Sylas and Mirael walk silently side by side. It has been half an hour since we left the village. I don’t dare say a word, knowing full well that the girl harbors a grudge against me. It must hurt deeply that Sylas and Zyar decided to conceal my true origins and real name—a grave breach of trust. The crackling of burning houses, the acrid stench of scorched flesh, and the dull echoes of the Mord Vupu’s remains no longer reach us. The forest has swallowed those horrors, replacing the oppressive chaos with an uneasy stillness. It’s as though Elindros itself mourns the devastation, offering a sanctuary of quiet in stark contrast to the devastation left behind.

  Yet, despite the absence of the sounds and smells of destruction, their memory clings to my senses, as vivid as if I were still standing amidst the chaos. I can’t help but wonder if this silence is truly a reprieve or merely the calm before another storm. But what of Zyar and the remaining Solniw? Have all the survivors been evacuated? After all, Zyar lied about Mirael’s evacuation. How will Mr. Str?mert react to this deception when he finds his daughter missing from the bunker?

  This forest is unlike anything I have ever seen in the human world. I’ve never stepped into a forest before, but at least the royal gardens had a few trees, bushes, and shrubs to admire. Yet this place… feels alive. Every step I take feels as if I am walking on jelly—not entirely, but just enough to be unsettling—and the dizziness strikes me repeatedly. My fabric trousers are torn in several places by the roots protruding from the ground, and my left leg throbs from a deep gash.

  Despite the pain, I show no sign of discomfort. Sylas would stop without hesitation to tend to my wounds, but we cannot afford any delays. Surely, the Sualtier are close on our heels, and every moment lost might lead us straight into the hands of our pursuers.

  The starry sky is hidden behind the dense canopy of leaves. Only faint glimmers manage to pierce through here and there. Strange insects—if they can be called that—dance among the trees, glowing in shimmering colors: violet, deep blue, and pink. Further away, I even catch a glimpse of green light. In the human world, such creatures are called fireflies. Some of them move in orderly formations, as if trying to guide us through the darkness by forming a delicate trail of light.

  “Perhaps we should take a break,” Sylas suddenly breaks the silence that has enveloped us for so long. His voice is calm, but I can hear the tension behind it. “Navigating in the dark is more exhausting than it seems. Besides, I need to tend to your wound, Vespera.”

  I flinch, startled. My gaze shifts to my leg, where dried blood has hardened the fabric of my trousers, and then back to Sylas. He knew all along.

  “I’m not stopping for that Losniw and risking the Sualtier catching up to us!” Mirael’s voice is sharp and filled with disdain as she crosses her arms.

  “Mirael!” Sylas’ warning tone slices through the air, quiet enough to avoid an echo but firm nonetheless. “I won’t watch Vespera keep pushing herself like this. Her pain isn’t the only issue—what if blood has dripped on the ground? The Sualtier are allied with those whose sense of smell can detect even the tiniest drop.”

  Mirael hesitates as Sylas mentions “those.” Her posture shifts, a fleeting moment of doubt breaking through her hardened exterior. But just as quickly, her brows furrow, and she returns to her defiant stance.

  The timid Mirael who could barely lift her head at the Zur Str?mende Flosse is not the Mirael standing before me now. This one is forged from steel.

  “You still want to support her?” Mirael blinks, as though she cannot believe what she’s hearing. Her voice is laced with disbelief and anger. “Even though she’s responsible for your mother-in-law’s death?”

  Sylas remains silent, but his expression speaks volumes. He is deep in thought, weighing his options, yet the answer lies plainly before us all. The pain in his eyes is unmistakable—he bears the burden of Mrs. Str?mert’s death and knows that his own guilt in the matter is not insignificant.

  Is it our blood pact that binds him to me? Or merely the orders of his father?

  I wonder if Mirael is holding back her tears. Her mother was murdered right before her eyes, yet she has not shed a single tear since. Is she suppressing her grief—or does she feel none at all?

  “Do you really think Mrs. Str?mert’s death left me cold?” Sylas’ voice is sharp with indignation as he places a hand on his chest. “Of course not! But Vespera is the vessel of the Sonatius Mortaeda! Her safety takes top priority!”

  Mirael’s eyes narrow, and she hisses with a mix of anger and disbelief, “She’s more important than the mother of your future wife?” She gestures to herself with her thumb, her voice trembling with accusation. “Are you seriously telling me that a worthless Losniw is worth more than any Elindine in Solnya? Is that why children like Mar, Wiyon, and Sertan had to die? Yes, I saw them all!”

  Sylas meets her gaze with such intensity that it unsettles even me. It’s a side of him I’ve never seen before. But how could I have? I barely know him, yet here I stand, caught in the middle of a conflict that leaves me deeply uneasy. Two sides—one fighting for me, the other against me.

  The thought that so many Elindine have lost their lives because of my role as the vessel of the Sonatius Mortaeda tightens my throat. What has become of the Solniw I saw on my way to the Zur Str?menden Flosse? Did they survive the Sualtier’s attack?

  “I never wanted any of this to happen…” Sylas speaks softly now, almost pleadingly. “But you can’t blame Vespera for it! If you wish, I’ll take you back to the village.”

  Mirael looks at him in confusion, as if she doesn’t understand what he just said. “Why would I return?” Her voice grows firmer, almost defiant. “Sylas, beside my mother, I played the shy girl because that’s what was expected of me. A female Solniw is supposed to act that way. But we’re no longer in Solnya, and I no longer have to pretend.”

  Sylas furrows his brow, visibly puzzled by her words. I, however, had sensed that something about her was different.

  “You are my fiancé,” Mirael continues, her voice steady and resolute. “And it is your duty to care for my well-being—not that of a complete stranger.”

  Then she turns her eyes to me. Her gaze pierces through me, filled with unbridled fury and disdain.

  Is it the same hatred that Queen Mayyira directed at me? How can my mere origin in Losnat provoke such animosity? Or is Mirael directing all her anger at me because I was the catalyst for the Sualtier’s attack?

  “I will not abandon Vespera to her fate,” Sylas says firmly, looking down at Mirael, who is at least a head shorter than him. His gaze is steady, his expression resolute. “Our parents may have arranged our engagement, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have responsibilities to fulfill. I don’t want to argue any longer. I will treat Vespera’s wound, and then we will move on.”

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  I remain silent. Anything I say now would only add fuel to the fire. Sylas kneels in front of me, examining the injury on my leg just above the ankle, and places his hands over it to let his healing powers flow. I let him. There’s no reason to stop him. After all, there’s no direct contact.

  Still, I feel a deep-seated resentment stirring within me, rooted in that night with Lord Louweris. I don’t yet know what it means, but I don’t want it to control me the way Mirael is ruled by her emotions.

  I glance over at her. The Mirael glaring at me now with rage in her eyes is no longer the shy girl I met at the Zur Str?menden Flosse. If she was pretending back then, what was her relationship with Mrs. Str?mert truly like?

  The soothing coolness of Sylas’ healing powers eases the throbbing pain in my leg. Yet I notice he is struggling to see the injury clearly in the darkness. An idea comes to me, and I pull the Astralis out of the pocket of my jacket. Zyar had placed it in the wardrobe within the room where I slept last night.

  The Astralis begins to pulse, casting the darkness into a soft glow. Mirael’s footsteps draw closer, and she seems as though she has never seen the Astralis before.

  “Good idea,” murmurs Sylas, and I catch a faint smile on his lips. “Why didn’t I think of that myself?”

  With a sudden brilliance, the Astralis illuminates the forest. It’s just enough light to see our way without giving too much of our position away. Silently, I thank Aetherion for this gift. She had told me she would guide my path, but I hadn’t thought she meant it so literally.

  “What is that?” Mirael halts, staring distrustfully at the Astralis. Her brow furrows, and she points at it. “Is that another dangerous weapon from Losnat? A threat to us Solniw?”

  I sigh. For the first time since my exposure, I find the courage to defend myself. “This is the Astralis. And no, it’s not a weapon from Losnat. Quite the opposite—Zyar gave it to me.”

  Her eyes widen. Shaking her head in disbelief, she exclaims, “My father-in-law gave you something? I’ve never received anything from him, and I’m his daughter-in-law!”

  I wonder how this engagement came about. Even though I’ve only recently met Sylas, I’m certain he wouldn’t willingly spend time with someone like Mirael.

  “Listen,” I say, striving to keep my tone calm. “I’m sorry that your village has endured so much suffering because of me. But I have a mission to complete. And right now, your outbursts and this negative energy are more of a hindrance than a help.”

  She raises a hand to interrupt me and turns to Sylas. “You’ve sworn your life to another girl? Why would my fiancé do such a thing?”

  She doesn’t even hear me. Through Mirael, I am discovering sides of myself I didn’t know existed—such as how patient I can sometimes be.

  “The blood pact is for Vespera’s safety,” Sylas explains calmly as he stands. “Mirael, she’s right. The situation is far more dangerous than you realize. You talk about not wanting to lose time, yet you’re delaying us with these arguments.”

  Mirael glances back and forth between him and me. Her eyes narrow. “Fine. I’ll hold back. But only because I want to find the one responsible for my mother’s death.” Then she fixes me with a look full of contempt. “Once that’s done, I’ll deal with you, filthy Losniw. Don’t think for a moment that we’ll ever be friends.”

  I raise my hands in a defensive gesture. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of becoming friends with you. My goal is to travel to Losnat.”

  Sylas looks at me in surprise. I haven’t yet told him about my plan. “I know it sounds crazy,” I explain, “but without Zyar, mastering thought-weaving will be nearly impossible. Still, I’ve already awakened my powers, and the book he entrusted to me—I have it with me.”

  The gray backpack with the initials “I.Z.” was also provided to me by Zyar. What could those initials stand for? In any case, I carry it with me constantly. Even though the book inside weighs considerably, I’m glad I brought it. During the sudden attack by the Sualtier, I wouldn’t have had enough time to pack everything important.

  “You want to go to Losnat?” Mirael asks, surprisingly calm, and I nod. “If that’s the case, then after Sylas and I have brought the Sualtier responsible for my mother’s death to justice, we’ll return to Solnya. Entering that village would be suicide.”

  I nod again, but Sylas’ expression tells a different story. He doesn’t want to leave me alone, but arguing with Mirael about it would only waste time. So, he remains silent.

  “If you truly wish to go to Losnat…” Sylas begins thoughtfully, tapping a finger against his lips, “… we’ll have no choice but to visit the villages along the way.”

  As we continue our journey, I realize it must already be past midnight. Though I don’t have a clock, the heaviness in the air and the quiet of the forest suggest the late hour. Once the sun rises high in the sky again, our journey will undoubtedly feel easier.

  “What villages lie along our path?” I ask curiously, as so far, I only know the names Solnya and Losnat. The kingdom itself is familiar, but its name hasn’t yet been mentioned.

  Sylas pauses for a moment before meeting my gaze knowingly. “Our first destination is Arenath. The Elindine there are adept in the art of sand magic. The Areni are extremely kind and hospitable. We can rest there for a night before embarking on a two-day march to Velsoth. The Velsothians are masters of shadow arts; their village lies in eternal darkness. As far as I recall, the sun has never shone there. After that, we’ll have three more days before we reach Thalvaren, the seat of the kingdom. We’ll likely have no choice but to request an audience with King Valron Feroy. He will undoubtedly want to know why I’ve traveled such a great distance to the kingdom without my father.”

  I nod in understanding, but from the corner of my eye, I suddenly notice a fork in the path. Another trail? Sylas and Mirael seem either oblivious to it or intentionally ignoring it. This path leads to a bridge spanning the fjords, though only remnants of its wooden structure remain. Was it destroyed by a storm or by saboteurs? The forest surrounding us abruptly ends at the fjords, offering an unobstructed view of the star-filled night sky. Why does the forest stop here, only to resume beyond the bridge? The other side radiates an eerie, negative energy, sending chills down my spine.

  “What’s over there?” I ask, gesturing over my shoulder toward the ruined bridge. “Is it a shortcut?”

  Sylas and Mirael stop in their tracks and look at me. Their expressions are hard to read—is it fear?

  “That place holds no significance for us,” Sylas finally says, forcing a nervous smile. “Besides, Losnat isn’t in that direction.”

  “All right, but what villages are on the other side?” I press. He hesitates before Mirael interjects.

  “Countless villages of no importance,” she says curtly. “And the bridge has been destroyed for ages. We couldn’t cross it even if we wanted to.”

  What lies on the other side that causes even Mirael to suppress her usual spite toward me, urging me to stop asking questions? I fix my gaze on Sylas, silently demanding an answer.

  “It’s better if you forget about that place,” Mirael says, folding her arms. “Believe me, I’d gladly hand you over to our enemies, but even that would pale in comparison to what awaits you over there.”

  “One day, you’ll learn what lies beyond the fjord,” Sylas says confidently. “But for now, we should keep moving. The farther we are from the village and the Sualtier, the safer we’ll be.”

  With that, I follow Sylas silently, keeping my gaze fixed ahead. The broken bridge slips past in my peripheral vision, a mute witness to all that remains hidden in Elindros. The secrets of this place weigh heavily on my mind, and my companions’ refusal to give me answers leaves me uneasy. The silence returns, thick and oppressive. Are they quiet out of sorrow, or because of my question about the mysterious place?

  Their wordless restraint forces me into my own thoughts. Only now do I realize how alive this forest is—the longer we walk, the more vividly its energy pulses around us. Aetherion, the Astralis, glows softly, guiding us through the darkness. Its light fills me with a sense of safety, though I know I’ll have to rely on Sylas in a true crisis. Both Mirael and Sylas possess abilities they can wield against threats. Yet I’ve never seen Mirael use her powers—not even when she witnessed her mother’s murder. What element might she control?

  Suddenly, a sound pulls me from my thoughts. The wind whistles through the trees, but it carries an almost whisper-like quality, as though forming words. The forest seems as if it’s trying to speak to me. At that moment, the Astralis begins to pulse in my hand.

  “What does this mean?” I ask, bewildered.

  Sylas, having noticed the change as well, halts. “The Astralis senses danger,” he says gravely. “It is connected to the forest of Elindros. Your idea to use it as a light in the darkness may have spared us a confrontation.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Aetherion was once the primal being of nature, just as the Kairon were for the seas. But with the pact between the Losniw and the Sonatius Mortaeda, they relinquished their original domains to serve the vessels. Even so, Aetherion left part of her soul in Elindros to maintain the world’s balance. Now bound to you, she speaks through the forest. Her warning is not to be taken lightly.”

  “That the revered Aetherion serves a Losniw is a disgrace,” Mirael mutters, loud enough for me to catch every word.

  I decide to ignore her comment and refocus on Sylas.

  “We stay low,” he says quietly. “Listen for every sound. Aetherion wouldn’t warn us without reason.”