The Weeping Tree's scream faded into the night, leaving behind a silence that felt like a held breath.
I stood there, the amulet burning against my chest, surrounded by three men who all seemed to think I was something I wasn't—something important. Something worth dying for.
Or killing for.
"We need to move," Aret said, eyes scanning the empty street. "Now. If we heard the tree, others did too. And they'll come looking."
"Looking for what?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"For you," Rables replied flatly. "For that." He gestured at the amulet. "The nobles will have people everywhere. Watchers. Informants. Once they realize you have it..."
"They already know." Tet's hand was still on his knife. "Someone came asking at your grandmother's house. They're testing the rumors."
"Then we're too late." Rables turned away, suddenly looking every one of his years. "The boy should run. Tonight. Before they come in force."
"He won't make it past the gates alone," Aret said. "Look at him. He's seventeen, barefoot, and he's never been outside Arazon. They'd catch him before dawn."
"Then what do you suggest?" Rables snapped. "Take him to the temple?"
"Not the temple." Tet's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "My house. It's outside the city. We hide him there while we figure out the next move."
Rables laughed bitterly. "Your house? You think they don't know about you? About what you were?"
"What I was ended years ago," Tet said. "I'm a farmer now. A father. No one cares about farmers."
"You were a Serpent," Rables spat. "The personal guard of the sun holders. You think they've forgotten that?"
"Yes." But Tet's voice wavered, just slightly.
Aret studied them both. "It's the best option we have. Better than standing here debating while the hunters close in."
"I'm right here," I said, louder than I meant to. "And I can make my own decisions."
They turned to me.
"Can you?" Rables asked quietly. "Your mother made her choice. She ran. Abandoned her duty. Her kingdom. Now you have the chance to be different. To be more than she was."
"I understand that everyone wants something from me," I said, anger flaring. "You want me to be a symbol. The nobles want me dead. My grandmother wants me hidden. And my mother—she wanted me to be free. And she's the only one not here to demand anything."
Silence settled between us.
"Your mother was a coward and a thief," Rables said, "but she was chosen by the sun. Marked. Given visions. She was meant to lead, and she ran. The question is: will you?"
I wanted to strike him. But I also wanted to run. To drop the amulet and disappear forever.
The tree screamed again, distant now.
"We're wasting time," Aret snapped. "The boy comes with us or he doesn't. Decide."
I looked at Tet. The man who'd taught me to fight. Who never met my eyes.
"Why do you care?" I asked.
Tet met my gaze at last, and I saw guilt there.
"Because I failed her," he said softly. "Your mother. I was assigned to protect her. When she ran, I let her. Didn't stop her. Didn't warn anyone. I've been paying for that choice for seventeen years. I won't fail her son too."
The confession hung in the air. Raw.
"Fine," I said. "Your house. But if this is a trap..."
"It's not," Tet swore. "On Sebtenius's life."
That was enough.
"Then let's go." I turned, then stopped. "My grandmother. She's alone."
"She can take care of herself," Rables interrupted. "She trained your mother in combat before she was chosen. She's not as helpless as you think."
The revelation hit like a blow. My grandmother—a warrior. I thought of her striking me with a cooking pot, the precision in it. She'd been teaching me all along.
"Move," Aret urged. "We'll send word to her. But we need to go."
I went.