The bridge stretched before them, covered in mist that ascended over the wooden planks like living vines. The air was damp with the scent of river water and something older, something ancient that hummed beneath the surface. Joren adjusted the strap of his satchel, his fingers lingering over the cold metal of the device tucked inside—one of his last defenses. The events of the past hours mingled against his thoughts.
Beside him, Lyria moved with urgency, her boots barely making a sound against the worn boards. She kept glancing back, her eyes shifting towards the Velmoran side of the bridge, her expression unreadable.
"You keep looking over your shoulder," Joren murmured. "Expecting someone?"
Lyria's jaw tightened. "I'm making sure no one's following us."
It wasn't entirely a lie, but Joren had learned to read between the spaces in her words. He slowed his pace, forcing her to match it. "If you're hesitating, now's the time to say so."
She exhaled sharply. "I'm not hesitating." A beat of silence. Then, quieter, "I'm thinking."
Joren huffed. "Thinking about whether you should have stayed?"
Lyria shot him a glare. "Thinking about the fact that I just severed the last of my ties to Velmora, and it took all of ten minutes for you to start doubting me."
That wasn't fair, and they both knew it. But Joren wasn't in the mood to argue—especially not when the unease crawling down his spine was growing more insistent. He glanced around, scanning the mist for movement. The bridge was wide, but the fog pressed in from both sides, curling over the railings and muffling the world beyond. The lamps lining the structure lit, their glow swallowed in the thick air. The hush of the river below felt too heavy.
Lyria must have sensed it, too. She slowed, her hand drifting toward the dagger at her belt.
"May we not be wrong," she murmured.
Joren agreed.
A low creak echoed behind them. A footstep. Then another.
Lyria turned first, fluid as a breath, her body lowering instinctively into a defensive stance. Joren followed, his fingers tightening around the mechanism in his pocket. The mist shifted, curling unnaturally, and then—
Figures emerged.
At least six of them, silhouettes armored in dark leather and steel, their faces obscured by the half-light. Joren's stomach clenched as the insignia gleamed on their breastplates. Velmoran soldiers.
His gaze turned to Lyria. Her expression was a mask, except for the slight tremor in her fingers. But she wasn't reaching for her weapon. Not yet.
One of the figures stepped forward, the mist parting enough to reveal his face. Captain Rael. His presence sent a shock through Joren, not because he knew the man personally, but because Lyria did.
Rael's voice was quiet, yet it carried across the bridge with unsettling clarity.
"Lyria." A pause. "Tell me you have not sunk so low as to consort with a Caldrisian."
Joren felt Lyria stiffen beside him. Her grip on her dagger tightened, but she still didn't draw it.
Joren, however, had no such reservations. He shifted just enough to position himself between Lyria and the advancing soldiers, his mind already thinking of possible escape routes. None of them were good.
Lyria exhaled slowly, then lifted her chin. "Step aside, Rael."
His expression hardened. "No. You step aside. Come home, or be cut down with him."
The tension between them grew more dense, poised on the edge of something sharp and inevitable.
Joren flexed his fingers around the hidden trigger in his pocket.
They were outnumbered. Outarmed. And, if the flush of regret in Lyria's eyes meant anything, possibly outmatched.
The mist thickened.
Someone's hand inched toward their blade.
And just like that—
The night cracked open.
--
The bridge was engulfed with tension, the mist coiling around them like a living thing, thick enough to blur the edges of the soldiers' forms. Joren felt the weight of the moment pressing down—this was no idle standoff. One wrong move, one breath taken too sharply, and steel would be drawn.
Lyria hadn't moved. Her fingers were an inch away from her dagger, her stance deceptively still, but Joren knew better. Every muscle in her body was wound tight, ready. He had seen her fight before. She wouldn't hesitate if it came to that.
Captain Rael, however, had no such patience. His dark eyes shifted from Lyria to Joren, his expression hardened. "You've always been reckless, Lyria," he said, voice low. "But betrayal? That's beneath you."
Lyria's breath was steady, but there was an unmistakable current beneath it. "I've betrayed no one."
Rael stepped closer. "You're standing beside him, aren't you?" His gaze cut to Joren, disdain flashing like a blade. "A Caldrisian, of all things."
Joren clenched his teeth. He had no interest in listening to a lecture from a Velmoran soldier who clearly saw him as nothing more than an enemy. But he also knew this wasn't his fight to start. Not yet.
Lyria lifted her chin. "I'm leaving, Rael. Step aside."
Rael's fingers twitched at his side, an unspoken command passing between him and the soldiers behind him. The shift was subtle, but Joren caught it—the slightest repositioning, a breath drawn in just a fraction too deep.
He knew what was coming a second before it happened.
"Move—"
A blade flashed.
The mist erupted with movement.
Joren barely had time to react before the first soldier lunged. Instinct kicked in—he sidestepped the swing, reaching for the small device in his pocket. A sharp click, and a pulse of energy crackled in the air as he activated the mechanism. A sudden burst of light flared between them, not bright enough to blind, but disorienting enough to give him an opening.
Lyria moved like water, a silver blur in the fog. She was fast—faster than they expected. She ducked beneath the arc of a swinging sword, her dagger flashing upward in a clean, precise movement. A cry of pain followed, one of the soldiers stumbling back clutching his arm.
Joren didn't have time to see if it was a killing blow. Another figure rushed to him, and he twisted to avoid the strike, his back slamming against the bridge's railing. The wood groaned under his weight, and for one terrifying second, he felt the space beyond—a drop into nothing but darkness and rushing water.
Then Lyria was there.
She caught the wrist of the soldier coming at him, twisting hard. A sickening snap. A scream. The soldier crumpled.
Joren didn't waste time. He surged forward, slamming his elbow into another attacker's ribs, knocking the wind from his lungs. But there were too many of them, closing in like wolves circling wounded prey.
Rael had yet to move. He stood just beyond the fray, watching. Calculating.
Joren's mind raced. The bridge was too open, too exposed. They needed to retreat—but where? The Caldrisian side was still too far, and the Velmoran side was a death trap. The only way out was through...
"Lyria!" he called.
She met his gaze for half a heartbeat before understanding flashed in her eyes. She turned sharply, kicking one soldier back, and grabbed his wrist.
"Run."
They moved in tandem, weaving through the chaos. Joren triggered another pulse from his device, a sharp electric charge sending a soldier sprawling. The brief opening was enough.
But Rael stepped forward.
Joren saw it coming too late. The blade, the precise, practiced swing—
Lyria's dagger caught the strike midair. The clash of metal rang through the mist.
Rael's expression was cold. "You could have been so much more."
Lyria's grip tightened. "You could have been better."
With a twist, she wrenched her dagger free, her other hand snapping up to shove Rael back just enough to throw him off balance.
Joren seized the moment. He grabbed Lyria's hand, yanking her away from the fight. They sprinted toward the far end of the bridge, the world around them a blur of steel and shadows.
A voice cut through the chaos behind them—Rael's voice, sharp and cold.
"Find them. Kill him."
The bridge was long, but the distance had never felt so vast.
And the hunt had just begun.