The fires had burned low, leaving only embers and ruin in their wake.
Smoke curled through the remains of Eldermere, rising into the sky like the final breath of a dying beast.
The air was thick with the scent of charred wood and blood, suffocating, inescapable.
Lira stepped carefully over a collapsed beam, her boots crunching against an ash-covered stone.
The silence unsettled her.
Eldermere had always been loud, filled with the sounds of life—arguing merchants, children running through the streets, the clang of the blacksmith's hammer.
Now, the only sound was the wind whispering through broken buildings.
The village was dead.
And Aric was gone.
A ragged cough shattered the quiet, jerking Lira from her thoughts. Her hand shot to her sword as she turned sharply toward the noise.
It was Kael.
He was slumped against the remains of a wall, his breath shallow, his face pale.
Blood stained his side, soaking into the tattered remains of his tunic beneath his cracked armor.
His fingers trembled as he tried—and failed—to tighten a makeshift bandage over the wound.
Lira swore under her breath and moved toward him.
"Still alive?" she asked, kneeling beside him.
Kael cracked a weak grin. "Barely. Thought I told you to leave me."
"You say a lot of stupid things," she muttered, tearing a strip of cloth from what was left of her cloak. She pressed it against his wound, ignoring his sharp intake of breath. "None of them worth listening to."
Kael huffed out a breath, but it turned into a low groan. "That bad?"
Lira's jaw tightened. "Could be worse."
"Liar."
She didn't answer. Instead, she grabbed her flask and held it to his lips. "Drink."
Kael took a slow sip, then let his head rest back against the wall. His breathing was still too shallow, his skin too pale. He wasn't dying yet, but he wasn't far from it either.
"Where's the rest?" he asked after a long pause.
Lira glanced around. The villagers who had survived the battle had scattered, slipping into the forests or the hills in a desperate attempt to flee.
Some had lingered, picking through the wreckage in a daze, but they were few.
She exhaled sharply. "Gone. Or hiding."
Kael's brow furrowed. "And the Riftmarked?"
Lira didn't need to look. She could feel their presence in the valley beyond the ruins.
"They haven't moved," she said.
Kael's fingers tightened slightly on the fabric of his tunic. "That's worse."
"I know."
She forced herself to her feet, scanning the remains of the village. The Riftmarked had not pursued the fleeing villagers. They had not claimed the land. They simply… waited.
For what?
For who?
Her stomach twisted.
The answer was obvious.
They were waiting for Aric.
And Aric wasn't coming back.
A rustling sound made her turn.
A small group of villagers was approaching, their faces hollow with exhaustion. A man with a bloodied bandage around his arm stepped forward hesitantly.
"We need to leave," he said, his voice hoarse.
Lira studied him. His clothes were torn, his expression wary. He wasn't wrong.
"Where's the rest of your people?" she asked.
The man swallowed. "Scattered. Some went north. Some deeper into the woods. No one knows where to go."
"Then you're wasting time standing here," she said flatly.
The man hesitated. "Some of us were waiting."
"For what?"
"For you," he admitted. "And for… him."
Lira's stomach twisted.
"Aric's not here anymore," she said.
The man nodded slowly. "But you are."
Lira exhaled sharply. "And?"
Another villager, a woman with soot-streaked cheeks, stepped forward. "You fought beside him. You knew what he was planning. Some of us—" she hesitated, exchanging glances with the others. "Some of us don't think this is over."
Lira's fingers curled into fists. "It isn't."
The bandaged man took a slow breath. "Then what do we do?"
Lira stared at him, at the few survivors who had gathered, waiting for answers.
She had none.
But she knew one thing.
The Rift was still open.
The Riftmarked were still waiting.
And this war—
It was far from finished.
The air had changed.
Lira didn't notice it at first, not through the smoke and ruin, not through the weight of exhaustion pressing against her ribs. But now, as the wind shifted, she felt it—something wrong.
The scent of blood and charred wood still hung thick in the air, but beneath it, something else had begun to seep in.
Something faint, almost imperceptible. The air had grown thicker, pressing against her skin like unseen fingers. The silence wasn't just emptiness anymore—it felt like something listening.
She turned slowly toward the Rift.
It was still there. Still open.
And it was watching.
The Riftmarked had not moved. They stood in the valley beyond the ruins, their rusted armor catching the dim, flickering glow of dying embers. The firelight should have cast their shadows long across the ground. But it didn't.
There were no shadows at all.
A prickle of unease crawled up Lira's spine.
She had seen strange things—things that made men question reality. But this?
This was something else.
Kael stirred beside her, drawing in a shallow breath. His skin was damp with sweat, his face still too pale. Lira pressed her lips into a thin line, gripping his arm as she helped him sit up.
"We need to move," she said.
Kael's fingers twitched against the bloodied fabric of his tunic. "Are they coming?"
"No," Lira murmured. "That's the problem."
His brow furrowed, but he didn't ask. He didn't need to. He could feel it too.
She turned back to the villagers. The few who remained were still watching her, waiting. Some clung to whatever weapons they had salvaged, rusted swords and broken spears as if they meant something. As if steel could stop whatever was coming next.
"We can't stay here," she said. "Eldermere is gone."
A woman near the front of the group—a farmer's wife, judging by the worn fabric of her cloak—tightened her grip on a crying child. "Where do we go?"
Lira didn't answer immediately. She looked past them, toward the remnants of the village, toward the distant forests, the rolling hills beyond. There was no safety anymore. Not really.
"The southern villages," someone murmured. "The capital, maybe."
A man with a torn sleeve shook his head. "That's a fool's hope. House Valtor's forces weren't the only nobles who wanted this place. If they learn we're from Eldermere—"
"They'll kill us," another finished grimly.
A heavy silence settled between them.
Lira hated indecision. Hated waiting. But right now, that was all they could do.
Kael exhaled weakly. "You should go with them," he muttered.
Lira didn't move. "And leave you to die?"
Kael's lips quirked in something that might have been a smirk if not for the exhaustion weighing on him. "You're not going to save me by standing here."
He was right.
But she wasn't leaving.
She glanced back at the villagers. "You should go. Now. If the Riftmarked decide they don't like us breathing, we won't be able to stop them."
The bandaged man hesitated. "What about you?"
Lira turned toward the Rift again.
Her stomach twisted.
She should have been afraid.
But instead—she felt something else.
Something worse.
A pull.
Not strong. Not forceful. But… there.
Like a thread wrapped around her ribs, tugging toward the Rift.
Toward where Aric had gone.
Her fingers curled into fists.
"I'll stay," she said. "Just a little longer."
The man hesitated, but eventually, he gave a slow nod. One by one, the villagers turned and began moving—some toward the forest, others south. They had no clear direction, no certainty of safety.
But they moved.
Lira stood still.
Kael let out a quiet breath beside her. "You feel it too, don't you?"
She didn't look at him.
Didn't speak.
She just kept staring at the Rift.
Watching.
Waiting.
And listening to the whisper in the wind.