Dawn came reluctantly, gray light seeping across the horizon as though the sun itself feared to rise. Darian trudged behind Serenya along the narrow dirt road, every step dragging with exhaustion. He hadn't slept after the attack. The whisper of the shades still clung to his ears, and the memory of the fire bursting at his touch haunted him.
Serenya walked ahead in silence, her hood pulled low. She hadn't spoken since the hollow, but Darian felt her gaze flick toward him whenever he lagged. It was a silence heavier than words, filled with suspicion and questions she hadn't yet voiced.
Finally, she stopped. "Tell me the truth."
Darian froze. "About what?"
She turned, eyes hard. "The fire. That wasn't chance. Shades fear flame, but what happened last night was no ordinary fire. It answered you."
His mouth went dry. He shook his head too quickly. "I don't know what you saw. I was terrified. Maybe it was the wind."
Her expression didn't soften. "Don't lie to me. If you carry Rowan's letter, then whatever stirs inside you matters. It may even be why he chose you."
"I'm nobody," Darian muttered, dropping his gaze. "I can't even swing a sword properly. If there's anything inside me… I don't want it."
For a moment she said nothing, only studied him with unreadable eyes. Then she turned sharply, resuming her pace. "Want it or not, the world doesn't care. Power ignored is power wasted—and wasted power draws death."
Her words cut deeper than he cared to admit. He followed in silence, the letter beneath his tunic suddenly feeling heavier than ever.
---
By midmorning they reached the edge of a small village nestled against the hills. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and the smell of baking bread drifted on the breeze. To Darian, it looked like salvation—walls, roofs, people. A chance to rest, perhaps even vanish among the common folk.
But Serenya's jaw tightened. "We'll stop only long enough to take supplies. Keep your hood up. Don't draw eyes."
They entered the village square, where merchants set up their stalls and children chased dogs through the mud. At first, no one spared them a glance. Darian allowed himself a breath of relief.
Then he noticed the notice-board at the square's center. Nailed to the wood was a fresh parchment bearing Sir Rowan's likeness—sketched in ink, his name branded with the word TRAITOR. Beneath it, a second sketch made his blood run cold. It was crude, but unmistakably him.
Darian tugged his hood lower. "They're hunting me."
Serenya's eyes flicked to the board, her expression darkening. "Rowan's death reached here faster than we did. Which means the king's reach is longer than I feared."
A merchant waved cheerily at her, offering fruit. Serenya shook her head curtly and pulled Darian toward a quieter street. "We take what we need and leave. No lingering."
---
They ducked into a small apothecary, the shelves lined with herbs and jars of cloudy liquid. The shopkeeper, an elderly woman with sharp eyes, eyed them curiously.
"Travelers?" she asked.
"Passing through," Serenya replied smoothly. "We need dried meat, water flasks, and bandages."
The woman nodded and bustled into the back. Darian exhaled slowly, tension easing—until the door creaked open and two armored men stepped inside. Soldiers. Their tabards bore the black wolf of Valebright's garrison.
"Morning, madam," one said, removing his gloves. "We're looking for two fugitives. A young man and a cloaked girl. Seen anyone suspicious?"
Darian's heart slammed against his ribs. He shifted instinctively closer to the shelves, trying to vanish among the jars. Serenya's hand brushed against his—subtle, steadying. She spoke before the silence betrayed them.
"We've only just arrived," she said evenly. "Merchants from the south road. My brother and I seek medicine for the journey."
Darian almost choked at brother. He kept his head down, praying the soldiers couldn't hear the thunder of his pulse.
The shopkeeper returned, arms full of supplies. Her sharp eyes lingered on Darian, then the soldiers, and for a dreadful heartbeat he thought she might betray them. Instead, she clucked her tongue.
"These two? Harmless. The boy looks like he'd faint at the sight of a blade."
The soldiers chuckled. One patted Darian's shoulder in mock sympathy before turning away. "If you see anything, madam, report at once."
They left, the door slamming shut behind them.
Darian nearly collapsed with relief. Serenya, however, wasted no time. She paid the shopkeeper and gathered their supplies. "We can't stay. Eyes are everywhere."
But as they stepped outside, Darian felt the weight of another gaze—not mocking, not suspicious, but intent. A hooded man leaned against the far wall of the square, watching them with piercing focus. His cloak bore no crest, yet his presence radiated purpose.
When Darian met his eyes, the man smiled faintly and vanished into the crowd.
"Serenya," Darian whispered. "Someone's following us."
Her jaw tightened. "Then we leave now. And pray the road carries us faster than our shadows."