It was beautiful. Achingly so.
And that, more than anything, unsettled me.
“This is…” I started, then faltered, the words refusing to form properly as I took another step forward, as if getting closer might make it make sense.
“It’s incredible.”
Aster stopped beside me, his gaze fixed on the land below, his expression unreadable in that way he had when he was thinking ten steps ahead of everyone else.
“You weren’t expecting this.” His assumption was correct.
“No,” I admitted, unable to tear my eyes away.
“I thought the Badlands would look… ruined. Like Theïkós. Just older.” I shook my head slightly. “This looks so alive.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched.
“Not everything is what it seems,” he said at last, his words sending a shiver up my spine. I turned to him, a dozen questions rising at once, but before I could voice a single one, he was already moving again, his hand brushing briefly against my arm in a silent prompt. “Come on,” he added, glancing back at me.
I hesitated for just a heartbeat longer, casting one last look over the lush, breathtaking expanse. A strange chill was crawling through me despite the warmth of the sun.
As we crested another hill, my legs burned, and my lungs protested with every breath. I slowed despite myself, bracing my hands against my thighs as I bent forward slightly, willing the ache to ease just enough that I wouldn’t collapse where I stood. The chill from the Labyrinth still clung to me in a way that felt more insidious than the cold itself. Like it had seeped beneath my skin and refused to leave, no matter how much distance we’d put between ourselves and its living walls.
When I finally straightened, drawing in a deeper breath and bracing myself to complain or at least ask how much farther we still had to go, the words never quite made it past my lips as we reached a beautiful wooded area.
The earth beneath my boots deepened in color, rich and dark, holding moisture rather than repelling it. Grass pushed through the soil in thick, confident clusters. Low shrubs spread across the slope ahead of us, their leaves glossy and green, untouched by rot or blight, and beyond them the land rolled gently downward into dense woodland that shimmered with life.
For a moment, I simply stood there, stunned, my chest tightening with a strange, disorienting mix of relief and unease.
“So before the darkness, is this what Theïkós looked like?” I asked at last, my voice quiet, as if speaking too loudly might fracture whatever illusion I was standing in.
Aster stopped beside me, his gaze sweeping the landscape and making my unease deepen at the subtle shift in his posture.
“Not exactly, no,” he replied, his tone steady but thoughtful.
The air carried the scent of damp earth and wild growth, layered with a faintly floral undertone. A breeze moved through the trees ahead, cool and gentle, lifting strands of my hair and brushing against my skin. I inhaled deeply before I could stop myself, greedily drawing in proof that life still existed somewhere in this world after all.
Seeing as he didn’t elaborate, I moved on to my next question. “So, this King, where is he?” I asked, glancing at him.
“His fortress is still another day’s travel.”
Frustration and anxiety knotted something low in my stomach, a building tension I had not consciously acknowledged until now. As we began our descent down the far side of the hill, the ground softened beneath our boots, leaving light imprints. Before long, the trees closed in around us, their branches weaving together overhead, dappling the forest floor with sunlight.
We moved in silence, the forest alive with subtle sound, the hush of leaves, the distant call of birds darting between branches, the quiet murmur of water somewhere nearby threading through it all. It should have been comforting. Instead, the longer we walked, the more that familiar unease crept in, settling between my shoulder blades and lifting the hairs on the back of my neck.
The feeling had followed me since we left the Labyrinth, easy to dismiss at first as exhaustion or lingering fear. But here, surrounded by so much, it sharpened into something far moredistinct. The unmistakable sensation of being watched. Not hunted or even threatened.
Observed.
I glanced over my shoulder, scanning the trees behind us, searching for movement, for anything that might justify the prickling awareness crawling over my skin. The forest stood still, sunlight filtering through leaves that stirred lazily in the breeze, giving no sign that anything was amiss.
Telling myself I was being ridiculous, I turned forward again, only for the feeling to intensify, pressing into me as if unseen eyes were tracking my every step. My pace slowed without meaning to, my breath hitching just slightly.
“Do you feel that?” I asked quietly.
Aster slowed beside me, his head tilting as he listened to something beyond my reach. He turned in a slow circle, his gaze sharp and searching, before shaking his head.
“There’s nothing,” he said, though the certainty I had come to rely on was missing from his voice.
