Some say The Wastes are preparing for war. That the fragile trade agreement with Dravara has fractured, perhaps even cracked clean through. But here in the slums, war’s been at our door for years. This just makes it official.
No map of The Shadow Wastes exists in Dravara—not a single line of ink, not a whisper of terrain. Their realm has been shrouded in secrecy for centuries, its boundaries marked only by rumors and fear. All we know is that it’s a land cursed by the Stars themselves—a barren, burning wasteland left ravaged after The Endless War between their people.
The border where Dravara and The Shadow Wastes meet—The Joining—is a battleground without end. For centuries, King Thalmyr has stationed Dravara’s most grotesque and beastly border lords along its expanse, creating an unyielding line of defense. It’s the only shred of gratitude I hold for him; whatever else he’s done, he’s kept The Wastes at bay.
Between The Joining and Virellin, Dravara’s capital—home to The Lightborne Barrier and my own home in the slums—lies the Frael Forest. A mythical stretch of land filled with creatures, beasts, and nightmares, it is an unrelenting second line of defense against any Shadow mercenaries who breach The Joining.
I’ve never dared to enter the Frael Forest, only observed it from the edges. For those of us born to the slums, the Frael Forest has always been more than a boundary. It’s a legend, a living nightmare whispered about in the flickering glow of oil lamps. Our parents, and their parents before them, tucked us into bed with stories of the forest’s perils—not to soothe us, but to scare us into obedience. Don’t stray too far, they’d say, their voices low and trembling. The shadows will take you. The roots will trap you. The beasts will devour you before you can scream.
Those stories weren’t just warnings; they were laws, as binding as any royal decree. And we believed them. Better the peril you know than the horrors waiting in the Frael Forest. It kept us nestled in the slums, trapped in the predictable cage of poverty, but spared from the terrors beyond.
Even standing at its edge, the forest feels alive. The air carries an unnatural stillness, a silence that isn’t empty but charged, as though the forest itself is watching. The Frael Forest is as much a mystery to me as The Shadow Wastes beyond it, but one thing is certain—if the prophecy takes us there, survival will not come easily.
Kael’s words slice through my thoughts, sharp and inescapable.
If you’d like more answers, I’ll be at the old outpost at the edge of the Frael Forest at daybreak. Bring your weapons. Your questions. I’ll be there.
I look up from the maps to my family. “I know where to begin,” I announce.
Ronyn stretches lazily, his grin sharper than usual. “Do enlighten us, El,” he says, my real name rolling off his tongue with a casual ease that sends a flicker of warmth through my chest.
“The Frael Forest.” My voice lands firmer than I feel. Like I believe it—because I have to.
Revryn’s eyebrows shoot up in immediate protest. “The Frael Forest? Elyssara, I know you’re the Lightborne, but that feels like walking into certain death,” he scoffs.
I meet Revryn’s gaze, steady despite the storm churning in my gut. Then I shift my focus to Ronyn, directing my next words at him. “We need to meet Kael,” I say simply, though there’s nothing simple about him. There’s something in him—a pull, a dance, intrigue. Something that makes my magic stir. “He knew me. Hefeltme. If anyone can answer the questions we can’t, it’s him.”
Ronyn’s grin falters, just for a moment, before it returns—softer this time, edged with curiosity. “So, we march into the forest of death to have a chat with Shadow Boy. Sounds about right.”
Revryn exhales heavily, dragging a hand down his face. “The Shadowweave from The Tannery?” His voice is sharp, tinged with the worry of a parent watching their child edge too close to danger. “Elyssara, please. Think this through. We’ll find another way.”
“I can feel it in my chest, Rev,” I reply, the words shaky but resolute. I press a hand against the Lightborne mark, its faint heat a constant reminder of what I am, of what I can no longer ignore. “The marking... it responds to me. It’s calling me.” I take a breath, steadying myself. “This is as certain as I can be.”
The fire in my chest thrums quietly, but with an intensity that demands to be heard. “The Frael Forest is where it begins. And if we want to survive this prophecy, we need answers. From him. He said he’d be at the edge of the forest—at the old outpost. At daybreak. We have to go.”
Revryn’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing as if weighing every possible consequence. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken fears and reluctant acceptance.
Finally, he exhales, his voice low and steady. “Get some sleep, then. We leave at daybreak.”
CHAPTER NINE
I rubthe haze of sleep from my eyes, though the sting lingers—an unwelcome reminder of how little rest I’ve managed. We didn’t descend to our bedrolls until well past the moon’s peak, and now, with daybreak fast approaching, the promise of more sleep feels like a distant luxury.
We pack what little we can—dried meat, a handful of withered fruit, and a meagre wedge of cheese. It’s not much, and it won’t last long. Soon enough, we’ll have to hunt, steal, or forage. But scarcity is an old companion, and the gnawing uncertainty of our next meal is as familiar to us as the air in our lungs.
I load my few belongings into the same canvas pack I’ve carried since I was a child. The fabric is frayed and patched from years of wear, the stitches a map of my life. But I can’t bear to part with it. It was my mother’s. A rush of nostalgia washes over me as I remember her vibrant, wide smile, deep green eyes full of defiance, and the mess of russet and caramel hair that swayed across her mid-back as she moved through The Black Stream market’s bustling day trade. She wore this very pack strapped across her body, her stride sure and steady, as if she weren’t starving, thirsty, and barely surviving.
I glance down at my own mess of hair cascading past my waist,though mine is a vibrant auburn that can’t be missed—the same tattered pack now slung over my shoulder, and I know I have her eyes. The way they seem to glow like the Stars themselves, full of fire and defiance—the same she always carried. I can almost hear her voice, soft and insistent, whispering the destiny she believed I would fulfill. For a moment, the familiar ache of grief and heartbreak doesn’t come. Instead, I feel something unexpected: pride.
I was born for this.
“I’m scared, Elyssara.” Seren’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. Sweet Seren, looking up at me through the wild curtain of her golden hair, her wide, innocent eyes brimming with unshed tears. Her bottom lip trembles slightly, and her voice wavers. “I’m not strong, and I’m not brave like you and Ronyn. I can’t wield a blade or a bow, and I’m terrified I’ll slow you down. Hold you back. Get us killed.”
A lone tear escapes, tracing a path down her plump, rosy cheek and across the dusting of freckles that make her look far younger than the years she’s survived.
“It’s okay—we’re probably going to die, anyway,” Ronyn cuts in, grin lazy, timing as horrendous as ever.
“Ronyn!” I hiss, shooting him a glare sharp enough to draw blood. He shrugs, unapologetic, but at least has the decency to stay quiet.
