She exhales, the corner of her mouth twitching. A reluctant truce.
Her color is better—barely. Her movements are slower than normal, but no longer trembling. Her eyes are clearer.
Valen notices, too. He watches her for a moment longer, then turns toward the horizon.
“We’ll need to keep to the trees,” he says. “No one can see where we came from. Not yet.”
The capital looms just beyond the ridge. I can feel it—the thrum of movement, of patrols, of a thousand lives unknowingly orbiting the truth we now carry.
Behind me, the others begin moving—adjusting packs, tightening satchels, re-securing the books and scrolls gathered from the chamber.
Thane steps up beside me, silent. His hand brushes mine.
“They’ll want answers,” I murmur.
“They’ll get them,” he says. “But only the ones we choose to give.”
Valen approaches, holding Sylas Veyne’s journal beneath one arm. “This changes everything. But if we present it the wrong way—too soon, too boldly—we lose before we begin.”
I meet his eyes. “Then we don’t.”
He nods once, and that’s all we need.
An hour later, we are riding the final few miles in silence, the city rising slowly beyond the hills like a shadow waiting to be named.
The portal dropped us deeper in the forest than expected, and it took longer than we planned to find the escort again. But when we did, they were still there—dragons overhead, soldiers on edge, weapons drawn. Waiting. Watching the skies. Ready to fight if we didn’t return.
Thane didn’t flinch. He told them we’d found a hidden chamber—an old Shadow Clan hideaway buried beneath the mountains. There were markings on the walls. Signs of the past. And a creature guarding it—a massive worm, too large for the tunnels, with rows of teeth and a hunger that didn’t stop.
There were questions, of course—curious glances, sharp eyes flicking to the satchels we now carry. But no one pushed. Because Thane Caelum doesn’t explain himself, and no oneexpects him to. He gave them just enough truth to hold the line.
And they trusted him to hold the rest.
Now, the scrolls and maps lie hidden in our packs. The journal, too. Sylas Veyne’s name never left the chamber. Not yet.
The capital looms closer with every step. Calryx glides somewhere above us, a distant shape cutting through clouds. Garrick was adamant that Lyra ride with him; she didn’t protest after realizing she didn’t have the strength to mount her own horse. Jarek and Rian ride tight at our flanks. Valen hasn’t spoken much since the portal.
The silence feels shared now—like a pact between all of us.
I shift in my saddle, the weight of my satchel pressing against my hip. Inside it lies everything we aren’t ready to say. The truth. Or part of it.
I glance at Thane. He rides ahead, steady, unreadable. But I can feel it through the bond—low and quiet.
A storm waiting to break.
No one knows what waits at the gates. Only that everything we carry now might be enough to change the realm.
An hour later, the sun is higher in the sky. The rhythm of hooves on packed earth steady beneath me. And then—I see it: Volcaris.
We made it. No ambush. No fights.
But that doesn’t mean we’re safe. Secrets can be just as deadly.
I glance at Thane atop his stallion. The strength in his posture—the quiet sureness—steadies me.
The bond blooms in my chest, warm and fierce.
He turns. Smoke-gray eyes meet mine, lit from within, like sunlight on mist. My whole world, held in that look.
