The next morning dawned thick with tension. A humid haze hung in the air, as if the jungle itself held its breath. The usual clatter of boots and distant drills seemed muted. Even the soldiers moved slower, whispering more than they spoke.
Elara stood by the well, her hands wrapped around a metal pail. Sweat lined her brow, but it wasn't just the heat. Her thoughts raced like wildfire.
Find the medallion.
She'd barely slept, and when she did, it was fitful—visions of flames, a medallion burning red in Damon's palm, and a shadowy figure tearing it away.
A harsh voice jolted her from her thoughts.
"You're out early."
Damon.
She turned slowly. He stood a few paces away, arms folded, dressed in his olive uniform. His eyes scanned her face with unreadable intensity.
"Couldn't sleep," she said simply.
"You've been wandering at night."
A trap. She hesitated, but chose honesty. "Yes."
"Why?"
Elara held his gaze. "Because I'm trying to understand where I am. What you are. What this all means."
He stepped closer. "Do you remember anything before the night I found you?"
The question caught her off guard. He didn't even realize what he'd just asked. Did some part of him know?
"Pieces," she murmured. "They come like waves. Faces, fire, pain. And you."
His jaw tightened. "Me?"
She nodded. "I dream about you, Damon. Every night."
He flinched, almost imperceptibly. Then turned away. "You should get back to your tent. We're leaving for the outer post by noon."
Elara blinked. "I'm going with you?"
"I want to see how you behave outside the safety of walls."
It wasn't a request.
---
By midday, they rode out on horseback—Damon, Ajani, Elara, and three others. The sun beat mercilessly on them as they cut through dense trails. Hours passed, and the terrain shifted. Trees gave way to scorched clearings, old bunkers, and a partially collapsed military base lost to time.
As they entered the hollowed structure, Elara's breath caught.
This was it.
This was where the medallion was hidden.
She could feel it.
---
Inside, dust coated everything. Rusted lockers, shattered tables. Broken comm units. Ajani issued quiet orders while Damon led the group through a narrow corridor.
They reached what looked like an old vault, sealed with a mechanical lock and faded insignia.
Damon turned to Elara. "Stay here."
But she didn't.
While the others moved into an adjacent room, Elara slipped away down a darkened hallway, drawn by something magnetic. Her heartbeat pounded like thunder.
She found a storage chamber. Collapsed shelves. Rotten crates.
And there—half-buried under a fallen beam—was a small, black box.
She dropped to her knees, hands shaking as she pried it open.
Inside, nestled in dust and old velvet, lay the medallion.
A wolf. Crown broken.
She reached out—
"Don't touch that."
Cora's voice.
Elara froze.
Cora stepped into view, pistol in hand.
"You really don't know when to quit."
"You were following me?"
"You make it too easy."
"What do you want, Cora?"
"What I've always wanted," she sneered. "A life you never deserved. Damon. Power. A future."
"You think taking this from me will give you any of that?"
"Oh, I'm not just taking it. I'm rewriting it."
She stepped forward.
Elara didn't wait.
She lunged, tackling Cora to the floor. The gun clattered aside. They grappled fiercely, Elara landing a sharp elbow to Cora's ribs. Cora bit back a scream, slamming Elara's head against the ground.
"You're not stronger," Cora hissed. "Just desperate."
"That's what makes me dangerous."
With one final shove, Elara kicked Cora off and dove for the medallion. Her fingers closed around it—
—and everything exploded.
A blinding flash. A rush of heat. A scream—hers? Cora's?—echoing into silence.
Elara found herself flat on her back, gasping.
And above her—
Damon.
Eyes wide. Breathing ragged. The medallion in his hand.
"Where... where did you get this?" he rasped.
Elara sat up slowly. "You remember, don't you?"
He staggered backward, eyes burning gold for a heartbeat before returning to normal.
"No. But I remember... something. You. Fire. A promise."
Ajani entered, eyes scanning the wreckage, landing on Cora unconscious nearby.
"What the hell happened here?"
Damon said nothing. He was still staring at Elara.
"We need to talk," he said finally.
And for the first time in days, Elara saw not suspicion in his eyes—but fear.
Not of her.
But of the truth trying to claw its way back.