A Court of Fallen Heroes - Chapter 15: " The Balance of Gold "
Chapter 15
The Balance of Gold
The barn was burning again. The whole farm on the hill had become a torch in the frozen night, blazing like a white flag raised in mockery of my surrender. My eyes stung viciously, soot rising with every frantic step, clinging to my lashes, blinding my sight. Still I ran, lungs blistering, praying I'd find them alive, just as I had left them.
Flames chewed through the beams overhead, embers spitting as they fell, hissing on the damp earth. Smoke clogged my throat like layers of old dust, thickening until every breath scraped raw. I stumbled forward, coughing, tears streaking my cheeks as I searched-Niven, Cynthia, Kallus-their names not words but prayers, lifelines.
" Where are you? " I rasped, my voice lost in the roar of collapsing wood. Silence answered, searing heat blistering my cheeks, burning the edges of me away.
And then, I saw him.
A figure at the far end of the stables, wreathed in firelight. Broad-shouldered, head bowed, a body slumped at his feet. For a heartbeat, I thought it was Shum, waiting with his hammer, his darkness, his cruelty. But no. The closer I staggered, the more wrong it became. Too still. Too familiar.
The flames bent around him, reluctant to touch. Slowly, his head rose, revealed by the orange glow. Monstrous wings unfolded behind him. An angel of the damned.
Not Shum. Azriel. Or some broken echo of him.
His eyes, hollow as burnt-out stars, fixed on me. In his hand dangled Kallus's head, mouth frozen in horror, eyes glassy and unseeing. My stomach heaved, bile scorching my tongue. And Azriel's shadows, those endless, faithful shadows-were gone. Utterly gone. The absence twisted my insides. He could have sent them anywhere: beneath me, behind me, binding me.
I blinked hard, desperate to shatter the vision. But he remained, a figure wreathed in fire, the flames devouring every inch of air between us. Outside, the cries of agony swelled, feeding the ruin, a chorus that refused to die. The thunder of armored boots—black iron soldiers marching in endless ranks—splintered through every other sound, crushing it beneath their advance.
His voice crawled out of the inferno. Not the quiet, steady voice I remembered. This one was rusted, ground down by centuries, warped until every word pierced my insides. " You should have stayed here. " It grated, every syllable like splinters under my nails. " Buried. Dead. Hidden. Just as my sister taught you.
Heat melted my armor; skin blistered, boiling beneath. My chest seized. My scream drowned under the barn's groaning beams as they caved, falling slow as judgment.
His shadow stretched long against the wall, grotesque and untrue, warping wider and darker than his frame, slithering into the smoke, bleeding into the earth.
I staggered back, heart sluggish, unresponsive, as if it had already surrendered. Sweat coursed sticky down my hairline. His gaze followed-empty, endless.
" You will not escape me. "
And then-another voice. Cutting through. Smooth, steady, pulling me back like hands through water. " Wake up! "
The word cracked the nightmare. Cedar filled my lungs, cool and sharp, and the fire dissolved into darkness.
" Wake up! "
The blaze shattered, spilling me back into the cold night. My lungs dragged in air too fast, too ragged, the taste of cedar and damp moss smothering the ash still clinging to my tongue. The world blurred between fire and forest until the nightmare bled away into shadowed trees. The woods pressed close. The fire was gone, but my skin still burned. Sweat soaked my shirt, bandages plastered tight against my ribs. My hands clawed at the bedroll beneath me, nails splitting on the coarse fabric.
" Gods, you sound like you're drowning. " Malou's voice ruptured the nightmare entirely, low and breathy. She crouched above me, one hand braced firm on my shoulder, pinning me down before I could thrash further. Her black pupils gleamed in the dim moonlight with no pity.
" I- " The word tore hoarse. I swallowed, throat arid. " I saw- "
" You saw nothing, " Malou insists, her timbre laced with the edge of half-sleep. I knew she'd only rested with one eye closed. While I had tossed and turned, trying to find a position on the jagged stones beneath us, I'd watched her place her body deliberately between me and the cave's narrow opening, hidden under long, thick grass. She'd trusted me enough to leave her back exposed. " It was a dream. You're here. Look. " She jerked her chin toward the dying fire we made before we slept, toward the trees outside. " Forest, not flames. Dirt. Me, not whoever the fuck haunts you. "
I forced my gaze to follow hers. The red coals crackling faintly, its smoke curling thin and harmless toward the stone ceiling. Beyond the round opening, branches stretched black against the paling sky, stars flickering weakly through their weave as if already bidding farewell. Their dim light spilled into the cave, uncertain and trembling, painting the walls that had cradled us for a few stolen hours—walls that had guarded us just enough to let us rest.
The air was laced with the damp bite of mold and the faint sweetness of wildflowers, a strange marriage of decay and bloom. Cold soil pressed through the thin blanket beneath me, prodding at the ache in my back but soothing the inflamation in my muscles.
Misty padded into view, her yellow eyes the first thing to pierce the darkness—silent as a wraith. She slipped against my thigh and pressed close, her steady breath seeping into my chest, a living metronome echoing Malou’s lessons. My hand, still trembling, sank into the softness of her fur, clutching at the warmth as if it were the only real thing left in the world.
" You're colder than the grave. " Malou muttered, shifting back but keeping her attention on me. Her chin tattoo tightened, though her voice stayed dry. " You fight like a beast in your sleep. One day you'll wake the whole damn forest. "
" I thought— " The sour burn of bile clawed up my throat, searing the back of my tongue. Azriel’s eyes lingered in my mind—not warm hazel, not whiskey glinting in firelight, but hollow, pit-black voids that watched without end. My voice cracked as it broke free. " I thought it was real. "
Malou snorted and shoved her waterskin into my fingers. " Dreams feel real when your brain's chewing itself alive. Drink. Then let's eat something. "
The water was cool—a small mercy sliding down, soothing the raw scorch it left behind. It steadied my lips, my chest, as if rinsing traces of the nightmare from within. Yet my body still wobbled. Behind my blinking eyes, hollow shapes clung to the darkness, drifting like smoke that refused to clear.
Malou stretched her legs, moving her toes. " If you keep dragging ghosts into daylight, " she said yawning, " you'll never fully live. "
" Azriel... " The name slipped out of me, half-whisper, half-confession. Had it truly been him? Or was my mind only twisting shadows, feeding on the bitter taste of our first meeting, the disappointment, the threat that lingered like smoke? His hunger to end me. Truth-Teller still cleaved through my thoughts, that memory of the blade's edge hovering a breath away from my skull, a single inch of air keeping me from death. Why did it miss me?
Malou's head snapped in my direction, curiosity emerging through her usual self. Her brows arched, eyes narrowing into slits. " Azriel? " she echoed, the name rolling on her tongue. " And who the fuck is that? "
Heat surged up my neck. " No one. " The word tumbled out too fast. A shield, thin and transparent. I wasn't going to just drop the information that I once had a crush on him. Big one, by the way.
Her laugh came low, humorless. " Liar. You nearly bit your own tongue off thrashing like a rabid dog, and that's the name you cry out? Sounds like someone to me. "
My jaw locked, eyes fixed on the space between us. " Drop it. "
Malou's mouth curved. " Fine. But if he shows up swinging for our heads, don't forget: it was your lips that called him here first. "
Misty meowed sharply, golden eyes glaring as if seconding Malou's warning.
Trying to still my trembling hands, I dug into the pouch at my side and drew out the small vial Rose had pressed into my palm before we left. The stopper reeked of bitter herbs steeped in alcohol, sharp enough to sting my nose. Medicine. The only thing the infirmary could spare. I tipped a swallow past my cracked lips. It scorched down my mouth, biting all the way to my gut before settling there like a stone.
" What did the healer say? "
" That she couldn't stitch bone with magic she didn't have, " I muttered. " She’d said the fracture was too deep. That I’d have to wear this binding until it held—if it ever did. And with the kind of training I have to endure instead of rest, the constant strain would only press against it, dragging the healing slow. " My fingers brushed the stiff linen cinched around my waist. The bruises had already begun to yellow, the cuts and blisters scabbing over. If I'd been steady on my feet, maybe I would've brewed something myself, something stronger, but my mind refused to cling to Nimue's books, to her biting stares and sharper words.
Nimue. I had nearly forgotten her. What had become of her shop? Of her? Was she still alive? Or just another name smothered by ash?
Malou grunted. " So basically: don't fall, don't get hit, don't be an idiot. "
" Exactly. " My smile cracked halfway. " Rose said the same. " She hugged me so tight when we left, like she could keep me together with her arms alone.
Malou said nothing at first. Just looked from me, to Misty curled at my hip. Finally: " She did more than she had to. "
I nodded, blinking hard. The memory of Rose's clipped wings and gentle hands pressed against me as sharply as the corset-wrap around my ribs. Her scent of chamomile lingered still, phantom-soft.
" Ready? " Malou asked, already swinging into her saddle. She tucked the blunt dagger Rose had pressed into her hand before we left—the only real weapon to guard us.
Not that I feared being unarmed with Malou beside me. Even without steel, without whatever powers she once carried, I was certain she could still tear the flesh from a man's bones with her bare teeth if pressed. There was something in the way she moved, the sharp coil of her muscles, the feral ease in her stance—it screamed she'd bite before she'd break. " No. " I whispered honestly, but forced myself to rise anyway. I felt filthy, damp, the stench of sweat and medicine rising sharp and acrid to my nose.
I'd skipped a bath, and it showed, my own skin felt foreign, sticky. Even a wet rag would have been enough. Instead, we stuffed handfuls of mint leaves into our mouths, chewing until our breath burned fresh and our teeth felt scraped clean by the bitter edge. It wasn't perfect, but it was survival.
When we gathered our things and slipped cautiously out of the cave, Malou went first, her steps deliberate, scanning the trees to make sure the way was clear. Dawn greeted us shyly through the branches, the light thin and tentative, painting the leaves in pale gold. The air was still edged with night's chill, but the forest stirred awake, birds testing their voices, frogs croaking low in the undergrowth, the world layering sound upon sound until it felt alive again.
My mare let out a soft whinny, shaking her damp mane as if in relief, glad to be free of the cave's wet, suffocating air, eager to drink in the crisp, dry coolness of morning. I pressed a fierce kiss to the crown of her head, whispering silent thanks into her dark coat. Thanks for saving us from the prison's chains. Thanks for carrying us like the wind itself, hooves striking faster than fear, until we reached the ship. Thanks for pulling us out of the chaos of Thaibar and into life again The food Rose had shoved into our pockets was already going stale, edges tough and crumbly, but it was enough to fill the hollow pit gnawing at my gut as we rode on. I broke off small pieces to share with Misty, tucked snug inside a scarf tied around my shoulders like an infant, her warmth a steady weight against my belly. She purred between bites, the sound vibrating faintly through the cloth.
Above us, the sky sagged in a dull pewter stretch, clouds swollen and bruised, uncertain whether to split themselves open or drag their heavy bellies farther down the horizon. The air carried that sharp, metallic tang before rain, mingled with the earthier scent of damp moss and horse sweat, wrapping the morning in uneasy anticipation. The earth shifted from field to forest, the road narrowing as trees gathered in uneven clumps, roots knuckling through the dirt like veins beneath skin.
The mare beneath me moved with a grace I couldn't take credit for: her stride smooth, steady, her breath puffing white in the chill air. Warmth rose off her body, seeping through the saddle into my bones. I leaned forward, running a hand down her neck. Her skin twitched beneath my palm, and a strange swell pressed tight in my, something like belonging. I hadn't expected to love her this quickly. But gods, she had carried me through fire, and she was still alive.
Malou clicked her tongue, and her stallion tossed his head, hooves tearing restless bites out of the dirt. " Switch with me. " She said abruptly, her voice rough as gravel. She turned her head toward me, a few rebellious strands shaking loose to curl around her neck in dark waves. Mischief stirred across her features, softening the sharpness for once, and when her mouth tilted into a grin, it exposed teeth slightly uneven, humanizing in a way that made the smile all the more dangerous.
I frowned at her, the reins tightening in my hand. She sat easy in her saddle, leather straps cinched across her chest, shirt already damp with sweat despite the cold. " No. "
" Come on. That mare's built for me: fast, sharp, angry. A battle horse. "
My palm smoothed instinctively over the mare's warm neck, the way a mother might cradle her child's head. " She's not for battle. She's mine. " Never, not once, could I imagine throwing her into the chaos of a fight, knowing how easily a sword, a spear, or a stray arrow could pierce her heart and end her. I would sooner walk barefoot and unarmed across the battlefield than risk her life for mine.
Malou's snort cracked the silence like a whip. She leaned back in the saddle, one arm loose on the reins while the other slapped lightly her brown stallion's flank. " Possessive corpse. At least give her a name. Can't keep calling her 'mare' like she's some barn mutt. "
My mind went blank. In my old world, I had always dreamed of having a horse, of learning to ride, of feeling what it was like. And now, after Niven's patient guidance, after Shum's harsher lessons, his very name still sour on my tongue, I finally did. This moment should have been everything I had once wanted. A dream come alive. Horses had always seemed to me like creatures carved from strength and grace, too majestic for clumsy human hands.
I had thought of names before, toyed with a few in my head. But here, looking at her, this mare who had carried me through ruin, who had saved my life, every name fell flat. Too soft. Too small. None of them fit. I caught my lip between my teeth, frustrated, then gave up with a sigh.
" You name her, then. "
" We had horses as well, before all of this. My kind mostly used them, those of us without wings, at least. Pegasus. They were... something out of this world. Bigger than yours, with great feathered wings that could darken the sky. I don't believe they exist anymore... " Her grin faltered, teeth catching sharp in the dim light. For a moment she seemed far away, remembering something lost. Then her gaze dropped back to the mare, who slowed as we reached the forest's mouth. Mist curled thick around the roots, pooling like breath held too long. Malou studied her with the careful eye of someone who had measured beasts for war.
" She's quick. Cuts through the earth like a blade. Doesn't falter, doesn't flinch. She reminds me of the horse we trained to carry us into the bloodiest wars. " Her voice dropped, almost reverent, like a hymn whispered to ghosts. Then, with a nod, she said: " Call her Aeria. Swift. Untouchable. Born of storms and victories. "
I whispered it once, testing the sound. Aeria. The mare flicked her ears back as if she'd heard and approved.
Malou leaned forward in her saddle, a smirk tugging once more at her lips. " See? Even your beast likes my choice better than your silence. "
I stroked Aeria's neck again, and for once, I didn't argue. " Did you... have wings? "
The meadow thinned into nothing but a pale strip of grass, the last breath of open land before the trees sealed shut. Ahead, branches arched together into a ribcage of bark and grass, forming a living gate that swallowed the light. Something in the air around Malou shifted: dense, almost toxic. She rolled her shoulders as though she could still feel the weight of what had once been there, some unconscious memory flickering across her muscles. And then, with the barest tilt of her chin, she nodded. A simple confirmation.
I looked at her back, still unmistakably feminine, but trained hard, built for endurance. A pang went through me, mournful. I refused to ask the question burning on my tongue. Whatever had been done to her wings, whatever had stripped them away, I doubted it was a story she'd want to offer easily. The mere acknowledgment, that she had once possessed something so precious, was already a confession laced with agony.
Aeria slowed, ears pricked, nostrils flaring. Misty rose rigid from my chest, tail puffed, golden eyes burning wide in the dimness. A low, guttural growl rippled out of her throat, vibrating against my ribs. My chest clenched tight. My instincts had always been sharp enough to keep me alive, and now every nerve screamed the same thing: wrong. The air was wrong. Heavy. Watching.
Beside me, Malou shifted in her saddle, rolling her shoulders like she was trying to shake off a phantom weight. Her stallion's hooves struck the earth harder. Her jaw flexed, silent, but tension pulsed from her skin like static before a storm.
" You feel it too. " I murmured, turning my head, scanning the shadows. The forest pressed closer, choking tight around us. Branches knitted overhead so thick the sun barely pierced through. Where the light touched, leaves clung shriveled and brown, brittle husks dangling like corpses instead of life.
Malou didn't look at me. The easy looseness she carried before vanished, swallowed whole. Her gaze cut through the canopy. " I don't feel it. I know it. "
We crossed beneath the arch of trees, and the world changed. The air dropped instantly, thick as lead, charged. Every breath felt weighted, dragging down into my lungs until I thought I might choke on it. The smell struck my nostrils: rusted copper, mushrooms rotting in damp earth, sap sour and cloying as spoiled wine. It coated my tongue, bitter, fungal, wrong. I gagged but swallowed it down, forcing my chest to keep rising.
The deeper we pressed, the stranger it grew. Trunks warped into grotesque shapes, bending like spines half-snapped. Roots clawed across the path, gnarled fingers curling to trip hooves. Some trees wept sap so dark it was almost black, dripping in sluggish rivulets like wounds that refused to close. The silence here wasn't silence at all, it hummed, low and constant, as if the forest itself was holding its breath, waiting.
I couldn't stand it. The stillness pressed harder than the stench, and if I didn't speak, I thought it might crush me flat. " Tell me... " My voice cracked, softer than I intended. " What were you like before the prison? "
Malou's head snapped toward me, eyes hard as flint. Her stallion tossed its head as if echoing her fury. For a breath I thought she'd bite, spit venom, rip the question apart with her teeth. Instead she cut me off simply. " Not in our bargain. "
I bit my tongue, copper blooming where I caught the skin. Aeria's ears flicked nervously at the tension, her stride faltering, catching on the tangle of roots. So I tried again, gentler. " What about Sorscha? Who is she? "
Malou's mouth shifted, not soft, but looser, the sharp lines of her face easing as if memory had brushed against her. Her gaze went distant, reverent, a thread of sorrow pulling taut along her jaw. Her voice, when it came, carried something gentler than I'd ever heard from her. " My carranam. "
I knew what she meant. I'd read about it once, in another series. Not love, not destiny. Something deeper. Souls bound not by mating bonds but by raw power itself. Two warriors, their strength and spirit braided together, each amplifying what the other lacked. Rare. Dangerous. Powerful.
" Are you like... mates, then? " I asked carefully.
Her brows slammed down, a harsh frown carving deep lines into her forehead. " She's a nun. "
I blinked. " ...And what, nuns don't get to have fun? "
Her head whipped toward me so fast my mare flinched. That frown hardened into something lethal, but her lips curled, not in a smile, but in the promise of violence. " I'll break your nose so clean, Stumbles, you'll be breathing through your ears. "
The way she said it, flat, almost bored, made my skin prickle. But her eyes glinted, just enough mischief hiding in the steel to make me wonder if she actually would.
" So why are we going to her? " I asked at last. " You train me. You could keep training me. "
Her head tilted just enough to slice me with a sidelong look before she drew a long, deliberate breath. She was mind-stilling. I knew it. Because if she wasn't, she'd already be breathing straight through my skull, dragging the damp, soaked air right into my brain until I choked on it. " I can teach you the body. The bones. The blade. Endurance. Blood. Strategy. Swords, daggers, knives, fist-fights. You name it. That's my realm. "
She tugged her reins tighter, her stallion circling a mossy stump. Shadows slid across her face, aging her into something carved and ancient. " But a Vespertus is more than muscle. She is balance itself. All power, every drop of it, carries weight. Lean too far into rage, you destroy. Sink too deep in grief, you drown yourself and the world around. Anger, sorrow, fury, they'll rip you hollow and make you unpredictable. Dangerous. "
Her words made me crease my nose, because hadn't I already been that? Unpredictable. Volatile. A wound walking on legs. " And Sorscha? " I pressed.
Malou's eyes stayed fixed ahead, into the thickening dark. " She'll teach you the rest. The stillness. How to walk your dreams instead of being dragged through them. How to see without eyes, how to breathe through fury until it bends to you, not the other way around. Peace. Balance. All that untouchable shit that anchors a Vespertus, so she doesn't tip into chaos, so she doesn't become a Tiamat. A Dark Vespertus. "
I nodded slowly, lips parting around a faint sound that could've been awe... or disbelief. Maybe both. " Oh... "
If I was supposed to be impressed, then fine, I was impressed. Or maybe I was just faking it. The Vespertus sounded like some divine, all-powerful, unshakable force. A goddess in armor. The kind of shit you only read about. But for the right person. And I was not that person. Not now. Not ever.
I knew myself better. I was flawed beyond words. Imagine looking at me, so absurdly human, so breakable and thinking: Yes. This one. She'll carry the cosmic balance and all people's destiny in her hands.
Fools. Godsdamned, cosmic-scale fools.
Malou's voice dropped to a rasp. " A Vespertus must master every element: fire, earth, water, air. And when the time comes... " Her stallion stamped once, as if to punctuate the weight of it. " ...chaos. The oldest magic. The one that can make or unmake. "
I gripped the reins tighter, sweat slick on my palms despite the cold. Chaos. The word coiled in my gut like a serpent, hissing. " I hate prophecies. "
Malou's laugh was humorless. " Yeah? Tell me more. And you? Your old world, " she said, eyes ahead, " How was it different? "
The question split something raw inside me. I fixed my gaze on the trees—shapes flickered at the edges of sight, small and quick, like ghosts taunting me. My fingers dug into the reins until my knuckles burned white.
A vision slipped unbidden through me—hazel-brown eyes, my past lover's gaze, warm and devastating. The chain coiled in my chest jerked hard, clanging against that bittersweet memory. She was only a shadow now, so far away I could no longer recall her scent, her touch—only the hollow ache of absence gnawed at me. Yet the chain remained, unyielding, tugging deep, somewhere nameless, unreachable.
Who knew what held the other end? Another soul? A curse? Or perhaps that dormant Vespertus inside me, waiting in silence for the moment it would wake. Or maybe nothing at all—and the weight I carried was only mine.
I exhaled, dragged back not to this forest, but to sterile hospital corridors, to streets choked with bodies and noise. " Louder, " I murmured, voice thin. " Busier. No forests like this—only concrete, glass, iron everywhere. Machines to do everything for us. "
Her brow furrowed, testing the words on her tongue. " Machines? Weapons? "
" Not only. " I almost laughed. " For cooking, washing... moving us from place to place. "
" You were too soft to walk? " Her stallion snorted; one of her brows climbed.
" We were smart enough to make wheels and engines do the walking. " I snapped, a smile tugging despite the gloom.
She grunted. " Engines. Sounds like fae bullshit. Did they eat? "
I blinked, then chuckled. " Not like that. Fuel. "
Her gaze narrowed. " Blood? "
" Gods, no. " I barked a laugh that startled Aeria. " Gasoline. Oil. Things from under the earth. "
" So you drained your own ground to feed your toys. " Her lips twitched. " And we're the savages. "
The air hummed with unseen life, but the banter loosened something in my chest. " At least our toys didn't bleed trees. "
A crooked smirk finally cracked her face. " Point taken. "
At that exact heartbeat the forest answered. A wind slid through the canopy carrying whispers, too shaped to be breeze, too muddled to be speech. Trunks seemed to lean, watching; bark split like the edges of mouths. Aeria stamped, teeth flashing. The deeper we rode, the worse it felt: copper and rot on the air, darting shadows that refused to be seen head-on. It hit me that the forest did not want us. Every step felt like trespass.
Malou leaned forward, voice almost to herself. " Steady. They test first. They always do. "
A chill slicked my spine. I didn't ask who "they" were.
Sound swelled beneath the branches: the drip of unseen water, hooves rasping damp earth, Misty's growl vibrating against me. My gut twisted. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
" Eyes up, Stumbles. " Malou's voice cut low, sharp as a drawn blade. She didn't even glance at me—just tipped her chin toward the canopy. " Spot it. "
" What? " My pulse hammered. Gods, not the bird-watching again.
" The bird. "
I squinted into the green murk, vision swimming. For a moment—nothing. Then a flash of white: wings slicing through the dim before vanishing like smoke. " I see it. " I muttered.
"Don't lose it. " A shadow of a smirk curved her mouth. " Learn its pattern. If a bird makes you falter, an archer will gut you from a tree before you ever spot the string draw. "
I groaned, tipping my head back until my spine ached. " Birdwatching? When the whole forest reeks like it's rotting alive? "
Her gaze flicked sideways, flat and merciless. " That's exactly why. You keep your eyes locked on the obvious—the stench, the noise, your own panic—and you'll never notice the arrow aimed between your ribs. The forest hides everything: prey, predator, death. Train your sight here, in chaos, and you'll stop being the hunted. "
I forced my eyes wider, blinking against the sting until the world steadied. The bird darted left, then right, slipping through the leaves like it was mocking me. My thighs throbbed from the saddle, every breath pressing the corset-wrap deeper into my ribs, but I clung to its flicker of wings.
Misty leapt lightly onto the pommel, her paws silent, her weight a small anchor. Golden eyes sharpened on the same speck, unblinking, predatory. Her tail snapped once, precise as punctuation, and then—softly, smugly—she purred. The sound rose and fell like birdsong, an uncanny mimicry that made the forest hush for a heartbeat, as though even the trees turned to listen.
" She's better than you. " Malou muttered, already scanning the treeline. " And she doesn't even try. "
" Fuck you! " I hissed, mouth twitching despite myself.
Her laugh was dark and gone in a breath. " Thrush, " she said, chin pointing. " Above the split branch. "
I was ready to argue that all birds looked the same when the air split. Whosh. The ground shivered. An axe had bitten the earth at my boot, haft trembling like a struck arrow.
My blood iced.
Malou didn't flinch. She bent, wrenched the axe free as if it weighed nothing, and flung it aside with an Illyrian curse that scorched my ears. " On guard. Now. "
The forest's porch yawned ahead, trees arched like ribs, and beyond it, chaos.
Roots as thick as serpents writhed up from the churned soil, coiling around armored legs and dragging bodies screaming into the earth. Bark split open, bleeding sap in long amber tears. Branches lashed like whips, splintering against iron shields. The trees were alive. Vast, monstrous, their crowns thrashing like a hundred arms. Each bough wielded its own crude weapon—splintered clubs, jagged shards of wood, stones torn from the ground. Their trunks heaved on root-legs thick and gnarled, dragging themselves forward with the weight of giants.
Most bore no eyes—only gaping maws in hollow knots, filled with stumps of jagged wooden teeth. Their shrieks split the air, high and raw, like forests groaning under stormwinds—piercing, scraping straight through my eardrums.
The enemy was shorter than I'd imagined—broad, squat bodies built like stone walls, their faces half-buried beneath braided beards crusted with soot and dirt. Helmets of hammered bronze caught the dim light, horns and tusk-bone charms clattering with every movement. Their axes swung heavy and sure, biting into wood with brutal precision, spraying splinters that glittered like shrapnel.
Their war cries rang out like anvils struck, sharp and deafening, iron against iron. And their skin was dark as midnight, veins raised and gleaming beneath it, pulsing with molten light, gold flowing through them like living ore.
The air was a furnace of resin and sweat. The ground thrummed with the forest's pain.
Malou's stallion reared, hooves throwing sparks. Aeria danced sideways under me, ears flattened. Misty's hiss carved a line through the noise, yellow eyes bright and knowing.
" Stay back! " Malou snapped, hand finding the knife at her belt. Her gaze cut the melee to pieces, weighing. " We've stumbled into a gods-damned feud. "
I couldn't look away. A village hunched behind the dvergars: stone houses gouged into the hillside, chimneys belching smoke, iron-banded doors. Windows like narrowed eyes, the place itself glowering at us.
" Do we fight with them? "
" Depends. " Malou said, spitting into the dirt. " On whether they hate us more than the trees. "
A root lashed, snared a dwarf's waist, yanked him off his feet. He hacked and howled in a language I didn't know; the forest wailed back like a wounded beast.
The world held its breath as Malou turned, voice low and dangerous. " Mount up. We're leaving. "
Axes shrieked, trees screamed, sap and blood soaked the same soil. Smoke and resin burned my nose.
" We have to stop them, " I blurted, tightening my grip as Aeria stamped. " They'll kill each other. "
" And that's our problem because...? " Malou didn't even glance at me. She sat rigid on the grass, her gaze fixed on the melee. Her voice cut across the chaos—impatient at my stupidity.
" Look at them! " A dented helm spun across the ground, clanging to a stop. A root smashed down where its wearer's head had been. " If we do nothing, it spreads. One side wins, the other burns-or both die. There has to be another way. "
" Another way, " she echoed, bone-dry. " You sound like a priest blessing bread he's never had to beg for. Sometimes there isn't. "
Heat surged up my throat. " So we ride on and pretend? "
Her jaw flexed. Shadows of old battles flickered in her eyes. She leaned close. " Listen, Vythra. The second you believe you can save everyone, you're already dead. "
" I don't care. " I snapped, though my voice trembled, betraying me. " If I can save even one, it's worth it. "
For a heartbeat, Malou just stared—her face a mask of iron, unreadable. Then she spat a vicious Illyrian curse, the kind that cracked like lightning in the air. " Get back here! "
I ran before thought could catch me, boots slamming into the ground. Pain shot up my calves, my thighs trembling under the weight, but I lurched forward anyway, plunging toward the clash. My back lit with sharp thunderbolts that ripped down my legs, every step a punishment.
The meadow had erupted into hell.
Roots ripped the earth like serpents, cracking stones, snapping logs. Axes and daggers hammered bark; the clang rang like iron bells. Resin smoked; gold blood steamed. Screams and groans and poison curses tangled in the air.
" Thieves! " the dwarves roared, thick arms slick with sweat, faces black and hidden behind their armor. " You suck gold from the marrow and call it yours! "
The trees thundered back, voices groaning through hollow trunks. " Murderers! You carve us open for greed and laugh as we bleed! "
I screamed myself hoarse. " Stop! You'll kill each other! " My words shredded and vanished. I looked pathetic.
An axe spun toward me.
Malou was already moving. She wasn't where I left her anymore, she'd flown. Her fist caught my collar and yanked; the blade thudded into the mud where I'd been. She shoved me behind her, chest heaving.
She had no sword. Only Rose's knife-worn hilt, dull blade-that in Malou's hand became a promise. Roots lunged. She didn't hesitate. The knife punched into one and sap burst across her forearm in a hot golden spray. Another root whipped; it clipped her hip and she rotated with it, dragging me down into the muck.
" Stay down, Stumbles! " Sweat glued black hair to her brow. She pivoted low, cutting in tight, efficient arcs. A dwarf lunged, axe high. She met him with a snarl. The blade kissed his forearm, shallow, but enough to make him stumble. Enough to say she'd gut him if he asked for it.
Malou was a storm given flesh. She spun, fists and feet colliding with roots and dwarf axes alike, each strike so precise it looked like she'd measured the air before moving. When a tree caught her in its many-armed grasp and lifted her clear off the ground, she twisted like a hawk breaking free, tearing through a thick branch with her bare hands. The snap cracked like a thunderclap. She hit the earth hard enough to rattle the bones of the village, leaving a crater in the dirt where she landed. Dust spiraled upward in a choking cloud.
She was holding back—I could see it, feel it in the restraint of her movements. She could have torn them apart, snapped their necks, split bark from trunk. But she fought on the knife's edge, feral yet contained, ferocity leashed by something I couldn't name.
And still—terror rose sharp in my chest. She could crush me without effort during training. Split me in two like one of those roots. Watching her unchained strength made my skin crawl with awe and dread both.
Then, through the chaos, my eyes caught the true heart of it all. The source of their rage. The cause.
A storehouse. Half-hidden by the battlefield's frenzy. Its wide doors gaped, the dim glow of piled treasure spilling out: veins of gold hacked raw from the earth, bars stacked high, coins heaped like offerings. Unwatched. Unprotected. All that fury for this.
My body moved before Malou could see. I darted low, weaving through shouting dwarves and whipping roots. My ribs screamed, legs burning, but I made it to the edge of the storehouse. A torch hissed against the damp ground nearby—I seized it, flames licking hungry at the dark.
Clambering up the side of the structure, I hauled myself onto the roof, heart pounding, torch raised high. The fighting slowed—just slightly—as a few heads turned.
" Enough! " My voice cracked the air, raw and desperate. Dozens of eyes—burning gold, bark-dark, blood-shot—snapped to me. The torch spit sparks, hot wind stinging my face. I pointed it at the treasure below, my arm trembling but unyielding. " If you don't stop right now— " my throat burned, but I forced the words out violently—" I'll burn every ounce of this gold until it's molten and useless! "
The torch shook in my grip, spitting sparks into the wind. My throat tore as I screamed, words ragged but ringing through the chaos: " Keep hacking and bleeding, and none of you walks away with gold or roots! You'll drown this meadow in your own filth, and it'll swallow you whole! "
The meadow stilled. For a heartbeat, the battle froze. Even the trees bent slightly, their groans tapering into silence. The dwarves shifted uneasily, boots grinding against torn earth, hammers slack in their fists.
Malou's spit hissed in the dirt. Her eyes, black fire, cut across them all, daring someone to move. Her body tense like a bow. She dropped the dwarf in her hands and let her fist low.
And then—her gaze flicked to me. Something sharpened in her expression, so subtle I almost missed it. She froze. Not fear. Not contempt. Awe. Like for the first time she believed. She'd mocked me a hundred times for being soft, for stumbling. But now she looked at me as though the spark she'd been waiting for had finally lit. As though she wasn't just protecting me anymore—she was witnessing me. Or that thing in me that now tickled my ribs rising to glow inside my pupils.
It lasted only a heartbeat. That ferocity in me. I could barely process it. But the others saw.
A dwarven voice broke the silence, hoarse with unease. " A witch! "
Another spat, knuckles white on his axe. " Cursed! "
The trees groaned low, bark splitting in a sound like shifting bones. " She carries the earth in her breath. "
The dwarves muttered among themselves, their voices jagged with fear and anger. Some stepped back, eyes darting from me to their gold, to the torch that hissed so close to it.
Malou's knife gleamed as she raised it higher, shoulders squared, her stance unyielding. " You heard her, " she snarled, her voice carrying her strength across the village. " One more swing, one more drop of blood—and the fire takes it all. "
A hush fell over the clearing, deep and heavy, as if the forest itself leaned in to hear the choice. The meadow stilled, a graveyard waiting. A branch snapped behind me. I flinched. Misty.
She stood atop a fallen trunk, small gray body arched, every hair lifted with static. Her eyes burned yellow in the firelight, too bright for any ordinary beast. She hissed. Not a barn-cat hiss. Deep, resonant, the kind that vibrated the roots and stones as if the spirits themselves spoke through her.
The trees quieted. Branches twisted toward her, groaning like recognition. The dwarves froze, muttering sharp prayers, their axes trembling. " A spirit, " one breathed. " The beast is cursed. "
" She's not cursed. She's a cat. And she's telling you what I've been screaming: you'll all die if you keep this up. You'll burn your forest, bury your dead, and leave nothing but bones. "
" Lies! " a dwarf snarled through his beard, but his axe didn't rise.
A tree rumbled from the shadows, voice like a low bell. " We do not wish to kill. We want our veins uncut. "
" And we don't wish to starve! " Another dwarf spat, hands flexing, though the edge in his voice frayed.
" Then listen. " Malou said, lowering the knife but not sheathing it. Sweat traced her jaw; her eyes could slice stone. " Vengeance has you blind. Mother doesn't give a damn if your bones rot here. She'll let you butcher each other until the crows burst. "
Roots curled inward, dragging back from iron boots. Weapons dipped, uncertain, but lowering.
Silence.
My chest sawed; smoke and memory still rasped my throat. But the battle... paused.
Misty hopped down and brushed my leg.
Malou's voice was raw as she yelled, " Someone here needs to stop swinging and start speaking. Or I'll swing for you! "
Her knife glinted, catching the dim light, and gods help me—I believed her. I'd seen what she could do, the way her fists split roots like kindling, the way the earth itself cracked under her weight when she landed. That kind of power wasn't human. It wasn't even Illyrian. It was something unearthly, restrained only by her will.
Every squat, stocky head whipped toward me. Beards bristled. Axes twitched. The nearest one, a barrel, chested brute with eyes like flint turned scarlet beneath his tangled hair.
" Dwarves- " I started.
" We are not dwarves! " someone roared, spittle flying. His dagger came up in a blur. " We are dvergars, you ignorant wretch! "
He lunged.
Malou's knife caught the haft of his dagger mid-swing, her other hand snapping out to slam against his chest. The impact cracked, sending him staggering back into his comrades. " Try that again. " Malou snarled, her voice low, dangerous, every syllable dragging. " And I'll make sure your beard's the only thing left to bury. "
The dvergar coughed, doubled over, but still spat at the ground near her boots. " She insults us. Calls us dirtkin! "
" I call you worse when you're not listening! " Malou shot back, knife still raised, her bronze skin gleaming. " And if your pride's so fragile that a word breaks it, maybe you're not worth the steel you carry. "
The dvergars muttered among themselves, glaring at me, their eyes simmering with insult. But none of them moved. Not with Malou standing there, knife steady, her stance screaming that she'd take on all of them if she had to.
The air throbbed with fury. Roots still writhed through the clearing, twisted like serpents around dvergar boots, while axes gleamed, slick with sap and blood. The trees groaned, a sound like old bones breaking, while the dvergars shouted, their voices sharp as struck anvils.
One stepped forward, his chest heaving, his skin streaked with grime and veins of gold that glimmered faintly beneath it. His eyes burned like molten ore. " I am the dvergar's leader! The trees steal from us!" He roared, jabbing a stubby finger toward the towering oaks. "Our fathers dug the mines, carved the stone, risked our blood! The veins are ours by right!"
The dvergar leader was shorter than Malou by several heads, but his presence made him seem to fill the clearing. His frame was barrel-like—shoulders broad as quarried stone, arms knotted with muscle layered thick from years of swinging an axe. His skin, blackened with grime and soot, cracked in places where glowing veins of gold pulsed faintly beneath, like molten rivers trapped under rock.
His beard was a wild, tangled mass streaked with gray, braided in thick cords bound with copper rings and gold charms that rattled when he moved. A battered bronze helm crowned his head, dented from battles long past, a jagged crack running across one side.
His eyes the color of molten ore, burning with the fire of a forge. They gleamed with pride, rage, and desperation, twin furnaces that saw the forest not as sacred, but as something to conquer, to bleed for his people's survival. His voice rumbled like a smith's hammer striking an anvil.
The ground trembled, and the nearest tree bent low, its bark splitting where amber sap wept like tears. Its voice creaked deep as the earth itself, vibrating in my chest. " I am the trees Father! Your greed bleeds us dry. The gold is not yours. It is ours, it runs through our roots as blood runs through your veins. You strip us bare, and for what? To fatten your coffers? To line your caves with glitter while our children wither? "
The forest hissed around us, leaves trembling though no wind stirred. The dvergars shouted back in unison, stamping their boots. " We take what is owed! It fuels our forges! Without gold, our people starve! "
A branch snapped down inches from my face, thick as a man's thigh, gouging the dirt. The scent of sap was sharp, metallic, like honey mixed with rot. My stomach twisted. If they kept on, one side would butcher the other before the sun set.
I dropped from the granary, landing hard enough to jolt through my knees. The torch smoldered in my grip, spitting sparks as I swung it low, close to the ground where the dry straw waited hungrily. Smoke licked up in sharp threads, the fire eager for air, for fuel. I raised it high so every eye could see—their gold piled behind me, glinting under the dim light like bait. My voice tore out raw, louder than the clash.
" Enough! " I shouted again, stepping between them. Malou cursed behind me, but I didn't stop. " You're both right. And both wrong. " My voice cracked, but the silence that followed made it sound stronger than I felt.
They glared at me, dozens of gold-veined eyes, countless knots of bark staring down. My hands trembled, but I forced the words out. " The gold... it belongs to the earth. To both of you. The trees cannot live without it. The dvergars cannot survive without it. But there must be balance. "
" Balance?! " One dverg scoffed, his beard matted with sap. " What balance is there when they strangle us the moment we dig? "
" What balance, " a tree groaned, " when their pickaxes scar our hearts? "
I lifted my chin, even as sweat stung the scars on my back. " Take less. Only what you need. And for every ounce you carve out, plant a tree. One vein returned to the earth for every vein you cut. The gold will grow again in time, stronger. You'll have enough, and the forest will heal. "
The clearing shivered with unease. The dvergars muttered, fists tightening on their weapons. One barked, " Plant trees? We are miners, not gardeners! "
" Then learn. " I snapped, my voice raw, my throat burning. " Because if you don't, you'll have no forest left to feed your veins, no gold left to mine. You'll burn yourselves out. "
A long silence stretched, thick as sap. Even the air seemed to hold its breath. Then one of the oldest trees stirred, its massive trunk groaning like a mountain shifting. It bent low, shadows spilling across the clearing, and when the bark split, veins of molten gold glimmered deep within—like marrow laid bare.
Its voice rolled out of the fissures, slow and thunder-deep, the kind of sound that vibrated in bone more than ear. " She speaks truth." the Father rumbled, every word a weight. " The veins return when the balance is kept. We will allow it—if they swear. " He said, leaves trembling with each syllable. Older. Thicker. Its crown spread wide, heavy with dense, dark foliage, as though it carried centuries of knowledge on its branches.
The dvergars grumbled louder, stamping, until the golden-veined leader barked at them. His gaze flicked to me, suspicious. " And if we refuse? "
Malou shifted at my side, knife glinting, voice low and dark. " Then you'll keep spilling each other's blood until none of you remain. There will be no gold to take and feed your greed and no tress to make gold. "
The forest held its breath. At last, the dverg leader measured our words. " Fine. We will try this... balance. But if it fails, blood will pay the debt. "
The trees groaned, branches shaking, and the golden sap pulsed once in their veins, like a heartbeat of agreement. The village was still scarred when the fighting ended, smoke curling from shattered huts, the ground torn where roots had ripped through stone and fire had blackened the dvergars' forges. But instead of blades raised, hands now worked.
The tree Father and the dvergar leader shook their hands, sealing the deal and in that very space, a flower, white and pure, bloomed from the ground beneath them. A promise.
Malou stripped off her outer tunic, her arms gleaming bronze in the dimming light, and set to lifting beams as if they were mere sticks. Her knife flashed, cutting away twisted ropes, freeing collapsed walls. She moved like a lioness, but instead of destroying, she built, her strength turned to restoring what anger had torn down.
I knelt among the wounded. The dvergars were sturdier than men, their golden-veined skin hard as rock, but blood still pulsed from gashes and bruises still blossomed dark. My hands shook as I pressed cloth against a young boy's split scalp, my medical skills immediately coming out to play. For the trees, I poured water into their wounds, cool against the scorched bark, whispering apologies as I touched sap-sticky fissures. My voice sounded foolish, but the groan of their branches quieted, as though they heard me.
Then I saw her. A small dvergar woman, her frame thin, a child clinging to her skirts like he feared she'd vanish. Her veins glimmered faintly beneath her skin, but dimmer than the others— hollow and starved.
Without thinking, I reached for my ear. The simple gold earrings I'd worn since my old world—worthless trinkets there, lifeblood here. They weren't much, not compared to the treasure these people mined and bled for. But when I pressed them into her palm, her eyes filled as though I had placed a crown there.
Her husband bowed his head, deep and reverent, his beard brushing the dirt. " Treasure for treasure. " I murmured, my throat thick.
The woman clutched the earrings to her chest, lips trembling, then slid them into her ears. They caught the firelight, gleaming bright among the plain gold the other dvergar women wore. The child hid his face in her skirts, but I saw how his shoulders loosened, how the hunger in his gaze softened.
The man's voice rumbled low. " We do not forget debts. "
The woman lifted her chin, her eyes glowing faintly with gold-threaded veins as she bowed so low it ached in my chest. " Should you fall, should your blood spill, call for us. The debt will be paid. "
" No debt " I whispered, kneeling beside them. " Just take care of them, they belonged to my mother back home. "
By nightfall, a great fire roared at the heart of the village. Dvergars sat shoulder to shoulder with the trees, who bent their branches low like massive benches. The smell of roasted roots and charred meat mingled with the sweetness of sap, earthy and strange. Misty prowled through the circle, tail high, dragging scraps of food from amused dverg hands. Some trees let her sharpen her claws on them, scratching one of their itch.
Malou sat beside me, sharpening her knife with slow, methodical strokes. The fire lit the black ink along her arms. " Dvergars, " she said at last, nodding toward the group. " They were carved of stone, or so the story goes. Gold runs in their veins, binding them to the earth. Greedy bastards, but proud. They'll never admit weakness, not even on their deathbeds. "
Her gaze flicked to the trees, whose branches swayed as if listening. " The forest folk are older still. They say the first roots drank from the Mother's tears, and that's why their sap gleams like firelight. They protect the veins because it is their blood. And like all old things, they remember every wound, every theft. " Her voice carried low, almost reverent, almost bitter. " Two races tied to the same lifeblood, fighting for scraps instead of sharing it. Typical. "
I tucked her words into my chest like kindling. Around us, the fire burned, the voices softened. For the first time in a long time, I felt the faint warmth of something like peace.
By dawn, the air smelled of damp ash and dew. We saddled the horses, ready to leave. The dverg leader came forward, his golden veins gleaming in the morning light. He carried a knife, short but heavy, forged black with streaks of gold through the blade. He pressed it into my hand.
" Dverg steel, " he said. " It cuts through more than flesh. It can sever any binding-chain, curse, vow. Use it wisely. "
Before I could reply, the Father tree leaned low, a single seed dropping into my palm. It glowed faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat. " Plant it where no life dares to enter. " The tree whispered, voice like earth shifting beneath mountains. " And life will rise. Where the soil is dead, it will heal. Where the land is barren, it will feed. "
I stood there, holding both gifts in one hand, seed in the other, my chest tight. Malou only smirked, swinging into her saddle. " Don't drop them, Stumbles. One will save your skin. The other might save your soul. "
The dvergars were still arguing in low voices when the trees stirred again, branches creaking as if groaning under centuries of weight. But then-something changed. Their trunks split open with soft, resonant cracks, bark unfurling like doors in slow motion. Light pulsed in their cores, not firelight, not sun, something older, something that hummed with the steady rhythm of the life itself.
" Your road is long, " one of the trees whispered, voice deep as soil. " The sea waits to devour your time. But we can fold distance. We can send you where you need to be. "
Malou stiffened at once. Her knife hand twitched. " I don't trust shortcuts. They usually mean you end up gutted halfway through. "
I swallowed, staring at the hollow forming in the nearest tree, its body bending, limbs weaving together overhead into an arch. It wasn't just wood anymore; it looked like ribs of light and shadow woven into a living door. The air near it shivered, smelling faintly of pine resin, damp stone, and something metallic, like the taste of blood.
" The trees never lie and never switch roads. They guard. " The leader of dvergars spoke, touching the tree that now was a portal.
" And what's the catch? " Malou barked, her voice sharp, daring them to lie.
" No catch, " the tree rumbled. " Only trust. And gratitude—for you, and for your silver-tongued human. "
I stepped closer. " Trust is not something I have much left of. "
The tree's branches rustled like laughter, though the sound was almost mournful. " And yet, here you stand. "
The portal shimmered, edges rippling as though the air was water. I felt it pulling, gentle but inexorable, like a tide. It reached for me—not cruelly, but with a patient inevitability, as if the forest itself had already decided.
Malou turned to me, jaw clenched. " We can't both think of a place. You don't know where she is. If we end up between continents, we'll drown. "
I swallowed, lifted my hand and placed it into hers. Her palm was calloused and harsh. " Then think for me. " I whispered.
For a moment, Malou only stared, something unreadable flashing in her dark eyes. Then she gave a single curt nod. " Hold tight, Stumbles! Don't let go. "
The world snapped back around me in a jolt, and for a heartbeat, I wasn't sure if I was still alive. My lungs seized, dragging in air that felt too sharp, too clean, as if my ribs had never learned how to hold breath again. My stomach lurched, twisting with the sensation of having been turned inside out, stretched and crumpled like parchment before being shoved back into my own skin.
The grass underfoot was wet, clinging to my boots and soaking through the seams, grounding me in its chill. The air here smelled different—mildew, a faint sweetness. My skin prickled with gooseflesh, every nerve still humming from the memory of that pull, that swallowing silence.
Beside me, Malou rolled her shoulders hard. Her jaw worked tight, but her face betrayed little—just a flicker of distaste, like she'd bitten into something sour. Even she looked paler, her tattoos inked darker against her skin.
I exhaled, ragged. The world here felt wrong, not dangerous exactly, but... thinned. As if a veil hung over everything. Even the crooked little house in front of us seemed draped in it. Its sagging roof leaned like broken bones, its chimney coughed wisps of cold air, its walls warped and bowing inward as if crushed by time. Forgotten. Abandoned.
" This? " My voice scraped out, raw from the passage. " This is where she is? "
Malou's gaze sharpened, her lips curling in disdain. " Glamour. The real thing's hidden. " Her shoulders coiled taut as she stepped forward. The door sagged wider, hinges groaning like an old wound reopening.
And then—she appeared. Sorscha.
Her robe swept the threshold like spilled moonlight—white and lilac, the colors of prayer—soft where everything else around her was fractured and forgotten. But her face... saintly and ruined in the same breath. Her lips were sewn shut, thick black thread piercing pale flesh, sealing her into an eternal silence.
My stomach twisted. I had seen burns, broken bones, bodies torn apart. But this—this stillness bound in thread—froze me from the inside out.
Her mouth never moved. The answer came where no sound should: inside my skull.
Not words. Presence. Heavy as a cathedral bell tolling in my bones. Too vast. Her eyes—violet-gray, fathomless—fastened on me. Not on Malou. Not on the trees. Me. The threads at her lips strained as if about to split, but no sound escaped. Only that voice reverberating inside me, undeniable.
Her gaze held mine. And in my head, her voice cut like a blade through silence:
" The forest whispered your name. "
𓆩✴𓆪
The Chapter is not edited. Hold on tight guys! 2 or 3 more chapters and our protagonists meet forever! :p
