Axle ran swiftly through the woods, his feet finding familiar paths in the dark, his breath steady despite the pace. Behind him, James moved with the same urgency, leaping over roots, ducking under low branches, his muscles screaming from the wounds he was still carrying. They moved like shadows, hopping from tree to tree where the branches allowed it, the cottage drawing closer with every stride. The forest around them was alive with the sounds of night—the rustle of leaves, the distant call of something hunting, the soft crunch of their own footsteps on the forest floor.
A moonvale stag broke from the undergrowth ahead, its antlers glowing faintly in the darkness, its eyes wide with alarm. It bolted, white tail flashing, disappearing into the trees as the two figures emerged from the treeline. The cottage stood before them—dark, silent, untouched by the chaos that had torn through the mountain. For now.
Axle slowed to a brisk walk, his chest rising and falling in measured breaths. His eyes swept the clearing, the barn, the darkened windows, the familiar shape of the roof against the star-scattered sky. "You really decided to follow me here, huh?"
James came to a stop beside him, his sword still drawn, his eyes still scanning for threats. "You're not going out on your own."
A faint smile touched Axle's lips. "Well, whatever suits you." He crossed the threshold into the cottage, the wooden floor creaking under his weight. The air inside was cool, still, carrying the faint scent of woodsmoke and dried herbs. Moonlight filtered through the single window, painting silver lines across the worn floorboards.
James followed, closing the door behind him. He watched as Axle crossed to the far wall, knelt, and pried up a hidden floorboard. His fingers found the edge of a small wooden box—plain, unmarked, worn smooth by years of handling. He pulled it out, cradled it in his hands, and opened it.
The light caught the pendant inside. A chain of silver, fine and delicate, and hanging from it a green jewel carved into the shape of a raven in flight. The stone caught the moonlight, refracted it, sent small flecks of green dancing across the walls.
Axle lifted it from the box, holding it up so the light passed through the carved wings, the tiny etched feathers, the obsidian eyes that seemed to watch. "Is this what you risked your life to come back for?" James's voice was quiet, careful. There was a note in it—something that might have been disappointment.
Axle's jaw tightened. "It's not just any jewel."
"Seems pretty much like a normal jewel to me." James stepped closer, studying the pendant. It was beautiful, yes. But it was small. Simple. Not the kind of treasure men died for.
"It was my parents'."
The words hung in the air, soft and heavy. James felt the weight of them settle in his chest. "Oh."
Axle's thumb traced the curve of the raven's wing, his eyes distant. "They were killed by bandits. When I was young. Rowan found me, took me in." His voice was flat, matter-of-fact, but his grip on the pendant tightened. "This is what I have left of them."
James exhaled slowly. The disappointment he had felt—that small, petty thing—crumbled. "At first, I was a bit disappointed when I saw the jewel. But now that you've explained..." He shook his head. "I understand."
Axle was quiet for a moment, still staring at the pendant. Then, without looking up, he asked, "Why did you come with me?"
The question caught James off guard. He opened his mouth, closed it, then smiled—a small, tired thing. "You're part of the team. I leave no one behind." He let the words settle. "Sounds cool, right? But there's a villain out there, and I couldn't let you go by yourself without backup."
Axle turned to face him, one eyebrow raised. "And what exactly do you plan to save me from in your state?"
James gestured at himself—the bandages, the bruises, the exhaustion written in every line of his face. "Still beats going alone. If something happened to you..." He paused, searching for words. "It's the humane thing to do."
"Humane." Axle turned the word over, tasting it. Then his eyes sharpened. "So is Koby not humane enough?"
The question hit James like a stone dropped into still water. The silence that followed was endless, stretching between them, filling the room. There was no easy answer. There was no answer at all.
Axle let the silence sit, then broke it with a sigh. "You could easily have just let me die."
There it was. The thing that had been gnawing at Axle, the question he had been circling since the clearing. He had heard Koby's words—then let him die—and he needed to understand why James had chosen differently. Why James had chosen him.
"You heard what Koby said." James's voice was steady, but there was something beneath it. Something tired.
"He basically screamed it across the glade." Axle smiled, but there was no humor in it. He moved toward the door, the pendant clutched in his hand.
James followed. "Koby didn't mean that. It's just that he's had a rough day. We all have."
Axle paused at the threshold, his hand on the worn wood. "I've been with you all for no less than three months. When push comes to shove, I know what Koby will be capable of."
"You're wrong." James's voice was firmer now. "Koby can be fiercely loyal to those he considers family."
"And you?" Axle turned, his eyes searching James's face. "You came after me. Do you consider me family?"
James met his gaze. "You helped save my life. You took us in when you didn't have to." He paused. "That's enough for me."
Axle's expression softened. His hand dropped from the door. "Your loyalty and compassion..." He shook his head slowly. "They may end up being your bane, James."
Before James could respond, Axle's hand shot up, fingers pressed to his lips. His eyes went wide, focused on the door.
A sound. Outside. Low at first, then growing.
Humming. A melody, soft and tuneless, drifting through the night air. Getting closer. Closer.
Axle's eyes met James's, and in the dim light of the cottage, they both understood: they were not alone.
Aries led the group through the valley, her steps sure, her eyes scanning the darkness. Behind her, Koby moved with the silence of someone who had learned to make himself small, while Kai carried Raya in his arms, her weight growing heavier with each step. The valley stretched around them—a wound in the earth, carved by violence. Trees lay uprooted, their roots clawing at the sky. The ground was gashed and torn, great furrows cut into the soil where magic had scarred the land. And above it all, the remnants of Lyrielle's Ramulus Dei loomed, a broken monument to the battle that had been fought here.
The air was thick with the smell of smoke and ash, of something burnt and something rotting. It clung to their clothes, their skin, their lungs. Every breath tasted of the fight.
Koby's voice was low, barely a whisper. "Where do we pass?"
Aries stopped, her hand rising to her hair, pushing it back from her face. Her eyes swept the valley, the shadows between the trees, the path that wound toward the mountain. "The place is too quiet." Her voice was tight. "Seems like either the fighting has ended, or something happened." She was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then: "We'll take Lyrielle's cottage path."
Kai's voice cut through the stillness. "Isn't that where the fight started?"
Aries didn't turn. "It is. But they moved past there. They wouldn't come back to where they started. It's the last place they'd look."
Kai shifted Raya's weight, his arms burning, his patience fraying. "That doesn't sound reasonable. Or safe."
Aries spun to face him, her eyes flashing. "Do you know these woods like the back of your palm?"
Kai met her gaze, held it. "I don't. Doesn't mean you can't make wrong calls. You're asking us to go back to where the commotion started."
"Could you both quit it?" Raya's voice was thin, strained. She was leaning heavily against Kai, her face pale, her forehead beaded with sweat. "I'm having a headache the size of Kansas right now."
Koby moved to her side, pressing his palm to her forehead. The heat was alarming—burning, spreading, worse than before. Her skin was dry, her lips cracked, her eyes unfocused. She needed help. Soon.
He turned to Aries. "What's the shortest way forward?"
Her answer came without hesitation. "Lyrielle's cottage path."
Koby met Kai's eyes. There was no argument this time. No objection. Kai simply adjusted Raya in his arms and followed Aries into the dark.
They moved fast, but quiet. The valley floor was treacherous—scorched earth gave way to soft mud, which gave way to streams of water that had been diverted by the violence of the fight. They crossed them where they could, their feet sinking into the cold, the wet seeping through their boots. The cottage grew closer with every step, its shape visible now against the treeline, half-collapsed, half-standing, a skeleton of what it had been.
The destruction was staggering. Trees lay in heaps, their trunks splintered, their branches scattered. The earth itself had been reshaped—great gashes cut into the soil, mounds of dirt thrown up where explosions had torn through. It was as if something immense had passed through and simply... erased what had been there.
And then they heard it.
Low moans. Guttural. Painful. The sound of someone holding on to life by the barest thread.
Koby held up a hand, freezing them in place. He motioned for them to stay, to hide, to wait. Then he moved forward, crouching low, using the gashes in the earth as cover. His heart hammered in his chest, his breath shallow, his eyes fixed on the ruined cottage ahead. A faint light flickered within—fire, maybe, or something else.
He reached the stone steps, the ones that had once led to Lyrielle's door, now cracked and scattered. The sounds were clearer now—breathing, labored. The rustle of movement. The wet, sickening sound of something being torn.
And then a voice. Low, almost assuring. "If you're an enemy, do yourself a favor and get out. Or you might just die."
Koby stepped out of the shadows.
Rowan was kneeling beside a makeshift bed—a broken table, propped up on rubble, covered in cloth that was already soaked through. Lyrielle lay on it, her face grey, her eyes half-closed, her breath shallow. Rowan's hands were buried in her stomach, blood up to his wrists, tearing away at flesh that was already blackening, already disintegrating. Beside him, a collection of elixirs and herbs was spread out, and Lyrielle's hand moved weakly, pointing, directing. A fire crackled in the corner, built from the wreckage of the cottage, casting long shadows across the scene.
The air was thick with the smell of blood and smoke and something else—something chemical, the residue of the poison that was still eating at her.
Koby stood frozen, staring.
Rowan didn't look up. "What are you doing here?