The night should have been calm.
We should have been resting, letting the cold air settle over our exhausted bodies, letting the distant sounds of the campfire and quiet murmurs of passing soldiers around us.
But instead—
Edan bursts into the tent.
His eyes are sharp, his breath uneven, his usual composed demeanour fractured by something deeper—something that has been building in him since we left the ruins.
"Get up," he orders, his voice low, urgent. "Now."
Elias, who had been half-asleep, blinks at him. "Okay, rude."
Edan doesn't even acknowledge the comment. "Both of you. Now. We need to move."
I sit up, heart pounding. "What happened?"
Edan exhales sharply, his jaw tight. "No questions. Not yet. Just trust me. We can't talk here."
Elias narrows his eyes but doesn't argue. He must see it too—
The way Edan's fingers tremble slightly, the way his usually methodical thinking has given way to urgency.
This is not about panic.
This is about control.
He is choosing to act before something forces his hand.
And that means—
We are already too late.
——
We move.
Quickly, quietly.
Leaving behind the familiarity of camp, slipping into the shadows beyond the torchlight, letting the weight of the night swallow us whole.
Edan leads us northwest, toward a secluded, abandoned outpost not far from Western Guard Camp—
Ehwaz Hill.
A place once used by the guards as a forward watchpoint, is now forgotten, reclaimed by wild grasses and scattered ruins.
It is secluded, far enough from the main roads that no one will overhear us, but close enough that we can return if needed.
I do not ask why he chose this place.
I already know.
He wants to ask something, and his not delighted.
And he does not want anyone else to hear them.
——
The moment we arrive, Edan turns sharply, facing us.
His expression is unreadable—not angry, not accusing, but something more dangerous.
Calculating.
"Alright," he breathes. "We're alone."
A pause.
And then, his voice drops, barely above a whisper—
"Tell me the truth."
——
Silence.
The weight of the words settles between us, thick and suffocating.
Elias exhales, slow, measured. "You're gonna have to be a little more specific, scholar."
Edan does not blink.
"You know exactly what I mean."
His gaze sharpens, flickering between the both of us.
"I let it slide before. Your strange reactions, your vague answers, the way you keep looking at each other when something doesn't add up. I let it slide because I thought—maybe it was just survival. Maybe you didn't trust me yet."
A pause.
And then his voice turns colder.
"But that thing in the ruins—it wasn't just some old curse, was it?"
Elias's smirk falters.
For the first time since we met, he looks cornered.
——
I swallow, feeling the tension coil in my stomach.
"You saw something," I say quietly.
Edan nods, his fingers twitching. "I heard something."
My breath catches. "What?"
Edan exhales sharply. "Not like him. Not like Elias. But when that presence came down on us, when it—whatever it was—reacted to him, I felt something shift."
His voice lowers.
"Like it recognized him."
Elias goes very still.
I do not move.
Because this is dangerous.
This is not just Edan being curious.
This is Edan, the scholar, the historian, the man who pieces together fractured truths and does not let go once he has found a thread to pull.
And now—
He has found us.
——
"You were too calm," he continues, his words cutting through the night like steel. "The both of you. You acted like this wasn't the first time you've encountered something like this."
He shakes his head, his voice edged with something I rarely hear from him.
Something like—
betrayal.
"And then Elias—" His gaze flickers toward him. "You knew. You knew it would try to kill you."
Elias scoffs, but there's no amusement in it. "And yet, here I am, still breathing. So maybe you're overreacting."
Edan steps closer. "Am I?"
Elias does not step back.
For a moment, they simply stare at each other, the weight of the night pressing between them.
Then Edan speaks again, his voice quieter.
"You're not normal."
Elias chuckles, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, I like to think I'm special, but—"
"Enough."
The word is not loud.
But it is enough to make Elias fall silent.
Enough to make me hold my breath.
Because Edan never raises his voice.
And right now—
He does not sound like the scholar we know.
He sounds like a man demanding answers.
And that is far more dangerous.
——
A cold wind sweeps through the ruins, rustling the overgrown grass, stirring the loose stones beneath our feet.
The moon hangs low, casting everything in pale silver, making the shadows seem longer than they should be.
Edan's expression is unreadable.
His trust in us is slipping.
And I do not know how much of the truth we can afford to give him.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
——
Elias sighs, running a hand over his face. "Alright, alright. I get it. You're pissed."
Edan does not respond.
Elias tilts his head. "Let me guess. You're thinking about reporting us to someone, huh? Maybe your friends in Heidel? Maybe even the Parliament?"
Edan's jaw tightens.
"That depends on what you tell me."
A pause.
And then—
A single, quiet question.
"Who are you, really?"
Elias does not answer.
Neither do I.
Because right now—
The only thing more dangerous than a lie—
Is the truth.