The inside of the giantwood husk was a world of its own, a cocoon of relative safety in the predatory belly of the Gloomweald. For a few hours, there was only the sound of Lyra's pained breathing and the constant, dripping melody of moisture seeping through the ancient bark.
Kaelen kept his watch by the crack, his senses stretched thin. The Vokai's cold awareness was a film over the world, painting it in shades of intention and life force. He felt the skittering of insects, the slow, vegetative pulse of the moss, the distant, warm bloom of a sleeping creature in its den. It was exhausting, like holding a muscle clenched for hours on end, but the fear of a Vampier patrol finding them was a potent fuel.
As the first hints of a deeper darkness—the Gloomweald's version of true night—began to bleed into the perpetual twilight, Lyra stirred. A low groan escaped her lips as she tried to shift her leg.
"Don't move," Kaelen said quietly, not turning from his post. "The bleeding has stopped, but the muscle is torn."
Lyra's golden eyes blinked open, focusing on his silhouette against the dim light. The raw animal fear from the battle was gone, replaced by a weary, calculating clarity. "How long was I out?"
"A few hours. The forest is quiet. For now."
She pushed herself up onto her elbows, her jaw tight against the pain. "Quiet is a lie here. It's just listening." She looked at the makeshift bandage on her leg, then at him. "You did adequate work."
It was the closest to a 'thank you' he was likely to get from her, and he accepted it with a nod. "We need to find better supplies. Proper food. Your body needs to heal."
"My body heals faster than a human's," she stated, a flicker of pride returning. "But not fast enough without sustenance. And not with Vampier poison in the wounds."
Kaelen turned now, his grey eyes sharp. "Poison?"
"Their claws carry a subtle venom. It slows regeneration, weakens the prey. It's why I couldn't force a full change." She leaned her head back against the wood. "We need yarrowroot. It grows near water. It can draw out the poison."
Kaelen filed the information away. Another piece of the world's brutal puzzle. "The stream we were at is tainted. We can't go back there."
"Then we find another. You said you can sense water. Can you sense if it's clean?"
He considered it. When he had sensed the tainted stream, it had felt… sharp. Discordant. "I think so. I can try."
He closed his eyes, pushing past his own fatigue. He let the Vokai's sensory gift flow outwards, not in a violent pulse, but as a gentle, expanding ring of perception. He ignored the small, warm lives and the cold, hard stone, searching for the particular, flowing signature of fresh water. He felt one source to the north, but it carried the same metallic discord as the border stream. Another to the west was faint and distant.
Then he felt it. A clean, cool thread of energy, seeping through the earth to the south-east. It felt pure, vital.
"There," he said, opening his eyes and pointing. "A spring, I think. Not far."
Lyra looked at him, a new respect in her gaze. "Your… gift… is useful."
"It's a curse that keeps me alive," he replied flatly. "Can you walk?"
"I can try."
The attempt was short-lived. The moment she put weight on her injured leg, it buckled, and she would have fallen if Kaelen hadn't moved with his new, stolen speed to catch her. His hands gripped her arms, and for a moment, they were frozen. He felt the incredible density of muscle under her skin, the latent power even in her weakened state. She felt the unsettling coolness of his touch, a void that seemed to pull at the very warmth of her body.
She stiffened but didn't pull away. Pride warred with pragmatism. "This is… inefficient."
"I'll help you," he said. It wasn't a question.
It was an awkward, limping procession. Kaelen bore most of her weight, his arm around her back, her own arm slung over his shoulders. He was lean, but the absorbed Vital Essence gave him a strength he shouldn't have possessed. They moved slowly, Kaelen using his senses to guide them around treacherous ground and thickets, his mind a map of the life forces around them.
As they navigated a patch of glowing, blue fungi, Lyra spoke, her voice low. "The Vampiers. They will not let this go. You destroyed one of them. They see humans as cattle. For a cow to kill the butcher… it is an unforgivable sin. They will hunt us with everything they have."
"I know," Kaelen said, his voice tight. "Your warning was heard."
"It's more than that now," she said. "My father, Borin, is a traditionalist, but he is honorable. He has long argued for measured responses to the Vampiers' encroachment. The elders who exiled me, they want open war. If the Vampiers are hunting a human in our territory—a human traveling with me—it could be the spark they need. We are a political problem now, as well as a personal one."
Kaelen absorbed this. His simple wish for survival was now entangled in a web of clan politics and ancient feuds. The weight of it was immense.
They reached the spring. It was as he'd sensed: a small, clear pool of water welling up from between the roots of a great, white-barked tree, its leaves filtering the little light into a soft, green glow. It was one of the most peaceful places he had seen since entering the forest.
While Lyra lowered herself to the ground with a sigh of relief, Kaelen found the yarrowroot she described, its feathery leaves unmistakable. He brought it to her with a cupped handful of clean water.
As she chewed the bitter root and applied the poultice to her wounds, she watched him. "You handle yourself better than any town-born human has a right to. You're not just a Void who got lucky."
Kaelen sat opposite her, drinking deeply from the spring. The water was cold and clean, washing the taste of fear from his mouth. "I've always had to be careful. Being invisible was my only defense. Now… now I have to learn to be something else."
"A predator," Lyra stated, matter-of-factly. "In the Gloomweald, there is only predator and prey. You can no longer afford to be the latter."
The words settled in his soul, finding a home next to the cold Vokai energy and the warm Vampier essence. She was right. The boy from Duskhaven was a ghost. The man who would survive had to be a hunter.
As dusk deepened, a new sound reached them, carried on a shift of the wind. It wasn't the sound of the forest. It was a distant, rhythmic, metallic clicking.
Lyra's head snapped up, her eyes wide. "The King's Hunters," she whispered, her face pale. "They use trained Grawl—trackers with metal claws. They're already on our trail. And they're close."
The fragile peace of the spring shattered. The hunt was on.