Calen jolted awake, his breath ragged and chest heaving as though he had been running for miles. The world came into focus slowly—a dense forest stretching endlessly around him, its canopy casting dappled shadows on the ground below. The distant chirping of birds and the crunch of boots on dry leaves filled the air. The faint smell of smoke lingered, likely from Ronan's fire earlier that morning.
"Finally awake, are you?" Vera's voice cut through his haze, sharp but not unkind. She walked a few paces ahead, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword as if she expected danger at every turn.
Calen sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His muscles were sore, and his mind felt foggy. "Where are we?"
"Half a day's journey from Yaloran Ridge," Ronan said over his shoulder. His voice carried its usual calm authority, though there was a weariness to it. "We've been moving steadily since… well, since the ruins."
The ruins.
The memories came rushing back like a tidal wave—the glowing altar, the clash with Captain Nera and his thirty soldiers, and the overwhelming power of the crystal. He could still feel the faint hum of it against his chest, tucked safely inside his tunic.
"How long have I been out?" Calen asked, standing on shaky legs.
"Three days," Seris answered, her tone unusually gentle. She walked beside him, her staff in hand, scanning the trees for threats. "You've been slipping in and out. The crystal drained a lot out of you. We were worried you wouldn't wake up."
Calen frowned, clutching the pendant that hung around his neck. "The crystal… it's still safe?"
"Safe as it can be," Vera said without looking back. "But you need to control your connection to it. Whatever happened back there took more from you than you realize."
The group moved steadily through the forest, and Calen began to take in his surroundings. The terrain was uneven, the ground littered with roots and rocks that made every step precarious. Yaloran Ridge, their next destination, was rumored to hold a settlement of wandering outcasts—a place where the empire's influence was weak but where trust was hard to earn.
The party pressed on in silence for hours. Calen occasionally caught Ronan glancing back at him, as if assessing his strength. Vera, ever the sentinel, stayed vigilant, while Seris hummed softly to herself, her hands sparking with faint traces of magic.
As they climbed a steep hill, Calen's legs threatened to buckle beneath him. "Why Yaloran Ridge?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
Ronan paused at the crest of the hill, turning to face him. "We need allies, Calen. The empire won't stop hunting us after what happened. If we can gain the trust of the people here, we might have a chance to rebuild—starting with your village."
"Rebuild," Calen murmured, the weight of the word settling heavily on him.
Vera snorted. "That is, if we can convince them we're not spies for the empire."
Calen swallowed hard. Trusting strangers seemed like an impossible task, but what choice did they have? If they were to survive, they needed more than just their small group.
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the forest in shades of gold and orange. As they set up camp for the night, Calen found himself staring at the crystal, its faint glow pulsing in the dim light. It felt alive, almost as if it were waiting for something—or someone.
"Get some rest," Ronan said, tossing Calen a blanket. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
Calen nodded, lying down beside the fire. But sleep didn't come easily. His mind raced with thoughts of the ruins, Captain Nera's retreating figure, and the unknown dangers that lay ahead.
As the fire crackled and the forest settled into quiet, he whispered to himself, "We have to make this work."