The narrow trail twisted deeper into the forest, where the air grew thick and damp, and the pale mist curling between the roots seemed to breathe like something alive. Rowen gripped the Lunara's reins tightly, her knuckles white against the sleek leather. She focused on the faint glow of Dryanden's crimson eyes ahead, a steady point against the shifting shadows.
Behind her, Thalor's deliberate footsteps matched the Lunara's slow, rhythmic strides.
"So," Thalor drawled, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade, "are we just going to pretend the elephant in the room isn't practically stomping on our toes? Or shall we address it?"
Rowen's grip tightened. "I don't know what you mean," she said flatly, though the faint pull in her chest betrayed her. She could feel him there, not just physically but in a way that was difficult to name, impossible to ignore.
"Don't play coy, darling. It doesn't suit you." Thalor's gaze flicked to her wrist, where the crescent mark burned faintly beneath her glove. "You've felt it. I know you have."
Rowen's teeth clenched. "What I feel is none of your business."
"Everything about this is my business now," he replied with a smirk, his tone sharp and infuriatingly amused. "That's the nature of bonds. Sticky little things, aren't they?"
Dryanden turned abruptly, his crimson eyes glowing with restrained fury. "You're not helping, Thalor."
"I didn't realize I was supposed to help," Thalor said smoothly, spreading his hands as if to emphasize his innocence. "I'm simply stating the facts. Would you prefer I sugarcoat them?"
Rowen exhaled sharply, cutting them both off before Dryanden could respond. "I don't need sugarcoating or theatrics. What I need is to focus on the mission."
Thalor's smirk deepened. "Of course, darling. Let's focus. Though I do wonder how focused you'll be when the Weald starts playing with our heads. This little… complication might make things interesting."
Rowen turned to glare at him, her pulse pounding. "I'm not afraid of you or this bond. Whatever you're trying to accomplish, it ends here."
His dark eyes gleamed with amusement as he stepped closer. "Oh, I'm not trying to accomplish anything, love. That's the beauty of it. The bond will do the work for me."
"That's enough," Dryanden snapped. His shoulders were taut, his hand hovering near the hilt of his blade. "If you're going to act like this the entire time, turn back now."
"Temper, temper," Thalor said lightly, though his expression cooled as he took a step back. "I'm here because Selene asked me to be. You don't have to like it, but you do have to tolerate it."
Dryanden's jaw tightened, but he said nothing, turning back toward the path. Rowen watched him for a moment, her own emotions churning beneath the surface. There was so much left unsaid between them—about the bond, about Thalor, about everything—but the forest didn't care for their baggage. The oppressive air was growing heavier, and the Lunara's scales dimmed to a faint flicker, as though it sensed the danger ahead.
Rowen broke the silence as they resumed walking. "What's the Weald like?" she asked, directing her question to Dryanden.
"Twisted," he said without looking back. "It messes with your head. Whispers, illusions… You won't always know what's real."
"And how do we fight something like that?" she asked, her voice quieter now.
"You don't," Thalor answered before Dryanden could. "You resist. That's the key. The Weald can't hurt you unless you let it in."
Rowen frowned, glancing between them. "That's… vague."
"Magic often is," Thalor said with a shrug. "But don't worry, darling. You'll have me to guide you."
Rowen shot him a glare. "I think I'd rather take my chances."
Thalor chuckled, the sound low and grating. "You wound me. Truly."
Enough!" Dryanden barked, stepping between them. His presence was a wall, cutting Thalor off from Rowen. "You don't get to toy with her."
"Toying?" Thalor raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "I thought you believed in honesty, Dry."
Rowen swallowed hard, trying to make sense of the chaos in her chest. The bond—it was real. She had felt it since she had met Thalor, but it was undeniable now. It wasn't just her and Dryanden any longer; they were all… tangled, like an unseen thread pulling her toward Thalor as well.
"What does this mean?" she asked quietly, her voice almost drowned out by the rustle of leaves overhead.
"It means," Thalor said, his smirk turning dangerous, "that we're bound together. For better or worse."
Dryanden turned sharply to face her, his expression uncharacteristically raw. "I didn't know this would happen," he said, his voice low. "If I had—"
"You would've what?" Thalor interrupted, his tone cutting. "Not bonded with her? We both know that's a lie. You would've done it anyway. You always do what you think is right, consequences be damned."
"Do not act like you know me." Dryanden snapped, his crimson eyes burning with fury.
Rowen took a step back, the weight of their argument pressing down on her. "Both of you, stop," she said, forcing her voice to steady. "This isn't helping."
Thalor's smirk returned, though it didn't reach his eyes. "She's right, of course. But don't worry, darling. We'll figure it out. Together."
Rowen clenched her fists. Whatever this bond was, she wasn't about to let it define her—or control her. Not like it had controlled them.
Suddenly the Lunara let out a low growl, its ears flicking forward as the mist thickened around them. Dryanden's hand went to his blade, his focus snapping back to the shadows ahead.
"We're close," Dryanden said, his voice low and tense. "Stay sharp."
Rowen tightened her grip on the reins, her pulse pounding. Whatever lay ahead, it couldn't be worse than what was already between them.
At least, she hoped it couldn't.
The deeper they ventured into the Weald, the more the air felt like it was pressing down on Rowen's chest. The mist clung to the trees, pooling around their gnarled roots and curling like smoke. Whispers flitted through the air, too faint to make out, but persistent enough to crawl under her skin.
She tried to keep her thoughts steady as she followed Dryanden and the Lunara, its scales flickering faintly. Behind her, Thalor moved with a deliberate, almost leisurely stride, the picture of someone utterly unbothered by their surroundings.
"It's not just me, right?" Rowen asked, her voice low. "The whispers?"
"No, it's not just you," Dryanden said without looking back. His tone was tight, every syllable clipped. "But don't listen. They'll twist your thoughts if you let them."
"Oh, they'll do much more than that," Thalor chimed in, his voice light but edged with something darker. "The Weald is like an artist with no audience—desperate for attention. And it's very good at finding ways to get it."
"Fascinating as always, Thalor," Dryanden snapped, his crimson eyes glinting as he glanced back. "Maybe save the commentary for when we're out of danger."
Rowen shot Thalor a wary glance. "Does it ever bother you? The whispers?"
Thalor's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Oh, they bother me terribly, darling. But I've learned to appreciate their creativity."
Dryanden stopped abruptly, the Lunara snarling softly as its ears flattened. "We're close," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He raised his blade, his stance shifting into something ready—lethal.
The whispers grew louder, shifting into something coherent. Rowen stiffened as she heard her name—soft, familiar, and far too personal.
Rowen… Why are you even trying? You'll never be enough. Not for him. Not for yourself.
She flinched, her hand instinctively reaching for the protective charm in her pocket. Its faint hum grounded her, but the words were like hooks sinking into her thoughts.
"Don't listen to it," Dryanden said sharply, his gaze snapping to her. "It's not real."
"Real enough," Thalor murmured, his dark eyes scanning the dense mist. "It doesn't need to be true to cut deep."
Rowen glared at him, her frustration mounting. "Why are you so calm about all of this?"
"Because I've been here before," he said simply. "The Weald can only hurt you if you let it. That's the trick—knowing what's yours and what isn't."
Rowen didn't respond, her jaw tightening as she forced herself to focus on the ground beneath her feet. She could feel the bond humming faintly, amplifying their shared emotions, making them sharper. She didn't need to look to know that both men felt her unease. It flared in response, the connection growing taut like a pulled thread.
"We're here," Dryanden said abruptly, his voice cutting through the tension.
At the heart of the Weald, an ancient tree loomed above them, its gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal arms. Its roots pulsed with a sickly green light, and the whispers seemed to pour from its twisted bark. The air around it was heavy with magic, thick and acrid.
Rowen's stomach churned. "That's… not normal."
"No, it's not," Thalor said, stepping closer with a fascinated gleam in his eyes. "It's magnificent."
Dryanden rounded on him, his crimson eyes blazing. "This isn't magnificent—it's corruption. We're here to stop it."
"Correction," Thalor said, his smirk returning. "We're here to stabilize it. Stopping it is another matter entirely."
Rowen ignored their bickering, her gaze locked on the tree. The whispers were louder now, each word a knife aimed at her deepest fears. Visions flitted through her mind—her trapped in this strange world forever. Her helpless as Thalor manipulated her. Dryanden's face, twisted with disappointment after she inevitably failed him.
"Rowen," Dryanden said, his voice softer now. He stepped closer, his concern etched into the lines of his face. "You don't have to do this. Let me—"
"No," she said firmly, cutting him off. Her voice was steadier than she felt. "I can handle it."
Thalor tilted his head, his dark eyes gleaming with interest. "Oh, I do love your confidence, darling. But this is no small task. You'll need us—whether you like it or not."
"I don't need either of you to tell me what I can or can't do," Rowen snapped. She stepped forward, ignoring the way the whispers clawed at her thoughts. "Just… stay out of my way."
Thalor raised an eyebrow, his smirk sharpened into something more serious. "Suit yourself. But don't say I didn't warn you."
Rowen placed her hands on the corrupted tree, her fingers trembling as they met the slick, cold surface. The bark pulsed beneath her palms like a heartbeat, each thrum laced with the chaotic energy of the Weald. The whispers intensified, crashing against her thoughts like a wave threatening to pull her under.
She squeezed her eyes shut and focused, reaching for her magic but finding only the bond. It was there, unwavering, humming faintly in her chest, a double-edged tether that connected her to both Dryanden and Thalor. The energy felt foreign and overwhelming—Dryanden's steady, protective presence pulling her in one direction, while Thalor's darker, magnetic power tugged her in another.
"You're hesitating," Thalor said behind her, his voice cutting through the whispers like a blade. "That won't do, darling. The Weald can sense doubt."
"Don't push her," Dryanden growled, stepping closer. His voice was taut with concern. "Rowen, stop this. You're not ready—"
"Quiet, both of you," Rowen snapped, though her voice wavered. "I need to focus."
The whispers lashed at her, seizing on her fear. Images flashed through her mind again—herself, losing control of the bond and becoming a puppet for Thalor's schemes. Dryanden turning his back on her, leaving her alone in the strange world. A deep, clawing panic rose in her chest, and her hands faltered against the tree.
The corruption lashed back. Magic surged up her arms like a venomous tide, and her knees nearly buckled. She gritted her teeth, but the strain was unbearable. The corruption flared violently, its chaotic energy slipping out of her grasp.
"Rowen!" Dryanden shouted, starting to move to her side.
"Stay back," Thalor said sharply, his tone suddenly devoid of mockery. He stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "You'll only make it worse."
Before Rowen could faulter, Thalor's hands closed over hers, steadying her trembling fingers against the bark. His touch was cold but grounding, and the chaotic magic seemed to recoil at his presence. The bond shifted, the pull between them amplifying as his power flowed through her like a dark current.
"Let me show you," he murmured, his voice low and calm. "Don't fight it—guide it."
"I don't want your help," she spat, though she let his fingers lace with hers.
"Well take it anyway," Thalor said, his tone softening just enough to be almost soothing. "You're strong, Rowen, but this isn't about strength. It's about control."
The energy crackled between them, sharp and volatile. Thalor's magic was nothing like Dryanden's steady resolve—it was raw and dangerous, tempting her to let go and let him take over.
But she wouldn't. She couldn't.
Rowen steadied her breath, her mind latching onto the bond. She felt Dryanden's presence at the edge of her awareness, his concern anchoring her, and Thalor's unrelenting power, sharp and resolute. She drew from both, funneling the combined energy into the corrupted tree.
The whispers screamed in protest, their words turning to shrieks that rattled her skull. The corruption lashed out violently, a final desperate surge that sent pain tearing through her arms. Her vision blurred, her knees giving way beneath her.
Thalor let her hands slip from his as she collapsed to the ground, her breath coming in ragged gasps. He made no move to catch her, his expression as calm and detached as ever.
"Rowen!" Dryanden was at her side in an instant, his hands gripping her shoulders as he crouched beside her. "Are you okay? What hurts?"
"I'm fine," she whispered, though her entire body trembled. Her palms stung where they'd pressed against the bark, and her chest felt hollowed out, like she'd left part of herself behind in the tree.
Thalor stepped back, brushing imaginary dust from his hands. "You did it," he said simply, his tone almost bored. "Congratulations."
Rowen shot him a glare, though she lacked the energy to voice the frustration building inside her. The tree's pulsing roots had stilled, the sickly green light fading into a dull gray. The whispers were gone, leaving the forest eerily quiet.
"You could've caught her," Dryanden snarled, his crimson eyes burning with fury as he turned on Thalor. "You just let her—"
"She didn't need me to catch her," Thalor interrupted, his tone cool. "She needed to learn how to stand on her own."
Rowen clenched her fists, forcing herself to sit up. "I'm right here," she said, her voice sharp despite her exhaustion. "Both of you, stop."
Dryanden's gaze softened as he turned back to her, his hands still on her shoulders. "You pushed too hard," he said, his tone low. "You could've—"
"But I didn't," she cut him off, managing a faint smile. "We stopped it. That's what matters."
Thalor's lips twitched into a faint smirk. "Well said, darling. Perhaps there's hope for you yet."
Rowen ignored him, her focus on the quiet forest around them. The air still felt heavy, but the acrid tang had faded, leaving only the faint scent of damp earth and frost. She could feel the bond humming faintly in her chest, a reminder of the connection she couldn't escape.
Dryanden exhaled slowly, his tension not ebbing as he stood. "We should move. The Weald won't stay quiet for long."
Thalor watched them for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Of course," he said finally, his voice light once more. "Onward, then. There's so much more for us to accomplish."
Rowen glared at him but didn't respond. She let Dryanden help her to her feet, her legs unsteady but determined.
The campfire burned low, its flickering light casting jagged shadows across the clearing. Rowen sat on the ground, her back resting against a moss-covered log. Her arms felt like lead, her palms still stinging from where she'd pressed them against the corrupted tree.
Dryanden crouched beside her, the glow of his crimson eyes softened by the firelight. His hands worked quickly but carefully as he checked her arms for any lingering traces of the Weald's magic.
"You don't have to hover," Rowen muttered, though her voice lacked its usual bite.
Dryanden didn't respond immediately. He poured a thin, silvery ointment onto a scrap of cloth and began dabbing at her hands, his touch surprisingly gentle.
"You're lucky you only got burned," he said finally, his tone low.
"I'm fine," she replied, though the ache in her muscles said otherwise. "It's not like this is the first time I've been hurt."
"It shouldn't have happened at all," Dryanden said, his gaze flicking up to meet hers. There was a sharp edge to his words, but underneath it lay something softer—concern, guilt.
Rowen arched an eyebrow. "You're not going to start lecturing me, are you?"
"I wouldn't have to if you stopped trying to take on everything by yourself," he shot back, his hands pausing as he met her gaze again. His expression softened after a moment. "You scared me, Rowen."
The admission caught her off guard, and she looked away, focusing on the fire. "I'm not some fragile thing you need to protect, Dryanden. I'm fine."
"You're not fine," he said, his voice dropping. His fingers brushed lightly over the marks on her palms, and she flinched despite herself. "You're trembling."
"It's the cold," she lied.
Dryanden let out a frustrated sigh but didn't press further. Instead, he shifted closer, his presence a steady warmth against the chill of the forest. His hands lingered on hers a moment longer than necessary, and when she glanced at him, she saw something unguarded in his expression—a fleeting vulnerability that made her pulse quicken.
Rowen cleared her throat, forcing a smirk. "Careful, Dry. You're starting to sound like you care."
His lips twitched, though the faint smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Maybe I do."
Her heart stuttered, the weight of his words settling somewhere deep in her chest. She couldn't decide if it was the bond pulling her closer to him or something else entirely—something that felt just as dangerous.
"I don't need you to care," she said, though her voice wavered.
Dryanden's gaze didn't falter. "Too bad. I do anyway."
Before she could respond, a soft rustling came from the edge of the clearing. Dryanden's hand immediately went to his blade, his entire body tensing. Rowen pushed herself upright, ignoring the protest of her sore muscles, as the shadows beyond the firelight shifted.
"Relax," came Thalor's voice, smooth and mocking as ever. He stepped into the light, his dark curls catching the faint glow of the flames. "You didn't think I'd leave you alone out here, did you?"
Dryanden's glare could have turned the fire to ice. "What do you want?"
Thalor tilted his head, his smirk twisted. "To warn you," he said, his tone unusually measured. "The Weald was just a taste. The wards are failing faster than we thought. And this bond of ours might be the only thing strong enough to stop what's coming."
Rowen's chest tightened. "What do you mean, the only thing strong enough?"
Thalor's gaze flicked to her, his dark eyes unreadable. "The stronger the bond, the more power it holds. But power always comes at a cost."
"What cost?" Dryanden snapped, stepping closer to Thalor with barely restrained fury.
Thalor's smirk returned, though it was tinged with something darker. "Be careful what you're willing to give, Dry. The bond doesn't just take—it demands."
"That's vague and useless," Dryanden growled. "What are you really trying to say?"
Thalor took a step closer, his presence commanding yet unnervingly calm. "I'm saying that the bond isn't just a tool you can wield when it suits you. It's alive. It has its own will, its own rules, and if you push it too far, it'll push back."
Rowen's fists clenched at her sides, the protective charm in her pocket buzzing faintly against her palm. The idea of the bond having a will of its own made her skin crawl, as though she were no longer the master of her own choices.
Dryanden's hand hovered near his blade, his voice a low growl. "You're playing games again, Thalor. This isn't a joke."
"Oh, it's far from a joke," Thalor replied, his smirk fading into something colder. "But I'm not the one you should be angry with. This bond of ours is more dangerous than anything I could throw at you. If you're not careful, it'll unravel us."
Rowen's pulse pounded in her ears as his words sank in. "We're not playing by your rules, Thalor," she said, her voice firmer than she felt. "This bond might connect us, but it doesn't control us."
Thalor tilted his head, studying her with a faint gleam of amusement. "We'll see about that, darling. The bond doesn't care about your stubbornness—it only cares about balance. The question is, what are you willing to lose to maintain it?"