“She isn’t unarmed,” Galin replies, unperturbed by Sam’s anger. “The forest will not touch her. . .until she reaches the cave. After that. . .” He shrugs, the simple gesture somehowmore ominous than any warning could be. “After that, she will face what she must face.”
“Let me guess,” Locke says, his voice tight with barely restrained frustration. “She’s on her own. Completely.” His fingers flex at his sides, as if itching to grab his sword, to fight something tangible rather than mystical trials and ancient magic.
Galin nods, his hair catching the dappled light. “Once she passes the threshold, the forest will close. You won’t be able to follow.” He turns to me, his gaze softening slightly. “Some paths can only be walked alone, Soraya.”
Sam opens his mouth to protest once more but I hand over my satchel, the weight lifts from my shoulder leaving me feeling strangely lighter. I’ve never had use for a blade, I have no magic, it’s only me, my trembling heart, and a stubborn will that refuses to bow to fear. Perhaps that’s all I’ve ever truly had.
I look up at Sam and kiss him softly, trying to anchor myself in the familiar warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart against mine. “I’ll come back,” I promise, my words a whisper against his lips.
He looks like he wants to argue, his green eyes swimming with unshed tears and fierce protectiveness, but he just presses his forehead to mine. “Please, Angel,” he murmurs, the words both prayer and plea. His hands grip my waist as if he could keep me safe through sheer force of will.
When I glance at Locke over Sam’s shoulder, he gives a small, solemn nod. No words are needed, his trust that I can do this only bolsters my courage. Something in his eyes speaks volumes, a quiet confidence that steadies my racing heart. He believes I will succeed, and somehow that makes me believe it too.
Blowing out a nervous breath that mists in the cool air, I turn to Galin. “How will I know I’ve passed?” My voice soundsstronger than I feel, and I cling to that false bravado like a lifeline.
“You’ll be branded,” he says. “Marked by the Trial itself.” His ancient fingers trace a pattern in the air between us. “The forest recognizes truth, Soraya. It will know when you’ve found yours.”
He smiles faintly, the expression transforming his weathered face into something almost kind. “We will be here when you return. . .if you return.” The pause before his correction hangs heavy in the air. “Good luck, Soraya.”
With those parting last words, I move, putting one foot in front of the other, not allowing myself to look back for fear my courage will fail. The ground beneath my feet feels different somehow, alive and watching. Then I step through the trees as they begin to move out of my periphery, sealing shut behind me with a soft dragging sigh, like a door closing on everything I know and love.
The forest is quiet, but I can feel it watching, this giant sentient being measuring my every step and guiding my way. Beyond the trees, there’s nothing but darkness, the disorienting state of perpetual night, even though it’s still morning somewhere beyond. The leaves above me form such a dense canopy that no light penetrates, save for occasional ghostly beams that illuminate patches of strange, luminescent fungi and moss.
The path ahead is narrow and winding, flanked by brambles that twitch when I pass, their thorns reaching out like curious fingers before retreating. Shadows slither through the roots, whispering words just beyond my comprehension, echoes of secrets and warnings that raise goosebumps along my arms. The trees shift silently, revealing new trails I’m not sure existed a moment ago, their bark sometimes resembling faces in my peripheral vision. The deeper I go, the more the world bends, and honestly, I don’t know if the potion Galin gave me the nightbefore wasn’t made specifically for me to trip. Colors seem too vivid, sounds too acute, every snap of twig underfoot echoes like thunder.
By the time I reach the cave, my pulse is thundering. The mouth yawns open like a beast, jagged and dripping cold. Stalactites hang from the entrance like teeth, water trickling down their length to pool at the threshold. The darkness within seems absolute, a void that swallows light rather than merely lacking it. I shiver wishing I had more clothes other than the shirt and pants I’m wearing, which offer little protection against the bone-deep chill emanating from the cave.
“Esme. . .”a voice calls.
I stall at the opening, as my mother’s voice rings out to me from the inside. The sound takes me back to my childhood, her gentle lullabies, the way she’d call me in from playing when twilight descended on the mountains. The sound is welcoming. I am immediately put at ease as I step inside, drawn by the familiar comfort of her voice despite the warning bells clanging in the back of my mind.
As soon as I am surrounded by the cave walls, a vision hits me like a fist to the gut. I double over, my knees hitting the rocky path with painful force. I reach out to stop myself from face planting but my hands touchdown on a rocky pier instead of the cave floor I expected. I’m surrounded by glassy black water on either side of me, stretching endlessly into darkness. I don’t know what happened to the cave, but at the moment it doesn’t matter as I pick myself up on shaking legs, the cold stone beneath me slick with moisture.
I’m standing on the edge of the pier, the black river, oily and endless, lapping at the stones with quiet persistence. A boat floats ahead, creaking under the weight of shadows. The sound echoes eerily across the water, mingling with distant wails I can’t quite place.
A cloaked figure stands at the helm, faceless and still with one single lantern lighting his way. The flame casts no warmth, only a sickly green light that barely penetrates the gloom. Micah sits at the back of the boat, but she’s on high alert, frantically looking around for danger, her daggers unsheathed in her hands.
“Micah!” I scream out to her in warning as hands claw at her from the water, skeletal, rotting, hundreds of them rising from the depths like nightmares given form. She doesn’t hear me as she begins slashing with her daggers, kicking, and crying out. Her blade passes through some of the hands like smoke, while others bleed black ichor when struck.
I watch it all in terror, screaming until my throat is raw and bloody, until they grab hold of her and pull her down with them. She fights and calls for the boatman, “Charon!” He doesn’t move, his hooded face turned away as he pushes the boat forward, leaving her to her fate. Her final scream cuts off as the black water closes over her head, bubbles rising to the surface before even those disappear.
“Help her!” I scream as I take a running jump into the water, my body moving before my mind can process the danger. Instead of plunging into cold depths, I land on my hands and knees in the cave, the vision shattered like glass.
My arms and legs shake uncontrollably as I vomit up black water as if it was me being pulled under instead of Micah. It burns coming up, tasting of rot and despair, leaving my throat scorched. My heart is pounding, unsure if what I saw was real or just the machinations of the cave. I take a gasping breath and crawl forward only for my hand to meet snow instead of stone, the sudden cold biting into my palm.
The howl of pain is what snaps my head up and I know instantly that it’s Sam. He’s in wolf form, his brown fur matted with blood as he bleeds out into the snow. The rapid rise andfall of his chest has me scrambling to my feet, but with each step, I fall deeper and deeper into the snow. It rises past my ankles, then my knees, thick and heavy as quicksand, impeding my desperate progress toward him.
“You can’t help him. You didn’t see it. It’s no longer your job to see, little seer. Who are you?”A distorted voice floats around me as shadows surround him. The same shadow creatures I witnessed tearing apart warriors in my father’s Great Hall. They circle Sam like vultures, their forms flickering between solid and vapor.
“I can see. I should have seen it. Please let me help him,” I plead to whoever will listen, tears freezing on my cheeks almost as soon as they fall. “I can save him, just let me reach him!” My pleas go unanswered as I trudge through the snow, my legs heavy, the weight pulling me down, making it impossible to move forward no matter how desperately I strain.
I watch in horror as they descend on him, ripping him apart. The sounds, Gods, the sounds of tearing flesh and cracking bone, will haunt me forever. Blood sprays across the pristine white snow, steam rising from the crimson stains.
“Sam!” I scream, but there’s nothing but blood where he once lay. Blood coating my hands, my clothes, as if I’ve bathed in it. The metallic scent fills my nostrils as I look down to see myself drenched in crimson, the hot stickiness of it clinging to my skin. I feel manic as I scream and scream, the pain and loss of my mate, of my Tether, rips at my insides until there is nothing left of me but hollow agony.
I’m surrounded by taunting voices, pressing in on all sides, so close they might as well be whispering directly into my ears.
I see the high priestess, her cruel smile as she says:“You’re nothing. A failed experiment, a disappointment to the bloodline.”
