"Who are you?" Elira's brows furrowed as she faced the figure before her.
She stepped closer — and suddenly his hand shot out, clamping around her throat. Her breath caught as her feet left the ground, dangling helplessly.
She clawed at his grip, struggling, her nails scraping against skin that felt too cold, too solid. The man's eyes gleamed unnaturally, like sunlight striking polished steel.
"You're not supposed to be here," he said, his voice lilting, almost sing-song, as though her terror was a melody he enjoyed. "You don't belong to my plan."
Elira's lips trembled as she forced out broken words. "W-Who… are you…"
The man's mouth curled into a grin — too wide, too sharp, more predator than human.
And then—
She jolted awake.
Elira sat upright, gasping for air, her chest heaving. Morning light streamed through the cracked windowpane, spilling across the floorboards in pale gold. She pressed a trembling hand to her neck, half-expecting to feel the bruising grip still there. But there was nothing. Only the phantom ache.
Her heart thundered in her ears.
"What happened?" Lucan's voice snapped across the room.
She turned toward him, her wide eyes meeting his. He was already on his feet, sword half-drawn, the morning sun glinting off the steel. His gaze swept the corners of the room, sharp and searching, as though expecting an intruder.
Elira swallowed hard, her throat raw. "I… I saw someone," she whispered. "A man. He said I wasn't supposed to be here."
Lucan's eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. Slowly, he slid the blade back into its sheath. "A dream," he said flatly.
"No," Elira shook her head, clutching the blanket tighter. "It wasn't just a dream. It felt real. His voice, his eyes—he knew me. He knew I don't belong here."
Lucan's jaw tightened, but his tone was sharp, dismissive. "You do belong here. Whatever you saw was nothing more than your mind playing tricks on you. Fear makes shadows seem alive."
Her breath caught. "You don't understand. He said I wasn't supposed to be here. That I wasn't part of his plan—"
"Enough." His voice cut through hers like a blade. He stepped closer, his presence towering, unyielding. "You are here. That is all that matters. Whether you like it or not, this world has claimed you. Stop clinging to the idea that you don't belong."
Elira stared at him, her chest tight. His words were iron, final — but she could see it in his eyes, the flicker of doubt he refused to admit.
She pressed her hand against her neck again, the phantom grip still burning in her memory.
Lucan might not believe her. He might insist it was only a dream.
But she knew what she had seen.
And somewhere out there, someone else knew it too.
Lucan turned his back to her, the morning light glinting off the edges of his armor. His voice was clipped, leaving no room for argument.
"You're awake. Good. Change into the clothes I left for you. Then we move. Don't waste time."
The words struck her like a command, not an invitation. He didn't ask if she was ready, didn't even glance to see if she could stand. To him, her exhaustion, her trembling hands, the sweat still clinging to her skin from the nightmare — none of it mattered.
Elira sat frozen, her fingers still pressed against her throat. The phantom ache of that dream lingered, the echo of the stranger's voice whispering you don't belong here. She wanted to tell Lucan again, to make him understand that it hadn't felt like a dream at all. But his rigid back, the way his cloak fell like a wall between them, told her what his answer would be.
He didn't believe her. He wouldn't believe her.
Grinding her teeth, she forced herself to her feet. Her ankle throbbed faintly, her body still heavy with fatigue, but she refused to let him see her falter. If he saw weakness, he would only use it against her.
Lucan adjusted the sword at his hip and strode toward the door without a backward glance. "We have a long road ahead. Change quickly. I'll wait downstairs."
Elira's jaw tightened. To him, she was still just useful. A tool to be carried along, wielded when necessary. But as she followed him into the morning light, she couldn't shake the thought that her dream had been more than a dream.
Someone out there knew she wasn't meant to be here.
And if Lucan refused to believe her, then she would have to find the truth on her own.
The morning sun was already high when Lucan led two horses from the stable. Their coats gleamed in the light, one a dark stallion that matched his armor, the other a smaller chestnut mare. He handed the reins of the mare toward Elira without ceremony.
"This one is yours," he said.
Elira blinked at the animal, then at him. "Mine? I don't know how to ride."
Lucan's expression hardened, his jaw tightening as though the very idea irritated him. "Then learn."
Her eyes widened. "What? No—I'll fall. I can't just—"
"I will not share a saddle," he cut her off, his tone sharp as steel. "If you can walk, you can ride. The road is long, and I won't waste time dragging you behind me."
Elira's lips parted in protest, but the cold finality in his voice silenced her. He mounted his own horse with practiced ease, the stallion shifting beneath him but obeying instantly. He looked down at her, his gaze like a command.
Elira swallowed hard and glared at him.
"What an unbelievable man," she muttered under her breath, the words barely audible. Then she turned back to the mare. The animal's dark eyes studied her, ears flicking as if sensing her hesitation. She recalled fragments of stories she had once read — descriptions of how heroines mounted horses, how they gripped the reins, how instinct carried them through.
If they could do it, so can I, she told herself, though her hands trembled as she placed her foot in the stirrup. With an awkward push, she swung herself onto the saddle. The mare shifted beneath her, and Elira clutched the reins tightly, her heart hammering.
Lucan gave her a long, assessing look. "Hold steady. Don't grip like a child. The horse will feel your fear."
"I am afraid," she muttered under her breath.
He ignored her. With a sharp motion, he snapped the rope tethering the mare to the post.
The horse bolted.
Elira screamed as the world lurched beneath her. The mare surged forward, hooves pounding against the dirt, faster and faster. She clung desperately to the reins, her body bouncing in the saddle, every muscle screaming in panic. People on that village move side as they saw the horse running wild.
"Help me!" she cried, her voice breaking.
The wind tore at her hair, her eyes stung, and her arms ached as she hugged herself against the horse's neck, clinging for dear life. The mare ran wild, heedless of her terror, carrying her away from the stable and down the open path.
Behind her, Elira thought she heard Lucan curse — sharp, furious — before the thunder of his stallion's hooves gave chase.
The mare tore down the dirt path, hooves striking the ground like rolling thunder. Elira clung desperately to the reins, her arms burning, her body jolting violently in the saddle. The wind whipped her hair across her face, her throat raw from screaming.
The pounding of another set of hooves closed in behind her.
"Elira!" Lucan's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding. It was the second time he had called her name.
She dared a glance back — he was closing in, his stallion devouring the distance with terrifying speed, his posture steady and unshaken as though the wild gallop were nothing to him.
"I can't—!" she cried, her voice breaking. "I can't stop it!"
"Hold the reins tighter!" he barked. "Pull, don't flail!"
Her hands trembled, her grip slipping. The mare veered sharply, nearly throwing her off. Elira screamed again, pressing herself flat against the horse's neck, hugging it as if her life depended on it.
Lucan urged his stallion forward, drawing alongside her. His eyes were hard, his jaw clenched. "You'll kill yourself if you keep clinging like that!"
"I told you I don't know how!" she shouted back, tears stinging her eyes.
For a moment, something flickered in his expression — frustration, yes, but also something sharper, almost like fear. He reached out, his gauntleted hand snapping around the mare's reins just below hers. With a powerful tug, he forced the horse to slow, its wild gallop breaking into a rough trot before finally halting in a spray of dust.
Elira nearly toppled forward, but Lucan's arm shot out, steadying her before she could fall.
Her chest heaved, her whole body trembling. She looked at him, wide-eyed, her voice shaking. "I nearly died."
Lucan's gaze bore into hers, unyielding. "How useless of you."
Elira's breath caught at the insult. She slid off the mare clumsily, nearly stumbling as her feet hit the ground. She steadied herself, glaring up at him with fire in her eyes.
"You could've killed me," she snapped.
Lucan looked down at her, his expression unreadable. "You're alive."
"That's not the point!" Her voice cracked with anger. "I told you I didn't know how to ride. You didn't listen. You just—just threw me onto a horse and let it run wild!"
His eyes were cold, but there was a sharpness in them, a flicker of something unspoken. "If you wait until you're ready, you'll never learn. Fear doesn't vanish by coddling it. You face it, or it consumes you."
Elira's fists clenched at her sides. "That wasn't teaching. That was cruelty."
Lucan nudged his stallion forward, his shadow falling over her in the sunlight. "Cruelty would have been leaving you behind to walk. Cruelty would have been letting you fall when the horse bolted. But I didn't. I caught you. I stopped it."
Her breath hitched, but she refused to look away. "You hate the idea of me riding with you, don't you? That's why you forced me. You couldn't stand the thought of sharing a saddle."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't deny it. Instead, he exhaled slowly, a sound that was almost a growl. For the first time, he looked less like a commander and more like a man cornered by inevitability.
Elira crossed her arms, her chin lifting stubbornly. "Then you have two choices, Lucan. Either I walk and slow you down, or I ride with you. Because I'm not getting back on that horse alone."
The silence stretched between them, taut as a drawn bowstring. His stallion shifted beneath him, sensing his tension.
Lucan's eyes narrowed, his pride warring with practicality. He hated the thought of it — her pressed against his back, her presence too close, too distracting. But the image of her clinging helplessly to the runaway mare, her scream tearing through the air, lingered in his mind.
Finally, he cursed under his breath. "Fine."
He extended a gauntleted hand toward her, his expression carved from stone. "Get on."
Elira blinked, startled. "What?"
"You heard me." His voice was low, edged with reluctant resignation. "One horse. Mine. Don't make me repeat myself."
For a heartbeat, she hesitated. Then, with a small, defiant smile tugging at her lips, she placed her hand in his. He pulled her up with ease, settling her behind him on the stallion's saddle.
The leather was warm beneath her, the scent of steel and earth clinging to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist instinctively as the horse shifted.
Lucan stiffened at the contact, his shoulders rigid. "Don't get comfortable," he muttered.
Elira rested her cheek against the rough fabric of his cloak, her voice quiet but steady. "I don't need to be comfortable. I just need to survive."
Lucan said nothing, but his grip on the reins tightened. With a sharp command, the stallion surged forward, carrying them both down the road.
For the first time, they rode together — unwilling allies bound by necessity, the silence between them heavier than words.