, drawing a slight flinch from him as I spoke.

  “Ron.”

  “Huh?!” Ron spun, his wide eyes narrowing when he realized it was me. “By the sun man, don’t sneak up on me like that…”

  “Sorry,” I offered, keeping my head low, my eyes flicking around.

  Ron gave me a perplexed look. “You look like a criminal—can you stop with the suspicious glancing, and maybe take that hood off?”

  “Sorry…” my eyes finally settled on him. “Thanks for healing me earlier—can I help you set up?”

  He raised an eyebrow before nodding slowly. “Uhuh… we’ve got it under control I think. What about your party? Why aren’t you with them?”

  I looked away again, not offering an immediate response.

  He let out an exaggerated sigh, dodging a large pole that came dangerously close to his head as Margo carried it past, grumbling to herself.

  “You can’t avoid them forever you know…”

  “I don’t intend to.”

  “Doesn’t seem that way from here.”

  I was quiet again.

  “Fine. Go help Margo set up the tent. Don’t strain yourself,” Ron finally offered.

  I nodded and moved to assist Margo. Ron watched me go with a quizzical expression.

  Some time later, Ron joined me as I sat atop a stone, watching Margo try to get the fire going.

  We were silent for a moment.

  “She’s pretty handy…” I offered.

  “Aye, couldn’t ask for a better companion,” Ron said, resting his palms against the stone as he leaned back.

  His words made my mind drift back to my party. To Selene—

  To Lyria.

  Ron caught my hesitation.

  “...Something is eating at you, and I mean beyond whatever injuries you had me try to heal this morning.”

  I nodded.

  He was quiet again. “I won’t push you to tell me—you’ve no reason to. Though… if you want the opinion of a humble cleric—bottling it up won’t do you any good.”

  I sighed and leaned back beside him.

  “I messed up,” I finally said. “Half of my party doesn’t know what to make of me, and the other half think I’m a monster.”

  Ron’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Are you…?”

  “No–I… I guess I don’t know anymore,” I muttered, sighing heavily.

  “Look… Yukon,” he said, eyes softening as he glanced over at me. “I won’t pretend to know you, or what makes you think that, but from what I’ve seen—you’re selfless. You care about doing the right thing, and you’ve got the strength to back it.”

  “What if I told you… my strength wasn’t my own.”

  His eyes widened, but he reined it in. “What do you mean…?”

  “I… have a contract with some deities,” I said vaguely.

  He raised a brow. “Well, that’s not entirely unusual—plenty of Paladins, even clerics, have contracts with their patron deities…”

  “Am I either of those things?” I said back, a bit harsher than I intended.

  “I suppose not…” he hesitated, as if waiting for me to elaborate. I didn’t. “If you’ve been forced into a contract—if they mean you harm—a cleric or priest could help you…”

  I just shook my head, my gaze cast into the dirt.

  “I’ll let you know if it comes to that.”

  He looked me over once more. “Who in your party thinks you're a—monster…?”

  I let out a bitter laugh. “Probably all of them… but mostly Lyria, I think.”

  “The mage?”

  I nodded.

  Ron let out a big sigh, his eyes inspecting me once more.

  “You care about her opinion a great deal, don’t you?”

  I nodded again.

  He smiled. “Go on then, I’m all ears.”

  I glanced at him, and for the first time, I felt like maybe I could open up. Maybe he wouldn’t judge me the way I feared the others would.

  I told him of Elledor, of his proposal to take Lyria back with him. I told him about the days leading up to the choice—Lyria’s avoidance, my struggle with identity and resolve. Finally, I told him of the battle—how outmatched I was. His eyes widened, and he leaned in when I shared some of the—finer—details: Elledor’s strength, Tenebrae’s possession, and the party’s reaction to it. Especially Selene’s… and Lyria’s.

  I left out the specifics of Lun and Ten, and he didn’t push it.

  Ron exhaled as I finished, and looked off to the fading sunset—the final hues of red and purple giving way to deep blue.

  “That is… that’s quite the tale,” he said, shifting his gaze back to me. “First, I want to say—should you need help with those deities… please come to me. I don’t know what I can do, but I can at least try.”

  I gave him a nod of thanks.

  “Second… I don’t think Lyria’s afraid of you. I think she’s afraid for you.”

  “It sounds to me like in the days leading up, she was trying to spare you. Pushing you away to protect your feelings. Her reaction is natural, Yukon…” He turned to face me fully, his bright blue eyes boring into mine. “What matters now is how you decide to move forward. Will you give in to that darkness and become the monster? Or will you show them—show her—that you’re stronger than that… that they need not fear, for Yukon’s strength of will can outshine even the gods…”

  I stared at him blankly, speechless at first. His words tolled through my mind like a bell. I knew Ron was wise beyond his years—albeit a little goofy—but I hadn’t expected that.

  I stood abruptly, my eyes scanning the far edges of the camp.

  “Thanks, Ron…” I said, glancing back at him with a new expression—a quiet, determined smile.

  He returned it with a nod, watching me go without another word.

  My footsteps fell steady as I crossed the camp, passing knots of adventurers and soldiers gathered around growing fires. The scent of cooking meat drifted through the air, laughter and idle chatter humming beneath canvas tents. A glint of metal on the nearby knoll caught my eye—three sentries stood watch over the hastily erected camp.

  But my gaze fixed on the four figures gathered near a smaller fire not far ahead. Bront’s hulking frame was unmistakable. Kaela was already doubled over in laughter at some unheard joke. Selene sat beside her, smiling faintly.

  And Lyria…

  She was the only one not smiling.

  Her eyes stared into the fire, distant and unreadable.

  I pulled my hood down as I approached. Selene noticed first—her smile vanished as she shot to her feet, expression suddenly tight. Kaela gave me a look of wide-eyed approval, like she couldn’t believe I’d finally come over.

  Lyria followed Selene’s line of sight. Her lavender eyes caught mine, and she froze. She stood too, slowly. Bront turned at the shift in mood, and when he saw me, his face lit up with a knowing grin.

  I stopped at the edge of their circle, my eyes locked on the two women who’d hardly spoken to me since the fight.

  Silence.

  Then—Selene’s voice, sharp and low.

  “What are you doing here? I told you to rest—how are you even standing…?”

  Lyria said nothing. Her gaze didn’t waver, but the disbelief in her face said more than words could.

  I bowed deeply, the motion sending a dull ache through my body.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I disobeyed your orders… but I couldn’t let you face danger without me. And more than that…”

  I lifted my head.

  “I couldn’t leave things the way they were.”

  My eyes found Lyria’s again, and this time, I didn’t look away.

  Her breath caught.

  And for a moment, she looked as though she might say something.

  But she didn’t.

  Not yet.