Rhys let out a sharp breath, her molten-colored skin glinting in the sunlight as she glanced between the group and Corran. With a snort, she broke into a hearty laugh. “Always a circus when I’m with you lot, isn’t it?” She strode to a nearby boulder, plopped down with an exaggerated sigh, and leaned back, propping her hands behind her head. Her grin widened as she added, “Alright, this ought to be good. Where’re we off to next?”

  Lyra chuckled at Rhys’s antics before turning her attention back to Corran. “We’re running on borrowed time, Elder Druid—”

  Before she could finish, Corran’s warm, rich laughter filled the air, gentle yet resonant, like the rustling of ancient leaves. “No need for such formality,” he said, his voice carrying the wisdom of centuries. “Call me Corran, child.”

  His smile was kind, though his deep eyes carried a weight that seemed both knowing and heavy. “Are we not all on borrowed time these days?” He stretched out his hand, gesturing for Lyra to come closer. “Come, child.”

  Lyra hesitated for a moment, glancing up at the towering figure before stepping forward. Despite his immense stature and the raw power, he seemed to embody, there was a softness to his presence—a nurturing wisdom that balanced his fierce connection to the wilds. Corran wasn’t merely a druid; he was the living spirit of the untamed, a being both protective and feral, dangerous yet undeniably beautiful.

  Corran reached for Lyra’s hand, guiding it to rest over his heart. His grip was firm yet steady, anchoring her trembling fingers in place. Lyra glanced down at their joined hands, her expression a mixture of curiosity and unease. Then, with a gentle touch, Corran tilted her chin upward, compelling her gaze to meet his. “Focus, child,” he murmured, his voice as soft and grounding as distant thunder.

  Lyra’s breath hitched as she locked eyes with him, his deep gaze pulling her in like an endless forest of ancient secrets. Corran began to chant, his voice low and rhythmic, each word resonating like the hum of the earth itself. A faint silver light flickered to life, curling and weaving between their joined hands like strands of liquid moonlight. It danced, growing brighter and more intricate, wrapping around them in a glowing web of energy.

  The light’s intensity startled Lyra, and she flinched, attempting to pull her hand away as though burned. But Corran’s grasp remained firm, his incantations unwavering. His words quickened, flowing like a river’s rapids, and Lyra’s breathing grew shallow, her chest rising and falling in quick succession. Her wide eyes reflected the light’s brilliance as it surged outward, encasing the two of them in a blinding aura.

  Lyra gasped as something deep within her stirred—a raw, primal fear rising to the surface, as though Corran’s voice was pulling at the edges of her mind. The light reached a crescendo, filling the air with an electric charge that cracked like a lightning strike. In an instant, it shattered outward in a sharp flash, only to dissolve into soft, swirling silver wisps that faded into nothingness.

  The silence that followed was deafening. Corran’s gaze softened as he took in Lyra’s pale, shaken face. Without hesitation, he pulled her into a gentle embrace, his voice soothing. “There, there, child. All is well.”

  When he released her, the two of them exchanged a long, searching look. The rest of us stared, completely baffled. The tension was palpable until Lyra broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. “She must mean a lot to you.”

  “She does,” Corran replied with a solemn nod. “As much, I suspect, as halting the venom in your veins means to you.”

  I couldn’t hold back any longer. Throwing up my hands, I blurted out, “Alright, does someone want to fill me in on what in all the hells just happened?”

  Alexander leaned in conspiratorially, his tone dripping with exaggerated drama as he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “He’s a Silver Dreamer,” he declared, as though that explained everything. “An extraordinary gift, really. They can traverse the minds of others or share their own visions, typically under the moonlight of dreams. But, in rare cases—”

  Mylena cut him off with an impatient roll of her eyes. “In plain terms, he shared what he wanted her to understand and saw what she needed in return.”

  Rhys blinked, still thoroughly lost. “So… magic therapy? Is that a thing? It just looked like really intense staring” she quipped, earning a chuckle from the group as the tension began to ease.

  Lyra turned to the group, her expression carefully neutral. “Corran has agreed to help us, but there’s a condition. We must rescue Yalela from the creatures in the temple. She was taken while they were tending to the garden.”

  “You can’t be serious, darling,” I scoffed, crossing my arms. “We’re trading that for this? Rescuing some hapless maid from a den of gods-know-what inside a ruined temple? That hardly seems fair.”

  “Not exactly…” Lyra winced, clearly bracing herself. “Yalela is, uh… a cat. Specifically, a Runeclaw Lynx.”

  I stared at her, dumbfounded. “A pet?!”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t dare call her that in her presence,” Corran interjected with a knowing shake of his head. “Feisty, proud, and vindictive are far better descriptions. Yalela belongs to no one.”

  Before I could properly express my disbelief, Emre smirked at me. “What’s the matter, Kieran? Wishing you could selfishly pursue your own goals instead of paying the price for your cure?”

  I opened my mouth to retort, but Corran cut in, his tone as calm as ever. “To clarify, it is not a cure I offer, but a reprieve. I can halt the venom’s progression for now, but to truly free yourself, the snake that produced it must die.”

  The weight of his words settled on my shoulders like an iron chain. As frustration swirled within me, Lyra stepped closer, brushing her hand lightly against mine—a small, grounding gesture. “Corran has much to explain, and daylight is fading,” she said, addressing the others. “Let’s return to camp. We can eat and discuss our plans with fresh minds.”

  “Now that’s a plan I like!” Rhys chimed in, springing to her feet with an eager grin. “Come on, slowpokes, dinner won’t cook itself!” She practically skipped down the path, clearly ready to trade temple horrors for campfire stew.

  With a resigned sigh, I fell into step behind the group. This was just my luck: drawn into yet another villain’s scheme when I hadn’t even finished dealing with my own. As if juggling my vendetta against Killian wasn’t enough, now I was part of a quest to rescue a vindictive feline and take down some venomous monster.

  Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.

  It had been a grueling trek back to camp, with Rhys's incessant prodding at Alexander on his thoughts about dinner trailing just ahead of me the entire way. Spotting my tent was like seeing an oasis. I hurried inside, secured the book and key, and decided to tackle their mysteries later. For now, my main desire was to scrub off the revolting spider ichor that clung to me and return to camp for a hearty meal. As I burst out of my tent, eager to cleanse myself, I nearly collided with Lyra.

  Her laughter rang out as I stumbled, stopping just short of knocking her over. "You seem to be in quite a rush," she teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

  "And you seem to be quite fond of lingering near my tent” I returned her smile, and her laughter softened into a sultrier tone.

  "I wondered if you might be feeling a bit... peckish given today’s antics" Lyra's gaze darkened playfully. "Perhaps a little pre-dinner nibble could satisfy you?"

  My smile broadened irresistibly. "Hmm, I could go for a bite” I mused pretending to think over her offer. With a flirtatious spin, Lyra headed toward the river, her steps inviting. I grabbed a change of camp clothes and hurried after her, eager for the promise of a bite.

  As I made my way to the pebble-strewn beach we'd come to know well, I caught sight of Lyra already nearing the water's edge. She had left her change of clothes a bit further up the shore, moving decisively toward the river. Reaching the bank, she elegantly shrugged off her robe, which cascaded in a silky wave down her body and settled softly on the ground. With a few more graceful steps, she dove into the inviting coolness of the river.

  She vanished beneath the surface for a few moments before emerging in a deeper pool, illuminated by the soft glow of the setting sun. There, under the beginnings of what would be a silvery light as the stars emerged from their slumber, Lyra floated, her movements slow and deliberate. The water, shimmering and comforting, embraced her, allowing the day's minor troubles to dissolve and drift away into the depths, leaving a tranquility that mirrored the serene sky above.

  I carefully set my clean clothes beside hers on the shore and sauntered towards the water's edge. Even from a distance, I could feel Lyra's gaze on me. Deliberately, I started peeling off my grimy armor. I knew she wanted me to hurry, but I relished the opportunity to tease her with my deliberate, snail's pace undressing.

  Finally free of the last piece of armor, I followed her earlier example and stepped confidently into the river. I waded a few feet in before diving smoothly beneath the surface, emerging close to where she floated. Leaning back into the cool embrace of the water, I matched her relaxed posture.

  Together, we floated in the serene waters under the gentle light of the falling sun, enjoying a few moments of peaceful, flirtatious silence.

  Lyra leaned forward, gracefully treading water. I maintained my relaxed posture yet kept a watchful eye on her from the corner of my eye. After enjoying a comfortable silence, she broke it with a soft voice.

  "Thank you, Kieran," she murmured.

  "You're quite welcome, my darling," I replied with a smirk, "though you'll have to be a bit more specific. After all, there's so much about me to be thankful for."

  "I’m serious," she chuckled, her voice carrying a light-hearted note.

  "So am I, darling," I retorted, now mimicking her position by leaning forward and treading water. Lyra's beauty was undeniable, heightened under the dusks tender glow. Her usually curly hair, now straight and slick from the water, clung to her features in an elegant embrace. Droplets of water adorned her face like jewels, tracing paths back into the river. Those eyes, always captivating, seemed to dance more vividly as the sun disappeared behind the horizon. Her silver eye shone with a brilliance that rivaled the stars, casting a soft light that made her tempestuous green eye sparkle with a quiet intensity.

  “For rescuing me from the nest,” Lyra murmured, her voice heavy with emotion. She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. “I… I haven’t really had the chance to thank you for not running past me, for pulling me out when I was trapped in those nightmares.”

  A faint tremor coursed through her as she spoke, her eyes momentarily darkening with memories she wished she could bury. “The nightmares—the relentless onslaught of my deepest fears—are always the same. They tear me apart from the inside, weaving vivid tales of failure, shame, and the agonizing fear that I will hurt those I care for most with my chaos” Lyra winced, brushing aside a small tear.

  “And for not telling the others,” Lyra added softly, her gaze drifting to the rippling water. “About what happened… when I was a child. The nightmares always start there, rooted in that shame. I’m not even sure why I told you that first night.” Her voice faltered as she drew in a shallow breath. “I usually keep it buried. Locked away. But with you… it just felt… safe.”

  Her words lingered in the still air, carrying the weight of her vulnerability—a rare glimpse into the struggles that haunted her even in the silence of sleep.

  "Darling, a wise temptress once told me, 'It wasn’t my secret to tell,' and I've found that following a temptress's advice usually leads to good things," I responded, adopting a tone of mock seriousness to lighten her mood.

  “Temptress,” she smiled faintly, but her eyes remained fixed on the rippling water.

  Seeing her distress, I reached out, gently grasping her wrist to draw her closer, guiding her hands to rest on my shoulders. With my right hand, I tenderly lifted her chin, encouraging her to meet my gaze.

  “My eyes are up here, darling,” I grinned, hoping to coax a fuller smile from her.

  “That they are,” she chuckled back, a hint of her usual spark returning.

  This was my opening, my opportunity to draw her closer to me in her moment of vulnerability. If I chose just the right honeyed words, the bond between us would strengthen, tying her to me in ways she might not even recognize. I had done this before—carefully, methodically—but this time felt different, unsettling.

  With practiced ease, I softened my gaze, shifting my demeanor to radiate quiet compassion, every movement deliberate. I let Lyra’s words linger in the air between us, the stillness punctuated only by the gentle ripple of water. It mirrored the flicker of emotion I allowed to surface, just enough to be convincing.

  But beneath that carefully constructed mask, something unexpected stirred. A small, insistent part of me whispered that perhaps this wasn’t entirely a game. That the words I was about to offer weren’t just manipulation—they might be the truth of feelings I had buried far deeper than I cared to admit. The realization unsettled me, but I pushed it aside. There would be time to wrestle with those thoughts later. For now, my focus was on Lyra, on saying exactly what she needed to hear to bring her closer. Closer to me.

  “You don’t have to thank me, Lyra,” I said, my voice low and warm, like a comforting embrace. “I’d never leave you behind—not in the nest, not in a nightmare, not anywhere. You’re worth far more than the fears trying to weigh you down.”

  I paused, choosing my words with care. “What happened in your past, the shame you carry—it doesn’t define you. It never could. The person I see before me, is clever, strong, and carries a fire that the darkness can never put out.”

  I leaned forward slightly, my tone turning more resolute. “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, Lyra. Nothing. Not who you are, not the chaos you fear, none of it. The fact that you care so deeply about not hurting others—that alone shows the kind of person you are. Don’t let the nightmares lie to you.”

  I glanced at her with a small, reassuring smile. “And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you felt comfortable telling me. That trust means more to me than you know. But just so we’re clear, there’s nothing you could say, nothing in your past, that would make me see you as anything less than extraordinary” I said earnestly, holding her gaze with a reassuring intensity, hoping to bolster her courage with my words.

  Lyra held my gaze for a long moment, uncertainty shadowing her features as if she were peeling back the layers of my words, searching for the truth hidden within them. I kept my expression soft yet resolute, carefully balanced between openness and conviction, willing her to feel the sincerity I projected.

  Her eyes darted across my face, studying, questioning, until finally, something shifted. Whatever answer she sought, she seemed to find it. Her shoulders relaxed, the tension melting away as a playful smile tugged at her lips. A spark of joy returned to her eyes, twinkling with a spirited, knowing secret.

  It was as if she had decided to believe in me, or perhaps simply in the version of me she wanted to see. Either way, the warmth of her smile made the air feel lighter, as though for this fleeting moment, the weight of her doubts—and maybe my own—had lifted.

  After a lingering gaze into my eyes, she gracefully tilted her head back, revealing the delicate line of her neck—a silent invitation for me to feed. I supported her head gently with my right hand, ensuring her comfort as my left arm paddled softly to keep us afloat. Carefully, I hovered my lips just above her skin, the warmth radiating from her inviting yet untouched. I paused, savoring the moment right above the spot that had quickly become my favored place to feed, allowing the anticipation to build in the gentlest of ways.

  Lyra almost startled me in the moment when she whispered “Please.” It was all the invitation I needed. The first sip of Lyra was always like the most decadent of nectars. A rare indulgence, she was a most exquisite blossom blooming under the soft glow of a full moon. Her taste is an intoxicating symphony of flavors—intense yet subtle, sweet yet nuanced, enveloping my senses like a warm embrace. Each drop caresses my palate like velvet, rich with the sun-kissed sweetness of summer fruits and the deep, resonant undertones of wild, untouched forest honey.

  Her blood flows smoothly, with a viscosity that speaks of its purity, leaving a lingering finish that continues to unfold in layers of complexity. Its aroma is as heady as its taste, a bouquet that combines floral hints with a touch of spice, inviting me to lose myself in the moment. Drinking from her is not merely a taste experience but a journey through a garden of delights, a dance of spirits that captures the very essence of her at her most luxurious.

  As Lyra began to relax a bit too deeply for the depth of water we were in, my concern overtook the desire to continue. While the longing of the moment was intoxicating, her safety was paramount—I needed her well and whole, for the battles still to come. Gently releasing my bite, I risked a soft kiss on her neck as a tender farewell to the embrace.

  As I pulled back, I noticed Lyra's eyes flutter shut and her body start to sink slightly beneath the water's surface. "Oh no you don’t, darling," I murmured, quickly reaching to support her, pulling her back to the surface. Carefully, I positioned her to float on her back, then swam behind her, guiding her towards the shore with smooth, protective strokes.

  When the water reached waist depth, I lifted her effortlessly, carrying her the rest of the way to the beach. I sat her down gently on the pebbles and quickly wrapped her in her camp clothes for warmth. After slipping into my own clothes, I noticed Lyra lying still but breathing deeply, the ordeal draining but not dire.

  I fetched her robe and my armor, giving them a brisk rinse in the river before setting them on a nearby log to dry. Ensuring everything was in order for a calm recovery, I kept a close watch over her, ready to assist as she came back to herself under the night's quiet watch.

  "Mmm… Kieran? Ohh my head," Lyra moaned, her face contorting slightly.

  "Yes, well darling, as much as I cherish the gift of your blood, it was... let's just say, not the wisest choice to do that, that far out in the water," I chuckled.

  "Mmm hmm," she grumbled in agreement, then added, "And on an empty stomach, no less. I should have brought food."

  "Indeed, instead of volunteering to be the main course," I teased.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "Uhh, don’t make me laugh; it’s making me dizzier," she complained, rolling onto her side as if to quell the spinning.

  "As delightful as our little... picnic was," I said with a smile, "we should probably consider a more appropriate venue next time, assuming you're still up for helping me?" I raised my eyebrows inquisitively, maintaining the light-hearted banter.

  “Of course I would still help you,” she winced, “but you would be correct, that was objectively stupid.” Lyra slipped into her camp clothes; still dizzy from the generous amount of blood I had drawn. Leaning back on her elbows, she soon succumbed to gravity, sprawling on the ground, gazing at the swirling stars above.

  “Tonight, I’ll make sure you safely get back to camp and indulge in some much needed…” I flashed a grin, “dinner. To restore your… vitality.” My chuckle was soft and teasing.

  “Mmm Hmm,” Lyra murmured, barely audible. She closed her eyes, drifting into a light slumber. Carrying her back to camp would surely provoke questions—I could already hear the accusations: "What have you done?" "How could you?"—especially without Lyra there to explain that she had asked me to bite. Had she, though? My mind wandered back to our time in the water; the memory of hovering my lips just above her skin, breathing warmth against her, surfaced vividly. She had indeed whispered "please" in that delicate moment. She hadn't just wanted me to bite her to stay strong for the battles ahead; she wanted the closeness, to lose herself in my touch under the stars.

  This was more than I could have hoped for. Not only was she shielding me, but she also longed to be near, to be... mine. A smirk crossed my face. Killian wouldn’t stand a chance, not with such a formidable ally willingly by my side. This alliance, built on both her need and desire, was shaping up to be my ultimate advantage. As much as I reveled in the idea of ending Killian’s tyranny, my immediate concern was Lyra's well-being. She needed sustenance, hydration, and rest—immediately.

  I collected our nearly dry robes and armor from a nearby log and placed them next to her. Gently, I scooped an arm behind her back, lifting her to a seated position. With a tender touch to her cheek, I urged, “Wake up, darling, we need to get moving. I can’t very well carry you into camp without sparking a whole inquisition.”

  Lyra’s eyes fluttered open, a smile playing on her lips as she felt my touch. “Imagine that! Kieran caught in an interrogation—oh, the scandal!” she teased with a sparkle in her eyes.

  “Exactly,” I chuckled. “Let's make our exit before I lose my restraint and finish my… treat.” Her laughter mingled with mine as she steadied herself to stand, still a bit shaky.

  As we approached the camp, I stayed close to Lyra, steadying her steps as the tantalizing aromas of a freshly prepared meal drifted through the air. Alexander, ever the perfectionist, had crafted a feast that seemed tailored to both restore Lyra’s strength and lift the spirits of our weary party. Rhys hovered nearby, her enthusiasm barely contained as she watched Alexander plate each dish with precision.

  He began with the centerpiece: velvety slices of venison, smoked over white oak to bring out its deep, earthy flavor. A drizzle of savory au jus cascaded over the meat, enhancing its richness. From a steaming pot, Alexander added a delicate mound of wild rice, each grain fluffy and fragrant, infused with the bright notes of chopped parsley and thyme—a harmonious companion to the venison.

  To round out the plate, he unveiled a medley of fire-roasted woodland vegetables. Charred fiddlehead ferns, caramelized baby carrots, and spiced golden beets were tossed with garlic-infused olive oil and given a final flourish of smoked sea salt. The vegetables glistened in the firelight, their rustic flavors perfectly complementing the hearty fare.

  Corran had suggested a soothing addition to ensure a peaceful night, bowls of Moon Peaches. Their pale, almost translucent glow made them seem heaven sent, and their sinfully sweet, but delicate flavor promised to calm even the most restless of minds. It was said these rare fruits could inspire serene dreams, a blessing we all desperately needed. Meanwhile, Corran himself busied with the final touch, was pouring steaming cups of Dreamer’s Brew. The honeyed chamomile tea, accented with spiced elderflower syrup, filled the air with its gentle, floral aroma.

  “Come, friends,” Corran called warmly, motioning to the fire. “Sit and enjoy a meal meant to drive away the nightmares—if only for tonight.”

  We settled in, the glow of the campfire mingling with the promise of comfort and peace, if only for this one fleeting moment. After a few bites of silent enjoyment, Lyra turned to Corran, but before she could speak, Corran smiled knowingly. “To business already then?” he said with a chuckle, setting his cup aside.

  “I am sorry for my impatience, Corran, but I fear time is not a luxury we have,” Lyra offered with a faint smile, her eyes shadowed with concern.

  “You have no idea, my child, just how much danger you are in,” Corran replied, his tone grave. “Or how much danger the entirety of Thalvinar is for that matter.” He paused, letting his words weigh on the group before continuing.

  “Months ago, people began disappearing. At first, just one or two in the midnight hours, but soon it was entire families vanishing without a trace. Fear gripped loved ones left behind, and whispers of dark forces spread through the land. Knowing our country of Raventide was unlikely to be alone in this plight, I reached out to my fellow Elders in other nations. Astriven and even the Ashmire Highlands reported the same unsettling disappearances.” He shook his head, his expression heavy with the burden of knowledge.

  “When no trace of the missing could be found, I called for an emergency council meeting. It was during this meeting that Kini burst through the temple doors—a Faefox, and the messenger of my dearest friend, Elder Druid Davidia Rainpaw…”

  “A Faefox! Really?” Alexander interrupted, his fork clattering onto his plate as he leaned forward, eyes wide with excitement. “Oh, how I’ve always wanted to see one in person! Was she as spectacular as I imagine them to be?”

  “I assure you, child, her beauty is beyond your wildest dreams,” Corran replied with a grin, clearly amused by Alexander’s enthusiasm.

  “So, she’s more than foxy,” Rhys quipped with a laugh, popping a roasted carrot into her mouth.

  Alexander, undeterred, turned to Rhys with a determined look. “Faefoxes are breathtaking creatures! Their fur glows with radiant copper hues, fading into soft, cream-white at their chest and paws, as if kissed by the first light of dawn. And their eyes—molten gold, shimmering with the ability to see far beyond the mortal veil!” He gestured dramatically, as though painting the image in the air.

  Rhys raised an eyebrow but said nothing, smirking as Alexander continued, undaunted. “That’s not even the best part! They wear intricate crowns of golden filigree, delicate patterns of winding vines and blooming flowers that arc around their heads like halos. Glowing fae motes constantly dance around them, catching and refracting light in the most divine way. And their bodies! Wrapped in gilded markings that trail down their legs and chest, like living tattoos of ancient fae magic.”

  Rhys looked unimpressed, but Alexander pushed forward, his voice growing ever more impassioned. “Oh, and their wings! From their backs rise luminous, golden-threaded wings, woven into elegant, leaf-like shapes. They sparkle softly, shedding faint motes of golden light with every movement. It’s like watching a fragment of starlight brought to life!”

  Corran chuckled deeply, shaking his head. “Kini would appreciate your… let’s call it enthusiasm, Alexander.”

  “You don’t have to be polite Corran,” I interjected, rolling my eyes as I turned to Alexander. “Alexander, are you quite done gushing like a smitten schoolgirl? Can we get back to the story?”

  Alexander shot me a glare before grudgingly returning to his meal, muttering something under his breath about uncultured souls. Rhys snorted into her drink, clearly enjoying his defeat, while Corran, ever patient, took another sip of tea and resumed his tale.

  “Kini handed me a letter from Davidia. In it, she described her home falling into utter chaos. Waves of bandits, cutthroats, and marauders descended upon the city like vultures, ransacking everything in their path. The villagers, desperate and terrified, fought to repel the invaders, but their resistance only added to the turmoil. And then, as if summoned by the suffering, the plague struck—a silent, creeping scourge that at first seemed manageable but soon spiraled beyond anyone’s control. One by one, entire villages were consumed, their inhabitants wiped out or worse.”

  Corran’s emerald eyes dimmed, heavy with shared grief and the weight of memory.

  “A plague?” Mylena asked, her voice low with dread.

  “Aye,” Corran replied, his voice strained. “One Davidia and I believed to have been eradicated long ago. What she described in her letter was unmistakable—a true harbinger of ruin. The Gravevine Plague. A blight so vile it seeps into lungs and soil, spreading death and despair. Villagers, tormented by fevered hallucinations and uncontrollable rage, were twisted into fiendish abominations. The land itself turned against those who were not taken into sickness. Fields once vibrant and green now lay strangled by disease-ridden vines that choked the life from every blade of grass and stalk of wheat. Homes crumbled under the weight of their own corruption.”

  Corran exhaled heavily, his voice growing darker. “And as if that wasn’t enough, the chaos forced those fleeing the plague into the waiting arms of the marauders now thriving in the main city. Davidia wrote of despair so deep it seemed no salvation could reach them.”

  Mylena stared, her face pale with a growing horror. “The Gravevine Plague...” she murmured, the name itself carrying an almost palpable dread.

  "Each new letter Kini brought to me dripped with dismay," Corran began, his voice heavy with the weight of recollection. "Poisoned waters, defiled groves, and unsettling whispers of creatures warped by unnatural forces. Every word Davidia wrote carried an urgency, a plea for action before the balance tipped irreversibly. She was relentless, determined to uncover the truth behind the growing shadow over her lands."

  He paused, his emerald eyes clouded with sorrow. "Then, about a month ago, her tone changed. The letter was strange, fragmented. She spoke of discovering troubling signs of a dark conspiracy—the Serpenthir’s plot. A scheme laced with venom, as she called it. It sought to strangle the realm itself, its tendrils reaching into every corner of life. Her words... they were frantic, desperate."

  Corran’s hands trembled slightly as he rubbed his temple, lost in thought. "And then," he murmured, his voice faltering, "the letters stopped. Kini stopped coming. The silence was... unnatural. Alarming." He swallowed hard, his gaze distant. "Davidia would never abandon a cause, especially one threatening the natural order she has devoted centuries to protecting. For her to fall silent..."

  His voice grew quieter, almost a whisper. "Something happened. Something terrible. Something that keeps her from reaching out to me. And I fear... I fear it may already be too late."

  A heavy silence settled over the group as Corran's grim words sank in, the weight of his tale reflected in the wide eyes and pale faces of my companions. The dread hanging in the air was palpable, but my patience was wearing thin. While I understood the gravity of the looming peril, I couldn’t stop the sharp edge of my frustration from slipping out.

  “This is all a very terrifying future problem to look forward to,” I blurted out, the sarcasm biting even as I tried to steady my tone. “Thank you for that, by the way. But what exactly does any of this have to do with rescuing your cat and the poison currently coursing through our veins? Because right now, it feels like we’re drowning in disasters, and I’m struggling to see the connection.”

  My words hung there, cutting through the tension. All eyes turned to Corran, waiting for an answer that could bridge the gap between his ominous warnings and the immediate, very real danger we faced. Emre's glare cut through me, her eyes narrowing with barely concealed frustration.

  “Oh, don’t give me that look,” I snapped. “You’ve been impatiently searching for a cure all day. And now, suddenly, you’ve got time for a leisurely history lesson?”

  She leaned further into the boulder she had been resting against, picking up one of her many weapons. The deliberate shick-shick of her sharpening its edge filled the air as her gaze bore into me, the gesture as much a threat as the blade itself.

  Corran interjected with his usual warmth, raising a hand as if to diffuse the tension. “He is quite right,” he said gently. “The history can wait. Right now, every moment counts.”

  Emre didn’t respond, but her hand never faltered in its rhythmic motion, the blade’s edge catching a glint of light with each pass of the whetstone.

  I forced myself to ignore her poorly veiled hostility and turned back to Corran, who regarded us with a patience that felt as ancient as he was.

  “It is not just I who need Yalela back, my child,” he said, his voice heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. He glanced at each of us in turn, his eyes lingering just long enough to make his point clear.

  “You need her as much as I do—perhaps even more. She is the key to your salvation. Without her, the eternal night venom will claim you, stripping away not just your life, but your very freedom. You will lose yourselves, piece by piece, until there is nothing left.”

  The weight of his words hung in the air heavy and terrifying, making even the sound of Emre’s sharpening blade seem distant. The tension between us was all but forgotten, replaced by a now shared, unspoken fear: the realization that saving Yalela wasn’t just a mission—it was now the key to our survival.

  “Tell me, Alexander, how much do you know about Nightroot?” Corran asked, his tone measured.

  Alexander hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “Not much, I’m afraid…”

  “I suppose there’s a first time for everything,” I muttered under my breath.

  Lyra pressed her lips together, her shoulders shaking slightly as she stifled a laugh. With a playful shake of her head, she cast me a look that was half amusement, half reproach.

  Alexander turned toward me, his brow arching in exaggerated patience. “You know, Kieran,” he began, his tone sharp with mock dignity, “I could rise to the occasion and meet your little quip with an appropriately scathing response, but I think not. No, no, I refuse to grant you the indulgence of my frustration.”

  Lyra’s quiet laughter broke through then, and Alexander huffed theatrically before clearing his throat. “Now, as I was saying—for those who actually care to listen—Nightroot is an herb of remarkable rarity,” he continued, drawing himself up as though delivering a grand proclamation. “Some say it is born of the moon and stars themselves, for it dissolves into the air with the break of dawn and only reappears under the soft, gentle glow of moonlight.”

  He finished with a flourish, looking around expectantly, as though waiting for applause. When none came, he grumbled, shaking his head with mock regret “This is why I prefer the company of books.”

  “You are quite right, ah, about the Nightroot,” Corran said, his tone shifting to one of reverence. “Nightroot thrives only in remote, tranquil places where the moon’s light touches without obstruction—hidden forest glades, high mountain valleys, or ancient ruins long forgotten by the passage of time. It is said to be planted by the moon’s grace itself, and it will only flourish in lands undisturbed by mortals, where the cycles of the natural world remain unbroken.”

  He paused, his eyes sweeping over us, ensuring the weight of his words settled. “This plant is bound to moonlight in a way that defies conventional understanding. Only those born of moonlight or marked by its touch can harvest or cultivate it. For anyone else—be they powerful sorcerers or uninitiated druids—the moment their fingers brush its surface, the Nightroot vanishes. It dissolves into a fine mist, its essence lost forever. The dissolution is absolute, irreversible.”

  Alexander, who had been sulking moments before, leaned forward, his interest rekindled by the arcane mystery. Corran’s words, so steeped in awe, seemed to pull him from his frustration.

  "Nightroot is a singular marvel among plants, renowned for its unparalleled ability to fortify the mind against external influences. It serves as the vital essence of Nightroot tea—a brew that becomes truly potent when shared beneath the moon's embrace. The tea forms a psychic bridge between a Silver Dreamer and the drinker, enabling the creation of a protective ward. This ward acts as an unyielding bastion, shielding the mind from domination, manipulation, and invasive control.”

  Corran grimaced before continuing “However, it cannot purge the toxin itself, leaving the poison untouched. Instead, Nightroot tea amplifies the drinker's attunement to lunar energies, weaving a barrier as boundless and unbroken as the night sky—a vast expanse impervious to intrusion." Corran paused, a faint smile crossing his lips as he regarded the herb with quiet reverence.

  “But finding Nightroot,” Corran continued, his voice shifting from admiration to seriousness, “is an even greater challenge. Even under moonlight, it is elusive hiding in plain sight, visible only to those who share its celestial origins. That,” he said, his gaze sharpening, “is where Yalela becomes indispensable.”

  He let the words hang for a moment before continuing. “Yalela is a Runeclaw Lynx, a radiant creature of immense grace and power. She is born of the very moonlight Nightroot craves. To her, the herb is both a delicacy and a familiar presence. Yalela is more than a guide—she is the key. Without her, the herb will remain hidden, and with it, your hopes for survival.”

  The air around the campfire grew still, the magnitude of Yalela’s importance settling heavily over us. For all her mystery, the thought of losing her now was unthinkable.

  The tension hung in the air for a moment before Lyra broke the silence, her voice steady and determined. “We will bring her back,” she declared, her eyes glinting in the firelight.

  Mylena set her plate down with deliberate care, fixing Corran with a serious gaze. “Do you know who—or what—took her? I’m assuming whatever it was fled into the temple as well?”

  Corran sighed heavily “I’m afraid she was taken by rather loathsome creatures.”

  “Of course she was,” I muttered, popping the last bite of food into my mouth and chewing with exaggerated resignation. “Wouldn’t be our luck without something truly unpleasant.”

  “It’s not as much fun if the villains are cuddly,” Rhys quipped, grinning as she casually leaned back and crossed her arms.

  “Speak for yourself, darling.” I shot her a smirk.

  Corran let out a hearty chuckle, his broad shoulders shaking with mirth. “Of all the adventures that could cross my path,” he began, shaking his head as though genuinely baffled, “I think Aelunyth has either favored me,” he paused dramatically, “or cursed me. Hard to tell, really.”

  The group dissolved into quiet laughter, heads shaking in bemusement. Even in the face of danger, humor slipped in like an old, familiar friend, lightening the load just enough to make our journey bearable.

  After the laughter settled, Corran’s expression darkened, his voice grave as he turned to Mylena. “To answer your question, child,” he began, each word weighted with foreboding, “she was taken by a fearsome creature of shadow and malice. It is a being driven by insatiable greed, its hunger for power and possession knowing no bounds. Quick-tempered and volatile, it is prone to bursts of violence that erupt like a storm, leaving devastation in their wake. Though it revels in chaos, do not mistake it for a mindless beast—it is cunning and shrewd, capable of striking bargains or weaving intricate traps to lure its prey. But be warned, the smallest slight or the faintest hint of betrayal can ignite a fury that burns without restraint, making it a relentless and formidable foe.”

  The group fell silent, the weight of his words settling over us like a shroud of shadow. For a moment, even the forest seemed to still, as though the trees themselves feared to breathe the creature’s name.

  Emre broke the silence, her voice as sharp as the blade she was methodically honing. “Quick-tempered and driven by greed? Are you sure you checked Kieran for your missing Lynx?” she asked, her tone light but her smirk unmistakable.

  I shot her a glance, but instead of dignifying the jab with a reply, I took a slow sip of my drink, leaning back against the fallen tree. The slight creak of the wood beneath me was the only sound as I let the tension in the air ebb, though the image of the creature Corran described lingered, as dark and dangerous as a storm on the horizon.

  Corran seemed to deliberately ignore Emre’s quip as well, his focus unshaken as he continued, “Yalela was taken by a nest of Shadepyre Gremlins. Nasty little creatures, but cunning. Rumor has it their leader is attempting to join, or at least curry favor with, the Ironveil.”

  “The Ironveil?” Alexander’s eyes widened with a mix of awe and alarm. “As in the Obsidian Bazaar’s most ruthless black-market traders?”

  “The very same,” Corran confirmed with a solemn nod.

  I couldn’t resist the opening. “Don’t tell me you’ve ‘procured’ books from the Ironveil, Alexander.” My voice carried an edge of teasing, and the flush creeping up Alexander’s neck betrayed him before he could muster a defense.

  Feigning indifference, he brought a hand to his chin, though the pink in his cheeks lingered. “A Runeclaw Lynx would make a hells of a tempting offer for a partnership,” he said thoughtfully, ignoring me entirely. “At the very least, it demonstrates their ability to secure high-value items.”

  “I’ve heard similar whisperings,” Corran added, his voice steady but edged with concern. “An emissary from the traders’ guild was said to be meeting the Shadepyre leader once they had something worth presenting.”

  “Yalela would certainly be worth their time,” Lyra interjected, her eyes narrowing slightly as her mind began to turn. She stared at Corran, her gaze sharpened with purpose.

  I could see it forming—a plan. That glint in Lyra’s eyes was unmistakable. Finally, her lips curved into a sly grin. “If the emissary hasn’t arrived yet, we might still have time to… ‘replace’ them.”

  Her words hung in the air, laced with mischief and just enough audacity to make it feel possible.

  “Excellent,” Corran chuckled, flashing a grin at Lyra. “Now we just need to figure out how to get you across to the temple.”

  “You’re not going with us?” Mylena asked, her brows knitting together.

  “It wouldn’t be wise,” I interjected before Corran could respond. “The Shadepyre have seen him with Yalela. Gremlins may not be known for their intellectual prowess, but they would recognize a local like him, especially a druid of his renown.” Mylena’s lips pursed, a flicker of frustration crossing her face—likely at not realizing this herself.

  Corran nodded, his expression serious now. “While you’re focused on rescuing Yalela, I’ll take care of gathering the ingredients we need to brew the tea.”

  “The tea?” Mylena echoed, her head tilting slightly.

  “The Nightroot tea,” Corran clarified. “It requires more than just the root itself. There are herbs, flowers, and the elixir of Somnus’s Whisper to prepare. The garden at Thornreach and the wetlands of Willowthroat Fen have exactly what I need for this.”

  He paused, looking at Lyra and then at the others. “You’ll need to focus on freeing Yalela and staying alive. Leave the tea to me. When you return, we’ll have everything ready to protect your minds and push forward.”

  Lyra stood, her eyes scanning each of us. “Seems we’d better get a good night’s rest—or as good as we can. Tomorrow morning, we scout the temple.”

  The others nodded, breaking off to prepare for the night. Rhys and Alexander began gathering the empty plates, stacking them neatly into the basin by Alexander’s tent. With a casual flick of his wrist, the dishes began scrubbing themselves as he disappeared inside. Mylena and Emre exchanged a quiet word before retreating to their respective tents.

  As Lyra turned to me, her expression softened. “Good night, Kieran,” she said, her voice a gentle thread in the quiet night.

  I hesitated, catching her gaze as I rose to leave. Flashing her a broad grin, I replied, “Sweet dreams, Lyra.” The warmth of her smile followed me as I stepped toward my tent.

  Lyra lingered for a moment longer, her gaze finding Corran. He smiled at her, a quiet reverence in his expression, and began to speak with an unusual gravity to his tone.

  “Lyra, before you slip into the embrace of sleep, know this: tonight, your dreams will not be yours to bear alone. I will walk their paths with you, guarding the thresholds where shadows creep. You carry much already—the weight of this quest and the burdens others place upon your shoulders. But not tonight.”

  His voice softened yet held a steadfast resolve. “You need your strength—not just for yourself, but for Yalela, and for all of us who now call you ally and friend. Rest, Lyra. Not just your body, but your mind. Trust that whatever dark corners dare to twist their way into your dreams, they will find me waiting, unyielding.”

  He paused, his gaze steady on her. “If I must face a thousand waking terrors to shield you from the nightmares, I will do so gladly. The kindness you’ve shown, the courage you’ve offered for Yalela’s sake—it is a light worth protecting, worth every moment of my vigilance.”

  Corran’s smile warmed again as he gestured faintly toward her tent. “So, sleep, Lyra. Dream freely. For when the dawn comes, you’ll have the clarity and fire we need to see this through.”

  Lyra nodded, her gratitude unspoken but clear in her eyes. As she turned and stepped away, the night settled around us, heavy with purpose yet softened by the quiet bond we shared.