Then came the man.
He emerged like a shadow unfurling from the trees—hood drawn low, a staff sweeping the ground before him. His steps were slow, deliberate, as though the earth itself guided him forward.
Amerei’s gaze sharpened.
“He’s blind,” she whispered, her hand brushing Viktor’s arm.
For a breath, none of them moved.
The forest pressed close, holding its silence.
Viktor glanced at Amerei—found her already leaning toward the man. He dipped his chin once—enough—and together they slipped from the saddles, stepping forward, closing the distance.
“Who comes?” The man’s voice rolled low, carrying farther than it should have.
Viktor’s fingers brushed Amerei’s sleeve, keeping her close at his side.
“We found your dog,” he called back, tone even but guarded. “Stay there. We’ll bring him to you.”
Before Viktor could even whistle, the hound bounded to its master’s side with a single leap, pressing against his leg. The blind man’s hand fell unerringly to its head, fingers tracing the line of its ear as though he’d known every hair of its coat.
“This creature came to me from the desert,” the man said.
Viktor frowned. “That’s a damn long way for a stray.”
The man’s hood tilted, sightless eyes fixed on some point beyond them.
“He had to find me,” he said.
A breath—then, lower:
“To tell me of the one who freed him from the trap.”
Viktor’s heart kicked hard.
His hand closed around Amerei’s arm, the world narrowing to the memory of cords drawn tight, of his own hands prying them loose.
The same dog.
He eased her a step back, almost without thinking, gaze never leaving the man.
“The one who saved him…” The blind man’s voice seemed to drift from somewhere deeper than the clearing. “…the man who walks upon the wind.”
Viktor stilled, breath dragging through his teeth. The fire buried in his blood shifted—restless, answering a call he didn’t understand. Somewhere beyond the trees, the Aetherheart was listening.
The man’s hood turned, sightless eyes finding him all the same. The redwoods stilled; even the rain stopped its whisper. Mist coiled between the trees where he had stood.
And then—only his voice.
“They are waiting for you in Rhidian.”
Viktor pulled Amerei back before she could protest and steadied her at the stirrup. His hand lingered at her waist as he lifted her up, setting her onto Evander’s horse. The press of her weight, the fleeting warmth of her sleeve against his palm—he forced it down before it could root. His voice came quiet, commanding.
“Stay close. First sign of danger, you ride hard back to Sevrak.”
Her eyes searched his, wide and questioning, but she gave a small nod. Her pulse thrummed with something she couldn’t name. The air itself had changed—charged, aware—and sheknew, as surely as breath, that whatever waited in Rhidian would not let them go untouched.
Evander swung into the saddle behind her, reins tight in his fists.
