I nudge Nyx with my boot, and he moves slowly, alert, through The Decay. Until?—
The world flips.
Folds.
Inverts.
The abyss of The Decay swallows me, delivering me straight into the rotted maw of The Wastes.
The air shifts, thick and heavy, but it’s the smell that hits me hardest—damp earth left to rot, rusted iron, and somethingsweeter, fouler, like fruit gone to maggots. Beneath it all, a mineral tang cuts through my lungs.
The others join me swiftly, recoiling at the scent that lodges in our lungs.
Therion takes the lead again, muscles loose and axe sheathed—no danger.
We settle into a companionable silence again, hours go by without a word, and our journey stretches far into the south. The further we are from Kryntar Castle, the less inhabited the lands become, and the less likely we are to see any guard presence—or any real presence at all. Too far from supply drops, healers, aid of any kind.
We’re down to dried rations—with no animals to hunt, and the plant life long since picked over and dead. We stay far away from any signs of life, camping in a barren clearing nestled between skeletal trees, and rise to the sun barely visible through the thick clouds that hang over The Wastes like a second decay.
I wipe the haze of sleep from my eyes, and press to sit on my bed roll.
Jax, Merrik, Daelen, Rubi, Seren and Ronyn huddle around Therion, who’s holding a tree branch, drawing landmarks and directions into the earth—the only maps allowed in Zerynthia are temporary ones.
“If what Rowan says is accurate, the village is only a few hours south-west of here,” he says, drawing the path there. “We need to loop around it, avoiding eyes if we can, and the old zarethite and gem mines should be here,” he marks an X on his makeshift map.
I work my armor into place, strapping my swords across my back, pulling on my boots. “Jax and Merrik will need to scout ahead,” I command from behind, breaking their focus.
Therion cranes his neck over the group, locking his determined eyes on mine. “If you’d deigned to grace us withyour presence, Your Highness, you’d know the plan has already been discussed,” he bites the words, but I can see the smirk he’s fighting. “Jax and Merrik scout, Daelen and Ronyn at the rear with bows. The remainingpreciousfew safeguarded in the center,” he snipes with a challenge.
He just fucking called me precious.
Rubi gives a nonchalant shrug, but Seren huffs indignantly at the remark.
I smile back, “Why wake early if you’re already doing all the work, brother?”
Therion looses an easy laugh, shaking his head.
“So, I was thinking,” Ronyn cuts in, “how likely is it that there’s any zarethite actually left in these mines?”
“Pretty fucking unlikely,” I laugh. I know I’m going to regret this, but I say it anyway, “And why, specifically, are you asking?”
“Okay picture this,” he stands dramatically, throwing his arms out in a theatrical flourish. “Zarethite arrows that are blood-bound tome,” he pulls back his right arm, as if he’s about to loose an arrow. “Slicing through enemy lines. The first god metal archer in the history of Aevryn. Perfectly weighted for my unerring technique.” He looses the pretend arrow in a show of spectacular dramatics, and Seren gives him a round of applause, golden curls tumbling over her face in hysterical laughter.
I shake my head, but the smile comes, anyway. “Ronyn, I can confirm that if there was any zarethite left, Maldrak would be mining every inch of the Belt for it,” I say, probably breaking his heart with cold, hard facts.
“And the gods have to find you worthy of it, lad. The only god left is the one entombed in the Belt—I’m not sure it should be the first thing you ask Death when he looks you in the eye after being imprisoned for a decade,” Merrik laughs.
Ronyn’s face turns to a petulant pout, “I hate to say it, but… you’re all fucking boring. You have no vision!” He flourisheshis hands again for dramatic effect. “Aevryn’s first god metal archer, mark my words.”
“I completely agree with you, brother,” Daelen says, lifting Ronyn’s spirits. But I see the conspiratorial look in his eyes. “You’re right—theyareall fucking boring.”
A raucous laughter erupts among the group, and the lightness is a blessing from the Stars themselves.
“It’s just the sort of thing you’d pull off, Ronie,” Rubi remarks with a blasé swish of her hand. “I think you should proposition Death when we get there. What could possibly go wrong?” She stifles a laugh, throwing back the flask that’s permanently in her hand.
Therion narrows his eyes at her, shaking his head in exasperation.
Ronyn’s face turns stern. “All right, all right. If it’s so far-fetched, give me some details. How rare is it? When was the last god metal weapon made?” He presses, desperately trying to sell us on his idea.
