Arie's POV

  The warmth of the cave settled into my bones like an unwelcome guest. It clashed with the memory of the cold we had endured—too sudden, too unnatural. Outside, the wind battered the entrance, a relentless whisper of everything we’d left behind. But here, beneath the flickering glow of Donshell’s fire, there was only silence. A silence that smothered rather than soothed.

  I knelt by the muddy floor, absently tracing a circle with bear ears. Over and over again. A rhythm, a tether—something solid beneath my fingertips. Nearby, Skymint chewed on dried meat, his usual light dimmed by exhaustion. The boy who could laugh in the face of disaster barely had the energy to meet my eyes.

  Chillbi moved closer to him, as if pulled by some unseen force. He hadn’t come near me since this morning. Hadn’t spoken my name. I told myself I didn’t care, but the weight in my chest said otherwise.

  "Cold is good. Skymint okay?" Chillbi murmured, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

  Skymint didn’t answer. His jaw clenched around the dried meat, and his eyes dropped to the fire. Not okay. Not even close.

  I pressed my thumb into the mud, smudging the bear-eared circle into nothing. "We need to reach Fresha Kingdom."

  Skymint’s chewing slowed. His sky-and-mint eyes flicked to mine, unreadable. "You already told me that."

  I shifted, drawing another shape into the dirt. "Just making sure."

  A pause. Then, quieter, "You never told me how you got there."

  My fingers stilled. The words lurked at the edge of my tongue, waiting. I could tell him about Skadar. About how I had trusted him. About how he had led me away under the guise of safety, only to—

  No.

  Not now.

  "We should rest while we can," I said, shaking it off.

  Skymint didn’t push, but his gaze lingered, heavy with things unsaid. Between us, the fire crackled—a presence of its own. Too warm. Too much.

  Donshell sat cross-legged, murmuring the words of his spell. The shallow pool before him reflected the glow of the flames, untouched by ripples. His magic required a tether—something of Llanova’s. Skymint had hesitated before offering his black bucket hat. A rare flicker of uncertainty.

  “Show me in the water the location of this hat’s initial owner,” Donshell intoned, voice steady, measured.

  The pool darkened. Anticipation curled tight in my gut. But then—

  Skymint’s face stared back at us.

  He blinked. I blinked. Donshell swore under his breath.

  A silence stretched, thick and impenetrable. No one laughed. The tension in the air was too dense for that.

  Donshell dragged a hand down his face. "This isn’t right."

  I am irritated.

  Donshell is irritated.

  Even Skymint is irritated.

  The frustration coiled tight in my chest, a weight pressing against my ribs. We had expected—hoped—for something, anything, to lead us to Llanova. Instead, we were met with another dead end.

  Skymint exhaled through his nose, unreadable. “Well, that’s useless.”

  Donshell’s jaw tightened. “I don’t understand. My magic should work. The connection between you and Llanova isn’t broken, but… it’s being blocked.”

  Blocked.

  The word sent a chill down my spine, a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.

  I turned away from the water, fingers tracing absent patterns into the mud. The bear-eared circles I had drawn earlier had long since blurred beneath new smudges and scratches, just as my thoughts had tangled into knots.

  We let the matter drop. But the tension remained, thick and unresolved, stretching taut as the hours bled away.

  ***

  That night, sleep refused me.

  I lay staring at the cave ceiling, the fire’s warmth pressing against my skin, making me restless rather than comforted. My body ached for rest, but my mind refused to still.

  Something was missing.

  A blank space in my memory where something vital should be.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I remembered everything. Almost everything.

  Except that one night.

  It was as though my mind had simply smoothed over the details, like ice refreezing a disturbed surface. It should have been insignificant—a moment lost to exhaustion or shock—but something inside me rebelled at the notion. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t right.

  The more I grasped for it, the more it slipped through my fingers.

  My stomach twisted. I hated this feeling.

  ***

  Skymint’s POV

  I wasn’t asleep either.

  My back rested against cool stone, arms crossed, eyes open. The fire flickered at the edges of my vision, but I wasn’t looking at it. I was too lost in thought.

  The bounty on my head.

  The anger in my chest, burning hotter than any flame.

  The face of the Guardian who betrayed us.

  My fingers curled into fists. Would revenge change anything? Would it even feel good?

  My own voice answered before I could silence it: You already know the answer.

  I exhaled sharply, trying to shake the thought away. I wasn’t like them. I wasn’t ruled by hatred. But the thought of letting that Guardian go unpunished made my blood burn.

  Then I noticed it.

  Arie was missing.

  I moved without thinking.

  The night air cut against my skin as I stepped outside the cave. The world lay bathed in silver and shadow, moonlight glinting off snow and ice. And there, by the water’s edge, stood Arie.

  She was still. Too still. Her back to me, her gaze locked on her own reflection in the frozen surface. Not tense, but fragile, like glass on the verge of fracturing.

  I stepped closer, my footsteps near-silent against the frozen ground.

  “Do you ever feel like there’s something you should remember,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “but it’s just… gone?”

  I stopped a few feet away, weighing her words.

  I didn’t know what answer she wanted.

  So I gave her the only truth I had.

  “If it’s important,” I said, “it’ll come back when you’re ready.”

  Arie didn’t answer right away. The wind howled in the distance, threading through the silence like a quiet specter. When she finally exhaled, her breath curled in the cold air—fading, dissolving.

  “I hope so.”

  Neither of us moved. The night stretched on, a patient thing, watching, waiting. For once, we weren’t in a hurry to break the stillness. The weight we carried—both known and unknown—pressed between us, unspoken but heavy all the same.

  Inside the cave, the fire had burned low, embers pulsing like dying stars. Shadows danced along the uneven walls, twisting with every flicker. The warmth was deceptive, fleeting. The kind of heat that never truly reached you.

  Donshell sat by the fire, his arms resting on his knees. He didn’t look surprised when Arie and I approached. He didn’t speak right away, either. Instead, he studied Arie, his gaze unreadable—like he was searching for something he already knew he wouldn’t find.

  “You’re leaving now?” His voice was rough, the edges worn with time.

  Arie nodded. “The longer we wait, the riskier it gets.”

  Donshell leaned back, exhaling sharply. “And you’re sure about this?”

  No hesitation. No room for doubt.

  “Yes.”

  Something flickered across his face—understanding, maybe. Or something close to regret. He looked at me then, as if expecting hesitation. I met his gaze without offering any.

  “Fine,” he muttered. “Then listen well. You already know what’s out there—Wolfmen traders, bounty hunters, things worse than both. Stick to the shadows. Don’t be seen. And if you start doubting your path…” He glanced at Arie again. “Trust your instincts. Not everything is as it seems.”

  Arie didn’t react, but I caught the way her fingers curled slightly at her sides. A shift, subtle but telling.

  I adjusted my coat, the weight of his words settling into my bones. “We’ll be fine.”

  Donshell gave a slow nod, but his eyes said otherwise. “I hope so.”

  No more words were needed. The fire crackled behind us as we stepped away, its dying warmth clinging to our backs. The night swallowed us whole.

  Outside, the cold pressed in, sharper than before. The cave’s heat had been suffocating, but this—this was clean. Cutting, but honest. Donshell lingered at the entrance, his silhouette blending into the jagged rock. He didn’t speak. Just a nod. A silent warning, a farewell.

  Arie glanced at him, something unreadable passing between them before she turned away. I adjusted my grip on the boat’s rope and followed her down the shore. The journey ahead was long, but the cover of darkness was on our side. At least for now.

  The boat groaned as we pushed it into the black water. The frozen sand clung to my boots as I stepped in first, the chill seeping through the worn planks. Arie followed, settling across from me, her posture steady, her expression calm—too calm.

  The moon spilled silver over the restless waves. A quiet tension hung between us, heavy, pressing. There was no going back. Only forward, into the dark.

  For a time, only the rhythmic slap of water against the boat’s hull filled the silence. The night stretched wide and unbroken, an expanse of shadow and cold. I should have been tired—should have let exhaustion claim me, let the gentle sway lull me into the illusion of rest. But my mind refused.

  Too much clawed for space. Llanova. The bounty on my head. The Guardian who betrayed us. And the anger—sharp-edged and simmering beneath my skin, waiting for a place to land.

  One thing I knew for certain: my mother fought for good. Even when it cost her everything.

  Where can I find the others? The ones still fighting?

  A shift beside me pulled me from my thoughts. Arie drew her cloak tighter, exhaling slow, her gaze locked on the horizon.

  “You should rest,” she murmured. “We have a long way to go.”

  I scoffed. “And you?”

  “I’ll steer. You need it more than I do.”

  “No. I’ll steer. You rest.” My voice was final.

  She held my gaze for a moment, unreadable. Then, without a word, she leaned back, adjusting her cloak. A silent agreement.

  I took the helm, guiding the boat carefully through the dark waters. But the unease didn’t fade. The air felt thick. Heavier.

  Arie reached into her pack, pulling out a flask. “Here.” She tossed it to me. “It’s not much, but it’ll help.”

  I caught it, hesitating before unscrewing the cap. Water. Cold and clean. I took a slow sip, letting it wash away the dryness in my throat. “Thanks.”

  She nodded, her gaze distant. A fleeting moment of normalcy.

  It didn’t last.

  ***

  Something shifted. Not the wind, not the cold—something deeper. Something just beneath the surface of reality itself.

  The waves slowed, their movement sluggish, as if the sea itself were sinking into sleep. The air pressed thick against my lungs. A strange weight settled in my chest.

  I turned. Arie was murmuring something.

  Her lips moved, barely parting, words slipping out in whispers too faint to grasp.

  “Arie…?” My voice felt distant, like it had to fight through the heavy quiet between us.

  She didn’t answer.

  Her posture remained loose, her breathing even. But something was wrong. The night coiled around us, thickening, tightening. My vision blurred at the edges, shadows creeping inward.

  My body—unresponsive. My mind—sluggish.

  My heartbeat slowed.

  And the last thing I saw before the darkness took me—

  Arie tilted her head. The corners of her lips curved upward, not in a smirk, not in a grin.

  Just a quiet, knowing smile.