Water erupted from the ground beneath Thaine's feet, a precise strike that swept his legs. He rolled with it, came up soaked but balanced. A woman materialized from the spray, her form shifting between solid and liquid.
"Hello, Thaine," she said, her voice heavy with barely contained emotion. "Still doing his dirty work?"
"Sian." Thaine's blade cleared its sheath in one smooth motion. "Still playing with puddles?"
"Focus." Arion's command cut through their exchange.
Two more figures emerged from the underbrush moving in practiced synchronization—a male carrying a staff of white wood, the female's hands already weaving air into shapes.
"Ferria. Halian." Thaine's smile returned, sharp but appreciative. "The whole band together. How quaint. How long have you been following us?"
"Long enough," Halian said quietly.
Thaine moved before the words finished echoing, blade carving through air where Arion had been. The arrow fired, but Thaine was already spinning, using Sian's water strike from his left to propel himself toward the twins. His blade met Halian's staff with a crack that echoed wrong—metal on wood shouldn't sound like screaming.
Ferria's illusions bloomed, but they weren't perfect copies. They moved a half-second behind, shadows of possibility rather than false flesh. Thaine cut through two, used the third as cover to close distance.
"Your magic's weakening," he observed, parrying Halian's thrust. "How many times have you crossed the border? How much of yourself have you spent on these rescue missions?"
Sian flowed around them, trying to bind Thaine's legs, but he kept moving, never still long enough for water to grip. His blade opened a line across Halian's ribs—shallow but precise.
"First blood," Thaine noted. "Your sister flinches when you bleed. There—she's lost two illusions."
He was right. Ferria's concentration wavered, her constructs flickering.
"Get the girl," Arion commanded, loosing three arrows in rapid succession. Thaine deflected two, dodged the third, but it bought space.
Arion reached the vines holding Briar, his hands glowing with that same cold fire as his arrows. He pressed his palms against the thick growth, and where light met green, the vines blackened and recoiled, writhing away from the burning radiance.
"Who are you people?" Briar gasped as the plants finally released her, leaving smoking marks on the ground where they retreated.
"Not important right now." Arion caught her arm as her knees buckled. The moment she tried to stand, agony erupted through the mark, thorns grinding against bone. She couldn't stop the cry that tore from her throat. "We're here to—"
His words cut off as he saw her wrist. The mark was writhing, dark lines spreading up her forearm in real time, following her veins like poison.
"Hold still." He dropped to one knee beside her, hands hovering over the mark. Behind them, the battle intensified—she could hear Thaine's blade singing through air, Halian's grunts of effort, water crashing and reforming.
"Your friends—"
"Can handle themselves." Arion's fingers began to glow with that cold fire. "This will hurt."
He pressed his palms around her wrist, bracketing the mark. Light poured from his hands, not gentle but invasive, seeking. Where it touched the dark lines, her skin became a battlefield. She could see it happening—golden threads of light wrestling with thorned darkness, weaving between the black patterns like luminous serpents. The mark fought back, thorns flaring, trying to pierce through the light.
Briar bit down on her sleeve to muffle her screams. Her arm felt like it was being pulled apart and rewoven, every nerve ending alive with competing sensations. The light pressed deeper, wrapping around each thorn, coating them in radiance that made them withdraw—not destroying them but forcing them dormant.
"Almost there," Arion murmured, sweat beading on his forehead. The light was costly for him too.
Behind them, she caught glimpses of the fight. Thaine moved like liquid shadow, forcing Halian to give ground with each exchange. Ferria's illusions flickered and multiplied, trying to confuse his strikes, while Sian lashed at him with whips of water that turned to ice mid-air. They were skilled, coordinated—and barely holding him.
"That's temporary," Thaine called between strikes, not even breathing hard. "My lord's mark goes deeper than light can reach."
The golden threads finished their work, weaving a net of light just beneath her skin. The mark still showed, but muted now, contained. Arion sagged slightly.
"Can you stand?" he asked, helping her to her feet.
She managed a nod, though her legs shook. That's when she saw it—Thaine's subtle shift in stance, his blade angling differently. He wasn't trying to break through anymore. He was positioning himself.
"Arion—" she started.
