The wind howled through the scorched trees, ash curling in the air like dying prayers.
Kael moved fast, Aria's weight in his arms barely registering. Her skin burned with fever, eyes shut, lips bloodless. She hadn't stirred since the moment the mirror shattered and that surge of raw light consumed her.
"Stay with me," he whispered, jaw clenched. "Just a little longer."
No response.
Behind him, the ruin of the Mirror Trial faded into darkness, its twisted remains crackling with fading energy. His own limbs ached, muscles torn, and ribs bruised from the fight—but it was Aria that mattered now.
Lyra darted ahead, leading them through the gnarled undergrowth. Her cloak flared as she looked back.
"Another mile," she said. "If we're lucky, they'll let us in."
"They?" Kael asked, his voice rough.
"The Moon-Forged."
Kael's pace faltered. "The rogues? The ones who tore out their binding marks and vanished into exile?"
"They know things we don't," Lyra said. "Especially about people who carry shards—and those cursed by them."
Kael's grip tightened on Aria. Her breath was shallow now, barely a flutter.
"What's wrong with her?" he asked.
Lyra hesitated. "She forced her blood to sync with the shard... That kind of strain eats the soul from the inside. She won't last till dawn."
The words hit him like a hammer. Still, he didn't stop.
They pressed forward. Thorns tore at his arms. Branches clawed at his shoulders. And all the while, Aria's head lolled against his chest, too still.
Finally, the forest thinned.
Stone columns jutted from the earth like broken bones. Faint lights glimmered between them—blue flames held in hollowed skulls. A low growl rose from the shadows.
They were not alone.
Kael stepped onto a slab of rock. It trembled beneath him.
"State your blood," a voice rasped. Gravel and steel. "And your reason."
Lyra stepped forward, hands raised. "We seek passage. We bring a girl who carries the light of the Veil, and the boy who bears the cursed shard. She's dying."
Another growl. Then silence.
Out of the gloom came figures—barefoot, clad in furs and bone, their eyes reflecting the firelight. Tattoos ran across their faces like branches, some burned into their skin.
One of them pointed at Kael.
"That shard," the man said, voice barely above a whisper. "That's death."
"No," Kael growled. "It's survival."
There was a pause.
Then, a deeper voice rose from the back.
"Bring them."
The pack split, and an old man stepped forward. His hair was silver, falling to his shoulders, but his eyes were sharp, alert. Scars ran down his neck like claw marks.
He studied Kael, then Aria.
"You've brought trouble," he said.
Kael didn't flinch. "She needs help."
"And you?" the elder asked.
"I'll pay whatever price you ask."
A flicker passed through the man's eyes. "Be careful what you offer, boy. Some debts can't be undone."
Still, he nodded, and the pack parted again.
"Come," the elder said. "The Veil won't wait. And neither will the blood in her veins."
Kael followed, feet heavy, heart heavier.
Behind him, the shadows closed in.