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Something stirs in my gut—not dread, but instinct. A quiet knowing, like the world is whispering, they’re safe. They’ll be here when we all come back.

I nod slowly, though it costs me.

We pause at the edge of the tavern courtyard, where the three of them wait—Meara shifting her weight anxiously, Aisling flicking her tail, Shadow standing uncharacteristically still.

Without a word, Callan steps forward and presses his forehead to Meara’s, his hand brushing her mane. Finn runs a palm along Aisling’s neck, murmuring something low and private into her ear. She nudges him in response, her breath puffing warm and soft against his cheek.

I approach Shadow last. His ears flick toward me before I say a word, and when I reach out, he leans into my touch like he knows exactly what this is. I press my forehead gently to his, fingers curling into his thick mane.

“Be good,” I whisper. “Don’t scare the poor lad too badly.”

He huffs, almost like he understands, and my heart aches with the force of it.

We leave the tavern behind, taking only what we can carry on our person. The street outside is near empty, the hush complete but for our footsteps tapping against worn cobblestones. The silence feels foreboding, broken only by the faint rustle of Dana’s cloak as she leads the way forward, to the trail’s edge.

She turns to face us. “This is where I leave you,” she says, her voice low and sonorous.

“As you draw nearer to Tara, you’ll find the land grows quiet—no birdsong, no footsteps but your own. No soul in sight. It is best if you part ways with them before that point and wait just beyond Tara’s reach. When Triona has done what is necessary, and returned whole, you need to be there waiting for her.”

She pauses, waiting for Callan’s silent agreement. He nods, and she continues.

“For millennia, many have been tempted to claim the power inside. None were worthy. Many become twisted by the magic’s wrath, their essence reshaped into what they fear most. Some become shadows of their former selves, cursed to guard the mound they sought to plunder. Others…” Her voice lowers to a hush. “Others were claimed by the earth itself. Their torment endless. Their cries are now only wind among the stones.”

A beat of silence.

“You will hear their whispers and warnings… it is best that you ignore them. Trust in yourselves, and in each other. The path ahead is yours to walk, but know this: you are not alone. What you carry—who you are—will guide you to the answers you seek.”

The bustling chaos of the Dublin docks fades behind us as we leave the city, its shouts and clamour dissolving into the distant hum of trade and sea breeze. Callan follows some distance back, his stance protective. Though Dana said we’d walk alone soon enough, for now he shadows us in silence. I’m grateful for his presence, brief though it may be.

The air feels fresh out here—cooler, sharper, laden with a heaviness that defies explanation. I glance back at the distant sprawl of Dublin, where trade and humanity thrive. It feels almost like a memory now, something too loud and bright to belong to this hushed, ancient road.

I turn to Finn, who has the map unfurled once again. He traces the symbols with a light fingertip, the arcane lines shimmering in the low light.

“It says we should keep northwest,” he mutters, half to himself, “and cross the river at the shallows.” He glances up, brow knitted in concentration. “We should stop near Dunshaughlin tonight. Then reach the Hill of Tara by early light tomorrow.” Our silence is the answer he seeks.

We fall into step beside one another, our strides matching as the world narrows to the path ahead.

We haven’t spoken in some time, but the silence is easy. Companionable. The kind that doesn’t press, doesn’t need to be filled.

The hush around us deepens, wrapping the world in stillness, and a warm glow stirs in my chest. It feels as if I am following a thread that’s always existed, one that now tugs me forward. I can finally fully feel the pull.

“I can feel it,” I murmur. “The pull. Faint at first… but it’s growing.”

Callan’s footsteps slow behind us. “So, it is real,” he says, voice low, cautious. “And we can confirm that now.”

I nod. “Aye. No question.”

He exhales through his nose, tension bristling in the sound. “Then the two of ye should go ahead.”

We pause, turning toward him. His eyes sweep the horizon, as if reading something in the air that the rest of us cannot see. A strange stillness settles around us—thick, expectant.

“I can feel the unrest settlin’ into me,” he mutters. “Like the ground’s turned restless beneath our feet. I think we’ve reached the point where I need to part—per Dana’s word.”

My heart twists at the thought of leaving him behind. But there’s no fear in his expression—only calm resolve. His jaw is set, his gaze unflinching. He’s already accepted what must be done.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, reading the worry on my face. “Keep yer heads on. I’ll be there to greet ye when ye’re done. Aye?”

Before I can respond, Finn steps forward, his expression firm. “Callan, can we talk? Just the two of us.”