As her eyelids grew heavy, the world slipped away, fading into darkness. Shadows curled at her feet, soft fog shifting in and out of focus. The faint glow of the Veilhovered in the distance. She knew what came next as the whispers began curling around her ears. Ahead, the vision wavered, lights humming like distant stars. It was thewisps. They hovered ahead, their lights pulsing with a strange urgency. They weren’t leading her deeper into the unknown, no woods or winding paths. Instead, they circled her, frenzied and chaotic, darting back and forth as though running from something. Their whispers were loud and frantic as a man stepped from the shadows. Just beyond the glow of the wisps, his figure was half concealed in darkness. Sorcha’s chest tightened as his eyes met hers.
The wisps faltered, their lights dimming as if his presence alone drained the life from them. Their soft whispers escalated into desperate, shrieking cries: “Wake up!”
But she couldn’t move. The world around her rippled, his figure blurring like a heat mirage. She knew without a doubt that this was the figure from the meadow. Her chest still ached as if seared by fire, the scent of pine lingering in her nose. It felt like she’d been standing therein the stillness for hours when suddenly the fog pulled away. Darkness plunged over her as she gasped awake.
The blankets tangled around her. Her heart pounded as loud as the steady rush of the waterfall that broke through the birdsong. Sunlight was bleeding into the room.
Chapter 3
Commander
Sorcha rubbed her eyes, clutching the blankets until her knuckles whitened. Cool air brushed her skin, raising goosebumps as sunlight crept across the floor, chasing away the remnants of night.
The room was its usual contradiction of order and chaos. Shelves bowed beneath the weight of bestiaries, spell books, and old star charts. Trays of drying herbs crowded the vanity. Half-folded clothes draped from the dresser like surrendering flags. She dragged a hand through her hair, wincing as her fingers snagged in the tangles.
“It was nothing,” she whispered, as if saying it aloud might make it so. Swinging her legs over the bed, she stretched, her toes tapping against the cool stone. The dream still clung toher; the gold runes, the forest’s decay, the twisted creatures. She’d seen too much to pretend it meant nothing.
Shaking off the thought, Sorcha crossed the room and grabbed a shirt draped over a chair. She sniffed it, squinting toward the light. “Clean enough.”
She pulled on yesterday’s trousers, tying her hair back as she tore a hunk of bread from a loaf on the counter. Moving quickly, she shoved it between her teeth, bow and quiver slung over her shoulder in one practiced motion.
Casting one last glance at her room, she kicked the door shut behind her.
The morning sunlight caught the gold stitching on her sleeves. Her boots clacked against the cobblestones as she hurried through town. She nodded to a few early risers and waved to children hurrying to school, but she didn’t slow down. Commander Nethran had made his opinion of her lateness very clear already, many times.
By the time she reached the square, the city was fully awake. Market stalls creaked open, vendors called greetings across the courtyard, and Circle members werealready gathering. They checked their gear, adjusted armor, and spoke in quiet, focused tones. The rising sun gleamed on metal and rune marked leather, a low hum of enchantment weaving through the air as protective wards settled over each piece.
Commander Nethran stood near a carved stone post. The sun caught strands of his dark-violet hair, which looked almost black until he shifted after he had tied it back. His lilac eyes looked over the movement around him as he rolled his broad shoulders, the muscles rippling as he moved.
Nethran was built for the battlefield. The ink that marked him from wrist to throat pulsed faintly under his skin. He earned each rune, which recorded rank and mastery. More runes meant more power. Nethran had more than most.
His eyes were sweeping across the group once more when his sight landed on her. He pushed away from the post and straightened, his stance shifting from relaxed to what seemed like irritation. “Glad to see you’ve joined us on time, Sorcha.”
Sorcha paused and offered a faint smile, trying to keep her tone even. “Commander,” she nodded, “ready for the day.”
His eyes swept across the other Circle members before returning to her. “Thrilled to hear it.” A few hushed laughs and scoffs escaped the other lips. “There’s a patrol briefing at Skyfall. We move in two minutes.” He pointed his finger at Sorcha. “Except you. A word.”
The others moved toward the falls, murmuring as they passed. Sorcha stayed put, watching as they gave her weary glances. Her expression tightened.
“Yes, Commander?” she said as she stood at attention.
“We’ve talked about this.” His voice was low but firm. “You’re my lead ranger. That means you set the tone and expectations. You don’t trail in late.”
“I know.” Her shoulders sagged slightly. “I’m trying. It’s the dreams; last night’s were worse than usual.”
Just as Nethran’s gaze landed on Sorcha, a flicker of shimmering light zipped past his shoulder. Sorcha’s eyes widened as the silvery blur buzzed around them, no one else seemed to notice as she watched it dart beyond sight but not before she caught the faint scent of wildflowers and heard the tiniest giggle in her ear as it disappeared.
Nethran didn’t flinch, but his brow twitched. “Something amusing?”
“No, Commander.” She clenched her jaw. Of all moments for something else strange to happen, this wasn’t it.
Nethran studied her for a few moments. “Trying isn’t good enough. You’ll have to do better.” Without another word, he turned toward Skyfall.
As they approached the falls, the roar of the water greeted them as the Circle stepped into the square. Mist caught the light, scattering it across the carved stones and moss lined path. Runes shimmered faintly overhead, forming a barrier of protection that hummed just beneath hearing.
The Circle of Light gathered in a loose semicircle.
Mason, who had been standing off to the side with Eirin, exchanged looks. Riona checked her belt as Drystan shifted uncomfortably. Emry pulled a worn notebook from his satchel, ready to write notes.
