My eyes flicked back to Selene’s—hard and unwavering, like the bluest of diamonds. She glared at me over the fire, holding her stance, but something in my expression softened hers. She looked to Lyria instead, her gaze full of quiet concern.

  I nodded to Selene in silent assurance, and looked again at Lyria.

  “Can we talk…?” I asked, for the second time.

  Lyria nodded once.

  I walked past her, toward a quiet clearing beyond the edge of the encampment. She followed without a word.

  We stopped just beyond earshot. The night closed in, casting shadows between us.

  “Are you afraid of me?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer.

  “I know what I did was reckless—I know I put everyone at risk,” I said quietly. “But I didn’t have a choice. Elledor was too strong.”

  Still, silence.

  “And Tenebrae’s power… I know what it looked like. I can’t lie and say I had it under control. But if I hadn’t given in to it, I would’ve died—”

  “You might have died even with his power,” Lyria finally said, her voice sharp as shattered glass.

  I opened my mouth, but no words came. Somewhere in the night sky a bird called out, echoing in somber solitude across the plains.

  “Did you ever stop to think how we felt?” Her voice trembled. “How I felt? Watching you fight like you were possessed… like your life meant nothing?”

  My fists clenched at my sides. “No,” I said. “You’re right—I didn’t. I didn’t have time to stop and think while I was fighting for my life—fighting for your freedom.”

  Lyria flinched, breath catching in her throat.

  “I never asked you to do any of that!” she retorted. “I didn’t ask you to fix everything. I didn’t ask you to fight for me!” Her voice broke, just slightly, and her hands clenched tight at her sides, as if holding herself together.

  “You're right… you didn’t ask for anything.” I said quietly. “You left us all in the dark, wondering whether you’d stay… or disappear.”

  Her anger faltered and her lavender eyes glossed over thinly as they fell.

  “Of course I didn’t… How could I ask any of you to stand against a prince,” She muttered, her shoulders falling. “I knew if I refused, he’d force me. I knew if I accepted, I would be betraying myself—and all of you…”

  “Then why—”

  “Because I knew you wouldn’t accept that!” she snapped, cutting me off. “I knew you’d do something reckless…”

  A cold breeze swept between us, as if the mountains had placed their hands at our backs.

  I took a short step toward her.

  “If you knew from the start… then why did you avoid me? Why did you look away—when he was there, and afterward? And why did you tell Selene to keep me behind?”

  She froze. Her shoulders tensed, then slumped.

  “...Because I’m not worth dying for.”

  My heart twisted at her words.

  “That’s not for you to decide,” I said, stepping in again. “And if it makes you feel any better, I’d throw myself in front of a blade for any of you.”

  She looked up, eyes shimmering.

  “You’re going to get yourself killed, Yukon…” she said, voice breaking. “And that power… it wasn’t right. What if it consumes you? What if there’s nothing left to save?”

  I reached out—hesitating, second guessing—and finally, grasping her arm gently.

  “I won’t let it. I know I lost control. My aching bones prove that. But I refuse to let that be the end of me. The King of Death himself can come for me—but I won’t fall without a fight. I won’t give up.”

  As I spoke, I searched her eyes, looking for a sign—of forgiveness, of belief. Of understanding.

  She searched mine too. And for the first time in what felt like ages, I saw the old Lyria—the clever, fierce-hearted girl who held us together.

  “I can’t promise I’ll never do anything reckless again… hells, once these injuries heal, I’ll probably find more trouble than I’m worth in the Fellwood too,” I said, not pulling away. “But I need to know that you won’t turn away when I do, that you will always be there no matter how stupid my choices seem… and in return—I promise to try. To try not to rely on Tenebrae’s darkness, to try to protect my life just as much as any of yours…”

  Lyria’s eyes never left mine as I spoke. Then, with a trembling exhale, she dropped her gaze, blinking back a smile—and a single tear slipped free.

  She took a shaky breath, steadied herself, and looked up.

  “You know, Yukon…?” She whispered. “I like your eyes best when they shine green like the forest… not red with rage, or blue with power.”

  That brought a tired smile to my face, softening the tension in my brow.

  But then her gaze dropped again.

  "Still... I’m afraid. Not of you. Of what’s waiting for us. Of what’s coming."

  I drew a breath, feeling the weight of the road ahead.

  “You don’t have to be,” I said. “Not alone.”

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Lyria looked up at me, lips parting like she might say something more—but just then, a horn call rang out across the darkened camp, sharp and distant.

  My head turned.

  Another call followed. Louder this time.

  A warning.

  * * *

  Lyria and I made it back to our party’s campsite just as a scout came striding between the tents, his boots crunching over dried grass.

  He had a wiry build, with twin daggers strapped to either side of his waist, and a black cloak that matched the mask covering the lower half of his face. A faint sheen of dust clung to his cloak— he hadn’t stopped moving since sundown.

  “Figures in the distance. No movement yet, but they’re not just travelers. We’re doubling the watch,” he said, voice low and rasped from hours in the dry air. “Need a volunteer from every party. Who of you can join the watch?”

  I stepped forward without thinking—instinct born from years of self-reliance, of long nights keeping vigil beside my father on deep-forest hunts. But before I could raise my arm, a flicker of silver to my side caught my eye. Lyria moved past me, calm and sure.

  “I’ll take the first watch. You guys get some rest for now,” she said, nodding to the scout.

  Selene stood too, stretching out a sore shoulder as she stepped from the firelight. “I’ll take the next. Come find me when you’re ready.”

  Lyria nodded in acknowledgment, then followed the scout through the maze of tents, vanishing toward the sentry line that snaked up the nearby knoll.

  A gust of wind swept through the camp, carrying the scent of smoke and earth. Somewhere nearby, a wagon creaked on its axle. A dog barked once, then went silent.

  I turned to speak, but Selene was already approaching. Her expression was open, questioning.

  She leaned in close, her voice lowered to a whisper. “How’d it go?”

  “It... it went well. We managed to talk things through,” I said, watching her eyes for a reaction.

  Relief softened her features. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

  “Finally. Sorry about before—telling you to stay behind. Lyria wouldn’t talk to any of us, and when she asked me to keep you in Lanton, I couldn’t say no…” Her voice dropped a bit. There was regret in it.

  “Don’t worry about it. That’s behind us now. And—if you were worried about me too—” I hesitated, then added, “...I’m sorry for losing my cool last night. I’ll keep a better rein on things. I swear it.”

  Selene gave a quiet huff of laughter and shook her head.

  “I know you will. Don’t sweat it. And hey—thanks for saving our mage,” she said with a wink that softened the weight of the moment.

  She jerked her thumb toward the tent.

  “Now get your ass in there and don’t come out till morning. The four of us will handle the watch. You just rest. We need you back in fighting shape before things get serious again.”

  I opened my mouth, halfway to protest—but she cut me off with a hand to my chest.

  “Bed. Now,” she said firmly, though the grin never left her face.

  I sighed, half in defeat, half in thanks—then returned the smile and ducked into the tent, the quiet sounds of the camp settling around me like a lullaby barely held together by vigilance.

  The hours drifted by without incident.

  At one point, Selene came to wake Bront for his shift.

  I stirred briefly, but the exhaustion clinging to my bones pulled me back under like a weighted tide.

  My dreams, however, were anything but uneventful:

  Windswept ruins. A marsh to one side—a deep black forest to the other. Atop the crumbling stone stood Lun and Ten, their faces hidden in shadow. My body moved without command, drawn forward by the pull of Tenebrae. The call of the void. I tried to resist, straining against whatever force had seized me, and turned to Lunae—just once—desperate for her to save me again. She vanished like drifting snow, her white fur dissolving into the wind. Tenebrae’s maw curled into a snarl that resembled a smile. I couldn’t move. He almost had me.

  Then—

  Black.

  The dream twisted. The air turned heavier. The scene warped.

  I didn’t know this place.

  Depressed gray stone buildings towered around me, their walls cracked and weather-stained. Graves lined the streets. Weeping willows drooped over the edges of narrow walkways. Despite the decay, it didn’t feel evil.

  It felt grief-stricken.

  Lonely.

  My steps continued without my will, and the road began to close in. Branching paths vanished behind walls of thorned vine, collapsed mausoleums, and blank-faced buildings with windows like empty eyes. My peripheral vision dimmed, swallowed by creeping black. Ahead, a massive grave rose from the earth, crowned by a cracked bell. My breath caught. A silhouette stood just behind it—towering, indistinct, and wreathed in shadow. It didn’t move. It didn’t threaten.

  But it watched.

  And it wept.

  When my eyes fluttered open the sunlight streaming through the seams of the canvas tent seemed a stark contrast to whatever I’d seen in my dreams.

  I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes against the thin veil of unease that clung to me like morning mist. The dream lingered—not just the images, but the weight of it. Lunae disappearing. Tenebrae smiling. That place of gray stone and sorrow. A part of me wanted to forget it, to shake it loose like water from a cloak. But some quieter instinct warned me not to. There was something in it I was meant to understand.

  My hand drifted up to the mark on my chest. I hadn’t felt the cool presence of Lunae since my fight with Elledor.

  That worried me.

  I let the thought fade as I rose, shaking off sleep as best I could. The others were already stirring, Selene quietly helping Bront pack away the cookpot, Kaela brushing out her cloak with a pine branch she’d found. The morning air was cool and damp, thick with the scent of dew and a distant river.

  We packed camp quickly and set off in silence, our boots crunching on gravel and parched grass. The sun rose slowly behind us, casting long shadows ahead as we followed the worn dirt road west. Hours passed with little incident. Conversation came in occasional bursts—Kaela snickering at something Bront muttered under his breath, Selene humming tunelessly to herself as she walked just ahead. Even Lyria, ever watchful, let her shoulders loosen some as the morning wore on.

  Around midday we reached the river I’d seen in the distance the day before, crossing its broad span atop a vast stone bridge—ancient and pitted with age, but still sturdy. From the crest, I paused. Southward, the mountains seemed farther now, pulled away behind a veil of haze. To the north, across the lowlands, a massive lake shimmered in the distance like glass poured across the land.

  We made camp early that second day, heeding the soldiers’ advice. Pressing past even the outskirts of the Fellwood at night was unwise. Instead, we would finish the journey early the next morning.

  Camp was set in silence, a hush settling over the caravan as tension drew our nerves taut. We invited Ron and Margo to pitch their tents closer to ours, and that night the guard was tripled. Nearly every member of the caravan took a turn on watch.

  By morning, some of the ache in my body had begun to fade, though the long scar from shoulder to waist still felt tight and flared with dull pain each time I moved. We packed up without a word and pushed on.

  Faces were drawn, eyes hardened by fatigue and what waited ahead.

  The land shifted slowly as we traveled. To the south, the plains rose into soft hills. To the north, they fell away—grass giving way to brambles, brambles to marsh. A silver river cut through the lowlands, its waters sluggish beneath the weight of summer. Beyond it, the marsh deepened and darkened. And at its edge, still and waiting, stood the Fellwood.

  Black trees. No wind.

  By the time the sun perched high overhead, the road bent gently north and dipped one final time. A narrow wooden bridge spanned a thin river—no more than a stream, really—and just beyond it…

  Night’s Reach.

  Nestled where marsh gave way to forest, hunched and still beneath the growing shadow of trees.

  And somehow—I knew it.

  The sight of it chilled me. It was familiar.

  I’d seen this place before. Recently.

  The dream came rushing back, and my face went pale as we crossed the final bridge toward a town of graves, weeping willows, and buildings slumped low as the people who lived within.