Her lips curved, slow and dangerous.
The snakes stirred, silent, watchful.
And far below, on forgotten roads winding through shadow, a boy climbing toward her.
A boy with kindness in his hands, and defiance in his bones.
A boy who might be the first in years to look at her, and not turn away.
*********
The city's outer edge lay hushed, as if even the wind knew he was about to cross into danger.
Thalos stood where the packed dirt road bled into the forest's shadow, one hand gripping a rolled, map, the other the strap of his overfilled pack.
He had bought milk in a goat-hide flask from an old vendor near the incense sellers. With it came dried meat wrapped in stiff leaves, travel-hardened bread, a pouch of dates, and a handful of crushed nuts, enough for days, perhaps weeks, if rationed wisely.
The sky above the walls was paling toward late afternoon. He shifted the pack, bracing himself, when a hand clamped his shoulder.
"Elian."
His friend's hair like burnished wheat. His breath came ragged. "I've been calling," Elian panted. "Ran from the palace road." His gaze dropped to the map. "Is that...?"
Thalos unrolled it just enough for the faded ink to show.
"A map to where?" Elian's voice had gone urgent. "You're leaving Dareon?"
"It came urgently," Thalos said. "My grandmother's cure, a bark that grows only in the hills. I won't watch her die while my feet can still carry me."
Elian's jaw tightened. "Those hills are cursed. Wolves. Bandits. And that creature—" His voice dropped. "Serpents for hair. Men turn to stone in her gaze. Half the king's hunters never came back."
"I've heard."
"Then think twice."
"I already have." Thalos rolled the map. "If there's danger, I'll meet it. But I will not return without the bark."
Elian's smile was thin. "Once your mind's set, no one can unset it." He rested a hand on Thalos's shoulder. "Then be safe. And if you see her, run before she sees you. Run until your legs burn."
They embraced, their grip holding what neither would say aloud.
"I'll watch over her," Elian murmured.
Thalos reached for the string around his neck. "The key—"
"You left a spare with me."
"Did I?"
"You did."
He let it go, glancing at the sky, blue fading to amber. "I must reach Hollow pass before dawn. Then the path climbs to the river basin. After that... it's all uphill.."
"I'll tell the master in the gardens you're away. Come back safe, brave one."
They had worked those gardens side by side, the king's courtyards, the olive groves. The thought of tending them without Thalos's laughter left Elian hollow.
"Keep her warm," Thalos said softly.
"I will."
Thalos stepped back, nodded once, and walked on. His boots struck the dirt in rhythm with his heartbeat, faster, faster. The road curved. The city wall slipped from sight.
Something made him glance back.
Elian still stood there, framed by the city's edge. Thalos raised a hand. Elian did not raise his own. His head was bowed, lips moving in prayer, to whatever old gods still listened to men who risked their lives for the dying.
Thalos faced forward. The forest loomed, the quiet the kind that waits.
⸻
The sun had slipped behind the jagged hills, leaving the sky bruised purple and dying gold. Evening fell quickly here, as if night were eager to swallow the land whole.
Thalos stood among a scatter of massive stones. Hours earlier, the forest had closed around him, trunks so wide it would take five men to encircle them, air alive with low growls, snapping twigs, unseen wings. Some noises had startled him; others had stirred the ache of home: his grandmother's cooking fire, spiced bread in the dark.
More than once he'd thought of turning back. But the image of her pale face, her shallow breaths, that weighed more than his pack.
He pulled on his wool coat, found the remains of another's fire, coaxed it back to life. Flames gilded the rocks, throwing the dark beyond into deeper shadow. He listened: low, almost-human wails threading the wind; sharp cries as if something were being torn apart; the hollow beat of wings belonging to no bird he knew.
Sleep hovered, but never landed. Every time his eyes closed, some sound tore through the night. Twigs snapping too close. Brush rustling where there was no wind.
"You've got this, Thalos," he whispered.
Then,the howl.
Low, drawn-out. Too close.
Beyond the firelight, two eyes burned molten amber.
A wolf.
It stepped closer, soundless, head low. It circled, keeping to the edge of the heat. Then its ears tilted north. Another howl, distant, commanding. The animal turned and vanished into the dark.
Thalos scattered the fire. Darkness closed over him.
He whispered a prayer to gods he hadn't called on in years.
⸻
Far above, Gorgona wandered the hills.
She stepped among the petrified, faces twisted in terror, limbs frozen mid-motion.
"I warned you," she murmured. "I didn't want this."
She knelt beside a stone soldier, his helmet cracked, sword still raised. She touched his cheek.
"It could've been different."
Her gaze lifted to the sky. "I saved this world! I gave everything for humans! And now they call me a monster?"
Her fist struck stone. It cracked.
"They should fear me. They made me this way."
She sat on a boulder, hugging herself.
To the snakes in her hair, she whispered, "I used to have wings. I used to glow. I used to sing."
The snakes coiled closer, listening.
Now, she sang only to silence.
⸻
And far below, a boy with dark curls and a desperate heart lay shivering beneath the stars.
They had not yet met.
But soon, they would.
And nothing, nothing, would ever be the same again.
*******
The wind came sharp and cold across the Vale of Stone.
Thalos crouched on the cracked earth, dust whipping into his face until his eyes stung. He pulled the scarf higher over his nose, the cloth stiff with sand.
The fire before him was a small, stubborn thing, the flames shivering in the wind. He tipped the last of his oil onto the wood; the blaze flared, then steadied. Warmth touched his skin but could not reach the deep chill in his bones. The night had been restless, strange noises in the dark, a cold that crawled under his skin.
And the wolf.
Perhaps it had circled back.
From his palm he took a handful of dates, biting into one, savoring the sweetness before spitting the seed into the dirt. The map lay beside him, its stiff, weathered leaves crackling in the breeze. Leaning forward, he traced the faded ink lines with a fingertip.
The Hollow Pass , last safe ground before the wild, ungoverned hills. Beyond that, the dark curve of the River Basin. A short journey if the path held. The river's slow current would be his final comfort before the climb into the hills, where the serpent-headed monster was said to dwell.
He folded the map and rose, tightening the leather straps of his boots until they bit into his ankles. The curved wooden comb passed through his thick curls; then he stamped out the fire.