The grand entrance hall of Eldorath Mansion felt colder than before, the flickering lanterns casting jagged shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly along the polished stone walls. Rowen stood beside Dryanden, the protective charm Lady Selene had given her dangling from her fingers. The faint warmth of the crystal pulsed rhythmically, unsettling yet strangely reassuring.
Selene stood before them, her expression sharp, her presence commanding. The faint hum of magical energy seemed to emanate from her, filling the air with a tension that was impossible to ignore. "The village you're heading to has grown vulnerable to attacks," she said, her voice cutting through the silence.
Rowen thought of the Shadehound they'd faced—a beast of muscle, claws, and teeth, relentless in its pursuit. Her pulse quickened at the memory, though she forced herself to stand tall. "What's happening to these villages?" she asked.
"The wards that protect them are weakening," Selene said. "And as they do, the natural balance begins to break down. The creatures grow bolder, the land twists in ways it shouldn't, and the people…" She paused, her gaze flicking briefly to Dryanden before returning to Rowen. "The people lose hope."
Rowen swallowed hard. "And you think we can stop it?"
"I think you can try," Selene replied, her tone measured. "You are not meant to fix the seals—that task lies beyond your reach. Your role is to stabilize what you can and gather what information is needed to address the greater problem."
Dryanden's voice was low, cutting. "And Thalor? What role does he play?"
Selene's expression didn't falter. "He will meet you at the first village. His expertise in magic makes him an invaluable resource and teacher."
"Invaluable," Dryanden repeated bitterly, his jaw tightening. "I'm sure he'd agree."
Selene ignored his tone, her sharp gaze locking onto his. "Your grievances with Thalor are irrelevant. This mission does not hinge on your personal feelings—it hinges on success."
Rowen glanced at Dryanden, whose tension was evident in the rigid set of his shoulders. His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "You trust him with this?"
"I trust him to do what he does best," Selene replied. Her tone remained even, but there was a flicker of steel in her gaze. "He understands the risks better than anyone."
Dryanden let out a bitter laugh. "That's what I'm afraid of."
Rowen glanced between them, her pulse quickening. The tension between Selene and Dryanden was palpable, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was standing in the middle of a battlefield she didn't fully understand. Dryanden's jaw worked silently, but he didn't respond. His gaze dropped to the floor, the muscles in his shoulders taut with tension.
Selene stepped forward, her sharp gaze settling on Dryanden. "Thalor's involvement is not up for debate. His expertise in stabilizing magic is unmatched, and you will need him if you hope to succeed."
Dryanden's hand twitched at his side, his knuckles whitening. "And if he decides we're expendable?"
"Then you will remind him," Selene said smoothly, her expression unwavering, "that this mission is bigger than any one of us."
Rowen resisted the urge to sigh. The more they talked about Thalor, the clearer it became that whatever history he and Dryanden shared, it wasn't just personal—it was dangerous. But if Selene believed he was necessary, then they had no choice but to make it work. "We'll handle it," she said, more for Dryanden's benefit than Selene's. "Whatever happens, we'll figure it out."
Dryanden's gaze flicked to her, his expression a mixture of frustration and something she couldn't quite place, but he didn't respond. His gaze dropped to the floor as his shoulders sagged under the weight of whatever storm raged inside him.
Selene's voice cut through the moment, calm and commanding. "The charm I've given you," she said, addressing Rowen now, "will help suppress your magic if it becomes unstable. But it is not a solution. You must learn to control your power, Rowen. This will only buy you time."
Rowen nodded, her fingers brushed the crystal, its faint hum an uneasy reminder of the magic she barely understood. "I understand."
"Good," Selene said, her gaze softening slightly. "Then you should go. Every moment you linger here puts the village at greater risk."
Dryanden was already turning toward the door, his movements sharp and purposeful. Rowen hesitated, glancing back at Selene one last time. "Do you really think we can do this?" she asked softly.
Selene's expression didn't waver, though her voice softened slightly. "That depends on how far you're willing to go—to trust each other and yourselves,," she said. "This mission will push you both to your limits. And if you falter, you may find the cost is greater than either of you are prepared to pay."
The weight of her words settled heavily on Rowen's shoulders, but she squared them as best she could. "We'll do what we have to."
Selene nodded, her gaze lingering on them as they stepped into the corridor beyond. The heavy doors closed behind them with a resounding thud, and Rowen felt the tension between her and Dryanden rise with every step they took. But whatever lay ahead, she knew they couldn't face it divided—even if Dryanden's silence felt like he was already retreating into himself.
The moonlit courtyard outside Eldorath Mansion was still and quiet, save for the faint rustling of the wind against the surrounding trees. The sun had not yet started to rise, leaving the world cloaked in a deep, pre-dawn darkness. A faint silver glow edged the horizon, hinting at the approaching day but doing little to dispel the heavy shadows.
Rowen paused at the top of the stone steps, her breath catching as her gaze fell on the creature awaiting them.
It was massive—easily taller than Dryanden at the shoulder—with sleek, midnight-black fur that shimmered faintly under the moonlight. Its long, muscular body rested on six powerful legs, and a line of gem-like scales ran along its spine, glowing softly in hues of deep blue and violet. Its eyes, a striking shade of gold, blinked slowly as it regarded them, its breath escaping in low, rhythmic huffs that sounded almost like a hum.
"What is that?" Rowen asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"A Lunara," Dryanden said, stepping down the stairs with practiced ease. His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was a faint undercurrent of something softer—perhaps admiration or pride. "They're rare. Loyal if treated well. And fast."
The Lunara's glowing eyes shifted to Dryanden, and it let out a low, rumbling growl that sent a shiver down Rowen's spine. Dryanden raised a hand, his movements calm and deliberate, and the creature stilled.
Rowen hesitated, her steps faltering as she followed him down the stairs. "It's… beautiful," she said, though the word felt inadequate to describe the creature's otherworldly presence.
"And temperamental," Dryanden added, glancing over his shoulder at her. His crimson eyes reflected the Lunara's glow, making his expression unreadable. "Stay calm. It can sense your emotions."
The Lunara let out another low rumble, its tail flicking behind it like a whip. Rowen froze as it lowered its head, its striking green eyes fixed on her.
"It's fine," Dryanden said quietly, his voice steady. He placed a hand on the Lunara's neck, the gesture both commanding and soothing. "It's just curious."
Rowen exhaled slowly, forcing herself to take a step closer. Her heart pounded as she reached out a tentative hand, her fingers brushing against the creature's fur. It was softer than she expected, yet there was a faint undercurrent of energy beneath it, like static waiting to discharge.
The Lunara made a sound that was somewhere between a purr and a growl, its glowing scales brightening momentarily before dimming again. Rowen glanced at Dryanden, unsure if that was a good sign.
"It likes you," he said simply, stepping back.
Rowen let out a shaky laugh, her fingers still resting on the Lunara's fur. "I wasn't sure it wouldn't eat me."
Dryanden's lips twitched, but the expression didn't quite reach his eyes. "Not today."
He moved to the creature's side, his hands deftly adjusting the double saddle strapped across its back. Rowen watched as he worked, her thoughts drifting back to Selene's words. The tension between them lingered, unspoken but heavy, and she didn't know how to bridge the gap.
"Come on," Dryanden said, interrupting her thoughts. He gestured toward the front of the saddle. "You're up front."
Rowen hesitated. "Why me?"
"Because you'll slow us down if you fall off," he said, though there was no bite in his tone. "And this way, I can make sure you don't."
She couldn't tell if that was meant to reassure her or subtly insult her, but she decided not to argue. Carefully, Dryanden steadied her as she climbed onto the Lunara's back, her movements clumsy compared to his practiced ease.
The saddle was surprisingly comfortable, molded to fit the Lunara's sleek frame, but the creature's size still made her feel precariously small. She gripped the front of the saddle tightly, her knuckles whitening as the Lunara shifted beneath her.
Dryanden mounted behind her with effortless grace, his presence a steadying force against her back. She tensed as she felt his arms brush past hers, his hands taking hold of the reins just in front of her.
"Relax," he said, his voice low and close to her ear.
"I'm trying," she muttered, though her grip on the saddle remained ironclad.
The Lunara let out a low growl, its muscles coiling as it prepared to move. Rowen glanced over her shoulder at Dryanden, her heart racing. "How fast does it—"
Before she could finish the question, the Lunara surged forward, its powerful legs propelling them into the darkness beyond Eldorath. The sudden acceleration stole her breath, and she instinctively leaned back against Dryanden, the wind whipping past her face.
"Fast," Dryanden finished, his voice steady despite the breakneck speed.
Rowen clung to the saddle, her pulse pounding as the Lunara's glowing scales illuminated the path ahead in shimmering streaks of violet and blue. The world around them blurred, and for a moment, all she could do was hold on and hope.
The forest grew darker and denser the farther they traveled. Twisted roots clawed up from the ground like skeletal hands, and the air turned bitterly cold, biting at Rowen's exposed skin. The Lunara slowed, its glowing scales dimming to faint flickers of violet. Its breath came out in low, rumbling huffs, and its ears twitched toward the shadows ahead.
"Something's wrong," Dryanden muttered, his voice low. He tightened his grip on the reins, his crimson eyes scanning the path ahead.
Rowen shifted uneasily in the saddle, her fingers brushing the protective charm Selene had given her. The crystal pulsed faintly, a rhythm that seemed to echo the quickening of her own heartbeat. "What is it?" she whispered.
The Lunara let out a low growl, its tail lashing behind it like a whip. Dryanden dismounted in one fluid motion, his movements precise and deliberate. "Stay on the Lunara," he said, drawing his blade with a soft hiss of steel. "And don't move."
Rowen opened her mouth to protest, but the look he gave her stopped her cold. His expression was sharp, his jaw tight, and there was a fire in his eyes that warned her not to argue.
The shadows between the trees seemed to shift and writhe, and Rowen's stomach twisted with a sudden wave of nausea. The protective charm in her pocket grew warmer, the pulsing heat spreading up her arm.
A sound broke through the oppressive silence—a low, guttural snarl that sent a shiver down her spine. It came from the shadows ahead, where the trees grew thickest, their gnarled branches tangled like a web.
Then it emerged.
The creature was monstrous, its form an unholy amalgamation of antlers, claws, and sinewy fur. Its eyes glowed an unnatural green, and its movements were jerky, as though it were being controlled by invisible strings. Magic radiated off it in waves, the corrupted energy making the air heavy and suffocating.
Rowen's breath caught in her throat. "What is that?"
"A corrupted beast," Dryanden said, his voice grim. He stepped forward, his blade gleaming in the dim light. "Stay back."
The Lunara hissed, its glowing scales flaring brighter as it lowered its head, baring sharp fangs. Rowen felt its muscles coil beneath her, and she gripped the saddle tightly, her heart pounding.
The beast let out a deafening roar and charged.
Dryanden moved with blinding speed, intercepting the creature mid-lunge. His blade struck true, slicing across its flank, but the beast barely flinched. It lashed out with claws the size of daggers, forcing him to leap back.
Rowen's hands trembled as she reached for the charm in her pocket, but the pulsing heat surged suddenly, burning her fingers. A sharp pain flared in her wrist, and when she looked down, her crescent mark glowed brightly, the light spilling out like liquid fire.
"Rowen!" Dryanden shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Wait—"
But it was too late.
The magic surged through her, wild and uncontainable. A shield of light burst forth around her, crackling with unstable energy. The Lunara reared back, startled by the sudden flare, and Rowen clung desperately to the saddle to keep from falling.
The corrupted beast snarled, its glowing eyes fixed on her. It lunged toward the shield, but the light flared brighter, forcing it back with a pained howl. The shield flickered, its edges unstable, and Rowen felt the strain of it like a vice tightening around her chest.
"Control it!" Dryanden yelled, his blade slicing through the air as he closed the distance between him and the beast. "Now, Rowen!"
She didn't know how. The magic wasn't hers to control—it was raw and wild, a force that felt both alien and intimately familiar. Her mark burned hotter, the pain searing, and the shield faltered.
The beast lunged again, its claws slamming into the flickering shield. The impact sent a shockwave through Rowen, nearly knocking her from the saddle. The light dimmed further, and the beast reared back, preparing for a final strike.
Then Dryanden was there.
He moved like a shadow, his blade slicing cleanly through the creature's neck. The corrupted beast let out a final, gurgling snarl before collapsing into the dirt, its body dissolving into ash and smoke. The oppressive magic in the air dissipated, leaving the forest eerily still.
Rowen's shield shattered with a burst of light, and she collapsed forward, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The Lunara steadied her with a low rumble, its glowing scales dimming as it settled back into a calm stance.
Dryanden sheathed his blade and turned to her, his expression unreadable. "Are you hurt?"
Rowen shook her head, though her entire body trembled. "I… I didn't mean to—"
"You could've gotten yourself killed," he interrupted, his voice sharp. "Or worse."
Her chest tightened at the frustration in his tone, but there was something else there, too—something softer, almost like worry.
"I didn't know what to do," she said quietly. "The magic just… happened."
Dryanden exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "That's the problem," he said, his tone softening. "You can't let it 'just happen.' Not out here. It worked this time, but we wont always be so lucky."
Rowen nodded, her fingers brushing against the now-cool charm in her pocket. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dryanden's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned away. "Let's keep moving," he said, his tone brisk. "We've wasted enough time."
Rowen straightened in the saddle, her hands still trembling as the Lunara began to move again. The encounter had left her shaken, but there was a new resolve burning in her chest—a determination to understand the power she carried, and to control it before it consumed her.
The path narrowed as the Lunara carried them into the outskirts of the village, its glowing scales dimming to a faint pulse as if sensing the shift in the air. The mist thickened, curling around the skeletal trees like ghostly tendrils. The buildings that came into view were weathered and crumbling, their wooden walls warped and slick with frost that shimmered unnaturally in the fading light.
Rowen shivered, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. The chill in the air was biting, but it wasn't the cold that made her uneasy. There was something wrong here—something she couldn't quite name. "It's so quiet," she murmured, her breath fogging in the frigid air.
Dryanden didn't respond immediately, his crimson eyes scanning the shadows with a sharp, wary intensity. "Too quiet," he said finally, his voice low.
The Lunara let out a soft growl, its ears flicking toward the nearest building. Rowen followed its gaze and caught a faint movement behind one of the warped curtains—a flicker of a shadow that vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"Do you think there's anyone left here?" she asked, her voice hushed.
Dryanden tightened his grip on the reins, his posture rigid. "We'll find out soon enough."
They rode deeper into the village, the oppressive silence broken only by the Lunara's soft huffs and the creak of its claws against the frost-covered ground. Rowen couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, her skin prickling with an invisible weight. The protective charm in her pocket pulsed faintly, a warning she didn't know how to interpret.
The village square was little more than an open space surrounded by dilapidated buildings, their walls leaning at odd angles as though the earth itself had shifted beneath them. At the center stood a cracked stone fountain, its basin dry and coated with a thin layer of frost.
Dryanden dismounted first, his movements cautious and deliberate. He scanned the square, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. "Stay close," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Dryanden helped her slid from the Lunara's back, her boots crunching against the frozen ground. The creature let out a low rumble, its glowing eyes fixed on the shadows that clung to the edges of the square.
"Where's the meeting place?" Rowen asked, her voice trembling despite her attempt to sound steady.
Dryanden nodded toward a building at the far end of the square. It was larger than the others, its sagging roof and broken windows giving it a sinister air. A faded sign hung crookedly above the door, the words barely legible: The Hollow Hearth.
"That's the tavern," he said.
Rowen hesitated, glancing back at the Lunara. The creature's scales flickered faintly, its tail lashing behind it. "What about the people? Shouldn't we—"
"They're hiding," Dryanden interrupted, his tone curt. "If they're smart, they'll stay that way until the danger passes."
Rowen bit her lip but didn't respond. The tension in Dryanden's posture was enough to tell her that whatever awaited them inside the tavern wasn't something she wanted to face unprepared.
The door creaked loudly as Dryanden pushed it open, the sound echoing through the still air like a warning. The interior was dimly lit by a single enchanted lantern that hung from the ceiling, its faint blue glow casting dancing shadows across the walls. The air was heavy, carrying a faint scent of old wood and something sharper—something metallic.
Rowen stepped inside cautiously, her eyes adjusting to the gloom. The room was empty, the tables and chairs coated in a fine layer of frost. Her breath fogged as she exhaled, the chill seeping into her bones.
Dryanden moved to the center of the room, his hand still on his blade. "Thalor," he called, his voice steady but edged with irritation. "Show yourself."
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then a door burst open with a dramatic flair, the hinges groaning as a figure swept inside. The sound of boots against the wooden floor was sharp and deliberate, each step echoing with purpose. He was dressed like a villain torn straight from the pages of a gothic romance—a ruffled blouse with a plunging V-neck that revealed pale, chiseled skin, and tight black leather pants that clung to his lithe frame. His black boots shone even in the dim light, and a cascade of dark curls framed a face that was sharp and predatory, with a smirk that could cut glass.
Rowen couldn't decide if the man who entered was a nightmare or some forbidden fantasy come to life. He carried himself like he owned the room, his smirk both infuriating and alluring. But there was something off about him—something that made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Trust wasn't an option, but fascination, however uninvited, was creeping in anyway.
Rowen felt the shift in the room the moment Thalor entered, as if the air itself bent to his will. He was both too much and not enough at once—every movement exaggerated yet deliberate, every word laced with an undertone she couldn't decipher. She hated that her eyes lingered too long on the sharp angle of his jaw or the way his smirk promised trouble. The logical part of her screamed to distrust him, but something deeper, something primal, whispered that he could unravel her just as easily as he could derail this mission.
"Well, well, well," the man drawled, his voice dripping with theatrical charm. "Dryanden. You're late. I thought you'd forgotten about me."
Rowen's eyes widened as the man's gaze flicked to her, his expression shifting from amusement to thinly veiled irritation. "And who is this delightful little interloper?" he purred, circling her like a predator sizing up its prey. "Don't tell me you've gone and replaced me."
"Thalor," Dryanden said sharply, his voice like a whip. "Enough."
Rowen's heart raced as she watched the exchange, the tension between the two men palpable. Her chest tightened, and her breath came in shallow gasps as Thalor's dark gaze pinned her in place.
Thalor smirked, clearly enjoying the tension. He stopped in front of Rowen, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "She's not bad," he said, tilting his head. "But darling, did you forget? Blood bonds don't just… vanish."
The word 'bond' echoed in her mind, sending a shiver down her spine. It wasn't just a word—it was a declaration, a reminder of something she didn't want to understand. The heat in her crescent mark flared again, and this time it wasn't just warmth; it was a pull, a tether that she hadn't chosen and didn't want. Her body responded before her mind could protest, her chest tightening with an ache that felt too familiar to be new. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms as she fought the feeling, as if denying it could make it go away.
It wasn't the same as the connection she felt with Dryanden; this was different, wrong, and yet… magnetic. She clenched her fists, trying to shut out the sensation, to fight whatever this was. But no matter how she resisted, it lingered, an unsettling echo of something ancient and binding. She glanced at Dryanden, and for a split second, Dryanden's fury faltered, replaced by something too raw to name. Then it was gone, buried beneath a mixture of alarm and fury.
"She's none of your concern," Dryanden said sharply, stepping closer to her, his voice cutting through Thalor's theatrics like a blade.
"Oh, but she is," Thalor said, his smirk widening. His dark eyes glinted with something unreadable. "You're bonded, aren't you? I can feel it."
"Don't you feel it?" Thalor leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a silken whisper that made her stomach twist. "The pull?" he murmured, his lips curling into a wicked smile. "You don't even know what you're capable of, do you? What we're capable of together."
Rowen's breath hitched, her pulse pounding as the warmth in her chest intensified. She hated that she knew exactly what he meant. The pull was undeniable now, an aching thread in her chest that grew tauter the closer he stood. She wanted to step back—to say something biting—to deny him the satisfaction of seeing her shaken, but her legs felt rooted in place.
Was this bond something he'd done to her, or had it been there all along? The uncertainty was a weight pressing against her ribs, stealing her breath and her resolve. The protective charm in her pocket buzzed faintly, but it did nothing to quell the strange tug that seemed to bind her to Thalor. Her heart thudded painfully, each beat an aching reminder of the pull she didn't understand—and desperately wanted to reject.
Rowen straightened, forcing herself to breathe past the pull tightening in her chest. Whatever this bond was, it wouldn't define her—it wouldn't control her. Not like it had controlled Dryanden.
She met Thalor's gaze, her voice sharper than she thought possible. "You might think you know me, but you're wrong. Whatever you're trying to do, whatever game you're playing, it stops now."
Thalor's smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Is that so?"
Rowen didn't flinch. "You might have been able to manipulate others with your theatrics, but I'm not one of them. Keep your tricks—and your pull. I've got better things to fight for than whatever this is."
Dryanden's movements were sharp, almost violent, as he placed himself between her and Thalor. His shoulders were tense, his hand twitching near his blade, and his voice carried an edge that Rowen hadn't heard before. "Back off, Thalor," he growled, his tone a mix of fury and something almost protective. For a moment, she thought she saw something raw flicker in Dryanden's crimson eyes—a vulnerability quickly buried beneath his fury. Whatever Thalor had said, it wasn't just a taunt—it was a wound, reopened and bleeding.
Thalor raised an eyebrow, his smirk never faltering. "Touched a nerve, have I?" He stepped back with languid grace, his boots clicking against the wooden floor. "Fine. We'll talk about it later. For now, let's get to business, shall we?"
For all her resolve to be useful on this mission, Rowen couldn't shake the growing sense that she was little more than a pawn in a game she didn't understand. Dryanden was furious, Thalor was taunting, and she… she was left standing in the middle of their war, a weapon neither of them could quite decide how to wield. Was this what Selene meant when she'd said the mission would push her limits? If so, Rowen wasn't sure she'd survive it.