The forest was quieter now.
Not because the world itself had calmed, but because Aaron's ears still rang with the ghostly echo of the battle that had just taken place. Each breath he drew was rough, sharp, carrying the lingering taste of adrenaline on his tongue. His clothes clung to his back with sweat, and the knuckles of his right hand throbbed faintly from the blows he had thrown.
He had survived. That alone felt surreal.
The creature—if he could even call it that—was gone now. It had slunk back into whatever shadows had birthed it, leaving only torn earth and a few dark stains in the grass as proof that it had been real. But in Aaron's mind, the fight replayed in fragments, each moment somehow more vivid than the last.
---
At first, he hadn't thought.
That was what struck him most when he tried to remember. He hadn't strategized or calculated his movements the way fighters in movies did. There had been no conscious decision—just raw instinct. When the beast lunged at him with its talon-like hands, his body had moved before his mind could catch up.
A quick duck.
A roll to the left.
The desperate swing of a broken branch that smacked against the thing's jaw with a satisfying crack.
He hadn't learned that anywhere. He was just a high school student who, two weeks ago, would've been more likely to drop a pen in a fight than swing a branch at someone.
And yet, in the heat of the moment, his movements had been fluid, almost… natural. Too natural.
---
Lyra had been watching. He could still feel her gaze in his memory—sharp, unreadable. She hadn't interfered when the creature came at him, and Aaron wasn't sure if that was because she had been occupied with her own fight or because she had wanted to see what he would do.
Her own battle had been a blur in the corner of his vision: spinning arcs of silver light as her weapon carved through the air, the crackling bursts of energy that seemed to flare from her every movement. She had fought with precision. He had fought like a cornered animal.
The difference between them was almost laughable.
---
They moved through the forest now, the undergrowth crunching softly beneath their boots. The sun had begun to lower, spilling long shadows across the mossy ground. The air was cooler here, touched with the scent of pine and damp soil.
Aaron glanced down at his hands again. The skin was scraped, a thin line of dried blood tracing his knuckle. He flexed his fingers experimentally. No real damage—just a reminder that the fight had happened.
"What was that thing?" he asked finally.
Lyra didn't turn to face him. "One of the Accord's lesser hounds."
"Lesser?" Aaron scoffed quietly. "That thing nearly ripped my head off."
"That was because you're untrained," she said simply. There was no malice in her voice, but the bluntness of it made him frown. "You're still alive. That's what matters."
---
Alive.
Yes, he was alive, but it hadn't been skill that had kept him breathing. It had been… something else. Something deep inside him, something that had taken over his limbs and made him react without hesitation.
And it scared him.
Because he didn't know if it would happen again.
---
They pressed on, their pace steady but unhurried now that the immediate threat was gone. Every so often, Lyra would stop and scan the trees, her eyes narrowing as if listening for something Aaron couldn't hear. Each time, she would nod slightly and keep moving, offering no explanation.
The forest gradually began to thin. Shafts of light pierced through gaps in the canopy, and the ground became less tangled with roots. Aaron could hear water somewhere ahead—a faint, steady rush.
When they reached it, he was surprised to find not a river, but a long, narrow canal, its waters running smooth and dark. A stone bridge stretched over it, worn down by time but still sturdy.
They crossed in silence.
---
Aaron's mind wandered back to the fight. He thought about the moment he had grabbed the creature's arm and twisted, feeling the bones shift under his grip. He thought about the way his feet had shifted on the forest floor, finding balance automatically, the way his body had spun with the swing instead of resisting it.
There was no way he could have known how to do those things.
And yet, somehow, he had.
Was it something to do with being one of the Seven?
Or had it always been in him, waiting for a reason to surface?
He didn't like the uncertainty.
---
The sky was darker now, painted in shades of deep blue and amber. Lyra led them onto a dirt path that wound steadily upward. The sound of the forest was different here—quieter, but not in the way that signaled danger. It was the kind of quiet that came with distance from civilization.
Aaron's legs ached, but he said nothing.
They rounded a bend, and then—finally—he saw it.
Their destination.
---
At first, it looked like a dark shape on the horizon, rising from the slope ahead. As they drew closer, details emerged: towering stone walls, spiked at the top; gates of reinforced iron that stood twice as tall as any man; a faint shimmer in the air above, like heat haze, though the evening air was cool.
Torches lined the approach, their flames dancing lazily in the wind.
Two guards stood at the gate, their armor dark and polished, strange insignias etched into the metal. When they saw Lyra, they shifted slightly, their expressions changing in a way Aaron couldn't quite read.
They recognized her.
---
Aaron slowed, taking it all in. This wasn't a village, or even a small fortress. The sheer scale of the walls suggested that whatever lay inside was far larger—and far more significant—than anything he had imagined.
Lyra didn't slow. She walked straight toward the gate, her voice clear as she called out to the guards.
"We've arrived."
The guards stepped aside. The gates began to open, the metal groaning faintly on its hinges.
Aaron's heart was pounding again—but this time, it wasn't from fear.
It was from the knowledge that whatever awaited him inside was the real beginning of whatever this journey was meant to be.
---