The cave swallowed the last traces of moonlight behind them.
Raymun stopped, her breath catching as the walls closed in—cold, silent, endless.
"Come," Osairin said softly, already moving deeper into the tunnel. His voice echoed off the stone, calm and certain. "It's not far."
Raymun didn't move.
"I… I can't see," she admitted, the words scraping her throat. She hated the confession, hated the weakness it revealed. She hated the dark.
Osairin turned, though she couldn't see his face—only the faint shift of shadow.
He extended his hand.
"Give me your hand."
Her pulse stuttered. She hesitated before sliding her fingers into his. His hand was warm—too warm for someone who looked carved from moonlit stone—and he guided her gently until she could place her other hand on his shoulder.
"Stay close," he murmured. "The floor is uneven."
She swallowed, nodding even though he couldn't see it. With her palm against his shoulder, she felt every movement, every breath. He walked slowly for her sake, steady as a guiding flame.
"Can you… see in the dark?" she whispered.
"Yes."
She tightened her grip. "That's terrifying."
He laughed softly. "Only if you're afraid of what sees you."
She glared—into the void, because she still couldn't see anything—but refused to show how her heart jumped at the sound of his voice. The cave grew narrower, the sound of dripping water echoing through the stone like distant heartbeats.
Something shifted in the darkness.
Not a drip.
Not a breath of wind.
Something alive.
Raymun froze, fingers digging into Osiarin's shoulder. Her entire body pressed instinctively against his back.
"That wasn't the earth," she whispered.
He stilled—listened—then eased slightly. "Just stone settling."
"It didn't sound like stone."
He didn't argue. Instead, he shifted so she stood beside him rather than behind, his arm coming around her almost protectively as he lifted his other hand.
"Raymun," he said softly, "look."
A faint glow blossomed in his palm.
Light unfurled like a living thing—soft gold at its edges, a deep molten amber at its center. A flame, but not one born of firewood or spark. It breathed with an otherworldly pulse.
Magic.
The cave walls sprang into sight, rippled with warm color.
"You…" she breathed. "You had magic this whole time?"
He tilted his head, the magical fire casting molten gold across his features.
"I always have."
"Then why didn't you do that—" she swallowed hard "—when you pulled me from the river? You used sticks and stones… I remember."
His eyes softened in a way she wasn't prepared for.
"I didn't want to frighten you."
She blinked, stunned.
"Scare me? You— the man who threw me over and pinned me to the ground thought that magic was the scary part?"
He smirked. "Well, now I know you frighten easily."
"I do not!"
"You grabbed my shoulder like you were clinging to life."
She shoved his shoulder. He didn't move an inch.
"I was navigating the dark!"
Osairin's laugh echoed warmly through the cave, and despite herself, she felt her chest loosen.
He let the flame hover beside them, floating lazily like a living lantern. As they walked, it illuminated more of him—the curve of his jaw, the softness behind his dangerous eyes, the quiet care he carried like a second shadow.
Finally, they reached the cave's mouth. Pale early light seeped through, outlines sharpening into trees and stones.
"Osairin," she said suddenly.
He paused.
"I… need clothes." She glanced down at her soaked white gown, ripped from the river, clinging to her skin. "Clothes that cover my hair, my skin. Everything. I can't let anyone see."
He studied her for a long moment.
Then nodded once, approvingly.
"Good thinking," he said.
She hated how much that made her stomach flip.
They stepped into the morning air—crisp, cool, scented with dew. Raymun exhaled, relieved to be out of the suffocating dark.
She took one step forward—
Osairin's arm shot out, stopping her.
"What—?"
He didn't answer.
A shape lounged lazily atop a nearby boulder.
At first Raymun thought it was a shadow.
Then it lifted its head.
A jackal.
Sleek. Black fur gleaming.
Eyes glowing bright gold.
It stared at her with far too much intelligence.
Raymun's breath hitched. "Osairin…?"
He sighed in a way that suggested annoyance—and familiarity.
"Taro," he muttered.
The jackal yawned.
Then leapt—
—landing on two human feet.
A young man stood before them now, sandy hair sticking out wildly, golden eyes mischievous, bare feet dirty from the road. He stretched casually as if he'd merely woken from a nap.