Not as a weapon. Not even as a ward.
As a promise.
I slid the pendant into my satchel before I could think twice.
We moved on in silence, but the Bone Orchard felt different now. It had seen us and chosen not to interfere.
Far behind us, underneath the twisted roots and whispers of long-dead memory, an ancient power continued to radiate a faint, unsettling glow.
We collapsed into camp, most of us seeing proper rest as a distant, forgotten luxury. The campfire remained unlit, a flickering hearth of comfort denied. The weary silence between us was unbroken, each of us lost in our own shadowed thoughts.
The bone-white trees stood like silent sentinels, and no one dared speak above a whisper. Even the breeze here was brittle, threatening to shatterif we moved too quickly.
The ground was too hard for proper tents, and too soft for comfort; slick with moss and brittle roots. Gideon muttered while unrolling his blanket, calling the place “cursed deadwood” and giving every pale tree a sideways glance like it might breathe.
Wyn sat beneath the tree with her knees drawn up, staring into the distance. The last rays of the sun skimmed the edge of her hair, making it glow faintly gold against the sickly white backdrop. She possessed an otherworldly beauty, seemingly crafted from a dream, delicate yet vibrant with suppressed energy. I touched the pendant nestled in my pocket.
It was still warm.
Then I turned my attention back to camp.
“What the hell are you doing?” Alaric’s voice came low but sharp, breaking the silence like a splinter under the skin.
I looked up to see him marching over, his jaw a rigid line. “You didn’t scout the ridge like we agreed,” he snipped. “We were able to push farther today, to make it past the orchard. Instead, we’re wasting time.”
“We’re resting,” I replied evenly, standing with my arms crossed. “You think your sister can keep walking on sheer will alone?”
His eyes flicked to Wyn. “She’s stronger than you think.”
Alaric’s jaw clenched, a muscle twitching near his temple
“You’re not her commander, Erindor,” he said. “You’re her guard.”
“And you’re not a general,” I snapped back. “You’re a prince with no map and too much pride. I’ve crossed this stretch twice before; you haven’t. You want to run us into a trap? Be my guest, but don’t pretend you know this land.”
Alaric took a half-step closer, closing in on my face. But I didn’t move.
“Don’t forget your place,” he hissed.
I met his stare. “I haven’t. I just know when to speak, and when I should keep my mouth shut.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but I interrupted him before he could say anything further.
“Wyn’s doing her best, but she’s not trained for this. She’s exhausted, and it’s showing—she hasn’t said a word in an hour, and she’s barely keeping pace. And Jasira just recovered from being sick. You want to run us harder, that’s fine, but know who you’re running with.”
“Enough,” Jasira’s voice broke in. She stood with her arms crossed, glaring at both of us. “You two want to swing your egos around, do it when we’re not sleeping next to death trees, alright?”
Alaric exhaled hard through his nose and stomped away in the opposite direction.
I didn’t follow.
Instead, I sat down on the edge of the clearing, back against a pale root.
Alaric’s words pressed on my chest. Not because he was right, but because I hated that it was coming to this. With every step we took away from the palace, civility frayed. We were unraveling slowly but surely.
The pendant was still in my palm, faintly pulsing. I stared at it in the dying light.
And yet, it had drawn me to it.
