They do not raise weapons.
But they do not need to.
Theyareweapons.
Each one carries a long, blackened wooden staff, the ends wrapped in strips of silver and adorned with carved symbols that match the ink on their skin.Runes.When they move, the staffs barely make a sound, but the air around them hums as if the mountain itself acknowledges their presence.
They stop before us, their masked leader standing at the center.
And then, in one unified motion, they slam the staffs into the ground.
A deep, resonant boom echoes through the valley.
A declaration.
A summons.
We’re in their territory now.
One of them steps forward—a woman, though there is something ageless about her presence. Her mask is different, more intricate, carved with runes that seem to shimmer faintly as she moves.
She does not speak. Instead, she pulls something from beneath her cloak—a small, flat stone tablet, etched with precise markings.
And then, she kneels.Why in the fucking Stars is she kneeling?
The others follow, tapping their staffs against the earth in perfect unison.
The sound thrums through me, deeper than a command—an acknowledgment, a vow.
The air shifts. My breath catches.
I barely register Seren’s sharp inhale as she leans forward, trying to see the markings more clearly. Before Ronyn can do anything about it, she slides off their mare and approaches the woman. The woman almost imperceptibly nods and holds out the tablet—an invitation. Seren’s fingers brush over the symbols. Her breathing hitches, her pupils blown wide.
When she finally speaks, her voice trembles.
“They’ve been waiting for you.”
The leader slowly lifts her head, her dark eyes locking on tomine through the carved bone mask. She speaks in a language of the ancients, her words smooth and deliberate, filled with a weight I do not yet understand.
Seren translates, her voice steady but tinged with something like awe.
“I am Syphra, keeper of Skaedor’s Crest, leader of the Vaythari.”
Another tap of staffs against the earth. A reaffirmation. A name spoken into the air, carrying with it a history older than I can grasp.
Syphra’s voice deepens, her next words firm, unyielding.
Seren listens, swallows, then continues.
“We are the last of Skaedor’s people, those who guard his legacy. We have lived in these mountains, unseen, waiting. We have waited for the one who would bear his mark.”
A shiver rakes down my spine. I do not need to ask who they mean.
Syphra steps closer, gesturing to me to make my way to her. Kael’s firm hands squeeze around me, and he’s not breathing. “Trust me,” I whisper before I fully comprehend the weight of my words.Trust me.As if it’s not the most difficult thing in the world to trust another with your life. Your safety.Your heart.
He releases his hold on me, his breath still lingering on my neck. “I’ll be right here if you need me.” It’s fleeting, but there is weight to his words. As if he meant that he would be here for me, beyond simply wielding his sword, or to protect an asset.
I dismount from Nyx, much to his obvious trepidation, and step tentatively towards Syphra.
