Three Days Later
Nothing happened.
Grog woke each morning before dawn. Trained until his muscles burned. Ate with Aldric. Watched the tree line. Trained again. Ate again. Watched the tree line again. Slept.
Repeat.
The hunters didn't reappear.
No red eyes in the darkness. No figures at the edge of the forest. No smiles. No gestures. Nothing.
Just... absence.
"It's deliberate," Mirena said on the second day. They sat behind the supply tents, out of sight, speaking in low voices. "They're letting us wonder. Letting us imagine worse than what's real."
Lira frowned. "What if what's real is worse than what we're imagining?"
"Then we'll find out eventually." Mirena's voice was calm. Too calm. "Panicking won't help."
Grog said nothing. His hand rested on the pouch at his belt. The stone was warm. Always warm. But nothing more.
It felt like waiting.
It felt like being waited for.
---
On the third day, Aldric noticed.
Not the hunters—he still didn't know about them. Not the stone—he'd never seen it. Not any of the things Grog and Lira were actually hiding.
He noticed that his friends were tired.
"You look awful," he said to Grog at breakfast. "All of you. Like you haven't slept in days."
Lira opened her mouth to lie.
Aldric held up a hand. "Don't. I know that look. You're going to say you're fine, and I'm going to pretend to believe you, and nothing will change." He shook his head. "I'm not stupid. Something's wrong. You've been weird for months. All three of you." He looked at Mirena. "Even her, and she just got here."
Mirena raised an eyebrow. Said nothing.
Aldric leaned forward. "I'm not asking what it is. You clearly don't want to tell me. But—" He hesitated. "If something's coming. If there's danger. I want to help. I can fight. I'm not a child."
Grog looked at him.
Seventeen years old. Earnest. Brave. Completely unaware that the greatest danger in his life was already inside him, waiting to bloom.
You're not a child, Grog thought. But you're also not what you'll become. Not yet.
"Aldric." Lira's voice was gentle. Rare for her. "If there's something you need to know, we'll tell you. I swear. But right now—"
"Right now you're protecting me." Aldric's jaw tightened. "I hate that."
"Tough."
He stared at her. Then, unexpectedly, laughed.
"You're impossible."
"I know."
The tension broke. Slightly. Enough.
Aldric stood. Picked up his bowl. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But when whatever it is finally happens, I'm going to say 'I told you so' so hard."
He walked off.
Lira watched him go. "He's going to be insufferable when he finds out."
Mirena nodded slowly. "If he finds out."
The words hung in the air.
If.
---
That night, Grog dreamed.
He was in the Grove again. Moonlight. Ancient trees. The flat stone in the center, dark with old blood.
But this time, he wasn't alone.
Aldric stood beside him.
Not the Aldric of now—seventeen, earnest, hopeful. This Aldric was older. Twenty-five. Thirty. Harder. His eyes were closed. His face was still.
"Aldric."
No response.
Grog reached for him. His hand passed through.
Not really here. A memory. A vision. Something.
The older Aldric opened his eyes.
They were red.
"Grog," he said. Not Aldric's voice. The other voice. The old voice. Vorlag's voice. "You're running out of time."
Grog stepped back. Hand going for his axe—but he wasn't wearing it. Wasn't armed. Wasn't anything.
"She's here now. The mage. The clever one. She'll figure it out eventually." The thing wearing Aldric's face smiled with Aldric's mouth. "But will she figure it out in time? Will any of you?"
"Leave him alone."
"I can't. He's mine. He's always been mine." The red eyes glowed. "Since he was seven years old and crying in the dark, begging for someone—anyone—to make the pain stop. I was there. I answered. I've been part of him ever since."
Grog's hands clenched.
"You're a parasite."
"I'm a friend. The only friend he had when it mattered." The smile widened. "You think you know him? You've known him a few years. I've known him his whole life. Every fear. Every hope. Every secret shame. I'm in him, barbarian. Deeper than anyone can reach."
"Then why wait? Why twenty-five years? Why not take him now?"
The red eyes flickered. Just for a moment.
"Because," the thing said slowly, "he has to choose. Freely. Willingly. The door only opens when he opens it. The gift only works when he accepts it." A pause. "I've waited centuries. I can wait a little longer."
Grog seized on the hesitation.
"So he can still refuse."
Silence.
"He can still refuse," Grog repeated. "That's why you're worried. That's why you sent your hunters. That's why you're here, in my dreams, talking to me. Because you're not sure."
The red eyes burned.
"You know nothing."
"I know you're scared." Grog stepped closer. "I know you've been alone for centuries. I know you picked a lonely child because lonely children are easy. But he's not lonely anymore. He has friends. People who love him. People who'll fight for him."
Silence.
"And I know," Grog said quietly, "that if he has a choice—a real choice—he might not choose you."
The thing stared at him.
Then, slowly, it smiled.
"Perhaps," it said. "Perhaps not. But you forget one thing, barbarian."
"What?"
The red eyes blazed.
"When the moment comes, he won't be choosing between me and nothing. He'll be choosing between me and watching everyone he loves die." The smile widened. "And he loves you all so much. So very, very much. Can you really blame him for choosing the only option that saves you?"
Grog woke.
---
Dawn. Gray light through the tent flap. His heart pounding. His body drenched in sweat.
The stone burned against his hip.
He grabbed it. Held it up.
For a moment—just a moment—he could have sworn he saw something moving inside. Red. Patient. Smiling.
Then it was gone.
Grog sat in the darkness, breathing hard, and wondered if he'd just lost something important.
Or learned something more important.
A choice, he thought. He has to choose. Freely. Willingly.
That meant it could be changed.
That meant there was hope.
That meant—
"Grog?"
Lira's voice. Outside the tent.
He pulled himself together. Stood. Stepped out.
She stood in the snow, wrapped in her cloak, her face pale.
"What?" he asked.
"Something's happened." Her voice was strange. "Aldric. He's—" She shook her head. "Just come."
---
Aldric sat by the cookfire.
Normal. Ordinary. Eating breakfast like nothing had happened.
But when Grog approached, Aldric looked up.
And for just a moment—less than a heartbeat—his eyes weren't brown.
They flickered red.
Then they were brown again. Normal. Aldric smiled his normal smile.
"Morning! Sleep well?"
Grog stood frozen.
Lira's hand found his arm. Squeezed.
Aldric waited for an answer, oblivious.
He doesn't know, Grog realized. He has no idea.
The thing in his dream had said it was part of Aldric. Deeper than anyone could reach.
Now Grog believed it.
"Slept fine," he managed. "You?"
Aldric shrugged. "Same as always. Hey, did we talk yesterday about something? I feel like we had a conversation, but I can't remember what."
Grog's blood went cold.
"What conversation?"
"I don't know. That's the problem." Aldric laughed, confused. "Probably nothing. Happens sometimes. My mother used to say I had a sieve for a brain."
He laughed again.
Grog didn't.
Lira's grip tightened on his arm.
And somewhere in the trees, red eyes watched.
Patient.
Always patient.