ã€ŠThe Spell Thief and the Dragon Princess [LitRPG, Progression]ã€‹


 Prologue

    Every time she shifted her weight, a new plank would groan beneath her heels. There were a lot of them, each with its own unique voice and peculiar complaint. Some moaned about their age, creaking long and slow as if the burden of years had worn them thin. Others muttered about rusted nails, their voices sharp and brittle. A few grumbled softly, lamenting how cold last night¡¯s rain had been, how it had seeped into their grain and made them swell. Small things, really. Petty grievances. But in one thing they all agreed: too many boots had tramped across them that day, leaving them weary and overworked.

    Emberlyth had watched it happen¡ªdozens of hard-soled shoes dragging heavy crates back and forth across the landing, the air thick with barked orders and the sharp clang of iron¡ªbut she wasn¡¯t weary at all. Far from it. Her eyes glowed with a restless energy as she rocked gently back and forth, toes to heels, heels to toes, each motion inching her closer to the edge.

    ¡°It is dangerous,¡± they¡¯d told her. ¡°Stay back,¡± they¡¯d insisted.

    But Emberlyth couldn¡¯t help it. The planks were crooked in the strangest of ways. And when her shoes rocked just so, they seemed to nudge her forward, closer to the railing that overlooked the Abyss. It was simply the way of things. Gravity. Geometry. Whatever word Governess Abda would use to describe it. Nothing she could do about it.

    Besides, the adults weren¡¯t here right now. A rare and precious freedom. She dared not waste it.

    Wilbur''s Perch had possessed charms in its own right¡ªcrooked streets, busy markets, and the scent of fresh tar in the air. But none of that could steal a little girl¡¯s mind like this. The Abyss. The dark maw that swallowed the world and spat out whispers of legends. It was the cradle of every story she loved, the place where magic was born and great adventures began. She could feel its pull, dragging her closer.

    The platform creaked again as she shifted her weight, but Emberlyth barely noticed. Her focus was fixed on the railing, her fingers itching to grip it, her eyes eager to peer over the edge and see what secrets the Abyss might reveal. To think that, from somewhere down there, a crowd of merchants along with her new summer dress had come. Soft, flowing, and the same color as her copper hair. A gift from Mr. Olsen, no doubt meant to ensure Lady Efrain, the ever-watchful Head Seneschal of the Draekart Duchy, remained blissfully unaware of their chamberlain¡¯s¡­generous tip distribution this season.

    ¡°Appearances, young miss,¡± he had said, his deep voice as smooth as his polished boots. ¡°On days like these, one must spend a little extra, or tongues will wag and people will start whispering that our house is in decline. Can¡¯t have that, can we?¡±

    The inked script that curled along the rotund man¡¯s jaw had glimmered faintly as he spoke, the symbols breathing light into his words. Normally, the tattoos seemed little more than an odd embellishment, like a half-forgotten doodle of a mustache. But when they shimmered like that, they lent his voice a peculiar resonance, a depth that made even his casual remarks feel like commands of great importance.

    ¡°Now off you go,¡± he had added with a chuckle, pressing a handful of caramel chocolates into her hands. ¡°I¡¯ll ensure your dress is awaiting you at the estate. But you have a whole town to explore before then, no?¡±

    At the time, Emberlyth did have a lot of exploring to do. And so she had gone, leaving the chamberlain to his business¡ªbuttering up merchants, smoothing over disputes, and indulging in the occasional over-poured glass of wine¡ªwhile she wandered Wilbur''s Perch with the aimless curiosity of a child set loose. She¡¯d sampled everything the town had to offer, from the juggler¡¯s tricks in the square to the honeyed nuts sold from a cart near golden fields. But now her chocolates were gone, her pockets empty of trinkets, and her interest in the town¡¯s charms thoroughly exhausted.

    Which left her here, at the edge of the world. At the Abyss.

    Another subtle rock of her heels carried her closer still. The railing loomed just ahead, and beyond it, nothing but air and darkness. Emberlyth leaned forward ever so slightly, her pulse quickening as she caught her first glimpse of the fall. Directly in front of her, the cables of the great Winch Tower stretched taut, thick as a man¡¯s arm, vanishing into the shadows below.

    This morning, she¡¯d watched as they hauled up the massive platform, laden with merchants and crates from the deep. She¡¯d heard the groan of the machinery, the hum of the wires under strain. It was a marvel, really, the way those ropes bore the weight of so many lives. They had arrived at the break of dawn, just as first light was bleeding through the night. It had been a mess of noise and movement then. Traders and porters darting about like ants, shouting orders, shuffling barrels, scribbling down tallies with the frantic scratching of quills on parchment. The air had been thick with the earthy scent of burlap and the tang of metal, underscored by the rhythmic groaning of wooden crates and the occasional sharp crack as a box was pried open to reveal its treasures.

    And above it all, Lady Efrain¡¯s voice had cut like a blade.

    ¡°Powdered salamander scales at three Obols per ounce?¡± she¡¯d said, her tone a mix of outrage and disbelief. ¡°Daylight robbery. How do they expect the common folk to keep their lanterns lit?¡±

    A short pause, followed by another clipped complaint. ¡°A half Drach for two spools of fae-silk? Scandalous. Lady Mascur will have to settle for local weave this season.¡±

    Emberlyth had always marveled at how effortlessly the Head Seneschal managed it all. Lady Efrain could calculate costs and profits faster than Emberlyth could clap her hands, even the tricky sums with fractions and strange conversions. Emberlyth suspected cheating was involved¡ªsome hidden Aethermark inked beneath the folds of her meticulous dress. Most adults had them, faint etchings of power. But few wore them as brazenly as Mister Olsen. So, Emberlyth hadn¡¯t been able to prove anything yet. Yet.

    But that was a mystery for another day.

    Lady Efrain had now left to inspect the warehouses, her sharp voice long since faded into the distance. What lay closer was the Abyss.

    ¡°It isn¡¯t merely a void or a shadow.¡± Her books had read. ¡°It¡¯s an absence, a nothingness so vast it seems to swallow light and sound alike.¡± The stories called it a wound in the world, a gash that had never healed. Emberlyth thought that sounded about right. It stretched out endlessly before her, a gulf so deep and wide that even the bravest skyships dared not venture far beyond its lip.

    Everyone told her to stay away. ¡°Dangerous for little girls,¡± they¡¯d say, shaking their heads. ¡°Best to keep a safe distance.¡±

    But Emberlyth had never been particularly good at keeping safe distances.

    She wasn¡¯t planning to climb down into the Abyss, of course. That would be foolish, even by her standards. But a little peek? Just a glance over the edge? Surely that wasn¡¯t too much to ask.

    Her heart thudded faster. The wood beneath her feet gave a soft groan of protest, but she paid it no mind. Her hands tingled, ready to grasp the railing. One more step, and she¡¯d be there, peering into the heart of darkness, gazing into the place where the world fell away and stories were born. She needed to know what it was like.

    Her father was down there, after all. Somewhere, in those distant, shadowed worlds, fighting for the prosperity of their house. He hadn¡¯t come to visit this time. He hadn¡¯t come last time either. Or the time before. But Emberlyth didn¡¯t mind. Not really. Not enough to cry or throw a fuss, at least. That would only trouble him, and her father didn¡¯t need more trouble.

    The men and women of her family were busy people. Important people. Or so everyone said.

    Here, at the Third Draekart Duchy, Emberlyth was the only one who carried the Draekart name. Well, except for Sixth Uncle. But he came and went, his visits as fleeting as summer storms. And little Vaelen, who so often came with him these days, didn¡¯t count. Her cousin¡¯s hair was white as snow, not copper or flame, and her last name wasn¡¯t Draekart.

    Vaelen didn¡¯t like adventuring anyway. At least not the way Emberlyth did. She was too small and preferred being with the adults, smiling sweetly and seeming to enjoy the cheek pinching.

    And so, Emberlyth was as alone as always. There was no one but herself to gather her courage¡ªto bravely puff up her chest, take the deepest of breaths, and clench her hands into fists.

    She cast a final glance over her shoulder, making sure the streets leading up to the landing were still empty. Then, she stepped over to the railing, her heart racing with a mixture of fear and thrill. Her hands found the rough wood, and she leaned out, letting her gaze fall.

    She needed to see. And see she did.

    Darkness stretched below her, deep and terrible. It swallowed the world in layers of shadow, each one heavier and more silent than the last. Somewhere far beneath her, the wires and ropes holding the platform disappeared into that void. They were thick, as thick as her legs, but they seemed like threads against the sheer immensity of the Abyss.

    Even the Winch Tower, so tall and imposing when she¡¯d first seen it, appeared laughably small against the endless chasm. The planks beneath her feet creaked, their voices lost in the vast, swallowing silence.

    And as she stared into the dark, the dark stared back.

    Something stirred in its depths¡ªslow and ancient, deeper than the oldest tales and beyond where even the most ancient wyrms would crawl. It wasn¡¯t a sound she heard but a feeling¡ªlike the echo of a massive breath exhaled eons ago, still rumbling through the bones of the earth.

    Her chest tightened. Her breath caught in her throat. Vertigo rolled over her like a tide.

    She shouldn¡¯t have looked. Yet now she couldn¡¯t look away.

    The Abyss unfolded in her mind, pouring in truths too vast, too raw for her young heart to comprehend. She saw things she couldn¡¯t name: distant worlds, shattered and whole. A young woman, standing at the edge of an infinite ocean. A journey unfolding, grand and terrible as she sank deeper.

    Her father was there, reaching for her. His voice warm, his smile tender. But the image twisted. His hand drifted away. His voice grew faint. His smile crumbled to dust.

    Then there was a boy, alone, wrapped in the suffocating black. His eyes shone with something that pulled at her, something she could neither name nor resist. She had to¡ª

    Emberlyth gasped, wrenching her hands from the railing. She stumbled back, heart pounding, sweat cold against her skin. Her legs felt weak, her mind a whirlwind of fragmented thoughts and images that refused to settle.

    She shouldn¡¯t have looked. She knew she shouldn¡¯t have looked.

    Yet the Abyss had shown her something. And now it wouldn¡¯t let her forget.

    She felt as if something had broken in her. Something she couldn¡¯t put back together, no matter how hard she tried.

    Tears welled up in her eyes.

    The adults would know she had looked. How couldn¡¯t they? The darkness clung to her, thick and heavy, as though it had seeped into her very skin. They¡¯d scold her for being reckless, for being a foolish child. They¡¯d lock her away in the estate, lock her in some dusty old room where she¡¯d be all alone¡ªjust like that boy she¡¯d seen in the Abyss, wrapped in shadows and silence.

    But no. Dad won¡¯t let them. He¡¯ll save me. He always¡­

    A first few tears slid down her cheeks.

    Except¡­Dad wasn¡¯t here. He hadn¡¯t been here for a long time. And ever since she looked into the Abyss, he felt impossibly far away. As though he¡¯d crossed into some distant place where her hands could never reach. A place he might never return from. No more hugs, no more games. No more promises that next year¡ªnext year, he¡¯d finally take her down with him to the incredible, sprawling city of shadows she¡¯d only ever dreamed of.

    But Dad always keeps his promises, she snivelingly told herself, her voice wavering even in her mind. And they can¡¯t punish me for just looking, can they? I was curious. Uncle¡¯s busy, and Lady Efrain can only take my caramel chocolates for so long¡­ and¡­ and¡­

    ¡°A daunting thing, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    The calm voice startled Emberlyth so badly she nearly jumped out of her shoes. If it had been any sharper, any louder, she might have broken down crying then and there.

    Instead, she scurried back like a frightened sparrow, eyes wide, breath quick.

    The elderly man standing beside her hadn¡¯t been there before. She was sure of it. She hadn¡¯t heard him approach¡ªnot a single creak of the planks.

    Traitors. They had betrayed her.

    ¡°The first time you gaze into the Abyss is special,¡± the man continued, as if her reaction were nothing at all. His voice was steady, patient. He was tall, his frame sturdy, hands weathered and calloused as they rested on the railing. There were scars on his knuckles too, faint but deep, the kind earned through hard-won lessons and harder living. These were not the hands of estate folk¡ªsoft and carefully used. No, they reminded her of her father¡¯s.

    ¡°It marks people. Some say the fortunate can even catch a glimpse of their destiny. A city that has yet to be built. A ruin waiting to be unearthed. Great wars, mythical beasts, lost worlds holding the relics of legends.¡±

    He turned his head slightly, not looking at her, but close enough that she felt the weight of his words. ¡°Did you see something interesting?¡±

    ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m not sure,¡± Emberlyth sniffled, twisting her fingers. Her voice felt small, as though the words were too fragile to speak. She didn¡¯t know who this man was, but he had seen her look. That much was clear. Her eyes flicked toward the town, toward the safety of its streets. If she could just¡ª

    Before she could, the man moved. Not far, not fast, but enough. Each shift of his weight, each subtle gesture, carried a quiet authority, the kind that spoke of seeing much and knowing more. His gaze settled on her now, sharp but not unkind.

    ¡°Is that so?¡± he asked, letting silence test her.

    She held her breath. But when the silence stretched too long, and the truth threatened to spill out, he continued with a sigh.

    ¡°Then don¡¯t worry too much about it, Ember. Few ever see beyond the first layers. If they see anything at all.¡±

    His words weren¡¯t meant to comfort, but they had a way of calming her nonetheless. And perhaps it was that, combined with the fact that surprising things only remain surprising for so long, that Emberlyth gave her last snivel by the time he finished speaking. She wiped her face with the heel of her hand, her cheeks blotchy and damp but her resolve returning.

    She puffed up her chest, a small but determined flame rekindling inside her. ¡°Only Dad is allowed to call me Ember,¡± she huffed. ¡°To everyone else, I¡¯m Emberlyth.¡±

    A faint smile ghosted across the man¡¯s lips. But it wasn¡¯t a smile of joy. No, it carried something else¡ªsomething heavy and hidden, like the weight of a memory best left undisturbed.

    ¡°I¡¯ll make sure to remember that,¡± he said quietly, his voice steady but laced with an undercurrent she couldn¡¯t quite place.

    ¡°You better.¡± Emberlyth nodded, feeling her confidence return. Only Olsen and Efrain tended to scold her. Most other people listened when Young Lady Draekart made one of her rare requests. This man seemed no exception, which reassured her.

    ¡°And don¡¯t sneak up on me like that again,¡± she went on. ¡°It¡¯s very rude. Dad¡¯s the only one allowed to surprise me.¡±

    The man inclined his head slightly, as if taking her decree into the most serious consideration.

    Maybe he was jesting with her, Emberlyth wasn¡¯t sure. Still, with those more urgent matters settled, she allowed herself a proper look at the man. He was older, yes, but not old in the way Governess Abda was old. His back was straight, his hair thick despite the streaks of gray, and his gaze sharp¡ªnot watery or distant like her aged teacher.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    The lines on his face were deep, sure, but they weren¡¯t lines of weakness. They were carved by years of sunlight and living, crow¡¯s feet branched from his eyes in testament to battles seen and endured.

    He didn¡¯t look like a merchant or laborer. That much was certain. No, his stance reminded her of the knights in the old tapestries: poised, powerful, deliberate. Even as he stood still, there was an unspoken readiness in the way he carried himself, as if his body were a coiled spring, waiting for the right moment to move.

    Above all, however, what really caught Emberlyth¡¯s attention was his hair. It was fiery, almost like her own, though streaked with the ashes of age. And his eyes¡ªsharp and colored a clear emerald green¡ªseemed eerily familiar. Not like hers, of course, which were a bright, molten gold. But they did remind her a little of her father¡¯s.

    Her gaze narrowed.

    No, she decided, those eyes aren¡¯t nearly as friendly as Dad¡¯s. And they¡¯re definitely not as tricksy.

    That much wasn¡¯t hard to deduce. Her father¡¯s face was always been a puzzle, his eyes constantly shifting between mischief and affection. He was forever scheming, always plotting his next elaborate prank to outwit her, his ¡°clever little Ember.¡± This man¡¯s expression was nothing like that.

    Where her father¡¯s grin held warmth and laughter, this man¡¯s demeanor was regal and somber. Stern, even.

    His clothing was odd as well. The puffy red shirt and sleeveless black-and-gold tunic might have been suitable for the estate, but the heavy pelt draped across his right shoulder, mirrored by an ornate golden pauldron on his left, was something entirely different. The embroidery on his garments was intricate¡ªfar more so than anything she¡¯d seen before. His bracers gleamed, thick and weighty, etched with glyphs that seemed to hum with quiet power.

    But it was the crest on his neckpiece that made her eyes widen. A dragon, bold and unmistakable, its wings unfurled as if ready to take flight.

    The Draekart family crest.

    No one was allowed to wear it like that. No one except¡­

    Ah.

    Once Emberlyth knew what to look for, the pieces began to fall into place.

    There had been quite a few oddities that day. The first, now that she thought about it, arrived early that morning: They had allowed her to come along for the seasonal merchants¡¯ visit.

    That never happened.

    Despite years of trying¡ªsneaking into the family coaches, pleading until her throat went raw, even resorting to violent biting when all else failed¡ªat eight years old, Emberlyth had never set foot outside the estate before.

    She hadn¡¯t thought it strange that morning, being allowed to come along. No, as they set off before first light had even broken, she had merely thought of it as a most beautiful, brilliant adventure. A most exciting event sprung upon her during an hour when she was usually snoring away under a pile of blankets.

    That was only the first mystery of the day.

    Then there was Mr. Olsen. He had been strange, too. Normally, the chamberlain wouldn¡¯t dream of encouraging her to explore on her own¡ªnot even within the estate¡¯s heavily guarded grounds. Quite the opposite. He was usually the first to remind her of her station: to behave as the daughter of a ducal house ought, to sit still, and to wear her dresses properly.

    Today, he hadn¡¯t scolded her once.

    Instead, his disapproval had been reserved for the merchants. Most peculiar, indeed.

    She remembered it clearly. One of the younger merchants, a hiccuping man with watery eyes, had made an offhand comment while the chamberlain had jokingly excused his own lavish tipping.

    ¡°Especially on a day like this,¡± the man had said, his words slurring slightly, ¡°when the Dragon Slayer himself graces us with his presence. It¡¯s a good time to air out the hoard a bit. E-especially after what that damned monster did to your¡ª¡±

    He hadn¡¯t finished the sentence. A sharp kick from a nearby colleague had silenced him, sending him to the ground, where he sat sniffling and rubbing his shin. That was when Chamberlain Olsen had ushered her away, pressing a handful of candies into her palm.

    Thinking back, there had been something strained about his laughter. His smiles, too, had seemed brittle, like fine porcelain hiding cracks beneath the glaze.

    Lady Efrain had been acting oddly as well. Normally, the Head Seneschal would purse her lips at any request that involved loosening the family coffers. But today, after the usual grumbling, she¡¯d still turned around to buy a few extra spools of fae-silk and midnight satin.

    ¡°Oh, and throw in another six-pound of caramel chocolates.¡± She¡¯d dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. ¡°May our house know we¡¯ll need something to cheer us up in the days ahead.¡±

    Although Emberlyth hadn¡¯t known why they would need cheering up¡ªwhy so many people seemed to force themselves to smile only when she was around¡ªthe extra candies made her heart leap. Those were definitely meant for her. And six pounds? That would last forever.

    She¡¯d still been wondering what to do with such a treasure when Lady Efrain turned her weary gaze on her.

    ¡°Sweetie, don¡¯t go too close to the edge, okay?¡± the older woman had said gently. ¡°Another tragedy is the last thing we need right now¡­¡±

    Those words had been really strange. Usually, the Head Seneschal was all hands and yelling when it came to her. To be called upon so gently, however, had made Emberlyth fear the entire sky might come crashing down upon her head.

    It wouldn¡¯t have been the strangest thing. Not compared to how she¡¯d ended up alone at the Winch Tower shortly after. Surely someone should have been watching her¡­ right? There always was. Even if the cookie jar seemed completely unguarded, or her door was strangely unlocked in the middle of the night, there was always someone there.

    And yet, she¡¯d found herself edging closer to that railing, inch by inch, with no one to stop her.

    With the appearance of this old, vaguely intimidating yet familiar man, however, Emberlyth knew she¡¯d been right. Someone had been watching her. And with all the oddities of the day laid out before her, she even knew who he was. Sort of.

    He¡¯d arrived alongside the merchants at daybreak. Uncle and her younger cousin had been there too, standing beside him on the platform as it rose through the morning mist. Or rather, Uncle had been standing. Tiny Vaelen Nocterra had been fast asleep in his arms.

    Emberlyth¡¯s first instinct had been to run down and greet them. It wasn¡¯t often she got the chance to pull someone else¡¯s cheeks for a change, and even if Dad wasn¡¯t there, Uncle wasn¡¯t half bad as a substitute. Not as good, of course, but better than anyone else at the estate.

    But she couldn¡¯t greet them that morning.

    She had been on an ultra-secret mission.

    High above Wilbur¡¯s Perch¡ªan entire ten feet up at the ridges¡ªEmberlyth had been creeping across the rooftops, scanning for spies and hoodlums. She knew those sorts of people lived deep within the Abyss. Her father had told her about them: shadowy figures who worked alongside warlocks, seven-armed men, and horrible monsters that only sort of looked like Head Chef McGinnis. Dangerous individuals. But in the end, their schemes were always thwarted by a somersaulting, super-pretty-yet-always-kind warrior princess.

    A warrior princess with copper hair.

    ¡°Just like mine!¡± Emberlyth would exclaim, tugging eagerly at one of her bright locks.

    ¡°Just like yours,¡± her father would say, his voice warm as a hearth, his smile soft and secret, like he was sharing a story only they could know.

    That morning, she had been the warrior princess.

    They had let her come along to greet the merchants. An utmost important task. And so, naturally, it had fallen to her to ensure no ill-minded individuals tried to sneak into the family¡¯s domain under the guise of innocent visitors.

    Or so she¡¯d told the amused guard who¡¯d helped her clamber onto one of Wilbur¡¯s Perch¡¯s safer-looking roofs.

    Truthfully, she just wanted to be the first to see if Dad had returned.

    Not that she would ever admit that. To anyone who cared to ask, she was the strong warrior princess, steadfast in her duty. And it wasn¡¯t any double pinky-promise with the amused guard that made her tread so carefully across the roof. Of course not. She was a clever adventurer, and the tiles were surely made from the scales of dangerous beasts with how they shimmered faintly in the dusky glow. She mustn¡¯t dare risk wake them. Only a fool would tempt fate like so.

    Her father had taught her that, too.

    Just like how he¡¯d taught her that a brave adventurer didn¡¯t sulk just because her dad didn¡¯t show up one time. She planned. She prepared for the games they¡¯d play during his next visit instead. The warrior princess didn¡¯t cry when things went wrong. She focused on her mission, always ready for the next adventure.

    And so, with her heart tucked away like a secret treasure, she had kept her post. Kept looking for that familiar silhouette. Kept hoping as she promised herself to remain strong.

    The only problem was, as Emberlyth had skirted around one of the glowing eyes of the beast¡ªa rounded window lit by a burning lantern within¡ªto get a better vantage point, her perfect disguise had been broken.

    And it was all because of the old man standing before her.

    He¡¯d been the first to step off the platform. And despite the reverent greetings and low bows greeting his arrival, his eyes had flickered her way. Just for a moment, but long enough to see her. She knew as, a breath later, he¡¯d angled his head to the broad-shouldered man with fiery hair walking just behind him.

    Vyrmion Draekart Nocterra, her Sixth Uncle, was the only one of her uncles who shared even a sliver of her father¡¯s jovial nature. He had the same sly smile, the same kind eyes that always seemed to know more than they let on. He caught her gaze, gave her a subtle wave and a wink.

    Emberlyth felt betrayed. Her hood had been up at the time.

    Everyone at the estate agreed that when Emberlyth wore her hood, she was invisible. Invisible. She could sneak into the kitchens and take caramel chocolates right from the jar. As long as she didn¡¯t take too many or do it too often, they¡¯d all promised not to say a word.

    Also, her father was nowhere to be seen. For the third time in a row.

    Her heart thudded in her chest as she slid down the far side of the roof, tears burning at the edges of her eyes. Next time, she told herself. Next time, Dad will definitely show up.

    It was in the moments that followed, as she lay there pressed against the tiles, sniffling and wiping her eyes, that she heard it:

    The soft voice of her tiny cousin, drowsy and muffled by the morning mist, turning toward the old man to ask, ¡°Are we there yet, Grandpa?¡±

    That was the final puzzle piece. The only piece she needed, really.

    If this old man was Vaelen¡¯s grandpa, then¡­ he was probably Emberlyth¡¯s grandpa too.

    Which was interesting.

    Emberlyth had never had a grandpa before. She¡¯d had Dad, Uncle, and her cousin. She¡¯d had a whole bunch of faceless people who sent her gifts on her birthdays, too, but never a grandpa. Except maybe the one people always whispered about: Patriarch Draekart. Or Lord Falkyrr. Or sometimes, the Duke of Three Worlds.

    Throughout the day, she¡¯d also heard people murmuring about some Dragon Slayer. Maybe this was him, too.

    Emberlyth hadn¡¯t planned for this. She hadn¡¯t imagined what she¡¯d do when she eventually got a grandfather.

    So now, she asked the first thing that came to mind.

    ¡°Do you really kill dragons?¡±

    She hoped her grandfather didn¡¯t. If he did, he could keep being Vaelen¡¯s grandfather and Vaelen¡¯s grandfather alone.

    Dragons were the mightiest beings in her father¡¯s stories, standing alongside gods and legends. But that wasn¡¯t why she liked them. No, sometimes, when she had been particularly good, they let the warrior princess ride on their backs.

    Whenever her father told her about it, swearing it was true, Ember¡¯s jaw would hang open for days.

    The old man raised an eyebrow. ¡°We don¡¯t wear the dragon¡¯s crest because we hunt them, child. We wear it because their blood runs in our veins.¡± His words were heavy, and for a moment, Emberlyth felt like they had settled into the ground beneath her feet, pulling everything down with them.

    ¡°Stories just have a way of getting out of hand. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here today. To make sure they don¡¯t. Not about this¡­¡± He shook his head, and as he continued, his voice carried the weight of old, weary tales. ¡°But no, few living men would even know a dragon if they saw one. Fewer still would survive the encounter. What I killed was a wyvern. A ferocious beast, starved and rabid, which crawled up from the lower layers. A tragic thing¡­¡±

    ¡°Did it breathe fire?¡± Emberlyth tilted her head.

    All dangerous things breathed fire. And had long claws, sharp teeth, and were usually at least a little ugly. That¡¯s why it was always best to run when Lady Efrain got angry. Emberlyth had never seen her breathe fire, but she swore once she¡¯d seen steam coming out of the Head Seneschal¡¯s ears.

    ¡°It didn¡¯t,¡± the man said.

    ¡°Oh.¡± Emberlyth¡¯s face fell. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ a shame.¡±

    The man¡¯s mouth twitched, but he didn¡¯t speak.

    Her father would have told the story better. He would have made sure the wyvern breathed fire¡ªa lot of it¡ªand probably shot lightning out of its ass too. That would have been much cooler.

    ¡°Do you have any Aethermarks to show me?¡± she asked instead, continuing her inquisition. Hearing about not-dragons that didn¡¯t even breathe fire wasn¡¯t all that interesting. Her eyes flicked over him again, searching for any trace of shimmering scars or glowing sigils.

    When he didn¡¯t answer immediately, she pressed on. ¡°Or maybe you brought me a gift? People usually bring me gifts when they meet me.¡±

    That day, it had been doubly true. The merchants and townsfolk had practically showered her with offerings: handwoven socks, enchanted earrings, and even a silver knife that gleamed like frost in moonlight. Most of it was already safely stowed in the carriage, but a handful of flash-stones and the knife itself remained tucked in her pockets. In case any hoodlums tried to whisk her away.

    She was sure there were gifts from her father waiting for her, too, tucked among the crates of merchant goods. Trinkets wrapped in silk or rare sweets hidden in barrels of spices. He always sent something. Even if he himself couldn¡¯t come.

    Now, the old man¡¯s eyes softened at her words, and he reached for the sword at his side, loosening it from his belt. ¡°I do have something for you,¡± he said, holding the sheathed weapon toward her.

    Emberlyth¡¯s eyes widened, hardly able to believe what they were seeing. She had never been allowed to have a weapon of her own before. Now, she had a knife and a sword.

    Today really was a spectacular day.

    She eagerly extended her hands, but just as the weight of the blade was placed into them, a thread of hesitation unraveled in her chest. That thread quickly knotted into something far heavier as she stared down at the sword. The scabbard dipped toward the wooden planks beneath her feet¡ªit was far too heavy for her to hold alone. But it wasn¡¯t the weight of it that made her stomach twist; it was the sudden recognition.

    ¡°This¡­ is my dad¡¯s sword,¡± she said, her voice faltering as the statement turned into a question. She looked up. ¡°You¡¯re not allowed to give it away. He needs it.¡±

    If there was one thing as constant as her father¡¯s scheming smile, it was that Silent Kiss never left his side. Without it, he had no way of defending himself.

    The old man¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, but his voice shifted ever so slightly. ¡°Caelvorn wanted you to have it.¡±

    Emberlyth blinked, her grip tightening around the scabbard. ¡°Dad¡­ wanted me to have it?¡± she asked, swallowing as she glanced back down at the blade.

    The elongated handle was wrapped in vibrant crimson cloth. Its crossguard, a slender curve of dark metal, bent slightly upward toward the sky. It wasn¡¯t just there to be practical; it was clever¡ªa way to disarm an opponent mid-battle with a flick of the wrist. An almost mischievous flourish. Exactly the sort of thing her father would cherish.

    She remembered the only time she¡¯d ever seen her father spar. Even against the serious and battle-worn guard captain, her dad had been light on his feet, laughing as though the clash of blades was nothing more than a game. She could still see the moment Silent Kiss caught the captain¡¯s blade, sending it spinning through the air. Her father¡¯s smile had been wide, his face gleaming with effort and delight.

    She had dreamed of wielding a sword like that ever since. But now, no matter how much she tugged at the handle, Silent Kiss wouldn¡¯t budge from its sheath.

    ¡°Aye,¡± her grandfather said, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. It was an unfamiliar gesture. Emberlyth was used to cheek pulls and hair ruffles¡ªthings that made her feel like a child. This pat on the shoulder made her feel small in a different way, older and alone. ¡°You¡¯re his only daughter. It¡¯s only right that you have it.¡±

    ¡°He¡­ Dad, I mean, he won¡¯t need it?¡± Emberlyth asked quietly as she clutched the scabbard tighter against her chest. Even though she couldn¡¯t unsheathe the blade, holding it like this made her feel as if a piece of her father was still with her.

    Her grandfather¡¯s hand lingered for a moment longer before he pulled away. ¡°No. No, he won¡¯t. Not anymore.¡±

    ¡°He isn¡¯t hurt, is he?¡± Emberlyth pressed on, her voice holding a quiver she didn¡¯t like¡ªa tremor like the last note of a song. ¡°He¡­ he just wants me to practice with his sword a bit, so we can play even more fun games next time he visits, right?¡± The words tumbled out quickly, as if speed might somehow lend them truth.

    But the truth was already there, unspoken, reflected in her grandfather¡¯s eyes. Emberlyth had always been a bit too good at piecing things together¡ªbetter than most children her age. And now, the cold, jagged reality was assembling itself in her mind, sharp edges pressing into her heart. Her hands tightened around the scabbard, her knuckles whitening as her stomach churned with a hundred twisting fears.

    ¡°Emberlyth¡­¡± The old man¡¯s voice had softened, a quiet murmur, like distant thunder before the storm arrives. ¡°Your dad¡­ Caelvorn isn¡¯t coming back.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she whispered, but the word barely escaped her lips. She stepped back, her grip on the sword tightening as though holding it could anchor her in a world that was spinning out of control. ¡°Why?¡± she asked. ¡°Why¡­ why not?¡±

    The question hung in the air, brittle and raw. Her thoughts raced, grasping for some explanation that could undo the truth unfolding before her.

    ¡°I-is it because you¡¯re going to take me down there?¡± she asked, her tears betraying the defiance in her voice. She wiped at them with her sleeve, stubborn and trembling. ¡°We¡¯re going to surprise Dad, aren¡¯t we? He always told me to find a life away from the Abyss, but if you allow it, Grandpa¡ªhe wouldn¡¯t be able to say no, right? Please, I¡­ I just really want to see him again.¡±

    Her grandfather¡¯s eyes were heavy with sorrow, his outstretched hand hanging in the space between them, unanswered. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, child,¡± Archduke Falkyrr Draekart said softly. ¡°I truly am. But the wyvern¡­ Your father, Caelvorn, was the first to hear of it. He¡­¡±

    Emberlyth didn¡¯t wait for him to finish. She didn¡¯t want to hear it. She didn¡¯t want to hear any of it. Her legs carried her, stumbling and wild, away from the truth she couldn¡¯t escape.

    Through bustling streets and quiet alleys, past the merchants and townsfolk who had showered her with gifts only hours ago. The sword dragged behind her, clumsy and unwieldy, catching on cobblestones and sending her sprawling more than once.

    She didn¡¯t care.

    She hated this place, this town and its people. She hated her lying grandfather and his quiet, sorrowful voice. Most of all, she hated herself¡ªher useless hands, her tear-streaked face, and her trembling legs that couldn¡¯t carry her far enough or fast enough.

    The truth followed her, clinging to her like a shadow. No matter how far she ran, it was there, unyielding.

    By the time she stumbled back to the estate, her throat was raw from screaming, her body aching from the weight of the day. She buried herself beneath her blankets, the sword still clutched tightly in her hands. She wept into the fabric, tears soaking through, but it did nothing to drown out the silence where her father¡¯s laughter used to be.

    The truth was unrelenting: Caelvorn Draekart would never come home again.

    She had known it, deep down, even before her grandfather spoke the words. She had seen it¡ªher father¡¯s last moments¡ªwith her own eyes. Within the dark reaches of the Abyss. Alone. Afraid. His body broken on the cold, unyielding ground. His hand¡ªone she would never hold again¡ªreaching skyward in a final, silent apology. And then, nothing.

    Maybe if she had listened to the grown-ups, if she had stayed away from the railing. Maybe if she had been braver, smarter, stronger¡ªjust maybe, she could have been there for him in his final moments. Maybe she could have changed something.

    But maybes are cruel liars, and the clock turns only forward.

    The years would dull the sharp edges of her grief, turning wounds into scars and scars into aching memories. But no matter how many years passed, what was lost would remain lost.

    A little girl would grow into a young woman. But the hole left by her father¡¯s absence would never quite be filled.

 Chapter 1

    Thunder brooded over the Third Draekart estate. Not the kind that breaks the heavens and sends rain cascading from the sky¡ªthough those clouds loomed, heavy and gray. No, this storm lived in the steady cadence of footsteps echoing down empty halls, in the sound of something that had long been held back finally approaching. Emberlyth Draekart walked alone, her stride purposeful, her resolve carved from years of silence and shadow.

    ¡°Young miss, you can''t¡­¡± a servant trailed behind her, his voice thin and uncertain. But Emberlyth didn¡¯t slow, didn¡¯t turn. His words were swallowed by the weight of her determination, forged over countless weeks spent pacing these same corridors, alone and unanswered. How many times had she been told to wait? To be patient? To remain behind walls that kept out the world as much as they kept her in?

    She was tired of waiting. Tired of being told what could and couldn¡¯t be. The silence had stretched long enough.

    Even now, through the thick oak of a door, she could hear them. Voices. They drifted down the hall, foreign in these quiet spaces where sound itself felt out of place, an intruder. In this house, silence reigned three seasons of four, and any disruption was as loud and unnatural as a lone flicker of flame in a darkened room.

    Once, she had longed for such noise, craved the proof of life beyond her own solitary existence. Now, it itched at her, a maddening reminder of her exclusion.

    Not anymore.

    The guards posted by the door barely moved as she approached. Perhaps they knew better than to try and stop her. Perhaps they were simply too stunned by her audacity. It didn¡¯t matter. Her momentum didn¡¯t falter as she reached for the doors, shoving them open with a fiery force that rattled their hinges.

    ¡°Enough,¡± she said.

    It wasn¡¯t a shout. It wasn¡¯t a plea. It was the toll of an iron bell in a room where nothingness had made its home. It was a statement.

    The room stilled. Heads turned, a dozen pairs of eyes settling on her. Some were familiar, others less so. Chamberlain Olsen, who¡¯d taken up a graying mustache as of late, raised an eyebrow. Lady Efrain sighed, rubbing her temples in a way that spoke volumes about her thoughts. But there were others here, too: a foreign merchant with sharp eyes, an elderly woman from the main branch of the family, and a pair who looked every inch the seasoned militants they likely were.

    An odd gathering. One not meant for her. Her breath caught, her throat tightening as her heart thundered. There was a grave scent to the room, one not fully caused by her. Whatever discussion she had interrupted couldn¡¯t have been pleasant.

    Emberlyth clenched her fists. That only strengthened her resolve. She was a daughter of this family. She had a right to stand here, a right to contribute.

    ¡°I¡¯ve had enough,¡± she repeated, firmer. ¡°I¡¯ve heard your excuses. I¡¯ve memorized them. I could recite them in my sleep, word for word. But none of you have stood in this house, year after year, watching people come and go while the world outside becomes a stranger. You don¡¯t know what it¡¯s like to be the last to learn what¡¯s happening in your own family.¡± She stepped further into the room, letting the heavy doors groan shut behind her. ¡°I¡¯m done being the forgotten Draekart.¡±

    Vyrmion leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple with a weary hand. ¡°Emberlyth¡ª¡±

    ¡°You say I¡¯m reckless,¡± she cut in. ¡°That I don¡¯t have the wisdom or the eloquence to act as a Draekart. Fine. Then teach me. Bring me to Erboria. Show me what I need to know. Let me prove that I¡¯m more than the girl you think I am.¡±

    Her uncle sighed, a long, drawn-out exhalation of someone far too accustomed to this conversation. He let the papers in his hands fall to the table. ¡°And this is how you demonstrate your readiness? By barging in, disrupting matters beyond your understanding?¡± He gestured toward the door, where faint scorch marks marred the wood, some bits still smoldering where her fingers had dug in.

    ¡°If I don¡¯t approach the subject like this, you won¡¯t listen,¡± she said, lifting her chin. ¡°And what better time than now? You have Olsen and Efrain going down with you. You could keep a closer eye on me there than if I remained here.¡±

    ¡°Do you want me to assign you extra guards?¡± Vyrmion asked, his tone mild but his meaning sharp.

    ¡°No, Uncle,¡± Emberlyth said. ¡°I want to be of use. I¡¯m already eighteen. I can¡¯t stay locked up¨C¡±

    ¡°No one has locked you up,¡± Chamberlain Olsen interjected gently, his voice a balm meant to soothe. ¡°You know why¡ª¡±Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    She raised a hand, stopping him mid-sentence.

    Once, that voice had been enough. The tone of gentle reproach, the weight of quiet authority. Olsen had been a constant, his words a warm tether to steadier times. But Emberlyth had grown used to the rhythm of his arguments, as familiar as the echo of her own footsteps through these empty halls. The same pleas, the same warnings, circling back on themselves like vultures over a wounded beast.

    She had replayed them all, late at night, in the stillness of her room. They had sat with her in every lonely meal, followed her like ghosts up to the rooftops, where she would stare at skies too vast, too distant, to believe in. And in all that time, they had ceased to be comforting.

    The chamberlain¡¯s voice, once a warm blanket, could no longer smother the flames in her heart. Even as some of her fire cooled as she spoke, ¡°No. You¡¯ve said your piece. Now listen to mine. You speak of danger, of tradition, of responsibility. I understand these things. I do. But what you don¡¯t understand is this: keeping me here doesn¡¯t protect me. It weakens me. It turns me into a shadow of what I could be. And worse,¡± her voice dropped, a knife slipped between ribs, ¡°it insults the memory of my father. He didn¡¯t fight and bleed so I could rot behind these walls.¡±

    Vyrmion¡¯s jaw tightened, the movement subtle but telling. ¡°You¡¯re walking a dangerous line, Emberlyth.¡±

    ¡°Then let me walk it,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m a Draekart. I deserve that much.¡±

    The quiet that followed was the kind that sank deep, thick and heavy, entwining itself with the stone walls and the weight of old oaths. Emberlyth could feel her heart hammering in her chest, but she kept her gaze steady. This was her moment. She couldn¡¯t falter now.

    Vyrmion exhaled, long and slow. ¡°This isn¡¯t about locking you away, Emberlyth. Your father¡ª¡±

    ¡°Gave his life so I wouldn¡¯t have to. Yes, I know,¡± she interrupted, her words spilling over his like rain breaking on stone. ¡°But I am not a child anymore. He would understand.¡±

    ¡°Would he?¡± Vyrmion said quietly.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Emberlyth¡¯s voice wavered, but her resolve did not. ¡°I want to be of use. Somehow. Anything. I¡¯m already eighteen and¡ª¡±

    ¡°And yet,¡± Vyrmion cut in, his voice carrying the weight of finality, ¡°you¡¯re still behaving like the same stubborn child who nearly mutilated herself¡ªwho once tried to stow away in our luggage, hoping to sneak aboard the caravans. If you had made it to the winching tower, you could¡¯ve died as we descended into the Abyss.¡±

    She opened her mouth to protest¡ªI was only eleven¡ªbut Vyrmion pressed on. ¡°And now you think you¡¯re ready? You think Chamberlain Olsen and Seneschal Efrain are going for a pleasant jaunt into the Abyss? Our family needs their skill, their experience. We do not have the luxury of babysitting a restless girl with a head full of reckless dreams.¡±

    ¡°Eighteen years, Uncle,¡± she said. ¡°I haven¡¯t set foot beyond these grounds in eighteen years. If I stay here any longer, I will lose my mind.¡±

    Olsen¡¯s gentle voice rose again, soft and steady like spring rain, a balm to her fiery heart. ¡°Emberlyth,¡± he said, in that same voice that had once rocked a weeping girl to sleep. It made her feel like that same child once more¡ªafraid and ashamed. She shouldn¡¯t have yelled. She was being unreasonable and¡­

    Then he continued, ¡°As I¡¯ve tried to explain, no one has kept you locked away. It¡¯s the Abyss¡ªit¡¯s dangerous. You don¡¯t yet have your Ascension Path. Just a little more time. Let us speak with your grandfather. We¡¯ll¡ª¡±

    ¡°A little more time?¡± she snapped, her voice rising. ¡°How much more? Another month? Another season? Another eighteen years until I¡¯ve grown old and withered, still pacing these same damn halls?¡±

    Lady Efrain bristled at that, her sharp features hardening. She was forty-two, yet to marry, and Emberlyth knew she had struck a nerve. But Emberlyth could not afford to hold her tongue.

    ¡°I¡¯m not asking for special treatment,¡± she pressed on. ¡°Most merchants and townsfolk don¡¯t have Ascension Paths either, yet they cross the Abyss freely.¡±

    ¡°The Draekart name makes it different,¡± Vyrmion said, his tone heavy, like a gavel striking.

    ¡°You always say that,¡± Emberlyth groaned. ¡°Everything¡¯s different when it comes to me. But I was promised my Ascension Path three years ago. If it¡¯s not ready, I¡¯ll fetch it myself.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that simple.¡±

    ¡°What isn¡¯t?¡± Emberlyth demanded. ¡°I¡¯ve mastered my Aethermarks. I¡¯ve trained each day in what little sword arts you¡¯ve taught me. What else is there to learn?¡±

    The man from the militant couple finally spoke, his voice rasping, as dry and brittle as old parchment. ¡°Mastered?¡± he asked, not looking at her but at some invisible flaw on his vest.

    Emberlyth¡¯s teeth clenched. ¡°I¡¯m good enough. As good as I can get on my own.¡±

    He didn¡¯t look up. He didn¡¯t need to. His disinterest was a dismissal, and it stung.

    Her gaze snapped back to her uncle. ¡°What about Vaelen? She¡¯s as much a Draekart as I am, and she¡¯s been traveling into the Abyss for years.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not the same,¡± Vyrmion said.

    ¡°What isn¡¯t the same?¡± Emberlyth shouted, her voice tight with frustration. ¡°Is this place meant to be my prison? Is that all it¡¯s ever been?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not like that, Emberlyth,¡± Olsen murmured, his voice heavier now, almost sad. ¡°And you know it.¡±

    But she shook her head, her heart a roaring crescendo in her chest. ¡°If it¡¯s not a prison, then let me go. Let me stay at the family home on the third layer. I¡¯ll speak to Grandfather myself. I won¡¯t set foot outside the house without your permission. Just¡­ let me belong again.¡±

    Lady Efrain¡¯s voice cut through, sharp as steel and just as uncompromising. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t stay put, Emberlyth. You¡¯ve got a dragon¡¯s temper and none of the wisdom to wield it.¡±

    The elderly lady from the main family nodded, and just like that, the argument unraveled, the voices of the room folding in on themselves, a choir of dissent. Not one voice rose in her defense. Not one. Emberlyth stood there, alone against the tide, as she always had. Bound to be left behind.

 Chapter 2

    The pillow muffled her screams, but only just. Far from enough. Her fists slammed into it, driving it deep into the embrace of her favorite wingback chair.

    ¡°Why?¡± she spat, her voice raw. Another punch, harder this time. ¡°What did I say that¡¯s so wrong? Why won¡¯t they listen?¡± She hurled the pillow across the room. It struck the wall with a dull thud, and as it slid to the floor, the old seams gave way. A plume of goose feathers erupted, drifting lazily in the still air.

    That only made her angrier. She¡¯d liked that pillow.

    ¡°Burn. In. Blackfire.¡±

    Vaelen¡¯s voice was quiet, tentative. ¡°You still can¡¯t control your Aethermarks?¡±

    Emberlyth wheeled on her cousin, but Vaelen stood well outside the reach of her fury. Sensible of her. The west-wing saloon, empty save for the two of them, was filled now with a slow snowfall of singed feathers.

    ¡°Curses,¡± Emberlyth muttered, hurrying to smother the smoldering remains with her hands. The last thing she needed was to burn down the estate.

    She could already picture her uncle¡¯s face, his arched brow, his slow drawl: I thought you said you¡¯d mastered your marks.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± she muttered, flexing her fingers as the last of the embers died. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ I don¡¯t get it. I¡¯m eighteen. Most noble brats get their Ascension Path by fifteen. They¡¯re already off to Erboria by then, right?¡±

    She saw how Vaelen stiffened. Her cousin set her teacup down with deliberate care, her hands a touch too steady. Emberlyth knew what to look for¡ªsmall things, subtle things.

    She didn¡¯t press. Vaelen had been young, eager, when she first spoke of Erboria. Of the City in Shadows. Of paths chosen and sealed with whispered rites. Emberlyth had been younger, too, her head full of dreams. She¡¯d tried to sneak into the carriages that very night. It had caused a stir. A big one.

    ¡°How much longer do they expect me to stay here?¡± Emberlyth¡¯s voice softened, though it carried the weight of long-held frustration.

    Vaelen hesitated. ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t know,¡± she said, her words careful. ¡°Going down into the Abyss isn¡¯t all that, though. It¡¯s a mess down there, Ember. You wouldn¡¯t like it.¡±

    ¡°I could help. I could do something. Anything but rot away here.¡±

    ¡°Grandfather must have a plan,¡± Vaelen tried.

    ¡°And what plan is that?¡± Emberlyth asked, collapsing back into her chair. She buried her face in her hands. ¡°Just tell me. Tell me so I can stop tearing my hair out every. Single. Day. Do you know what it¡¯s like, Vael? Being stuck here for eighteen years?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve been to Wilbur''s Perch?¡± Another frail attempt at smoothing things over.

    ¡°Once in a blue moon.¡± Ember huffed. ¡°And always with a caravan of guards that makes everyone nervous. It¡¯s like they think assassins are hiding under every rock.¡±

    Vaelen¡¯s smile was faint. ¡°It¡¯s nice here, though. The estate, I mean. Better than a lot of places I¡¯ve stayed.¡±

    ¡°Then switch places with me.¡± Emberlyth lifted her head. Vaelen shifted in her seat, her unease palpable. ¡°Not so tempting now, is it? You can¡¯t even run if you wanted to.¡±

    She could almost hear the question Vaelen dared not ask: Do you want to? Instead, Vaelen offered the same tired refrain. ¡°Just wait a little longer, okay? Another season, maybe two. I¡¯ll bring grandfather here myself if I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Like Mister Olsen¡¯s been promising for years?¡± Emberlyth snorted. She rose, pacing the room with restless energy. ¡°I¡¯m done waiting. I¡­I am going to Erboria.¡±

    Her fingers clenched in determination. Words would get her nowhere. She saw that now, clear as the rain streaking the windows.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been told to stay put one too many times,¡± she continued as she spun on her heel, heading for the doors. ¡°I¡¯m going down, Vael. Whether they like it or not, I¡¯m going down with you all toda¡ª¡±

    She stopped mid-step, her words caught in her throat.

    The shadows of the Third Dreakart Estate had loomed tall all morning, stretched and blurred by the drizzle that tapped lazily against the glass. But even those shadows had limits. They didn¡¯t swallow people whole, and they certainly didn¡¯t spit them out mere inches from her face.

    Emberlyth jerked to a halt, nearly colliding with her cousin. Vaelen stood there, calm, unruffled, as if she hadn¡¯t just materialized out of nothing.

    ¡°Shadow Step,¡± Vaelen murmured, her voice quiet but laced with pride. A smile tugged at her lips, trembling with equal parts nerves and relief. For years, Emberlyth had begged her cousin for a glimpse¡ªjust a hint¡ªof her Aethermarks. For years, Vaelen had dodged, deflected, her restless hands and averted gaze saying more than her stammered apologies ever could. S-sorry, I¡¯m not really supposed to talk about it¡­

    But now the veil had lifted. Ember could only gape, her mind already alight with questions, her tongue half-formed around words of praise. But before any of them could spill free, Vaelen¡¯s expression lost much of its joy.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡°Look, Ember,¡± she said softly, her gaze falling to the floor. ¡°I promised Dad I¡¯d talk to you. Just¡­ give it six more months. Another two seasons. I¡¯ll make sure we have an answer from Grandfather by then.¡±

    The words landed like stones, dragging Emberlyth¡¯s heart down with them. The awe drained from her face, leaving something colder, harder in its place. She had hoped at least Vaelen would have her back.

    ¡°No,¡± she said firmly. ¡°I¡¯m done waiting. I¡¯m going down with or without your¡ª¡±

    She took a step forward, intent on brushing past, but Vaelen didn¡¯t move. She stood firm, a small figure made of unyielding stone.

    Of the two girls, Emberlyth had always been the one more blessed by her growing years. Once, they¡¯d been equals in height and similar in strength, two children tumbling through the world like a matched pair of firecrackers. But time had played its hand, and Ember had grown tall and sharp-edged, while Vaelen remained small and fine-boned, as delicate as porcelain. A head and a half now separated them, and it wasn¡¯t just the years that divided them; it was the way they had spent them. Ember had chosen the hard path of steel and sweat. Vaelen had walked a quieter road, full of words and courtesy. Play-fighting, once a favorite pastime, had long since fallen by the wayside. The balance had tipped too far, and it was no longer fair.

    That¡¯s why they¡¯d stopped.

    Or so Ember had thought, until she now tried moving her cousin aside, expecting her to yield. Vaelen didn¡¯t move. She stood as if rooted in place.

    That caught her off guard. Twice so when her cousin spoke, her voice low and pleading. ¡°Don¡¯t make this harder than it has to be. Please, Ember. Just a couple of more months¡­ A single season. That¡¯s all I¡¯m asking. I¡¯ll do my best to have¡ª¡±

    ¡°You think you can stop me?¡± Emberlyth arched an eyebrow.

    Even now, she towered over her cousin. She had for years. Surely in this, her younger cousin did at least not look down upon her about. A thousand lonely hours spent with a blade¡ªanything to keep the boredom at bay¡ªsurely counted for something even in Vaelen¡¯s eyes? A hundred play-fights where she had never once lost.

    Even so, Vaelen didn¡¯t answer immediately. That irked Ember in ways she couldn¡¯t explain.

    ¡°What¡¯s the plan, Vael?¡± she asked, her tone light with mockery. ¡°You¡¯ll talk me to death? Or maybe¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not the same kid I used to be,¡± Vaelen cut in quietly, her voice steady. Her violet eyes met Ember¡¯s, and there was a calm weight in them that Ember wasn¡¯t used to seeing. ¡°I¡¯ve seen my Ascension Path, and you haven¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Oh-ho,¡± Ember said, her grin sharpening. She reached out to ruffle Vaelen¡¯s hair, the way she had a hundred times when they were younger. When they were still okay with playing. When their meetings weren¡¯t just stiff talks over bitter tea and avoided topics. ¡°What¡¯s this? Little Vaelen¡¯s all grown up? Thinks she can take her big cousin now?¡±

    Vaelen caught her wrist, gently but firmly. ¡°I know you held back when we were younger. But today¡­¡± She sighed, a long, weary sound. So similar to Uncle¡¯s. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I can return the favor.¡±

    For a moment, silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring.

    Then Ember leaned in, her grin fading into something colder, more calculating. ¡°Have you become just like them, Cousin? Do you look down upon me despite all these years we have spent together?¡±

    Why did everyone think so little of her? How many hours hadn¡¯t she spent in her lonesome, trying to be everything they could possibly want from her? Yet now, even her baby cousin dismissed her without a second glance.

    ¡°Naive, am I?¡± Ember growled, her voice low and threatening. ¡°Sheltered? You really think you can stop me?¡±

    ¡°If I have to,¡± Vaelen answered, and for the first time, Ember saw it: the quiet resolve behind her cousin¡¯s delicate frame. The porcelain had hardened into something else entirely.

    The world had once more shifted, and she hadn¡¯t been there to see it.

    <hr>

    All she could do was blink, staring up at the darkening ceiling. The saloon had deepened into shadows while she lay there, her breath slow, her mind untethered, trying to piece together what had just happened. Evening had crept in like a thief, stealing the light while her thoughts lingered elsewhere.

    ¡°Naive and sheltered, huh?¡± she murmured, wincing as she pushed herself upright. Her entire left side throbbed, a dull ache radiating from her ribs down to her hip. The pain was a sobering thing, grounding her in the here and now, driving off the disbelief that had threatened to settle in.

    She gritted her teeth. ¡°Maybe I am¡­¡±

    She stood, unsteady at first, the room swimming slightly as her head caught up with her body. Even without the shadows that stretched long and quiet, Ember knew by the absence of sound that time had slipped away from her. Hours, perhaps. The others had journeyed on, leaving nothing but her and the silence behind.

    It was the kind of quiet that settled deep into the bones of the Third Dreakart Estate. No muffled conversations seeping through the walls, no footfalls on old floors, no gruff orders from coachmen loading luggage. Even the guards moved like ghosts during these lulls between the estate''s rare visitors. The seasons of quiet had returned.

    Emberlyth hated it.

    The estate was too vast, too empty during these months. Only a skeleton crew of maids and the occasional guard roamed the halls, their presence a poor defense against the yawning silence. She felt it keenly in these moments, a smothering loneliness that pressed down from all sides.

    With a quiet sound, as weary as it was pained, she sank back into her wingback chair, gingerly tucking her knees up to her chest. It wasn¡¯t a ladylike posture¡ªLady Efrain would have clucked her tongue disapprovingly if she were here¡ªbut Ember didn¡¯t care. Efrain wasn¡¯t here. No one was. She needed the comfort more than she needed propriety.

    Her gaze drifted toward the window, where rain traced lazy, meandering paths down the glass. ¡°You¡¯ll come back, won¡¯t you, Vael?¡± she asked softly, her voice barely rising above the patter of rain. ¡°You won¡¯t vanish like the others?¡±

    So many had gone without returning. Governess Abda, with her deep-belly laugh and endless tales of younger days. Guard Captain Jane, who had taught her the finer points of swordplay when no one was looking. Her favorite handmaids, Sarah and Mariah, whose light chatter once filled the corners of this house with life. All gone, one by one, slipping away into the world beyond the estate''s walls.

    And now? Now even Mister Olsen and Lady Efrain seemed on the verge of joining that long list of people who had disappeared from her life.

    The thought was a knife twisting in her chest. Ember hugged her knees tighter, her breath hitching as she buried her face in her arms. She fought the tears, but the fight was futile. They came anyway, hot and stinging, spilling down her cheeks as she rocked gently in the quiet of the empty hall.

    In that moment, she felt like the girl she¡¯d been a decade ago. Eight years old, sitting on the cold floor of her room, hearing the words that shattered her world echo between these walls: Your father won¡¯t be coming back.

    She had felt helpless then, lost and small in the vastness of her grief. She felt the same now, trapped in a house that had grown too large, too empty, and far too silent.

 Chapter 3

    It was well past dark by the time Emberlyth left the west wing saloon. Not that she needed the light. She could have walked these halls blindfolded, counting steps as she went. Still, every tenth stride, she flicked her right hand through the air and whispered, ¡°Surge,¡± under her breath.

    Flames leapt obediently to life, curling between her fingers, casting brief flickers of light against the walls. They burned for mere seconds, each tiny inferno sputtering out before it could take hold. But those few moments were enough. Enough for her to feel a sliver of control. Enough to remind herself that she could still coax something out of her marks.

    ¡°See?¡± she murmured, her voice barely louder than the crackle of dying embers. ¡°I can use them.¡± The fact that her sleeves had been pushed up, cuffs singed from those first failed attempts, she ignored.

    Last night, she¡¯d felt a flicker of pride at even that much. Progress, she¡¯d called it. Now, confidence was a distant thing, drowned beneath bruises and doubt. Her cousin had seen to that. Their fight¡ªif it could even be called that¡ªhad ended before it began. A beating so swift, so one-sided, it felt less like combat and more like correction. A firm ¡°We are no longer the same,¡± etched into her bruised side.

    Ember¡¯s fifth ¡°Surge¡± caught in her throat, the word stumbling over itself as if her tongue had grown clumsy. This time, only a lone spark stuttered into the air before dying. She tried again, more forcefully, and still, nothing.

    With a quiet concession, she let her arm fall, heavy and useless, at her side.

    Years of practice, of whispered spells and scarred hands, yet this was the sum of her achievements: a half-burned pillow, a blackened door, and a handful of fleeting, stubborn lights. Enough to drain her Marks, certainly. Enough to leave her hollow and empty.

    ¡°Yeah, a true master of the arcane,¡± she muttered, her voice bitter. ¡°A brilliant adventurer in the making.¡±

    With her back against the cold tapestry of the wall, hidden in the hallway¡¯s shadows, she buried her face in her hands. For a long moment, there was nothing. The hallway was silent but for the distant creak of old wood settling. ¡°What am I even doing with my life?¡± she whispered into the quiet.

    She remembered, once, a younger version of herself¡ªa twelve-year-old Ember who¡¯d spent an entire night giggling over a single spark that danced between her fingers. Back then, it had been magic. Back then, it had been enough.

    But now? Now she wasn¡¯t so sure.

    ¡°Vaelen couldn¡¯t even hold a candle to me back then,¡± she murmured, her voice brittle as frost. ¡°Now she¡¯s left me so far behind I can¡¯t even see her anymore.¡± Her voice wavered, her breath catching in her throat. ¡°I can barely even see myself. Where am I headed?¡±

    The words hung in the air, raw and aching. Was it talent that set them apart? Was that why Vaelen shone like silver while Emberlyth was forced to linger in the shadowed halls of this crumbling estate? Because she was a disgrace. An embarrassment to the family. A forgotten branch on the Draekart line, left to rot.

    ¡°To the damned void with all that,¡± she huffed as she reached for a lantern hanging on the wall, an old magi-struct whose once-brilliant core now sputtered and dimmed with age. It took a hard shake¡ªalmost a threat¡ªbefore it coughed up a reluctant glow.

    Most everything in the estate was like that. The grand tapestries, the gilded chandeliers, the once-proud halls¡ªthey were all worn, threadbare, and weary. Just like Emberlyth. Left to wither.

    ¡°If I just had my ascension path, things would be different,¡± she said, her tone firm, as if saying it aloud might make it true. But the voice in the back of her mind wasn¡¯t so easily silenced. What if it wouldn¡¯t be different? it whispered. What if we¡¯re the same useless Ember, no matter what?

    The thought coiled around her, heavy and cold. Maybe that¡¯s what they¡¯ve been afraid to tell you. That you¡¯re not what they hoped for. That you¡¯ll never be¡­Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Her grip tightened on the lantern as the light inside it flickered uncertainly.

    No. She wouldn¡¯t let herself spiral into that pit. Not tonight. Not again.

    She drew in a slow, shuddering breath. The spark¡ªthe one she¡¯d marveled at all those years ago¡ªwas still somewhere inside her. It had to be. And even if it was small, even if it was fragile, it was hers.

    And that, for tonight, would have to be enough.

    <hr>

    The evening showed no signs of improving as Ember staggered into the dark and empty kitchen. The first pained realization came with a bruise that throbbed worse with every step. She pressed a hand to her side, wincing.

    ¡°That deep-touched fool really has no clue how to hold back, does she?¡± she said, more to the shadows than anyone. Who else was there to listen? Each word was laced with frustration as she limped toward the nearest stool. ¡°All those years I went easy on you, Vaelen. Never gave you more than a light tap on the head when I bested you in sparring or outscored you on Abda¡¯ tests. And this is the thanks I get? You ungrateful little¡ª¡±

    Her grumbling was cut short as she glanced around the room and noticed the second disheartening fact of the evening. The kitchen was, indeed, empty. Utterly, oppressively so. This morning it had been alive with clattering pans, bustling cooks, and the rich aroma of roasting meats and fresh bread. They had been preparing a feast, not just for breakfast but for the road¡ªa hundred meals packed and ready for the travelers.

    Emberlyth hadn¡¯t expected the bounty to be waiting for her now, but she¡¯d expected something. A loaf of bread, a forgotten piece of fruit. Something to remind her that she wasn¡¯t entirely forgotten. She was still a Draekart, after all. Draekarts didn¡¯t go hungry.

    ¡°Should I revoke our deal, Ginnis? Is that what you want?¡± she asked under her breath, though there was no cook to hear her empty threat either. Even if Ginnis had been there, the words carried no weight. The agreement they¡¯d made years ago¡ªsimple meals left in the kitchen for her to take at her leisure¡ªwas a quiet rebellion against tradition. It was a far cry from the grand feasts in the formal dining hall, where a silent girl once sat in a chair too tall for her, feet dangling, eating alone.

    Her legs had grown since then, long enough now that they no longer swung uselessly above the floor. But she had no desire to return to that towering seat. To the cold, cavernous room where silver platters gleamed under flickering candlelight, and her only company had been the sound of her own chewing. No, there were enough memories haunting that place already.

    She sighed, letting the silence press down on her like a heavy blanket. Her stomach growled in protest, but she ignored it. Hunger was easier to bear than the gnawing ache of loneliness that had settled deep in her chest. Ginnis might be brusque and tight-lipped, but he¡¯d never forgotten her food before. Not until now.

    ¡°Did you leave for the Abyss without telling me?¡± Emberlyth asked the dark kitchen. The question lingered, unanswered, as the old planks beneath her feet groaned softly, protesting her presence. She made her way to the pantry, her lantern¡¯s glow casting long, flickering shadows on the walls.

    Cured sausages, a wedge of cheese, a few apples¡ªshe gathered them without thinking, loading the tray she wedged beneath her arm. It wasn¡¯t the most convenient way to carry things, but the lantern left her no choice. There was nowhere to set it down without plunging herself into darkness, and Emberlyth didn¡¯t trust the pantry¡¯s gloom. The last thing she needed was to overlook something useful.

    That thought was proven right when her elbow brushed against a hidden stash of chocolates. They tumbled into her pocket as if by fate. A terrible accident, really. Worse still if someone were to eat them before she realized they were there, making it impossible to return them. She sighed, long-suffering, and scooped another handful into her other pocket. Best to be prepared for that sorrow, even as she could imagine Efrain¡¯s clicking tongue.

    ¡°If you didn¡¯t want your pantry raided,¡± she huffed, kicking the door shut with her heel, ¡°you shouldn¡¯t have left me alone, mad, and hungry. You have only yourselves to blame.¡±

    Her voice echoed faintly in the empty kitchen. It was an odd comfort, but not enough. Not when the weight of the day still pressed heavy on her chest. Maybe the entire smoked ham, stacked on top of her tray, was a bit much, but Emberlyth wasn¡¯t in a compromising mood. Food was the simplest balm for the soul, and hers had been battered and bruised beyond measure.

    But even that fleeting comfort soured as her gaze fell to her hands. As if by an afterthought, she dropped her spoils onto the counter, raising her fingers to weakly flicker them through the air. She closed her eyes, her voice dropping to a whisper.

    ¡°Surge.¡±

    The word hung in the air, fragile and trembling with hope. But nothing answered. No warmth, no hum of power, no spark to light the darkness inside her. Just silence. Again.

    She whispered it again, and again, twisting the word with every inflection, every ounce of will she could muster. Her marks remained cold, dull beneath her skin, mocking her.

    How many times had she tried? How many nights had she whispered to the void, begging for it to answer? Years of effort, of hope scraped raw, and still, she had nothing to show for it. Just a dream that flickered like a guttering candle, threatening to extinguish with each passing day.

 Chapter 4

    When Emberlyth decided to haul half the pantry back with her, she never expected anyone to be waiting at her door. Even when the estate hosted guests, her room usually remained a sanctuary, undisturbed. Yet now, despite the evening¡¯s silence, a figure stood by her door, lantern light casting long, flickering shadows across the hall.

    ¡°Did they send you to keep an eye on me?¡± Ember asked, stopping a few steps short. The tray of pilfered goods remained cradled in her arm, as brazen as a war banner. There was no point in hiding it. Not today.

    Maybe, if things had gone differently this morning¡ªif she hadn¡¯t been humiliated by her younger cousin, if she still had a shred of dignity to cling to¡ªEmberlyth might have cared about appearances. She might¡¯ve blushed, stammered some excuse about being peckish, tried to salvage what little remained of her poise.

    But why bother? Dignity felt as distant as the horizon now, unreachable no matter how far she stretched. She had played every part from dutiful lady to tempestuous lunatic, and none of it had moved the needle. They still ignored her, dismissed her, kept her at arm¡¯s length.

    So tonight, she would be herself¡ªwhatever that meant. And her truest self, at this moment, intended to eat her feelings in peace.

    ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± she continued, her voice light but sharp-edged. ¡°Cat got your tongue?¡±

    The figure shifted slightly, stepping out of the lantern¡¯s shadow. Ember recognized the pale, unreadable face of Izbeth, her latest in a line of handmaids. A quiet woman, always hovering just out of reach, with eyes that seemed to catalog Ember¡¯s every flaw.

    Moments like these made Ember miss the old staff. They had been gruff but kind in their own way. They¡¯d taught her games when the nights stretched long, shared whispered stories by the hearth, and teased her for sneaking sweets but never tattled. They¡¯d felt like people. Izbeth? She was silent as stone, always hovering, always watching. If Ember had ever doubted her family¡¯s interest in her, Izbeth¡¯s presence was a cold reassurance that they did care¡ªjust not in any way that mattered.

    ¡°If you¡¯re here to report back on my scandalous midnight feasting habits,¡± Emberlyth said, tilting her chin defiantly, ¡°don¡¯t bother. Tell whoever sent you that I¡¯m eating this entire ham out of spite.¡±

    Izbeth¡¯s lips twitched¡ªwas that almost a smile?¡ªbut she didn¡¯t speak. She only stepped aside, a silent sentinel, and gestured toward the door.

    Ember huffed. ¡°Thought so.¡±

    ¡°It is Drownings Day, miss,¡± Izbeth finally spoke as she brushed past, her voice little more than a breath, like the wind whispering through cracks in an old wall. Ember had to strain to catch the words, foot still hooked around a door she¡¯d intended to kick shut. ¡°I have come to check on your marks.¡±

    ¡°I see¡­¡± Emberlyth¡¯s voice trailed off as she thumbed the edge of the tray. Another night, she might have welcomed this. Another night, she might have felt the familiar stir of hope, a spark of anticipation at the possibility of change.

    Aethermarks were supposed to grow, to shift. They were meant to intertwine with the soul of the bearer, becoming something wholly unique. A reflection of power. A source of strength. That was the promise written in every tome, spoken in every lesson. Yet Emberlyth¡¯s marks remained stubbornly unchanged. Years had passed since she first etched them into her own flesh, yet they remained as static and lifeless as ink on a page.

    To think Ember was once the one who had asked for this? How she had begged Sarah and Mariah too keep vigil in case they suddenly changed while she was asleep. How hopeful she had been. How ambitious. What had once been an eager ritual had long since dwindled into routine. Now, even long after her original maids had left, every month like clockwork, she would be reminded of how little she had progressed.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    And yet, to dismiss Izbeth outright seemed... wrong. The woman had waited for her, likely for hours, standing like a statue in the dim light. Ember didn¡¯t hate her. Izbeth was just difficult to be around. She wasn¡¯t cruel or unkind, just a relief whenever she left.

    Still, despite every reason to send her away, Ember sighed and relented. She needed something to go right tonight. Anything. Even the smallest victory would do.

    ¡°Very well,¡± she said, her voice soft but resigned. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with.¡±

    <hr>

    Her room was everything Emberlyth hated about the Draekart estate. It was a space that spoke in whispers, suffocating ones¡ªold and worn out. The bed, though grand in its carvings and heavy posts, had long since grown too small for her. And yet, it held her fast, the weight of tradition pinning her down. The drapes were no better. They changed with the seasons, yes, but only in the way a funeral shroud might shift from white to black. Now, they hung in a dull reddish-gray, the color of old blood and forgotten sunsets. A reminder that the season of silence had begun anew.

    The windows, large and ornate, only deepened her frustration. They promised a glimpse of the world beyond, but that promise was a cruel one. The unchanging view ended at the treetops, where the horizon blurred and the rest of the world fell away, leaving her locked within these walls. Always within these walls.

    Emberlyth set the tray down on the small table by the hearth, its uneven legs wobbling slightly under the weight. Another murmured ¡°Surge¡± escaped her lips, soft as a breath. Nothing. Her marks remained inert, unyielding as always. With a sigh, she trudged toward the fireplace, shoulders heavy with a weariness she could no longer blame on the day alone.

    The firewood had been laid out earlier, neat and expectant. It was that time of year again, when the nights stretched longer and the air bit sharper. Ember rarely noticed the cold herself¡ªnot until the snow piled high on the roofs and the wind howled like a thing in pain. But Izbeth, with her narrow frame and pale, papery skin, would surely feel the chill. Vaelen had, on the rare occasions she remained during winter.

    Ember knelt by the hearth, striking a spark with practiced efficiency. The fire leapt to life, and the room began to warm. She didn¡¯t need the heat, not yet. But she liked the flames. Their crackling would fill the silence, the dancing light pushing back the shadows that crowded her mind. Hours could slip away as she stared into them, imagining strength where there was none, a future where the embers might one day blaze.

    That was why she¡¯d once loved her marks. She¡¯d believed in them, in the power they held. Now, she could only hope. Hope that they might still change, still grow into something worthy.

    With the room bathed in the flickering glow of firelight, the rain drumming a soft, steady rhythm against the windows, Ember crossed to the far corner. There, a full-body mirror stood its eternal guard, its frame tarnished but proud. She hung her magi-struct lantern on the hook above it, letting its light join the fire¡¯s. The more light, the better. No details could be missed.

    She pulled the singular chair closer to the mirror, its legs scraping softly against the wooden floor.

    She could see Izbeth¡¯s reflection where she stood, half a ghost, barely a shadow lingering in the doorway. It was a relief, Ember supposed. Ghosts¡ªreal ones¡ªwouldn¡¯t show themselves in mirrors. At least, that¡¯s what the books said. And though she didn¡¯t trust much these days, she still clung to the small truths of ink and paper.

    Neither of them spoke during all of it, and Ember had long stopped expecting otherwise. The silence between them wasn¡¯t heavy, merely hollow¡ªa quiet harmony that matched the emptiness of the estate itself. They were echoes in a vast, vacant hall, neither quite breaking nor filling the quiet.

    Words would just have been wasted. Emberlyth didn¡¯t need them as she began unbuttoning her shirt.

    There was no ceremony in the act, no hesitation. The fabric slipped from her shoulders as she straddled the chair, baring her back to the room. Only then did Izbeth move, gliding closer with the eerie grace of a weightless thing.

    A single sweep of her gaze, left to right. Then, the verdict: ¡°Nothing new, miss. Good night.¡±

    The words struck like a stone skipping across water¡ªlight, brief, and sinking quickly into silence. Ember¡¯s mouth opened, the beginnings of a protest rising unbidden. You didn¡¯t even look. What about the fact I can now call my marks five times, not four? What about¡ª

    But the words turned to ash in her throat. There was no point. She nodded instead, a quiet surrender. ¡°Good night, Izbeth,¡± she murmured as the door groaned shut behind the maid.

    And just like that, the last flicker of hope guttered out.

 Chapter 5

    For a long while, Ember simply stared into the fire. Its flames licked and twisted, their movements mesmerizing but offering little comfort. Not tonight. The estate seemed to sigh around her, settling into its deeper silence. No creaking floorboards, no groaning doors. Whoever still lingered had found their rest.

    Only then, when she was certain she was alone, did Emberlyth rise. Padding softly, she made her way to her desk as if any sound might summon unseen eyes. Her hands moved with practiced precision, retrieving a small, handheld mirror.

    She paused, listening. Nothing but the rain tapping gently at the windows. Still, she glanced once more at the drapes, double-checking that they were drawn tight. Her gaze flicked to the door, its lock turned firmly in place.

    Why the secrecy? She wasn¡¯t sure. Perhaps it was the weight of old taboos, the whispered warnings of a world that feared what it didn¡¯t understand. Aethermarks were a gift, yes¡ªbut one often wrapped in shadow.

    Six years. That was how long it had been since Ember had etched these marks into her skin. Here, in this very room. Some had called it folly, the reckless act of a child too young to know better. Others had deemed it desperation.

    If there had been another way, perhaps she would have waited. Perhaps she would have sat quietly, obediently, and let her fate be decided for her. But she didn¡¯t regret what she¡¯d done. Not then. Not now. The Aethermarks had chosen her as much as she had chosen them. Let the rest of the family whisper in their dark corners, their sneers twisting over how she¡¯d ruined herself. How she¡¯d made her ascension¡ªtheir ascension plans for her¡ªso much harder.

    Convenient lies. Convenient fears. The blame never disappeared, it only changed form.

    Even three years younger, Vaelen had always gotten what Emberlyth desired. She got to travel through the Abyss, got to see Erboria, and got to be where things happened. She had been given her Aethermarks even before she turned nine, even though Emberlyth kept being told how impossible it was to find suitable ones for her¡ªhow she was too young. Yet when she¡¯d found marks of her own, they¡¯d called her reckless. A fool. They¡¯d said her then retainers were not fit to oversee a young Draekart¡¯s growth.

    Emberlyth had been so confused back then. She thought they would be happy, impressed by what she¡¯d done. That they would see her desire to get stronger. She had been excited, certain she would finally be allowed to travel with Uncle and her cousin whenever they left the estate. Instead, her fragile world had begun falling apart. The last people she loved and cared for had disappeared, and her beautiful marks had been deemed a failure.

    Still, she didn¡¯t regret what she¡¯d done. If she hadn¡¯t marked herself, Ember would still be just another girl in a gilded cage; a daughter of a forgotten Draekart line. At least this way, she had carved something of her own.

    Maybe that¡¯s why I can¡¯t let go? she thought. This is the last thing that is truly my own.

    She turned the mirror in her hands, tilting it to catch her reflection through the larger one. It was still difficult to get a proper angle, even after all these years. She twisted slightly, leaning into the firelight until the marks across her upper back and shoulders came into view.

    The three circular cores remained¡ªone nestled at the base of her neck, the others perched on a shoulder blade each. But the lines that connected them, the intricate swirls like delicate flames, were not the work of a twelve-year-old girl wielding a trembling hand and stolen quill. Not by half.

    She remembered the rush that followed, the panic. How they had summoned an inkmaster from the Abyss as if plucking a star from the sky. For years, they¡¯d claimed such things were impossible. Too far. Too costly. Too much to ask. But when Emberlyth carved her rebellion into her skin, suddenly impossibilities became mere logistics. Funny how that worked.

    They called it mending. She called it control.

    The marks had grown elegant under the inkmaster¡¯s hand. Beautiful, even. Emberlyth could admit that. But beauty was a hollow thing when it came paired with failure. And these days, seeing those marks brought with it a familiar heaviness in her chest, like iron settling into her bones. As if the ink that wove through her skin had tangled around her soul, locking it in place.

    It wasn¡¯t far from the truth. Aethermarks shaped you, molding a person¡¯s potential into something tangible, something real. They were supposed to be a conduit, a forge. But when Ember stared into the glass, all she saw was stagnation. No growth, no change. The same intricate design, stuck in place as if frozen in amber.

    She tilted the mirror again, catching the full expanse of her back in the firelight. Nothing. Just the same winding lines and the same empty spaces waiting to be filled. She whispered ¡°Surge¡± under her breath, watching as the core on her right shoulder flared weakly to life, its faint glow creeping through the ink like cooling tar. No fire. No power. The light barely reached her spine before it dimmed, flickering out like a dying ember.

    Weak. The word might as well have been etched there alongside the others. For years, Emberlyth had clung to the belief that her marks would lead her to her Ascension Path, that they would grow, evolve, stretch across her back in a grand tapestry of strength. But her back remained a half-finished canvas, the rest of it blank as ever.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    All the way up until last year, she had begged for another inkmaster, for guidance, for something. Every time, the response was the same.

    ¡°Few inkmasters would make the journey for a project so uncertain.¡±

    ¡°We haven¡¯t identified a suitable path for your marks yet.¡±

    ¡°Do you know how many strings your grandfather pulled last time?¡±

    Ember clenched her jaw at the memory of those conversations, her fingers tightening around the mirror¡¯s frame. They¡¯d even suggested starting over. Scrapping her marks entirely and choosing something simpler, something ¡®proper¡¯. As if she could strip away her identity and stitch on a new one like changing a dress. The thought of it made her stomach turn.

    No. The marks were hers. Fuzzy, flawed, and fractured, but hers. To abandon them would be like cutting off her own legs and trying to learn to run again on the stumps.

    She turned the mirror over. She had seen enough. The lines would grow. The marks would spread. She just needed time. Time to figure out what had gone wrong, and how to fix it.

    Because something was wrong. That much she knew.

    With a tired exhale, Ember returned to the desk. Vaelen, younger by years, hadn¡¯t needed any time. Was their talent really so different?

    Not all who skirted the edges of the Abyss were destined for greatness. In fact, exceptionally few were. Maybe her promised Aethermarks were nothing more than a ticket to mediocrity¡ªa parlor trick for some wandering caravan, juggling flames for bored onlookers. Or maybe her tall, wiry frame was meant for tilling fields, her hands better suited to the rough pull of a plow than the delicate shaping of power. Was her real curse the name Draekart? A cruel tether, pulling her from simple, honest lives and thrusting her into a world she could never fully inhabit?

    With a careless toss, Emberlyth returned the mirror into its drawer. It rattled, wooden edges protesting against each other. At least it hadn¡¯t shattered. If it had, the desk itself would¡¯ve followed shortly after, reduced to kindling in the fireplace. That night, her temper was on the verge of breaking. She yanked her journal out from a stack of books, her hands moving with sharp, annoyed precision.

    They didn¡¯t even say goodbye. Her fingers found the last ink-stained page, eyes skating over the familiar lines. They didn¡¯t even wait for me to wake up. Easier that way. No half-hearted farewells, no awkward assurances. Just silence. The black sheep of the Draekart family, left to bleat alone.

    She exhaled through clenched teeth, filling her lungs with fresh air, her mind with better thoughts. So be it. She didn¡¯t need them. She never had.

    Her gaze fell to the pages, to the sketch she¡¯d made of her own Aethermarks. It was crude, more an exercise in memory than artistry, but it served its purpose. It kept her honest. It kept her from chasing phantom shifts in the ink, from convincing herself that she had seen some faint glimmer of change. It was her anchor, proof of her stagnation.

    ¡°Abyss swallow me whole,¡± she muttered, tracing a finger over the page. The lines were unchanged, exactly as she¡¯d scrawled them months ago. One squiggly line in particular caught her eye, the one she¡¯d pinned her hopes on, as if by sheer will it might one day curl into something different. Something meaningful.

    ¡°What was I even hoping for?¡± she whispered bitterly. ¡°That this line would decide to bend left instead of right? As if that would mean anything¡­¡±

    She leaned back in her chair, letting her eyes drift to the books stacked neatly beside her. Tomes filled with theories, diagrams, and the desperate scribblings of scholars who had spent lifetimes trying to unravel the mysteries of Aethermarks. She didn¡¯t even bother reaching for one. What was the point? The wisest minds across a thousand worlds had clawed at these truths for centuries, and still the marks remained an enigma. What hope did Emberlyth have of breaking through where they had failed?

    Her flames, weak as they were, were still more than most people could ever dream of. A gift. A rare thread of power.

    Maybe she was greedy to want more. Maybe she was foolish.

    Rubbing her face, Emberlyth let her thoughts drift, unbidden. Her eyes fell on another book, one of many scattered across her desk. This one spoke in absolutes, its pages worn thin with conviction. Not everything is given, it preached. Some things are earned in the deepest reaches of the Abyss. Greatness is not a gift, but a purchase made in blood, sweat, and toil. At the brink of despair, your true self either breaks or is reborn.

    Her finger hovered over the edge of the dog-eared page, but her mind was elsewhere. Erboria lay in the Third Layer, deep within the Abyss, where civilization clung to life like moss to a damp stone. But between here and there? Two wild, untamed layers stood as barriers.

    In the old days, all who sought the Abyss had to descend the traditional way: step by treacherous step, layer by deadly layer. Not all descenders bore noble names or swore fealty to a house for the privilege of a swift transport. Once, the path to Erboria was carved by footfalls and blade, not by the winches of towering machines. Those who survived the journey often emerged stronger, sharper, forged by the savage crucible of the Abyss¡¯s lower reaches.

    Her gaze drifted toward her bed, beneath which lay a carefully packed rucksack. It had been a companion to her restless nights for months now. Always waiting. Always ready. Silent Kiss, along with her silver knife, nestled within, their weight a silent promise. She had re-packed the bag more times than she cared to count. Every fold, every strap was a ritual of preparation, and yet the final step eluded her.

    Wilbur¡¯s Perch wasn¡¯t far. A few hours¡¯ silent walk at most, and from there, the Winching Tower. How far did its cables reach? Did they skim the edge of the First Layer, or plunge deeper without pause? And if she stepped off into that unknown, how would she even know she¡¯d crossed into a new layer? What borders marked the descent, what signs heralded the shift? That uncertainty had stayed her hand time and again. The plan, as tempting as it was, reeked of bad ideas. But it was an option. And one day soon...

    Her midnight scheming was interrupted by a noise. A faint sound, just beyond the edges of her awareness. She froze, ears straining. The estate had quieted after the guests left. With so few people remaining, any sound this late at night was strange. A servant sneaking off for a midnight snack, perhaps? But the kitchen was far from here.

    She waited, her breath caught in her throat, as the silence pressed in once more.

    Nothing, huh? She thought with a yawn, stretching as she left the chair behind for her bed, picking up her tray of food on the way. I supposed its only fitting. Why wouldn¡¯t my mind falter when everything else in my life already has?

 Chapter 6

    The next morning dawned gray and gloomy. No different from her mind.

    Those first mornings of the seasons of silence were always the hardest. They demanded acceptance, forcing her to reckon with the sameness of it all. Nothing had shifted. Nothing had improved. She was right where she¡¯d always been, caught in the slow orbit of a life that refused to move forward. Another cycle of just existing, drifting through each day in quiet, bitter anticipation that maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªthe next time, things might be different.

    A next time that wouldn¡¯t come for another long few months.

    There had been a time when mornings like these were softened by the knock of a maid at her door, her presence a gentle reminder that the world beyond her room still moved and breathed. A quiet voice would greet her, hands deftly helping her into her dress, lacing her up tight as though she were a parcel being prepared for delivery. But Emberlyth had cast those habits aside long ago, along with the noble airs that once dictated every corner of her life.

    Those rituals had been another shackle, another way to keep her tethered to a role she had never wanted. The noble daughter. The proper Draekart heir. Waking at dawn, eating precisely at midday, speaking only when spoken to¡ªEmber had grown to despise every hollow tradition.

    Now, her mornings were her own, even if they were bleak and empty. She rummaged through her chaotic closet, tugging free a loose shirt and a pair of well-worn trousers, tossing them onto her bed without a second thought. Socks? Unnecessary. The chill of the stone floors was nothing compared to the satisfaction of her quiet rebellion.

    It amused her, imagining the scandalized looks her family would wear if they could see her now. Lady Efrain would no doubt faint dead away at the sight of Ember¡¯s half-buttoned shirt and her hair, tangled and barely tied back. The old woman had always tutted about appearances, her sharp eyes cutting like knives. But Lady Efrain was gone, and Ember had only the memory of her gasps and disapproving frowns to keep her company.

    She smiled faintly as she tugged on her clothes, the act itself a small, imagined defiance. Not that it mattered. No one was left to care what she wore or how she looked. The estate had grown quiet, its halls empty save for the distant echoes of her own footsteps.

    Rebellion was only a small ember in her heart, either way. Trousers and a loose shirt were simply more practical for sword practice than the gowns her family had once favored. Jane had taught her that long ago, back when the estate still buzzed with life. The guard captain had been a wiry, battle-hardened woman with a voice like gravel and eyes like flint. She¡¯d shown Ember how to move, how to fight, how to live unbound by silk and lace.

    Jane was gone now too, and the title of guard captain had become little more than a meaningless label passed from one unremarkable figure to the next.

    Emberlyth glanced down at her bare feet, wiggling her toes against the cold stone floor. Shoes were a luxury she didn¡¯t care for today. She wasn¡¯t planning to venture far. Where could she even go? The estate¡¯s sprawling grounds, its high walls and dense forests, might as well have been the bars of her cage.

    Loosely dressed for the occasion, hair tied up in a lazy knot, Emberlyth stifled a yawn. A half-shuddered one. The chill crept in faster this morning, seeping through the thin fabric of her shirt. Not that she bothered dressing warmer. It wasn¡¯t that kind of cold¡ªthe sort to make her skin prickle, to remind her she was alive.

    She crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps, her bare feet whispering against the stone floor. The door was an option, of course, but where was the charm in that? She reached for the heavy drapes and pulled them back, revealing the gray world beyond. Rain tapped against the glass, steady and soft. There was something about that sound, a quiet rhythm that felt like a secret shared just between her and the morning.

    She pressed her hand to the cold glass, letting the chill bite into her skin.

    For all its simplicity, the ritual felt like a small adventure. The only kind she allowed herself these days. And she would cling to it fiercely, as though holding fast to this routine could keep her from drowning in the monotony of it all.

    With a flick of her wrist, she unlatched the window. The panes swung open, inviting the rain to stain the sill. She cared little for the puddles gathering there; she could wipe them away later¡ªif she felt like it. Right now, her attention was fixed on the grounds below. The lawn and hedges stretched out in neat rows, damp and glistening in the dim light.

    The ghostly gardener, as she¡¯d come to think of him, was rarely seen but often felt. A misplaced spade, a rake leaning against the hedge, the faint scent of fresh earth in the air¡ªthese were his calling cards. And though the estate had grown emptier with each passing season, the grass had never looked so well-kept. Not since he¡¯d taken over the grounds some month or so ago. It was a curious thing, she thought, to see something so mundane maintained in a place where so few remained to care.

    Her eyes flicked over the scene below, ensuring no stray tools lay in her path. Satisfied, she swung a leg over the windowsill and, with a practiced ease, let herself drop into the rain. Eight feet to the ground, her landing softened by an agile roll.

    The wet wasted no time soaking through her shirt, clinging to her skin. But it wasn¡¯t unpleasant. If anything, the coolness sharpened her senses, stifling the lingering threads of sleep that clung to her. She rose with a stretch, letting the rain wash over her, the droplets tracing paths down her arms and face.

    Awake now, truly awake, Emberlyth strode toward the sprawling bush beneath her window. It was an old habit, hiding her practice sword there. The thought of trekking all the way to the armory each morning felt like an unnecessary ritual, one more chain she¡¯d gladly broken.

    She¡¯d been wary when the new gardener had arrived, but it seemed her carefully worded note had worked. A simple request not to disturb its contents. She half-expected her makeshift storage to be discovered, her weapon spirited away. But the note had done its job. Her fingers slipped between the branches, and there it was¡ªthe smooth, familiar wood of her practice blade.

    She let out a small breath of relief. Even now, it felt wrong to use her father¡¯s sword for something as mundane as sparring. That blade was meant for more. Its edge had tasted real battle. To mar it on the rain-soaked hide of a practice dummy felt sacrilegious.

    Wooden sword in hand, Emberlyth turned her gaze toward the old maple tree at the far end of the yard. Its thick branches stretched wide, offering a sparse canopy even on the gloomiest of days. Beneath it, the training dummy stood bound, a silent sentinel waiting for her.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    She approached with purpose, her bare feet splashing through shallow puddles. The sword came alive in her hands, cutting lazy arcs through the air as she warmed up her shoulders. The rain was steady now, a curtain of silver against the gray sky, but here, under the maple¡¯s ancient boughs, the world felt quiet. Still.

    And for a moment, she could pretend the bounds of her world stretched further than this lonely estate.

    There were drills she could have done. Dozens of precise forms, each a dance of practiced movements. Strikes and parries, feints and ripostes. But it had been so long since anyone bothered to watch her, to point out where her blade faltered or her stance wavered, that those finer details felt like dust gathering in forgotten corners of her mind.

    She didn¡¯t want finesse today. She wanted something to break.

    For the next hour, the dummy bore the brunt of her frustration. She struck not with grace, but with raw, unrelenting force. The rhythm of her blows was erratic, driven by a frustration that had no proper shape or name. Each strike sent a satisfying thud through the soaked cloth of the dummy, each impact a small release of the pressure building inside her.

    Eventually, her fingers gave out before her fury did. The wooden sword slipped from her grasp, landing in the wet grass with a muted thump. ¡°Damn it,¡± she hissed through gritted teeth, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. Her arms ached, her palms throbbed, but the fire in her chest refused to be extinguished.

    She stepped closer to the dummy, her hands curling into fists. ¡°Surge,¡± she spat, and heat bloomed in her right hand as she drove it into the dummy¡¯s blank, unremarkable face. The damp fabric sizzled and smoked but refused to catch. That was fine. The impact alone was enough to draw a ragged sigh of relief from her.

    Again, she muttered, ¡°Surge.¡± Her left fist followed, striking with equal force. Left, right, right, left, the rhythm of her punches quickening as the heat flickered and faded, each blow accompanied by a spark of flame that lasted only a heartbeat. The dummy bore it all in silence, its sodden stuffing darkening with each strike.

    Finally, with a bellowed ¡°Surge!¡± she spun, planting her heel into the dummy¡¯s head. The impact sent it snapping back, the makeshift face ripping free from its bindings and tumbling to the ground. Emberlyth stood over it, panting, rain running down her face in thin rivulets.

    For a moment, she felt the faintest flicker of satisfaction. Then the cold crept back in, and she turned her face to the sky, letting the rain wash over her.

    The morning was still young, and already she¡¯d wrung herself dry¡ªmarks dimmed, limbs heavy. What better way to greet the first dawn of the season of suffering? Now there was only the long stretch of hours ahead. Days and months would blur, each one quietly consumed by the hope that the next time she saw her family, something, anything, had happened to shift the balance.

    She sucked in a breath, jaw clenched, not to steady her body but to silence the steady, gnawing ache in her chest¡ªand a yet forgotten bruise to her side. It wasn¡¯t fatigue that made her shoulders slump as she trudged to retrieve her sword. The dummy¡¯s severed head she left lying in the grass, a chore for a version of herself that might someday care. The sword, however, she hurled back into the thorny embrace of the bush. Let future Ember deal with the scratches and scrapes. A distraction, a tangible pain she could sink her teeth into when the dullness of waiting became unbearable again.

    ¡°What a beautiful morning this is.¡± She let the cold rain streak her face. ¡°Perfect for my beautiful life.¡±

    Her eyes lifted to the window she¡¯d leapt from, now looming high above. The ivy clinging to the stone looked freshly pruned, neat and vibrant in a way that made her hesitate. Another little miracle courtesy of the ghostly gardener. It seemed a shame to ruin it with muddy handprints and scuffed soles. Not to mention the climb seemed more effort than it was worth in her current state.

    With a resigned sigh, she brushed a few damp strands of hair from her face, tying them back as best she could. Barefoot and sodden, she began her long, meandering walk around the estate. The grass was soft beneath her toes, the earth cool and yielding. For a fleeting moment, it stirred the memory of a different girl¡ªa younger, freer Ember, running wild through the grounds. She could almost hear the echo of her laughter, the carefree sound of a child oblivious to the invisible chains rising around her.

    ¡°Breakfast,¡± she muttered, rubbing a hand over her face. Her stomach grumbled faintly in agreement. ¡°I need food. If I don¡¯t eat, this miserable mood of mine might just dig its way into my bones.¡±

    Bright thoughts. At least the kitchen was on her way.

    <hr>

    Even through the rain, with morning light spilling weak and watery through the windows, the kitchen felt less oppressive than it had the night before. Not that it had returned to the pleasant clamor of the previous morning, though, when two dozen bodies bustled about, stirring pots and packing provisions. Now, only one figure remained.

    Old Toad McGinnis sat hunched by the rain-streaked window, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the floor. His broad, bulbous nose glistened like a wet stone, and a crudely carved pipe dangled from his lips. He fit perfectly with the melancholia that seemed to settle over the estate like a second layer of mist. Yesterday, his face had been flushed, sweat beading on his brow as he barked orders at anyone within earshot. His voice, gravelly and impatient, had filled the kitchen like the clang of pots and knives. And yet, there had been something more then¡ªa faint, twitching vitality in the corners of his mouth, a spark that defied the grim season that lay on the horizon.

    Now, as he drew in a slow breath from the pipe, smoke curled and billowed from his nostrils, thick as fog and twice as stubborn. It spread through the room in lazy tendrils, touching everything. The ladle resting in a pot of simmering stew gave a gentle stir as if nudged by unseen hands. The smoke coiled around jars of pickled herbs, brushed against a half-loaf of stale bread, and finally reached the tips of Emberlyth¡¯s bare toes.

    McGinnis stirred then, lifting his eyes with the slow inevitability of someone surfacing from deep water. His gaze was heavy, distant, the sort of look that said he was seeing something behind her rather than her herself.

    ¡°The thief returns to the scene of the crime,¡± he croaked, voice thick with smoke and phlegm. He raised a hand just in time to catch a hacking cough, his knotted fingers coming away stained black with soot and bile. Ginnis had been a younger man when he arrived at the estate, years ago, his face fuller, his step lighter. He hadn¡¯t smoked reed¡¯s bark back then¡ªonly old men and dying ones did that.

    This place had aged him. It had stolen the crooked, gap-toothed grin he used to flash her when she found the extra caramel chocolates tucked beneath her plate. Back then, he¡¯d been a conspirator in her small rebellions, winking as if they shared some grand secret. A simpler time. One they both surely missed, in their own quiet ways.

    Now he was just another worn-out relic of a place that seemed determined to grind the both of them into dust.

    ¡°Eye for an eye,¡± Emberlyth said, crossing her arms where she stood, leaving a small puddle of rainwater on the floor. ¡°You forgot my dinner.¡±

    ¡°Did not,¡± McGinnis countered without even looking up. ¡°Double serving of turkey legs and thrice-fried mash. Your favorite, sitting right there on the counter.¡± He gestured vaguely with the stem of his pipe. ¡°Made extra. Figured you¡¯d want it.¡±

    ¡°Nothing was there last night,¡± Emberlyth said, her eyes flicking to the counter. It was as barren now as it had been then.

    ¡°Oh, please, lass.¡± McGinnis huffed and rubbed his eyes with two knobby knuckles. ¡°You saying Izbeth took it? That woman barely eats more than a cracker in a day. Or maybe one of the guards, after you¡¯ve yelled them out of the house a dozen times?¡± He shook his head, slow and deliberate, as though the weight of her accusation was a physical burden. ¡°If the portions I give you aren¡¯t enough, just say so. That ham was meant for tonight¡¯s supper. Now I¡¯m stuck throwing together a soup from scraps, as if this miserable rain wasn¡¯t dreary enough on its own.¡±

    ¡°There was no plate,¡± Emberlyth murmured, her resolve wilting. Last night, her thoughts had been a foggy mess of frustration and hunger. Had she missed it? Ginnis wasn¡¯t one to lie. Had she truly raided the pantry of the last man who still cared, all for nothing? She blinked, stomach knotting. Thrice-fried mash was her favorite.

    ¡°And who drowned this cat, then?¡± McGinnis grunted, gesturing toward her with a rough wave. ¡°If you keep looking like that, I¡¯ll start feeling guilty for being mad. Here.¡± He sighed, reaching beneath the counter. ¡°Was going to keep this from you as punishment, but it looks like you¡¯re suffering enough on your own.¡±

    He set a plate on the table, its contents plain but hearty: stale bread, beans swimming in sauce, and a few sausages, sliced and roasted.

    ¡°Take it,¡± he said, his voice softer now. ¡°And for the love of all the saints, get yourself changed before you catch your death. You¡¯re grown, lass. You can¡¯t keep walking around like the world owes you pity. Even if I occasionally spare you some.¡± He jabbed a finger toward her dripping sleeves. ¡°Go on, before you stain my floors any worse!¡±

    Emberlyth took the plate with fumbling hands, the heat of it unfamiliar after so much cold. Before she could stammer a reply, Ginnis was ushering her toward the door, grumbling curses under his breath.

    ¡°And next time you steal without saying a word,¡± he called after her, ¡°I¡¯ll make sure you go hungry for a week!¡±

    Emberlyth hesitated in the hall, plate in hand. She wanted to turn back, to protest, to shout, But there was no plate! But the words caught in her throat, snared on a net of doubt.

    Or was there?

    What other ghosts were there to steal from their kitchen but Ember herself.

 Chapter 7

    Although the fried sausage tasted twice as good as it had last night¡ªcooked with Ginnis'' practiced care¡ªEmberlyth found her appetite lacking. It wasn¡¯t hunger that had driven her to steal an entire ham the night before. It had been a gnawing emptiness, one no amount of food could ever hope to fill. Now, she merely chased the beans around her plate with her fork, poking at them half-heartedly.

    Maybe stuffing her face was the problem? Even Emberlyth had her limits. Surely, it was natural to feel this way after last night¡¯s indulgence. That had to be it.

    With a sigh, she pushed the plate aside, her eyes drifting over to the stack of books cluttering her desk. She needed something to occupy the long hours ahead, but the weight of their leather-bound covers felt oppressive this morning. No, she wasn¡¯t in the mood for anything heavy. Maybe something lighter, more entertaining? Something to steal her thoughts away.

    Her gaze lingered on A Journal of the Abyss, the thickest tome among them. The spine was cracked, the pages worn soft from countless readings. Emberlyth knew every story within by heart¡ªthe entries, the theories, each word. There was nothing left in it to surprise her, nothing to pull her into its world like it had the first dozen times. It had become a well-worn path, familiar and dull.

    But who was to say that was all there was? The estate¡¯s downstairs library had always seemed a tomb for family journals and dry accounts of lineage, but it had its surprises. Last time she ventured there on some futile quest for Aethermark lore, she stumbled upon a curiously misplaced volume. A Tale of Light and Dark: The Forbidden Romance. The title alone had been enough to make her roll her eyes, and the cover¡ªa swooning figure clasped by a shadowy arms¡ªwas as melodramatic as it was suggestive. She hadn¡¯t expected much, and to be fair, it hadn¡¯t disappointed in that regard. But it had been...different. Out of place. A glimpse, perhaps, of something else hiding in the dusty shelves.

    That thought stirred something in her¡ªa faint spark of excitement. Maybe there were other oddities buried there, overlooked treasures waiting to be found. It was enough to get her on her feet, ready to explore. But just as she turned toward the door, she hesitated, eyeing the plate she¡¯d abandoned.

    It felt wrong to leave it. Ginnis had made it for her, and even if she wasn¡¯t hungry now, she might be later. And Ginnis wouldn¡¯t say it, but she knew he hated seeing food wasted. Muttering to herself, Emberlyth picked up the plate and, still standing, wolfed down her breakfast with the mechanical efficiency of someone determined not to let sentiment go to waste.

    She ate like someone still clinging to the belief that they might grow another inch or two. Never mind that she already stood tall enough to loom over most adults on the estate. ¡°You¡¯re already tall enough,¡± they¡¯d say, only for her to grow another inch as if out of spite. Now, her height was mostly stable, but she still carried herself with the unshakable certainty of a girl whose long limbs hadn¡¯t quite caught up with her ambition. More so, she still had a lot of lanky frame to fill, and Ginnis had never seemed to mind. Feeding her was his quiet, unspoken purpose.

    So she ate, knowing it would please him. Couldn¡¯t let the old man feel obsolete.

    <hr>

    For a time, Emberlyth stood before the library door, her stuffed and aching belly a distant memory. Her eyes traced the familiar sign hanging there, its intricate letters spelling out some long-forgotten family motto she¡¯d never cared to learn. It was written in a dead language. But today, something else weighed heavier on her mind.

    ¡°I could¡¯ve sworn I left it right here,¡± she quietly said.

    She pried at the edge of the wooden sign, slipping her fingers beneath it in search of the key. Nothing. The space was empty.

    Had Izbeth moved it? That seemed unlikely. The maid rarely touched anything without purpose, and Emberlyth wasn¡¯t exactly barred from the library. Her name was written right there on the door, after all. Perhaps the key had been displaced the last time she came to clean?

    ¡°Careless of her, if that¡¯s the case,¡± Emberlyth murmured as she reached for the handle. To her surprise, the door was unlocked. ¡°Careless, indeed.¡±

    The great secrets of the world were not housed within the Third Draekart Estate¡¯s modest library, exactly. But there were still sensitive documents and rare reports stored here¡ªthings best kept out of the hands of nosy maids or overly curious guards.

    Emberlyth smirked. It would be a welcome change to point out one of Izbeth¡¯s mistakes for once. The maid had an infuriating way of correcting Emberlyth, her tone so matter-of-fact it barely registered as criticism. As if Ember¡¯s flaws weren¡¯t entirely her own fault but rather an inevitable result of her poor upbringing and misguided sense.

    Yes, it would be satisfying to hold the high ground for once. Unless, of course, I misplaced the key myself¡­The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    She quickly pushed the thought aside. I did leave the key in its usual spot. She was certain. But certainty was a slippery thing, especially when the memory in question couldn¡¯t be verified.

    Maybe there had been a plate set out for me last night.

    It was exhausting, always being told she was in the wrong. After a while, you started to believe it.

    ¡°Positive thoughts, Ember,¡± she quietly said, stepping into the library¡¯s shadowed interior. ¡°A positive mental attitude goes a long way. You¡¯re infallible, perfect, and can do no wrong. There¡¯s no way you would¡¯ve¡ª¡±

    Her words trailed off as she took in the sight before her. Dust covered every surface, thick and undisturbed. The floorboards groaned beneath her feet as if they hadn¡¯t borne weight in ages. Did Izbeth even know where the library key was? Perhaps no one had ever told her.

    Thinking about it, the library might not have seen a proper cleaning since the last batch of maids left the estate. While the gloomy light that filtered through the narrow window had always added to the oppressive stillness, that wasn¡¯t the only reason Emberlyth had always made a point of hauling whatever book she needed up to her room. Down here, the air felt heavier, thick with dust that set her nose twitching if she lingered too long.

    ¡°Maybe it was Uncle or Vaelen who misplaced the key,¡± she mused aloud, though even as she spoke, she could feel the hollowness of the suggestion. Their visit had been brief, more a formality than anything else. Neither of them would¡¯ve spared the time to dig through old ledgers or sift through faded letters.

    ¡°Whatever.¡± The word fell from her lips, struggling to wave the thought away.

    She set off down the single row of shelves, her footsteps stirring the dust into lazy spirals.

    ¡°It¡¯ll turn up. Keys always do. And it¡¯s not like there¡¯s anything worth guarding in here anyway.¡±

    The library was modest: five shelves in all, crammed with a hundred books or so each. Except the final shelf, built into the back wall, housing rows of boxes and drawers filled with loose papers, old correspondence, and brittle estate records instead. The room spoke of neither mystery nor grandeur¡ªjust a cellar repository for the mundane detritus of a fading estate.

    Ember crossed to the far wall, where a narrow slit of a window let in a meager shaft of daylight. She unlatched the wooden shutter, letting it swing open with a creak. The light fell on the desk beneath, a small workspace littered with the usual: inkpot, quill, a half-burned candle. She never used the desk herself. Too many cobwebs, too little charm. She preferred the comfort of her own room.

    But now she paused, the faintest frown tugging at her lips. The air near the desk carried a scent she couldn¡¯t ignore: burnt wick, sharp and recent. Her gaze dropped to the candle. The wax at its base had pooled and hardened, but not entirely. Still pliant. Fresh.

    ¡°Someone was down here.¡± The words came quietly, but they landed heavy in the stillness.

    Ember touched the wax again, as if to confirm the unease curling in her gut. Her uncle? No, the smell wouldn¡¯t linger this long if it were him. And Vaelen? The thought was laughable; she barely tolerated the estate as it was. Yet she couldn¡¯t shake the memory of that faint creak she¡¯d heard last night, just as she¡¯d been drifting to sleep. The kitchen was, indeed, too far from her room for her to hear a midnight snack being pilfered, but this¡­

    ¡°Who would be down here?¡± she wondered aloud. Her eyes swept the shelves. They looked untouched, the dust undisturbed. ¡°Someone touching up the ledgers? Reviewing the estate budget? Or maybe Ginnis, scribbling an angry note about a stolen ham?¡±

    The thought made her snort, her lips curving into a reluctant smile. Ginnis, hunched over a ledger, muttering about pilfered meats. Did the man even know how to write? She¡¯d never seen him do it before.

    With a shrug, Ember dismissed the thought and turned back to the shelves. She had come here for a reason, after all. Something to read. Something to pass the hours. And now, buoyed by the faint thrill of mystery, the search felt a little more hopeful.

    I knew I wasn¡¯t the one to lose the key, she thought as she ran a hand along the spines of the books. I knew¡­

    After a few minutes of skimming through dull historical records and inventory logs¡ªexactly the kind of uninspired drudgery this room was known for¡ªa thought tiptoed into Ember¡¯s mind, uninvited and unsettling.

    Why would anyone come here in the middle of the night, though?

    At first, the question had barely seemed worth asking. It wasn¡¯t unusual for Ember herself to find the midnight hours creeping into her life. The world felt different then, quieter, as if time itself loosened its grip. But others? Most people retreated to their quarters as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon, seeking warmth and rest. Even Ginnis, gruff and tireless as he was, wouldn¡¯t abandon his rigid schedule. The man rose before dawn to prepare the day¡¯s meals; his nights were sacred to sleep. Surely he wouldn¡¯t be so haunted by thoughts of a stolen ham that he¡¯d forgo his bed to brood in the library.

    The more she turned it over, the stranger it seemed. And where another might have felt the first prickling of unease, Emberlyth only got more engaged. A mystery. A puzzle. The perfect remedy for a dull and dreary day. How long had it been since she¡¯d felt that delicious spark of intrigue?

    Before long, her mind spun a thousand tales condensed into one. A thief, a shadow slipping through the halls of her home. A proper agent of the night, bold enough to prowl the Draekart estate under cover of darkness. It could be nothing, of course. A misstep, a harmless whimsy. But even if it was just a maid choosing an odd hour to tidy up, Ember was too starved for stimulation to let it go.

    She rolled her shoulders, shaking off the weight of her earlier exhaustion. Any thoughts of a curious read was forgotten, set aside as her thoughts unfurled in a hundred directions at once. Each idea more elaborate, more delightfully absurd than the last. Would she set a trap? Lay in wait? Confront them with dramatic flair, demanding answers like some intrepid heroine?

    Yes, she would have fun with this. Even if it amounted to nothing¡ªjust another idle fancy to pass the hours¡ªit was a welcome reprieve from the monotony that threatened to swallow her whole.

    Humming softly, Ember set to work, her mind alight with plans.

 Chapter 8

    When Emberlyth went to bed that night, she was like a child waiting for the first snow, too full of restless anticipation to settle. She lay there, eyes wide in the dark, her mind spinning grand schemes and imagining what secrets the night might yield.

    At least, until the small hours crept in and reality followed close behind, whispering its usual truths. She sighed, rolling over. Foolish. You can¡¯t just set a trap and expect someone to walk blindly into it. That wasn¡¯t how the world worked, no matter how much you willed it otherwise.

    And even if it did, who exactly was she hoping to catch? Some maid, skulking around to cover a few extra coins spent over at Wilbur¡¯s Perch? Lady Efrain kept the house¡¯s accounts in her head with the precision of a clockmaker; no scrap of parchment would ever outdo her. And why should Emberlyth care about a handful of missing coin?

    The family finances wasn¡¯t her concern, that they¡¯d made sure she knew. They were things the adults murmured over, huddled behind closed doors. Secrets whispered over tea and ledger books she wasn¡¯t allowed to open. ¡°Useless papers and boorish records,¡± they¡¯d said when she was younger, when she still cared enough to ask about the library. She¡¯d been dismissed there, too.

    Fine, let the thieves take the lot of it and they can all sink into the Abyss and rot.

    Tossing the covers over her head, she let herself sink into the darkness.

    ¡°Would be nice if at least a rat fell for my trap, though,¡± Ember still murmured to herself. A yawn followed, stretching the words. ¡°Haven¡¯t tested if Izbeth can stomach the furry beasts better than the last maids, have I?¡±

    Perhaps I¡¯ll see something new in her? The thought warmed Emberlyth as much as her blankets, and she nestled deeper into bed, her eyelids growing heavy.

    But just as sleep began to take her, a sound rose from beneath the quiet hum of the estate.

    It wasn¡¯t loud, but it was unmistakable. Last night, it had been a fleeting thing¡ªsomething she barely registered amidst her own busy thoughts. But now, lying still, she caught it in perfect clarity.

    It was a peculiar sound, the meeting of groaning hinges and the heavy scrape of wood against stone. The kind of noise you might expect from a door. Not one of the small, ordinary doors of the estate, but something grand. Something weighty. A hidden door, perhaps. One meant to keep more than just people out¡ªor in.

    The sound settled into the stillness, leaving only the soft murmur of the wind outside. Emberlyth lay frozen, her heartbeat quickening, her earlier frustrations forgotten.

    And then, just as the silence stretched taut, a muffled thud followed by a sharp yelp echoed up through the floorboards. Small, distant, it might¡¯ve gone unnoticed if she hadn¡¯t been waiting for just that, listening.

    Her breath caught. Before she could think better of it, she was moving. The cold bite of the floor met her bare feet as she swung out of bed, her fingers reaching instinctively beneath the mattress. She pulled free her father¡¯s sword, its weight awkward in her hand but reassuring nonetheless.

    Whatever was down there, it was no rat.

    <hr>

    By the time Emberlyth reached the first floor, she was sure of it. Whatever invasive species had found itself ensnared in the library tonight was far more sentient than any rat she''d ever encountered.

    Low, guttural curses¡ªforeign yet familiar in their emotion¡ªdrifted down the corridor where she now crept, Silent Kiss held firm in her hand. The words were not shouted, but spat, strained and breathless. Even so, to Emberlyth¡¯s ears, they might as well have been spoken directly to her. Eavesdropping had always come a bit too naturally to her, for better or worse.

    Emberlyth had always caught more than people meant for her to. How many maids hadn¡¯t she overheard muttering about the ¡°mad little lady¡± they served. She hadn¡¯t minded at first. Not until they laughed about the chef who couldn¡¯t toast bread without burning it. A few rats and spiders introduced to their beds, and those maids had packed their things and fled before the week was out.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Then there were the guards. One ill-timed sneer at a portrait of her father¡ªone muttered ¡°he ain¡¯t all that, is he?¡±¡ªwas all it took. From that moment, her crusade began. None of those spineless, sneering fools would ever guard the house again. Let them shiver on the grounds, watching over empty stables and crooked sheds.

    Even her family whispered. Rarely to her face, of course. But they weren¡¯t as careful as they thought. It wasn¡¯t a gift, hearing what others wished to keep hidden. But tonight, it served her well.

    The voice on the other side of the library door huffed and grunted in a language she didn¡¯t recognize. Harsh syllables, foreign and feral. She could make out just enough to be intrigued¡ªand unsettled.

    Pulling a lantern from its sconce, Emberlyth shook it until the magi-struct sputtered to life. Light filled the dim hallway. And with it, silence. The voice fell quiet the instant the light touched the cracks around the library door.

    They know, she thought. Whoever was in there knew she was coming.

    She stood perfectly still, listening. The faint scrape of shifting weight, a labored breath barely stifled. Someone, or something, was trying desperately to move without making a sound. Trying, and failing.

    But it wasn¡¯t the noise that held her attention. It was the wax.

    Her eyes flicked to the edge of the doorframe, to the thin trail of candle wax she¡¯d left there. A seal, much like those on letters, meant to break if opened while she wasn¡¯t there.

    It was intact.

    The door hadn¡¯t been touched. Which meant¡­ whoever was inside hadn¡¯t entered through here?

    Her pulse quickened, a flicker of cold excitement lighting her veins. She tightened her grip on Silent Kiss.

    ¡°Well,¡± she murmured to herself, her voice soft as a spider¡¯s web, ¡°this just got interesting.¡±

    The window¡­? Emberlyth considered, but she dismissed the notion almost immediately. Unless she was truly dealing with some foul-mouthed rat-man, the narrow slit of a window couldn¡¯t possibly admit anything larger than a starling. Besides, it was locked, thick glass reinforced with iron fittings, and a hatch she definitely shut.

    That left her with one troubling conclusion: they had been in the library at the same time she was.

    That unsettled her.

    How did I not see them? she thought, pulling Silent Kiss free from its sheath. The blade caught the light from her lantern, a cold gleam of reassurance.

    Carefully, she nudged the door open with her foot, both hands occupied by her weapon and light. The hinges gave a faint groan, and the silence within pressed down heavier, like a held breath. Whoever was inside had stifled their movements, though whether it was out of fear or cunning, she couldn¡¯t say. Not that it mattered.

    The room offered little in the way of concealment: five shelves aligned along the walls, a few scattered piles of loose documents. No shadows deep enough to hide much more than a spider. Her eyes swept the room quickly¡ªand landed on the figure sprawled in the center of it all, upside down, one leg raised awkwardly toward the ceiling as if snagged by an invisible snare.

    He wasn¡¯t much older than she was. His face was a mess of ink smudges and dirt, hair sticking up in haphazard tufts. From his ridiculous position and the dim light, it was hard to tell much else about him. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other, silent except for the faint creak of his strained posture.

    Finally, he let out a long, theatrical sigh. ¡°A bit unfair, this, isn¡¯t it?¡± he said conversationally, gesturing toward his left leg, still awkwardly hoisted in the air. ¡°Traps are meant to be set before someone enters the premises. You can¡¯t just slap them down after I¡¯ve already been here for weeks. How was I supposed to know to look for it?¡±

    Emberlyth¡¯s thoughts stumbled over each other in rapid succession. Weeks? Then, Ah, you do speak the common tongue? And finally, the one she said aloud: ¡°Mister Gardener?¡±

    She¡¯d only seen their ghastly gardener once before, in passing, when he was first hired some months ago. Never this close, though. Certainly not from this particular angle.

    ¡°Ah, yes. A pleasure to meet you, Lady Draekart,¡± he replied with a smile that might have been charming under different circumstances. ¡°But before we get too far into pleasantries¡­ would you mind letting me down? I¡¯m rather fond of having the majority my blood flow away from my head, and this position isn¡¯t exactly conducive to that.¡±

    Emberlyth¡¯s eyes flicked toward his gesturing hand but didn¡¯t linger on his trapped leg. Instead, her gaze locked onto something else entirely: the fifth shelf, the one that had always been part of the wall. Except now, it wasn¡¯t.

    Her heart gave a small, uncertain leap. A Journal of the Abyss, Entry 14:1:3, Endless dungeons and mysteries in the dark. Emberlyth knew what this was. A secret door. A hidden passage. But not deep within the Abyss. In her own home. She¡¯d spent eighteen years exploring its every dusty nook and cranny, convinced she¡¯d uncovered every dull secret her family¡¯s estate had to offer. And yet, here it was, yawning open as if mocking her.

    ¡°What¡¯s¡­ this?¡± she asked, voice low and steady as she turned back to the young man.

    He¡¯d just tried to push himself off the floor, only to slip and crash back down with a graceless thud. A pained groan escaped his lips, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a curse muttered under his breath.

    She¡¯d been ready to catch stray rats or, at best, confront a misguided maid this night. Instead, she¡¯d found so much more.

    Emberlyth tilted her head, Silent Kiss steady in her hand as she looked him once more. ¡°Now this,¡± she murmured, more to herself than him, ¡°is shaping up to be a very curious night.¡±

 Chapter 9

    It had been her fifteenth birthday, and Emberlyth had been brimming with anticipation. Her Ascension Path¡ªher long-awaited, promised Ascension Path¡ªwas finally within reach. This time, they had assured her. Truly, genuinely promised her. She¡¯d asked so many times, peppering her family with questions to guard herself against disappointment. They wouldn¡¯t be so cruel as to lie, not about this. Would they?

    And then, instead of the grand moment she¡¯d imagined, she got this.

    She still remembered the awkward way her uncle had scratched at the back of his head as he delivered the news. ¡°The Ink Master we found,¡± he said hesitantly, ¡°the one who could solve all of this¡­ Everything was settled, but at the last minute, someone outbid us¡­¡±

    She hadn¡¯t been able to find words.

    Any other birthday, and the gift they offered might have been wonderful. No, it would have been brilliant. A deactivated and reconstructed trap from an Abyssal dungeon¡ªexactly the kind of relic that would have made her younger self giddy for weeks. She would¡¯ve adored it. But it wasn¡¯t her Ascension Path.

    And she wasn¡¯t even allowed to use it on the maids who had whispered behind closed doors, ¡°They¡¯ve no sense of the danger. Just as well she didn¡¯t get it. Would¡¯ve burned down the house before the week was over¡­¡±

    <hr>

    With her lantern raised, Emberlyth stepped closer to the young man, awkwardly sprawled before her. Perhaps it was na?ve, but she doubted her toy trap¡ªno matter how ingeniously designed¡ªcould hold any true danger at bay. Besides, she had Silent Kiss, and he was unarmed, tangled with his leg in the air like a marionette left half-forgotten by its puppeteer.

    Like this, he certainly didn¡¯t appear the part of some common gardener. Not at this time of night. Not here.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± she asked, leaning in to get a proper look at his face.

    He wasn¡¯t bad-looking per se¡ªwas he?¡ªbut he wasn¡¯t the kind of handsome that sweeps princesses from towers, either. The kind you hoped would rob you in the dead of night. Then again, how many living beings could match the illustrations in A Tale of Light and Dark: The Forbidden Romance? Emberlyth tried to shake the thought. That novel was ridiculous¡ªits prose heavy-handed and its plot laughable. Who hoped to get robbed in the first place? But the illustrations¡­ Those had been something else entirely.

    The artist clearly had a curious understanding of the human form. Sometimes, evocative, often too liberate.

    A blush threatened her cheeks as her thoughts wandered, but she wrenched them back under control. She examined him again with an objective eye¡ªor tried to, at least. She only had so many reference points for men in her life, and none at this age. Compared to the rough-hewn figures of her family and the scarred, weathered guards patrolling the estate, he seemed delicate, somehow. His features were smooth, almost androgynous, the kind of look A Tale of Light and Dark might have called a ¡°forbidden beauty.¡±

    No, she firmly decided a moment later. He wasn¡¯t that. There were too many stains¡ªgarden soil smudged across his hands and ink blotting his fingertips. His forehead bore the ghost of fingerprints, as if he¡¯d pressed his hands there in exasperation during some futile mental battle.

    ¡°¡­Are you even listening to me?¡±

    His voice, dry as dust. pulled her from her spiraling thoughts. His smirk¡ªimpossible to miss, even while bound and dangling¡ªleaned into something approaching irritation.

    Caught off guard, Emberlyth straightened, her blush deepening. ¡°Of course I am,¡± she lied.

    ¡°Good,¡± he said, eyebrows raised with a smile tilting into something sly. ¡°Because if you are done staring, I¡¯m running out of clever things to say before this blood rush gives me ideas neither of us will enjoy.¡±

    Emberlyth felt her face flush warmer. ¡°I wasn¡¯t staring,¡± she snapped.

    ¡°Of course not,¡± he said, a touch too smoothly. ¡°But if you¡¯d like to keep studying me, you mind doing it under more cordial circumstances? Trust me, I¡¯m a lot more impressive standing on my feet, and there are parts of me I can only show if I¡¯m allowed to move freely.¡±

    He gave a wink, but rather than deepen her embarrassment, it snapped Emberlyth out of it. She narrowed her eyes. Too many stains, she thought again. Whatever else this boy was, he was no dashing hero.

    And yet, for reasons she couldn¡¯t name, she kept her blade ready.

    Right, right¡­

    Emberlyth¡¯s frown deepened, the lantern light swaying faintly as her grip steadied.

    How many tales hadn¡¯t she read of tricksters and silver-tongued villains? Those who fought not with blades but with winks and whispers, weaving charms as subtle as spider silk. The kind of people who could make you thank them even as they slipped the coin purse from your belt.

    Taking a cautious step back, Emberlyth leveled Silent Kiss at the stranger¡¯s face.

    ¡°Stop smiling,¡± she said, her voice low and sharp.

    The grin vanished immediately, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty. His gaze darted first to the blade hovering a breath away from his nose, then back to her. ¡°I asked who you are,¡± she said, her tone brooking no argument. ¡°Tell me.¡±

    The hesitation in his eyes vanished as swiftly as it had come, replaced by a look of theatrical exasperation. He exhaled heavily and fell back against the floor, hands weaving casually behind his head as if reclining on a summer hillside instead of sprawled out on cold stone.

    ¡°Brilliant,¡± he said, addressing the ceiling. ¡°You weren¡¯t listening, and now you¡¯re trying to cover it up by pointing a sword in my face. Truly inspired.¡±

    ¡°Your tricks won¡¯t work on me,¡± Emberlyth said, though doubt prickled at the edge of her thoughts. How would she even know if she was being charmed? Would she feel it? Or worse¡ªnot feel it? ¡°Just answer the question. Directly.¡±

    ¡°Already did, though,¡± he replied with a huff, his tone as breezy as if they were discussing the weather. ¡°But I can repeat myself, if her ladyship so wishes. I¡¯m a victim of inhuman treatment, disgraced beyond all reasonable means. You know,¡± he added, his voice gaining a tragic lilt, ¡°in certain places, it¡¯s considered a war crime to threaten a bound and unarmed man? Not to mention how I hit my head terribly when your little trap flung me upside down. Who¡¯s going to pay reparations if I¡¯m seriously injured? Did you think of that before setting it up?¡±

    He paused, as if waiting for her to feel the weight of her guilt. She didn¡¯t.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t think so,¡± he said, wearing a faint smirk as her stance shifted slightly. ¡°But here¡¯s an idea. Let me down, and maybe I won¡¯t press charges. Do it quickly enough, and we could pretend this whole unfortunate incident never happened. You go your way, I go mine. Everyone¡¯s happy. Sound fair? A wonderful evening to both of us.¡±Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Emberlyth stared at him, her grip tightening briefly on the hilt of Silent Kiss before sliding it back into its sheath.

    ¡°Yeah, no,¡± she muttered under her breath. I¡¯m definitely not charmed. What was I even worrying about?

    If anything, she was starting to feel irritated. Lantern light pooled at her feet as she set it down with deliberate care, placing Silent Kiss beside it.

    ¡°First of all,¡± she said, straightening, ¡°it¡¯s already well past evening. So I wouldn¡¯t waste time hoping for a ¡®wonderful¡¯ anything for either of us.¡±

    The young man opened his mouth, but whatever he was about to say vanished as Emberlyth grabbed his collar with both hands.

    ¡°Secondly,¡± she continued, lifting him clean off the floor with the ease of someone who¡¯d grown up wrestling heavier things than garden-variety trespassers, ¡°you are not in a position to negotiate.¡±

    He dangled precariously, one foot still caught in the trap, the other scrabbling awkwardly for balance. For a moment, he looked less like a clever trickster and more like someone trying¡ªand failing¡ªnot to tip over. Emberlyth allowed herself the faintest of smirks.

    ¡°Comfortable?¡± she asked, voice dripping with mock sweetness.

    The man glanced down at himself, then back up at her. His grin returned, smaller but no less insufferable.

    ¡°Not particularly,¡± he said. ¡°But I¡¯m willing to negotiate.¡±

    ¡°Negotiate?¡± Ember huffed. He wasn¡¯t much to hold, and even as he tried, subconsciously, to straighten himself, he failed to gain any height on her. He was like a bundle of twigs in her hands¡ªlong, spindly, and oddly delicate. Where Emberlyth had a lot of frame to fill out from years of growing too fast, her wiry muscles were still carved by effort and endurance. He looked as though he¡¯d been made slender by neglect, as if he¡¯d grown tall by accident and never quite figured out what to do with all that height.

    His hands were the worst of it. Thin, ink-stained fingers that bore no hint of calluses. Not the kind that came from hard labor, at least. If she hadn¡¯t seen the results of him tending the garden with her own eyes, she¡¯d never have believed he¡¯d ever done an honest day¡¯s work.

    Emberlyth tightened her grip further, and his breaths hitched slightly, a sound halfway between indignation and discomfort.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you understand your situation here,¡± she said, leaning closer as if proximity would force seriousness into his smile. She nearly lifted him off the ground entirely, stopping only when he gave a pained gasp¡ªhis trapped leg bending at an angle that looked anything but natural.

    ¡°Even if I were to set you free,¡± she continued, her voice colder, ¡°there¡¯s nowhere for you to run. Not until you¡¯ve told me what I want to know.¡±

    He glanced up at her, smile creeping back onto his face with infuriating ease.

    ¡°If you¡¯re so confident in keeping me here,¡± he said, ¡°why not help a fellow out and release my leg? This is an incredibly uncomfortable position, and¡ª¡±

    ¡°Give me your name,¡± Emberlyth growled, cutting him off, the heat rising in her voice as her patience frayed. She wasn¡¯t used to this kind of insolence¡ªat least, not from anyone outside her family. ¡°And tell me what the hell that is.¡±

    She jabbed a finger toward the fifth shelf, still half-ajar, its dark gap promising secrets far older than both of them combined.

    His gaze followed her gesture, the corners of his mouth twitching into something that wasn¡¯t quite a smile but wasn¡¯t quite neutral either.

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you know?¡± he asked lightly. ¡°I mean, this is your house, isn¡¯t it? If anyone should¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± she snapped, and his voice trailed off beneath the weight of her glare.

    ¡°Seeing is believing?¡± he offered weakly, gesturing with a slight tilt of his head toward the shelf. ¡°You could always just go check it out for yourself. But first, my leg, if you wouldn¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°Your damned name then,¡± Ember spat, her voice sharp enough to make him wince. ¡°Now.¡±

    She would check out whatever lay behind the shelf¡ªeventually. The call of adventure tugged at her like an insistent wind, and every nerve in her body was alive with curiosity. But she wasn¡¯t about to leave this pale, cheeky liar unchecked. Besides, she wanted something better to call him than ghastly gardener. Having met him now, not a single part of the nickname fit. Except, perhaps, ghastly. How could a gardener¡ªsomeone who worked beneath the open sky¡ªseem as though he hadn¡¯t felt the sun¡¯s touch in years?

    ¡°Let me assure you, there¡¯s nothing damned about my name, sweet lady,¡± the man replied. He punctuated it with a wink, pulling her strings just for the fun of it. ¡°And isn¡¯t it common courtesy to offer your own name first before demanding someone else¡¯s? I mean, I already know who you are, but¡ª¡±

    ¡°Emberlyth Draekart,¡± she interrupted, her voice flat and even. She refused to let him see any of the heat rising to her cheeks or the sharp annoyance prickling beneath her skin. She would stay calm. Cool. Collected.

    She would try.

    ¡°Go. On.¡±

    For a heartbeat, his mouth formed a perfect little o, as if he hadn¡¯t expected her to comply so easily. He recovered quickly, snapping his jaw shut with an audible click before murmuring under his breath, ¡°Damn. Why does everyone around here have such cool names?¡±

    His gaze darted across the room, catching briefly on a scattering of papers at their feet. Ember hadn¡¯t even noticed them before. They must have fallen from his grasp when her trap snagged him. Her attention flicked briefly to the topmost sheet¡ªa crisp, clean design dominated by a five-pointed star¡ªbefore he cleared his throat dramatically, like an actor about to take center stage.

    ¡°My name,¡± he said, drawing himself up as much as his position allowed, ¡°is Penta¡­Grammus. Penta Grammus Maximus, yes! A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Emberlyth Draekart.¡±

    He gave a ridiculous little flourish, tipping his head in what could have been a bow¡ªif not for the fact that his back leg was still hoisted midair. He looked like a dancer frozen mid spin, just with none of the flexibility that went with such things.

    The inevitable happened. He lost his balance, tumbling to the ground in a flailing heap.

    Ember didn¡¯t bother catching him. She didn¡¯t even flinch as he hit the floor with a startled yelp and a thud that echoed in the quiet room.

    Foreign curses spilled from his lips, half-formed and muttered, but Ember paid them little attention. Something else had caught her eye¡ªsomething that had fallen from his pocket in the tumble.

    She crouched and picked it up.

    It was a card. Some kind of identification, she guessed, as her eyes skimmed over a small but carefully painted portrait of a young boy. Beneath it, lines of text in a script she didn¡¯t recognize sprawled across the surface.

    The material was the first thing that struck her. At a glance, it seemed like simple paper, yet something encased it¡ªa transparent shell like glass, though it was neither cool nor brittle. It felt strange in her hands, smooth and warm, as if the material held its own faint hum of life. Some sort of magical resin, perhaps? Hardened to protect the contents within?

    But that wasn¡¯t the strangest part. The text printed on the card was unmistakably foreign, the letters winding and looping in unfamiliar shapes that shouldn¡¯t have made any sense to her. Yet the longer Ember stared, as if the words were rearranging themselves in her mind.

    ¡°Carl Andersen,¡± she murmured, reading aloud without realizing it. ¡°Age 10, Class 5A, Student at¡ª¡±

    ¡°Hey! Don¡¯t read that!¡±

    The indignant cry snapped her out of her trance. Ember glanced down to see Penta sprawled on the floor, having rolled onto his hands and knees in a desperate attempt to look up at her. His position was almost comical, his left foot arched behind his back like a useless scorpion¡¯s tail.

    ¡°That¡¯s mine!¡± he continued, his voice pitched somewhere between panic and indignation. ¡°And for the love of all that¡¯s good, don¡¯t look at the picture! I swear the photographer was drunk, high, or cursed¡ªor possibly all three¡ªwhen it was my turn in the booth!¡±

    ¡°Fo-to-gra-fer,¡± Emberlyth repeated, carefully sounding out the alien word. Her eyes flicked back to the card, then to Penta, who was practically vibrating with a mixture of nerves and mortification. ¡°The boy in this painting is you? But it must be from over¡­¡±

    ¡°Ten years ago, yes,¡± he huffed, avoiding her gaze. His voice turned clipped, impatient. ¡°Now, would you mind handing that back? It¡¯s...precious. Sentimental value, you know?¡±

    She hesitated for a moment longer, but finally held it out. ¡°Sure,¡± she said, her tone slow and thoughtful as the wheels in her mind began to spin. He snatched the card back and stuffed it into his pocket with far more care than his hurried movements suggested.

    ¡°You¡¯re from another world,¡± she whispered, the realization slipping out unbidden. Her mind was already leaping from one conclusion to the next, connecting dots with dizzying speed. ¡°You¡¯re¡­a transmigrator.¡±

    He froze at that, his hand lingering over his pocket, his face a curious blend of guilt and defiance. For a moment, the room was silent but for the sound of their breathing. Then his lips quirked into a thin, bitter smile.

    ¡°I¡¯m Penta,¡± he said at last, meeting her gaze with stubborn determination. As if that name he¡¯d just settled on meant more to him than whatever past lay behind him. ¡°Penta Grammus Maximus, mastermind supreme. Nothing more, nothing less.¡±

    His voice was firm, but there was an edge to it¡ªan insistence that rang hollow. Whatever he¡¯d called himself in that other life, it wasn¡¯t a name he intended to carry now.

    ¡°Now,¡± he added, gesturing toward his precariously bent leg. ¡°Would you mind getting my God-damned foot loose? Besides being utterly humiliating, it¡¯s starting to go worryingly numb. I¡¯m rather fond of it being exactly where it is, and would rather not see it amputated over some petty grievance. So... pretty please, with sugar on top?¡±

 Chapter 10

    With Silent Kiss sheathed at her side and the lantern raised high, Ember followed her unlikely captive down the spiraling stairwell. ¡°Don¡¯t try anything funny,¡± she repeated, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest. Her eyes traced the curving stone walls, damp and dark, each step echoing like the drip of water in some long-abandoned well.

    She hadn¡¯t even known there was another basement beneath the house. The discovery made her feel as though she were venturing into some mythical dungeon, the kind sung of in half-whispered epics deep within the Abyss. And that, she realized, was only the second, lesser mystery of the night.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± Penta¡ªCarl Andersen¡ªmuttered, his tone laced with boredom, as though he were less a prisoner and more an inconvenienced guest.

    A transmigrator. Alive and breathing. Walking before her as if it were the most mundane thing in the world.

    Their kin had been mentioned in A Journal of the Abyss, several times though always briefly¡ªtantalizingly, in passages that seemed to expect the reader to fill in the gaps themselves. She¡¯d pressed the adults in her life for answers more than once, but their replies had always been frustratingly vague.

    ¡°Nothing you need to worry about it¡­¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re a rare breed¡ªyou¡¯ll likely never meet one¡­¡±

    ¡°Even in Erboaria, they never stay long. Always driven to delve deeper, to progress further, never to return¡­¡±

    Yet here one was, not delving deeper into the Abyss, but at the surface alongside her. And for what reason? That question burned in her mind, demanding an answer.

    ¡°What were you doing down here?¡± she asked, breaking the silence that had grown too thick, too heavy. Wasn¡¯t the point of finding strange people to uncover their secrets? To ignite some grand adventure and set herself on the path to greatness?

    So far, Penta had been a resounding disappointment. Yes, she¡¯d discovered a hidden passage, which had its own thrill, but beyond that? He¡¯d given her nothing. Not a spark of intrigue, not a shred of clarity. Just vague half-smirks and dismissive quips.

    He shrugged without turning to face her. ¡°Storing garden soil. Cultivating seeds.¡±

    She prodded him in the back with the scabbard, a sharp jab that should have loosened his tongue. It didn¡¯t. Instead, he groaned theatrically. ¡°Uncalled for.¡±

    ¡°You realize I¡¯ll know exactly what you¡¯ve been doing the moment you open that door, right?¡± she said, narrowing her eyes as the stairs began to flatten out before them.

    ¡°Then why ask?¡±

    Ember clenched her jaw, biting back her frustration. Because the silence isn¡¯t supposed to linger when adventure beckons. It¡¯s supposed to crack open like an egg, spilling revelations and excitement in every direction. Instead, it felt as though she were chasing a shadow that refused to stand still.

    ¡°Just open the door,¡± she said, her tone clipped as she nudged him again with the scabbard¡¯s tip.

    He cast her an annoyed glance but said nothing, pushing the door at the end of the stairwell open with a casual shove.

    No ceremony. No arcane whispers. No ancient chants to accompany the unlocking of some grand secret. The door creaked open to reveal¡­a room.

    Not a portal to another world. Not the entrance to some sprawling labyrinth of forgotten lore. Just a room. Cramped, dreary, and utterly mundane.

    The space was barely four paces across, its stone walls pressing inward like a tired sigh. Two shelves lined either wall, bowed under the weight of¡ªno, there weren¡¯t even tantalizing tomes or strange objects, just a few stacks of brittle paper and faded journals. In the corner, a pile of blankets marked what was clearly a sleeping arrangement.

    This wasn¡¯t the treasure trove she¡¯d imagined. No forbidden knowledge, no magical artifacts. Just a life tucked away, hidden from the world.

    Ember¡¯s shoulders sank as she stepped inside. ¡°This is it?¡± she asked, her voice flat.

    Penta stepped aside with a sarcastic flourish, bowing slightly at the waist. ¡°Behold,¡± he said dryly. ¡°The grand lair of Penta the Supreme. Impressed?¡±

    She glared at him. ¡°Not even remotely,¡± Emberlyth said, stepping past him to let the lantern¡¯s glow flood the room. The light fell across the shelves, revealing nothing worthy of note. ¡°You were sleeping down here?¡±

    Penta didn¡¯t answer, but she wasn¡¯t really expecting him to. Her eyes caught on something else¡ªa plate, discarded near the corner of the room. She crouched to pick it up, turning it in her hands. Her eyes went wide. ¡°You¡¯re the food thief,¡± she said, realization dawning like an unwelcome guest. ¡°You¡¯re the one who took my thrice-fried¡ª¡±

    The thought was interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps. She turned just in time to see the door slam shut, Penta already darting up the stairs.

    ¡°I warned you not to run,¡± Emberlyth said with a resigned sigh, letting the plate clatter to the floor. Though, her lips quirked in a faint, involuntary smile.

    Yes. This was the excitement she¡¯d been hoping for. This was how mysterious midnight encounters were meant to be.

    <hr>

    He didn¡¯t make it far.

    By the time Penta reached the library¡¯s threshold, Ember was on him, tackling him to the ground like a wolf taking down prey.

    She could¡¯ve taken it easy on him. Like she had during so many years of playing catch with Vaelen. She didn¡¯t.

    He hit the floor with a force that knocked the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping even before she pinned him with her weight.

    ¡°Restroom,¡± he wheezed, his voice muffled against the cold stone floor. ¡°I¡­I just wanted to go to the restroom.¡±

    ¡°Then maybe you should¡¯ve been more cooperative in answering my questions,¡± Ember replied, her tone stiff. She shifted her knee against his back, keeping him firmly in place.

    It was fortunate he was on his stomach, face pressed to the floor, because the grin she wore in that moment¡ªwild, almost feral¡ªwould¡¯ve done little to dissuade any notions of her enjoying this far too much.

    Because, truthfully, she was enjoying it. The satisfying thunk of his fall, the justified excuse to finally vent her mounting frustrations. ¡°Now, you have two options,¡± she said, her voice calm in a way that felt all the more threatening. ¡°Either you hold it in until I¡¯m done with you, or you piss yourself. Your choice.¡±

    She grabbed him by the back of his shirt, hauling him with her like an unruly sack of potatoes. He didn¡¯t resist, though his sharp tongue proved harder to restrain.

    ¡°You realize,¡± he said, his voice lilting with faux casualness, ¡°the optics of this situation, don¡¯t you? Dragging an innocent, young beauty down into the depths of the house in the dead of night? Any reasonable bystander would assume you were up to something nefarious here, Lady Draekart. Scandalous, even.¡±

    ¡°If I were you, I wouldn¡¯t worry too much about being mistaken for either innocent or beautiful,¡± Ember retorted without missing a beat. She didn¡¯t bother letting him regain his footing as they approached the stairs. If he wanted to act like dead weight, she¡¯d treat him as such.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    Penta clutched at her arm with mock distress. ¡°Your words,¡± he said, gasping dramatically, ¡°like daggers to my heart.¡±

    That bravado lasted precisely two steps.

    The moment Ember began descending, his voice shifted, genuine alarm creeping into his tone. ¡°W-wait! Hold up!¡± He twisted in her grip, craning his neck to glance at the darkened staircase below. ¡°At least let me walk down the steps on my own!¡±

    "The worse you struggle, the more likely I am to drop you," Ember said, her tone devoid of sympathy. She didn¡¯t so much as pause until they were back in the cramped little room. This time, she shoved him down onto the pile of blankets that¡¯d served as his makeshift bed. This was, he¡¯d have to pass through her if he wished to run.

    He barely managed to regain his balance before crashing to the scarcely cushioned floor.

    ¡°Oh my,¡± he said, his voice colored by exaggerated indignation. Still, the smirk he sent her was maddeningly sly, if not outright mischievous. ¡°To push a young man down onto his bed. You really are up to no good, Lady Draekart. If only the public knew¡­¡±

    She rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn¡¯t get stuck in her skull.

    ¡°So, are you going to tell me what you¡¯ve been doing down here, or do I need to figure it out myself?¡±

    ¡°Who knows?¡± His grin widened as he leaned back against the wall, his posture relaxed in a way that somehow made her want to punch him even more. ¡°You might have to coax the truth from me. Being handled by a strong, young lady like this¡­well, it¡¯s been enlightening. I think I¡¯m starting to learn something about myself.¡±

    He clawed lazily at the air, letting out a soft, ridiculous "rawr."

    Ember let out a long, beleaguered sigh, the kind of sigh that spoke to the deep well of patience she was rapidly depleting. Without dignifying his nonsense with a response, she turned her attention to a stack of papers on the nearest shelf. One by one, she flipped through them, her frown deepening with each blank page.

    ¡°These are empty,¡± she said, her voice sharp with accusation. She turned back to him, brandishing the stack like a weapon.

    Penta, who had been massaging his neck with a grimace, immediately perked up the moment her gaze landed on him. His face split into another smile, his eyebrows waggling in an utterly infuriating fashion. ¡°A blank page is just an untapped canvas, my dear. How about you and I create a masterpiece together, hmm? Right here. Right now.¡±

    ¡°How about I bash in your teeth and string them into a necklace?¡± she replied, her voice sweet with false politeness.

    ¡°Ooh, kinky. You really know how to make a boy¡¯s heart flutter.¡±

    The stack of papers hit him square in the chest before he even had time to finish his smirk. A few sheets burst into small, smoldering flames as they tumbled through the air, and the sudden heat had him scrambling with a string of startled yelps, frantically patting them out before the fire spread to his blankets.

    Ember didn¡¯t even bother to hide her satisfaction. Turning away from the commotion, she began rifling through the second shelf, her focus shifting to the journals and loose pages stacked haphazardly there. Most were as useless as the first pile¡ªblank, faded, or stained beyond recognition.

    Each useless find only fueled Ember''s frustration. Mysterious cellars were supposed to hold secrets and treasures. Not dust and decay. Not this. Worst of all was Penta¡¯s maddening nonchalance. He lay sprawled on the blankets, lazily twirling a string of frayed yarn around his finger. His expression was a wordless challenge, a mockery that seemed to say, I thought you¡¯d figure everything out yourself.

    His certainty, his gall, only doubled her resolve to prove him wrong. She tore through the room, rifling through faded journals, turning over stacks of blank parchment, nearly breaking a few shelves. It wasn¡¯t until her fingers brushed something tucked away on the lowest shelf¡ªa single sheet of paper, half forgotten¡ªthat her efforts bore fruit.

    It wasn¡¯t writing that filled the page. Nor was it an illustration. It was something in between. Something she vaguely recognized¡ªlines that were alive, almost breathing¡ªand Ember¡¯s heart quickened at the sight. She could feel the latent power pulsing from it, like the resonance of a plucked string.

    ¡°Oh, good catch,¡± Penta said, his voice casual as a summer breeze. Before she could react, he had slipped over and plucked the page from her hands. ¡°I nearly missed this one.¡±

    Her mouth opened, ready to unleash her indignation, but she was still too stunned, and the sight of him kneeling on the floor, spreading the page out under the lantern¡¯s light, stopped her short.

    ¡°That¡­¡± she began, hesitantly. ¡°That¡¯s an Aethermark?¡±

    The words felt fragile, spoken aloud. Aethermarks were rare. Coveted. Living things nurtured by those fortunate enough to carry them. They didn¡¯t belong on paper. And yet here it was, bold and unmistakable, thrumming with its own quiet power.

    Her chest tightened as the implications swirled in her mind. Her family had spent years scraping for even the tiniest trace of an Aethermark for her, and here, in this wretched cellar, was one abandoned on a dusty shelf? A thousand questions clawed at her, but the most pressing was a single thought: How many more could there be?

    Her gaze darted to the other shelves, to the worn books and weathered papers surrounding them. Did all these once hold Aethermarks too? And if so, what had happened to them?

    Her breath caught as she turned back to Penta. He had rolled up his sleeve, revealing an arm that defied belief.

    Inky lines covered him, hundreds of them, maybe thousands. They twisted and clashed, interweaving into a chaotic mural that danced across his skin. She had heard tales of her grandfather, a legend said to carry five Aethermarks¡ªa generational prodigy.

    But Penta...

    This young man was covered in so many marks she couldn¡¯t tell where one ended and another began. Each mark seemed to war with its neighbors, their edges jagged and incongruous, yet the whole somehow found a precarious balance¡ªa harmony born of chaos.

    Her breath hitched as she watched him rest his hand near his elbow, his fingers finding a rare patch of unmarked skin. No sooner had he touched it than the surrounding ink recoiled, retreating like shadows from a flame, leaving the space bare and ready.

    ¡°Wait¡­ what are you¡ª?¡± Her voice faltered as he produced a pencil from seemingly nowhere.

    With practiced ease, he began sketching new lines on his arm. His strokes were quick and sure, the marks at once familiar and utterly alien. The design mirrored the one on the page, yet it wasn¡¯t a simple copy. This new mark was bolder, more refined. It was as if the imperfections of the original were being rewritten in their truest form.

    As he finished the last flourish, the mark on the page began to dissolve. Wisps of light spiraled up, drawn into the fresh ink on his skin. The paper emptied itself of its power, leaving only blankness behind.

    Ember¡¯s jaw hung open. ¡°How¡­?¡±

    Emberlyth had only ever experienced the work of an Ink Master once before in her life, years ago, and only from the corner of her eye. Not by choice, of course. She would have watched every stroke, every detail of the lines being drawn on her own back, had her neck only been that of an owl. But even now, years later, she could recall the sensation: the strange mix of warmth and weight as the marks were woven into her skin.

    The Ink Master himself had been a relic of a man, his frame bent like an overused quill. He hadn¡¯t worn an entire gallery of marks like Penta did either. No, the old artisan had carried just a single line of fine script that snaked elegantly down his fingers. Ember remembered watching through a mirror as that line glowed faintly with each deliberate motion of his hand. It had been mesmerizing. Sacred.

    Now, the memory felt distant, overshadowed by the sight before her.

    Penta sat in a strange, meditative silence, his marks a riot of chaos across his skin. They clashed and twisted, not as the work of an artisan but of some unrestrained force. Her thoughts blurred with questions and anger until, before she even realized it, she had stepped forward and seized his shirt.

    ¡°Lady Dreakart!¡± Penta gasped as she tore it open, his voice laced with mock offense. He clutched at his chest, his expression a mix of indignation and humor. ¡°Why so forward? I¡¯m still an innocent youth¡ª¡±

    ¡°Those marks,¡± Ember cut him short, her voice cold and sharp. Her eyes traced the web of chaotic lines that crisscrossed his chest. There were so many more of them. Not just dozens¡ªhundreds of them. More than she¡¯d ever seen, more than she¡¯d even thought possible. ¡°Are they all my family¡¯s?¡±

    Her voice cracked slightly, betraying the storm brewing beneath her words. Something cold twisted in her stomach. Was her anger directed at Penta, this strange boy who sat smug and unrepentant? Or at her family, who had kept so much hidden from her?

    How many nights did I lay awake, wondering if they¡¯d ever find just a single mark for me? The thought burned. If her family had stowed all this away here, then what secrets were hidden in their main vaults back in Erboria?

    ¡°Per common law,¡± Penta began, adopting a mockingly authoritative tone, ¡°the rightful owner of an Aethermark is the one who¡ª¡±

    ¡°They are, aren¡¯t they?¡± Ember snapped, cutting him off again. She grabbed his arm, twisting it sharply toward her. Penta yelped, his shoulder bending awkwardly under her grip, but her focus was locked on the mark at his elbow¡ªthe one she had just seen him ink.

    ¡°How many of these weren¡¯t here before?¡± Her voice was rising now, fueled by anger and desperation. ¡°How many did you steal¡ª¡±

    ¡°Careful!¡± Penta yelped, his voice strained as her fingers brushed the fresh ink. ¡°You¡¯ll smudge it!¡±

    That brief protest made her hesitate. For a moment, uncertainty slowed her hand. It was enough for him to act. With startling speed, he lunged forward, sinking his teeth into the side of her hand.

    ¡°Ah!¡± Ember cried out, jerking her fingers back instinctively. The sharp sting of his bite burned, but by the time she processed it, Penta was already scrambling away. He bolted across the floor, bounding up the stairway two steps at a time.

    ¡°Damn it!¡± Ember roared, the sting of her hand forgotten as she surged after him. ¡°Damn it all to the deepest reaches of the Abyss!¡±

 Chapter 11

    This time, he made it farther than before. The sound of his hurried steps echoed down the hallway, quick and frantic, but it ended as all such things did¡ªwith Ember slamming him against the wall, her shoulder driving into his side like a battering ram.

    The papers he¡¯d hastily snatched up scattered like dry leaves, fluttering to the floor, but Ember didn¡¯t spare them a glance. Her hands were already on him, dragging him to the ground in a tangle of limbs and frustration.

    ¡°Do I need to tie you up like a wild dog just to get you to sit still?¡± she growled, her breath hot against his ear.

    ¡°Has¡­¡± he wheezed, a pained smile still clinging to his lips, ¡°anyone ever mentioned¡­you¡¯ve got a terrifying temper, Lady Dreakart?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure plenty of people have,¡± she said, her grip unyielding. ¡°When they find themselves in your company.¡±

    But her gaze wasn¡¯t on him for long. Her eyes darted down the hallway, her body tensing as she listened. A faint creak of wood. The distant hush of footsteps. Someone else in the estate had stirred.

    They had been too loud, and now, the house wasn¡¯t entirely asleep anymore.

    Her grip tightened as the implications settled over her. It wasn¡¯t fear, not exactly. She hadn¡¯t done anything wrong. Penta had. But being caught like this¡ªnow¡ªfelt like it would ruin something delicate, something she hadn¡¯t fully grasped but instinctively knew mattered.

    Without a word, she snatched up the scattered papers, cramming them into Penta¡¯s arms before hauling him into the nearest room. His protests were muffled as she shoved him inside, her hand clamping over his mouth the moment the door clicked shut behind them.

    She pressed him back against the wood, holding him there, her palm firm against his lips as her own chest rose and fell, her breath loud in her ears. She strained to hear past the racing of her heart.

    No one. No one is coming.

    Still, she stayed frozen a moment longer, her body tense with the need to be certain.

    Penta¡¯s wide, alarmed eyes stared back at her. His hands twitched, the crumpled papers held against his chest. Slowly, she let him go, her hand sliding away from his mouth. He crumpled to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut, gasping for air.

    ¡°I¡­¡± he rasped, his voice still touched with his usual irreverence despite the situation, ¡°I realize I¡¯ve been joking a lot tonight, but if someone were to see this from outside, I really would look like the victim here. A poor, defenseless mouse caught in the claws of an overly zealous, sadistic cat.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you realize,¡± Ember said, crouching beside him, her voice low, ears still straining for sounds beyond the door. The house had settled again, the faint stirrings of the night fading back into the stillness of sleep. Whoever had briefly awoken had returned to the embrace of dreams.

    Still, she kept her voice quiet, her words heavy with meaning. ¡°You are a mouse. A foolish one. And you¡¯ve found yourself very much caught in my hands. I decide your fate. And even if you managed to slip away for a moment, you wouldn¡¯t escape this estate. Trust me, I¡¯ve tried.¡±

    Penta coughed, shaking his head weakly. ¡°Is that so? Well, I¡ª¡± His next words felt short beneath a pained wince, and he touched his shoulder where a bruise must already be forming. ¡°Damn, you really gave it to me good out there,¡± he wheezed, but despite the strain in his voice, his smile wasn¡¯t far behind. ¡°Is this is what they call ¡®having your breath stolen¡¯? My, Lady Dreakart, if this keeps up, I may develop feelings.¡±

    She gave him a long, unimpressed look. ¡°Would you mind taking this a bit more seriously?¡±

    ¡°Whatever could you mean?¡± he asked, raising an eyebrow that seemed genuinely curious. ¡°Which part of my lady¡¯s vigilant, nightly escapades have I not been taking seriously?¡±

    Ember narrowed her eyes. ¡°And what¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±

    ¡°Nothing¡­nothing at all,¡± he replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. ¡°Just that I¡¯m thoroughly impressed by your boundless confidence, my lady. Truly. Your mastery of all things is almost as remarkable as your soft and nurturing touch.¡±

    Her expression darkened. ¡°Are you calling me na?ve?¡±

    ¡°I would never dream of it,¡± he said, his sincerity so exaggerated it didn¡¯t just border on farce¡ªit stepped over it and danced on the other side. ¡°To accuse the noble Lady Draekart¡ªwho doesn¡¯t even know about the Aethermarks hidden beneath her own floors¡ªof being na?ve? Unthinkable.¡±

    He shook his head as if scolding an unwise rumor-monger in the act, though, all his mock emotion drained from his voice as he continued, ¡°Nearly as unthinkable as a lady of her station getting this close¡±¡ªhe gestured to the narrow space between their faces, enough for her to feel his faint breath on her chin¡ª¡°to an unknown man in the dead of night. Understandable, of course, given his undeniable charm, but still. Who knows what sharp, pointy weapons he might have hidden beneath his clothes?¡±

    Before she could protest, he jabbed a finger at her ribs, the touch light but deliberate. ¡°Stab, stab. And oh, how tragic. Another young maiden lost to a misadventure in the dark.¡±

    He didn¡¯t smile or gloat. Instead, he sighed as he slumped back against the door, running a hand through his disheveled hair. ¡°You know what? Yes, Lady Draekart, you are na?ve. Painfully so. And it¡¯s only your good fortune that I¡¯m more of a gentleman than a scoundrel¡ªthough I won¡¯t pretend it¡¯s by a wide margin.¡±

    Her gaze dropped briefly to her ribs, where his finger had just pressed. When she looked up, her eyes burned with cold fire. ¡°If you¡¯d tried something like that for real, I would¡¯ve wrung your neck and cracked your skull before you could even retrieve your blade.¡±The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°And then we¡¯d both end up dead on the floor.¡± Penta shrugged, unflinching under her glare. ¡°I¡¯m a nobody. You¡¯re the daughter of a powerful ducal house. Some might call one loss more tragic than the other.¡±

    She stiffened at that, just slightly. Enough to register the weight of his words, but not enough to concede anything. Her tone was steady, resolute. ¡°Be that as it may, the facts remain the same. You don¡¯t have a dagger, you are caught, and you¡¯re not getting away no matter how fast you run. Even if you slipped past me, you wouldn¡¯t get far.

    She stood, tugging out her nightshirt to maintain some propriety. Noble blood did flow in her veins, even if she usually didn¡¯t care for it. ¡°At best, you¡¯d reach Wilbur¡¯s Perch, but you¡¯d still be trapped until the winching tower runs again. We¡¯d find you long before then. Unless¡­¡± Her eyes swept over him, weighing and measuring. ¡°You¡¯re planning to descend the wires directly? Is that truly possible?¡±

    Penta raised an eyebrow so high it nearly disappeared into his hairline. ¡°Wait, was that your scheme for escaping this place?¡±

    Her silence betrayed her.

    His laughter rang out, bright and sharp, like the crack of a whip in the still room. ¡°Oh, sweet summer child. Not just na?ve¡ªthe definition of naivety. You¡¯d be torn to shreds before the tower had even slipped out of sight.¡±

    ¡°Then you¡¯re trapped,¡± Ember said sharply, cutting off his laughter as he got to his feet as well. ¡°There¡¯s no leaving this estate until the platform comes back up. So¡­¡± She tilted her head, studying him with a faint scowl. ¡°Where are you going?¡±

    Penta, with the papers clutched haphazardly under one arm, eased the door open just enough to peer into the hallway. Satisfied, he slipped through without looking back. ¡°Clearly not leaving, since you¡¯ve made it abundantly clear that¡¯s absolutely impossible.¡±

    ¡°It is,¡± Ember hissed, following close behind him. Her voice was hushed now, matching his. The silence of the estate had weight to it, a fragile peace neither of them wished to disturb. ¡°Unless you plan to descend the wires, there¡¯s no way to escape this place.¡±

    ¡°If you say so.¡± He shrugged, his steps slow and deliberate as his gaze darted down the shadowed hall. ¡°Guess I¡¯m retiring to my bed then, Lady Draekart. And I¡¯d suggest you do the same. It¡¯s late, and frankly, I think we¡¯ve had enough excitement for one night. Goodnight.¡±

    ¡°Where would you even go?¡± Ember persisted, relentless. ¡°If not the platform, then what? The Mistlands?¡±

    He didn¡¯t answer, and her scoff cut through the quiet like a blade. ¡°Then you¡¯re the na?ve one. You¡¯d last less time out there than trying to scale the wires.¡±

    She spoke with a certainty born of a lifetime trapped within the bounds of this place. Beyond the estate¡¯s sprawling grounds, beyond Wilbur¡¯s Perch with its few hundred acres of orchards and farmland, the world ended¡ªnot figuratively, but literally. A wall of mist loomed at the edges of everything, a vast and shifting curtain that devoured all who dared set foot within.

    They called it the Mistlands: the broken barrier between worlds, the graveyard of wanderers and fools. Beyond it lay nothing but whispers and death. Such was the life living on the surface.

    ¡°I told you, I¡¯m going back to bed,¡± Penta said, his voice light with feigned exasperation. Yet as he veered left, heading deeper into the estate, Ember felt her skepticism harden.

    ¡°That¡¯s the kitchen,¡± she pointed out, her eyes narrowing.

    ¡°And?¡± He stopped and turned to face her, his head tilted upward to meet her gaze. He grinned¡ªa weary, crooked thing. ¡°What, are you planning to join me? Share a bunk? I¡¯ll warn you now, Lady Draekart, I like it a bit rougher than most girls can¡ª¡±

    Her glare could have frozen flame.

    Penta sighed, running a hand through his hair. ¡°Never mind. You¡¯d handle it too well, and I¡¯d end up the one dead by morning. So no, thanks. You head back to your nice, fluffy noble bed, and I¡¯ll head back to mine.¡±

    ¡°In the kitchen?¡± Ember pressed on, crossing her arms. ¡°Ginnis will throw you in the pot if he finds you curled up with the rats in the pantry.¡±

    Penta glanced over his shoulder, the faintest flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. ¡°Better the rats than¡ª¡± He cut himself off, his grin returning. ¡°Actually, never mind. I think I¡¯ll take my chances. I¡¯m feeling peckish anyway.¡±

    ¡°All the more reason you¡¯ll get cooked once morning comes.¡±

    Penta shrugged as he pushed into the dimly lit kitchen. The lantern they¡¯d carried had been abandoned somewhere in the library, and though the rain had slowed outside, the heavy clouds left the room cloaked in shadows. Still, he moved with an ease that made Ember pause¡ªjust like her, he navigated the kitchen with the fluidity of a veteran midnight raider.

    He made straight for a sack of potatoes, yanked it from its resting place, and dumped most of the contents into a basin before shoving the bag into Ember¡¯s hands.

    ¡°Fine,¡± he sighed, ¡°but if you¡¯re going to hover, at least make yourself useful.¡±

    She gave him a glare that could have stripped paint, but she didn¡¯t resist. Soon enough, apples, wedges of cheese, and crusty hunks of hardened bread¡ªEmber¡¯s usual suspects¡ªbegan to fill the sack.

    She wasn¡¯t paying attention, not really. Her hands moved on their own, catching various items, while her mind stayed fixed on deeper things. Her brow furrowed, and the sharp edge of her voice cut through the quiet like the point of a knife. ¡°I¡¯m telling you, going into the Mistlands will get you killed.¡±

    She was certain.

    ¡°Your words, not mine,¡± Penta said breezily, sniffing a stick of salami. Satisfied, he added it to the sack.

    By the time he was done, the bag hung heavy in her hands, stuffed near to bursting. He held out his arms to take it, but she tightened her grip instead.

    ¡°What are you so worried about?¡± He offered her one of his infuriatingly wide smiles, the sort that would have looked charming if it wasn¡¯t so clearly meant to irritate. ¡°I¡¯m just heading to bed. Feeling peckish, remember?¡±

    For a long, drawn-out moment, Ember simply stared at him.

    ¡°What?¡± he asked, his voice light with mock innocence. ¡°You won¡¯t be satisfied I¡¯ll still be here in the morning unless you tie me to the mattress?¡±

    ¡°That would be reassuring, yes,¡± she said flatly, her grip on the sack unyielding.

    Penta groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. ¡°Fine,¡± he woefully conceded. ¡°Mind if I use the restroom first, though? This time, I actually need to go, and I¡¯d rather not do it in a bed I¡¯m planning to sleep in. Unless, of course,¡± he added with a grin, ¡°you¡¯re planning to stand guard for that too.¡±

    <hr>

    Emberlyth did stand guard. Outside the door. She was a lady.

    A young woman with a thousand quesitons. And was it those thousand questions, tumbling through her mind, piling on top of each other like poorly stacked stones, that made her distracted? Was it questions she didn¡¯t even know how to begin answering? Was it the needless racket he made, banging about and humming in there, that made her grateful for the eventual quiet? Or was it something simpler¡ªsomething she didn¡¯t want to admit.

    Was Emberlyth painfully naive?

    The one thing certain was: by the time the silence stretched long enough to gnaw at her nerves, she knocked on the door. Her fist sharp against the old wood. ¡°Penta?¡± she called. No response. She slammed her shoulder into the door¡ªonce, twice¡ªand then kicked it for good measure.

    By the time the hinges groaned like a wounded animal, and the smoldering door sagged open, what it revealed was a room conspicuously empty. The window was open, curtains fluttering to a rain-scented breeze.

    By the time she reached the sill, a lone figure was already darting across the garden below, moving not toward Wilbur¡¯s Perch and its quiet, slumbering town, but toward the treeline ahead.

    Toward the edge of the world.

    ¡°Burn in Blackfire!¡± Emberlyth spat.

    Without thinking¡ªwithout even setting down the sack of food still clutched in her hands¡ªshe flung herself out the window. The impact rattled her bones and sent a jolt up her spine, but she was already running by the time she felt the wet kiss of damp grass under her bare feet.

    She wouldn¡¯t let him get away that easily.

 Chapter 12

    She had been young¡ªtoo young to understand¡ªthe first time she crossed the garden. The first time she strayed past the treeline they¡¯d warned her about. What was the worst she could discover? Another couple of trees? She wouldn¡¯t get lost. She was a brave adventurer. Brave adventurers never got lost.

    But then, as she¡¯d been busy twirling her stick around like a great sword, the mist had crept in. She hadn¡¯t noticed it at first, not until it was already too late. Like a thick wool blanket swept over her head, it had closed around her, smothering the world in silence. The late summer day had turned dark and cold in a matter of moments. The sun above, the garden behind, even the familiar sounds of the estate¡ªall swallowed whole by the swirling, featureless gray.

    It was like a nightmare, except she was awake. A place where nothing made sense anymore.

    At first, she had stood there, startled but defiant. She had taken a step backward, expecting to find the trees, the garden, the safety of home she¡¯d just left behind. But the trees were gone. The warmth of summer had vanished along with the shapes of everything she knew.

    She had cried out then, uncertain, calling for her father¡ªher dad, who was always nearby, always there. No answer. She¡¯d called again, louder this time, tears welling in her eyes and choking the edges of her voice. She didn¡¯t like this place. Not one bit.

    The mist was cold. Damp. Heavy. And worse than that, something lived in it. She couldn¡¯t see it, not clearly, but she felt it moving, a shadow upon shadows, shifting just beyond the edges of her vision. Hungry.

    When her tears finally spilled over and she began to sob, a warmth enveloped her. Strong arms had swept her up, clutching her close, pulling her back from the mist and into the world she had almost lost.

    Her father had carried her home that day. She¡¯d wept into his shirt, clinging to him through the long hours of the night as the memory of the Mistlands carved itself into her mind. And though she eventually drifted into restless sleep, she had learned her lesson that day. The Mistlands were not to be trifled with.

    <hr>

    Emberlyth ran at first, the damp grass cool beneath her bare feet, the sound of her breathing sharp in the still night. Then she slowed to a jog, her eyes straining in the dark as the trees closed in around him, swallowing him whole. And now, as she neared the edge of the garden herself, she walked. Slow. Hesitant. Uncertain.

    The first wisps of fog coiled like ghostly fingers across the ground, crawling forward as if to meet her. It pooled thick and gray, devouring the space where a forest should have begun. She squeezed the sack tighter in her arms, her knuckles white against the rough burlap. It suddenly felt heavy, though she hadn¡¯t carried it far.

    Two trees loomed ahead, their twisted shapes unmistakable. They marked the spot where Penta had disappeared, vanishing as if the mist itself had swallowed him whole. Was that the secret, she wondered? A hidden path through the Mistlands?

    Or was he a fool, just another lost soul swallowed whole by the Mistlands¡¯ hunger?

    The thought lingered like an ache, but another followed swiftly behind it, sharper, like the edge of a knife: Am I foolish enough to follow?

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, my sweet little Ember,¡± her father¡¯s voice echoed in her mind, warm and certain. ¡°The things living in there, forever stuck between worlds, can¡¯t reach us here. As long as you stay here, at the estate, everything will be fine¡­¡±

    He¡¯d been right. She had been safe here. For eighteen long years, she hadn¡¯t gone hungry a single day. She hadn¡¯t feared for her life, not even once. They¡¯d told her life was a fortunate one. A blessed and a good life. But was it? She couldn¡¯t say. It was the only life she¡¯d ever known.

    Her toes brushed the edge of the mist, and she stopped, staring into the swirling gray ahead. Should I go back? she wondered. If nothing else, for the rucksack hidden under her bed, packed for this very moment. And then there was her father¡¯s sword¡ªSilent Kiss¡ªleft behind somewhere in the library.

    The thought of it pained her. But she knew. If she turned back, even for a moment, the mist would rise again, closing around the world like a fist. Whatever path Penta had found would be gone.

    Her whole life, Emberlyth had waited for this day¡ªa way out of her cage. But now that it was here, she felt woefully unprepared.

    She took a deep breath, the weight of her father¡¯s voice still pressing at the edges of her mind as another memory sparked: one that had once led a young girl to bravely try even the most strangely shaped broccoli and bean sprouts upon her plate. A Journal of the Abyss, Entry 4-14: ¡°To delve into the Abyss is to delve into danger. Every day is a new uncertainty, but it is the life we have chosen. The path of change. Of progression, calculated risks, and improvement. For he who ventures nothing, nothing will be gained.¡±

    If not now, when?

    With that simple question to guide her, a sack of food clutched to her chest and no shoes to speak of, Emberlyth took her first step forward. She didn¡¯t look back. Even as the mist coiled around her legs, she didn¡¯t look. Another step, and she crossed the threshold. Beyond the garden. Beyond the estate. Beyond the veil of the world she had always known.

    For the first time in her life, Emberlyth Dreakart stepped into the unknown.

    <hr>

    It was a strange thing. She couldn¡¯t have been more than six that first time she stumbled into the mists, yet what now lay before her was exactly as she remembered it¡ªthe way it had been described through a hundred cautioning tales.

    Damp, gloomy, and unwelcoming, the boundary between worlds lay before her. Merely entering, it was as if a sticky film had been dragged across her skin, leaving her raw and exposed. The night she¡¯d left behind gave way not to darkness but to an endless expanse of dull grays and smudged whites, as if someone had rubbed out the edges of the world with a careless thumb.

    ¡°The Mistlands are not a place so much as they were the absence of place, the refusal of form,¡± her uncle had once told her, long ago. ¡°It¡¯s a horrid place I hope you never have to face again.¡±

    Even now, as her eyes couldn¡¯t see more than fifty feet in any one direction, Emberlyth wasn¡¯t hard pressed to believe they stretched endlessly in every direction, mocking the very idea of boundaries. ¡°It¡¯s a chaotic no-man¡¯s-land where reality itself has grown thin, unraveling into nothingness,¡± ¡ª A Journal of the Abyss, 4th Appendix: Tales from Beyond.

    She drew a breath only for her lungs to shudder. The air was heavy¡ªnot just with mist, but with something deeper, more fundamental. The haze seemed alive, shivering and folding in on itself, as if caught in an eternal struggle to decide what it wanted to be.

    Then there were the shadows, lurking just beyond her sight. Some loomed like silent watchers, vague shapes resembling trees or stones, gone the moment she tried to approach. Others moved¡ªdrifting in the distance, shifting at the edges of her vision, or passing overhead like great, slow-moving clouds. Perhaps they were lost souls, like herself, searching for a way back to whatever world they¡¯d come from. The thought was unsettling.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    Glancing over her shoulder, Ember¡¯s stomach tightened. The treeline was gone. Barely seconds had passed, yet the world she¡¯d known was already slipping away. There was no sign of where she had come from, no thread to follow back. She had entered the Mistlands of her own accord, and now, there was no one to pull her out.

    Swallowing whatever nerves held her throat in an iron grip, Emberlyth straightened her shoulders. Fortunately, she hadn¡¯t come here just to back out. She was here to find Penta. To get answers.

    And as if the Mistlands themselves were offering her a begrudging welcome, her path was laid out before her. It cut through the haze like a faint scar in freshly fallen snow. The trail was fragile, uncertain, its edges already blurring and filling in like smoke curling into nothingness.

    Penta had passed through here. He must have.

    And now, before the path could disappear, Ember followed.

    <hr>

    It didn¡¯t take long for the forest floor to disappear from underneath her feet. Snapping branches and leaves turned into something jagged and uneven, cutting into her soles. A patchwork of crumbling stone, soon replaced by loose sands, and then brittle, desiccated earth that cracked and hissed as she walked. None any more pleasant than the last. Here and there, strange flora jutted out from the mist: skeletal branches crowned with blossoms that bled pale, flickering light; vines that pulsed faintly, as if carrying some unseen lifeblood.

    At one point, pools of liquid¡ªif it was liquid¡ªglimmered like molten jewels across her surroundings, their surfaces unnaturally still. They reflected not the formless sky above but something else entirely: broken fragments of memory, shards of time, whispers of something forgotten. Emberlyth¡¯s breath hitched.

    A child with copper hair, giggling madly as she fled through the garden, screaming with excitement each time her father tried to catch her and failed. At the very last moment, his feet would always seem to stumble over themselves, making him fall in the most joyous ways¡­

    She pressed on, refusing to look again.

    The Mistlands were not a place for dwelling. Not unless you wanted them to devour you whole.

    She didn¡¯t need that cry, the first of many, to learn that.

    It was a sharp, piercing shriek that tore through the mist like a razor, jerking Ember¡¯s gaze upward, expecting to see some great bird of pray. But there was no sky above her. Even less so any silhouette of something living. Only a swirling, tumultuous veil of gray and white, streaked with sickly green and the occasional burst of violet, like distant lightning caught in an eternal storm.

    What¡­ was that? Ember wasn¡¯t sure she wished to know

    Sound behaved strangely here. That much she soon learned. Voices carried too far or vanished too soon. The crunch of her footsteps echoed oddly, as if some phantom version of herself walked just a step behind. Sometimes the echoes came back too late. Other times, they didn¡¯t come back at all.

    And then there were the whispers.

    Not words, not quite. But something like them¡ªsoft, fragmented murmurs that clawed at the edge of hearing, too faint to understand yet loud enough to twist her thoughts. They made her doubt the things she had seen, the things she had heard, the things she had just felt.

    With every restless step deeper into the Mistlands, the stories she¡¯d once heard about this place crept through the back of her mind. Time itself was treacherous here. Or so she¡¯d heard. Days did not dawn; nights did not fall. Hours stretched and snapped like broken threads. One could walk for what felt like an eternity only to realize the landscape had not changed, or worse, that they had somehow circled back to where they had begun.

    ¡°Do not lose the trail,¡± she murmured to herself, as if only to have something to hold on. ¡°For all that¡¯s good and holy, do not lose the trail, Emberlyth.¡±

    And always, there was the sense of being watched. Not by eyes, but seemingly by the Mistlands themselves. They felt alive¡ªalive and hateful, as though resenting her intrusion. Resenting the fact she was what it could never be. Complete.

    Legends claimed the Mistlands were once part of something greater, whole and hale. But something had broken them¡ªsome ancient catastrophe, a war of gods, or perhaps the hubris of humanity reaching beyond what was meant to be touched. The stories never agreed, and perhaps that was for the best. Some truths, they said, were sharper than any blade.

    Whatever the cause, the Mistlands stood as a reminder¡ªor perhaps a warning. They were not a place to pass through. They were a boundary, a wound torn open between worlds, festering with its own strange life and hungers. And hunger it did.

    It was in the whispers, in the shifting paths that closed behind her. It was in the sudden stillness that fell too often, heavy as a held breath.

    And yet, she pressed on, her steps growing quicker as the faint traces of Penta¡¯s path began to fade. For all the Mistlands¡¯ horrors, she feared him slipping beyond her reach more than anything this place could do.

    Or did she? Those eyes on her neck, the mist, like clammy fingers, coiling around her ankles, were certainly enough to tie her stomach into a knot. If she were to loose focus, if she were to stumble, would she be forever trapped in this place?

    The thought was unnerving, leaving her with one answer, repeatedly yelled in the back of her mind: Don¡¯t lose the path!

    Without realizing it, Emberlyth had broken into a sprint. The sack of food clutched to her chest felt less like a burden and more like lifeline¡ªsomething solid to press against the strange unreality around her. Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps as she charged forward, her steps frantic and unmeasured, as though speed could outrun the whispers curling around her thoughts.

    The mist thickened with every step, tendrils of it curling at her feet, her arms. It clung to her skin, cool and damp, yet somehow feeling heavier than water. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, though still just beyond comprehension. They swirled together, a chorus of almost-words, maddening in their closeness.

    She ran faster. Faster still, until there was nowhere left to run.

    When she finally stopped, panting and wheezing, her heart hammering in her chest like a frantic drumbeat, she realized her mistake. The trail was gone. The faint path she¡¯d been following had dissolved into the mist. Even when she turned back, there were no signs of her own footprints.

    She was well and truly lost.

    The feeling of being observed, which had gnawed at the edge of her awareness, now sank its teeth deeper. It was not the sensation of eyes watching from a distance¡ªit was closer, more intimate. A presence brushing against her skin, breathing against the back of her neck.

    "Hello?" she croaked before she could stop herself.

    Her voice rippled out into the mist, louder than it should have been. It echoed in ways sound wasn¡¯t meant to echo, bouncing back from directions it hadn¡¯t traveled.

    She regretted it immediately.

    If something was out there¡ªand something was¡ªit had heard her now.

    Standing in a sea of mist that thickened with each passing breath, Ember¡¯s frantic eyes darted in every direction, desperate to anchor themselves to something¡ªanything¡ªbut finding nothing. It was like being adrift in an endless ocean, the horizon swallowed by dark, shifting waters, with no sign of land or safe harbor. She was at the mercy of this place, and its mercy felt slim indeed.

    Then, her heart leapt, hope flashing like a struck match. Ahead, one of the shadows¡ªa formless blot in the swirling haze¡ªbegan to coalesce. It sharpened into something almost solid, almost human, standing just twenty paces away.

    "Penta?" she called, her voice trembling with hope, with fear, with the last shards of belief she hadn¡¯t entirely lost him.

    The thing turned.

    The face that snapped her way wasn¡¯t Penta¡¯s. It wasn¡¯t anyone¡¯s. It was a blank, grotesque mask, with only two hollow sockets where eyes should have been. From them spilled a dark vapor, curling and bleeding into the pale mist surrounding it.

    Ember''s stomach sank as she watched the rest of its form unravel. The vague resemblance to a human melted away like wax in a fire, its limbs stretching, twisting, coiling grotesquely into something spider-like. Spindly arms that moved as if through water began to lurch toward her with unsteady, sickening precision.

    It wasn¡¯t Penta.

    Her hands clenched tighter around the burlap sack she carried¡ªpotatoes, apples, cheese, and a single piece of salami. A fine bounty for a midnight kitchen raid. A pitiful arsenal against whatever this thing was.

    Still, as her pulse thundered in her ears, some strange, reckless part of her brain whispered, This is what an adventure is meant to feel like.

    It might¡¯ve been exhilaration. It might¡¯ve been terror dressed up as bravery. It didn¡¯t matter.

    Her hand closed around a particularly large potato, its weight solid and reassuring in her palm. She raised it like a stone.

    And then the creature screamed.

    It wasn¡¯t a sound. Not truly. It bypassed her ears entirely, ripping straight into her bones. It was cold and hollow, the wail of something long-dead but not yet gone. The world around her seemed to vibrate with the force of it, her strength and sanity bleeding out into the mist like water from a cracked jar. Her knees buckled, and she fell to one hand, gasping for air that now felt thick as tar.

    She had never known what it felt like to know you were about to die. Not until now.

 Chapter 13

    The potato hurled through the mist like a ship breaching calm waters; like a blade parting the world¡¯s frayed seams. It didn¡¯t hit the creature¡ªshe hadn¡¯t even dared hope it would¡ªbut it did something. It made it stop.

    Just short of where the humble projectile had tumbled to the ground, the shadowy figure froze mid-lurch. Its movements, once twitchy and uneven, stilled as if caught off guard. The hollow sockets where eyes should have been fixed themselves on her. If emptiness could hold disbelief, this was surely it.

    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Ember hissed, the sharpness in her voice betraying the trembling in her chest. ¡°Take another step, and I¡¯ll really give you something to howl about.¡±

    The creature didn¡¯t howl. Nor did it answer. It simply lingered there, its long, spindly limbs swaying as if tasting the air. Waiting as the mist began creeping back in, eager to reclaim the territory her projectile had cleared.

    The creature moved again.

    It came closer this time, slowly, its jagged limbs dragging through a mist which clung to it as though part of the same whole.

    Oh no, you don¡¯t.

    Emberlyth didn¡¯t wait to see what would happen next. An apple had already found her hand, and now, it cut through the mist in a fiery arc. It struck the creature dead-on, drilling through its head. Where its head should have been, at least. For a moment, the trail of displaced mist showed nothing. No body. No blood. No head. Just air and the faint shimmer of light filtering through the hole her apple had carved.

    And then the mist folded back in on itself. Slowly, deliberately, it filled the space the apple had cleared, reforming the shadow of the creature''s head as if nothing had happened.

    It tilted its hollow eyes at her, not in anger or hunger, but something far worse: Why?

    And then it came.

    "Why, my sweet little Ember,¡± her father¡¯s voice slithered through the mist. It wasn¡¯t quite his voice¡ªnot really¡ªbut it was close enough. Close enough to twist her stomach, to prickle her skin with cold gooseflesh. It was the way she remembered it, but stretched, distorted, echoing from every corner of the mist at once. ¡°Why do you hurt me so...?¡±

    Her breath caught, her fingers trembling as she fumbled for another apple. ¡°Shut up!¡± she spat, her voice louder than she¡¯d intended, and weaker than she¡¯d hoped.

    The shadow ahead flickered, splitting into three, each figure standing in a different place, moving differently, yet all unmistakably him.

    ¡°Why?¡± the voices echoed together.

    ¡°Why are you so na?ve?¡±

    ¡°So weak?¡±

    ¡°So...¡±

    The apple left her hand, burning a fierce trail through the mist and tearing through one of the shadows. The mist parted briefly, peeling back like smoke caught in a strong wind. But there was nothing there.

    Nothing.

    Except his voice, finishing softly, ¡°...disappointing?¡±

    She twisted around, heart pounding, her feet unsteady in the shifting ground. The burlap sack fell from her arms, her hands having already found another set of projectiles. But they felt like lead, heavy with futility.

    The voice came again, but it wasn¡¯t her father¡¯s now. It was Olsen¡¯s, creeping through the haze like oil slipping under a locked door. ¡°Where did we go wrong with her?¡±

    ¡°We didn¡¯t go wrong,¡± came another voice, sharper, bitterer¡ªEfrain¡¯s. ¡°She¡¯s just a disappointment.¡±

    ¡°Talentless.¡±Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    ¡°Unable to live up to the Draekart name...¡±

    The words poured down on her, a venomous rain. Then came the shadow of a girl, skipping through the mist, humming a fractured little tune, her silhouette impossibly small and heartbreakingly familiar. Ember froze, the apples trembling in her grasp.

    The girl¡¯s shadow flickered and blurred, but the memory was unmistakable. It was her. A younger her. Pretending to be fine in a world too large, too lonely.

    Her throat tightened. Another shadow took shape nearby, taller this time, bearing the mocking curve of her cousin¡¯s grin. A laugh bubbled out, low and cutting, blending into the swirling mist.

    With a frustrated snarl, Ember hurled a piece of bread from the sack. It sliced through the figure, a clumsy missile propelled by anger, but it passed harmlessly through the mocking shadow.

    The laugh deepened, rich and hollow, echoing endlessly as if the mist itself had joined in.

    ¡°You should have been more like me. You should have¡ª¡±

    And then they were gone. All of them. The voices. The shadows. Swallowed by the mist as if they¡¯d never been there at all.

    Emberlyth¡¯s chest heaved, her heartbeat pounding in her ears, a frantic drumbeat against a silence to heavy to bear. Her eyes darted, scanning the haze, searching for something¡ªanything¡ªsolid to anchor herself to.

    A flicker of darkness at the edge of her vision. She spun toward it, and there it was. Spindly limbs stretched wide, impossibly long, impossibly still. The thing was mere feet away, close enough that she could almost feel the chill radiating off it. Close enough to touch.

    Her foot caught on the sack she¡¯d dropped, and she staggered back, arms flailing as she fought to keep her balance. The creature didn¡¯t move, but its jaw¡­ its jaw was already slid open. Wider. Wider still. Wider than anything of flesh or bone had any right to be, stretching into a grotesque, gaping shadow that seemed hungry enough to swallow the world.

    But it wasn¡¯t moving.

    Not toward her, at least.

    Its head tilted slightly to the side, the smooth, empty plane of its face turned as if listening for something. The faint sound of footfalls echoed through the mist. They came from everywhere at once, refracting like the voices had, bouncing off nothing and everything in equal measure.

    And then, with a soundless hiss, the creature melted away. Its spindly limbs collapsed into the mist, folding inward like smoke drawn into a deep breath. The suffocating weight of the haze eased, thinning just enough for Ember to remember what it was to breathe.

    The footfalls, though¡ªthey didn¡¯t stop. They grew louder, sharper, until they coalesced into a singular rhythm, a steady cadence that approached from one direction alone.

    Ember stood frozen, her pulse a wild, erratic thing in her chest as she watched a new shadow take shape in the mist.

    And then he was there.

    Penta.

    He stepped forward, head bowed, his gaze fixed on something cradled in his hands. She saw the moment he noticed her, saw his head snap up and his face twist into something between shock and disbelief. His lips parted, and she didn¡¯t need to hear him to know exactly what he said.

    ¡°Oh, shit.¡±

    Before she could call out, before she could demand answers, he turned on his heel and bolted. Vanished back into the mist without so much as a glance behind him.

    She barely managed a broken, ¡°Wait!¡± before he was gone. Snatching up her burlap sack¡ªit seemed wrong to leave her only armament behind¡ªshe set off after him. The trail was there, left behind by his passing, but not for long. A dozen hurried steps, and the mist erased it once more. As if it had never been. The footfalls faded. The mist closed in. And before she knew it, Emberlyth was alone once more.

    Her ragged breath rasped in her ears, heartbeat pounding as her eyes frantically searched a hazy world. It swirled thicker now, the fog, curling around her feet like hungry smoke, licking at her ankles, rising higher with every moment.

    ¡°Come back, Emberlyth¡­¡±

    The voices slipped through the mist like cold fingers, soft and persistent.

    ¡°Return to us.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not safe out there.¡±

    ¡°Here, it¡¯s more comfortable.¡±

    Her grip on the sack tightened. Had Penta been nothing more than another cruel trick, an illusion conjured to lure her further into this endless void? The thought bit deep, and she shuddered against it.

    The voices crept closer, circling her like a pack of wolves.

    Don¡¯t listen.

    ¡°Just stay, we could¡ª¡±

    And then she heard it. Something running. Rapid, heavy footfalls thudding through the haze.

    Even without seeing it, she could imagine it. The creature surging forward, its movement a terrible mixture of grace and wrongness. The mist itself carrying it, swirling and folding as its spindly limbs propelled it closer with sickening speed. It would only take a moment before it loomed above her, an overwhelming presence to chill her to her core.

    Emberlyth spun, her pulse a wild drumbeat in her ears. A shadow rose ahead, coming straight for her. Without thinking, she whipped the sack around, swinging it with every ounce of strength she had. The burlap blurred through the air like a hammer, smashing into the approaching figure with a hollow thud and sending them crumpling to their knees.

    The mist seemed to sigh, parting in the wake of her desperate strike.

    For a moment, Emberlyth simply stared, sack still raised in her trembling hands. Then she let it drop to her side.

    There, hunched on the ground, gasping for air, was, indeed, Penta.

    He wheezed, clutching his stomach where the sack had hit him. Slowly, painfully, he raised his head to meet her eyes. ¡°Ah,¡± he rasped, offering the faintest of smiles even as his breath came in labored gasps. He seemed as surprised by the situation as she was. ¡°It really was you, Lady Draekart. How¡­ lovely to see you again.¡±

 Chapter 14

    ¡°Now, if you would just excuse me¡ª¡±

    Before Penta could scramble to his feet, before he could even think about scurrying off again, Ember was on him.

    ¡°May the Abyss devour us whole before I let you get away again,¡± she growled, her voice a taut thread barely holding together. Her hands trembled as they seized the front of his shirt, and her glare pinned him in place as effectively as any blade. She could barely contain the whirlwind inside her¡ªrelief at seeing him again, fury that he¡¯d tried to abandon her, and a deep, gnawing sense of betrayal.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got a damned lot of explaining to do,¡± she hissed, her voice cracking despite her best efforts to keep it steady. ¡°And bolting the moment you saw me isn¡¯t helping.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ came back?¡± Penta wheezed, attempting a disarming grin.

    ¡°Oh, you came back? Something tells me that wasn¡¯t by choice,¡± Ember snapped, leaning closer. Her eyes caught the slight, guilty twitch of his left hand as it slipped toward his pocket. Quick as a cat, her hand darted out to seize his wrist.

    ¡°This?¡± she demanded, prying his fingers open.

    In his hand was a¡­ compass? Ember stared at it for a moment. She¡¯d seen compasses before¡ªeven if few such things held a purpose in the surface worlds¡ªbut this one felt wrong. The needle quivered as if alive, flicking back and forth with restless indecision, never settling on a single direction.

    ¡°That?¡± Penta tried with an awkward laugh, his smile as slippery as oil. ¡°No, no, that¡¯s¡­ nothing.¡±

    ¡°Nothing?¡± Ember asked, deadpan, and let it fall from her grasp¡ªonly to snatch it midair with her other hand.

    The way Penta¡¯s eyes widened told her everything she needed to know.

    ¡°Nothing?¡± she repeated, her glare sharpening into a blade.

    He sighed, his shoulders sagging as he cast a nervous glance at the swirling mist. ¡°Look, this really isn¡¯t the place for this conversation. I¡¯m not even sure why it brought me back here, but we¡ªwe need to get moving.¡±

    ¡°It brought you back here?¡± Ember asked, her gaze narrowing as her fingers tightened around the compass.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s an Augur¡¯s Compass,¡± Penta admitted reluctantly. There was something restless about him. Something she hadn¡¯t seen before. He looked her way as much as he stared into the mist. ¡°It leads you where you need to be, and¡ª¡±

    ¡°And it led you to me?¡± Ember interrupted, a stiff smirk finding its way onto her lips. Arching an eyebrow, she tilted her head, letting her tone drip with mockery as she drawled, ¡°My, Mister Penta, don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re actually falling for me.¡±

    Penta scowled, his restless eyes flicking once at her, then at the mist, only to land upon the burlap sack where it had fallen. ¡°That,¡± he said, jabbing a finger in its direction, ¡°must¡¯ve been what pulled me back here. It seems I misjudged the season. You forced my hand at an awkward time, and I didn¡¯t have the chance to prepare if the distance between worlds is longer than usual. But¡ª¡± He broke off, his tone sharpening as he gestured at the swirling mist. ¡°This is really not the time for¡ª¡±

    A bone-deep wail tore through the haze, slicing his words in two. Both of their heads snapped toward the sound, but the mist coiled too thickly to reveal anything.

    Right. Even if she¡¯d found him, that was only a sliver of relief. They were still trapped in this nightmare. But she had already tried running. As fast as she could. She needed something better.

    Ember glanced down at the erratic compass in her hand. Its needle jerked and twisted like a restless fly trapped in a jar. ¡°And this is somehow supposed to lead us out of here?¡±

    ¡°It will lead me out of here,¡± Penta corrected, his tone clipped. ¡°You? It¡¯ll most likely take you back to the estate where you belong.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be so sure about that.¡± Ember angled the compass so he could see its trembling needle. ¡°Did you break it?¡±

    ¡°Brilliant,¡± Penta groaned, dragging a hand down his face. ¡°Not just a brute of a lady, but a lost one, too. Hand it over, and I¡¯ll¡ª¡±

    ¡°Run away again?¡± Ember snorted, holding the compass out of his reach as she took a step back. ¡°Too bad. It led you to me. Now it seems¡ª¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t a game,¡± Penta snapped, his usual mask falling away. His voice was harsh, his face a grim visage of frustration. ¡°In here, we are very small fish in a very big pond. This isn¡¯t some fleeting curiosity for a spoiled noble lady to waste a few hours on. This is¡ª¡±

    Another howl echoed through the mist, louder and closer this time, its unearthly tone reverberating through the haze. Both of them froze, the sound driving icy needles into Ember¡¯s chest.

    Whatever this place was, Penta was at least right about one thing¡ªthey couldn¡¯t stay here for much longer.

    ¡°Look,¡± he began, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. ¡°I realize you were bored back at the estate, but¡ª¡±

    ¡°I know this isn¡¯t a game,¡± Ember hissed, her glare cutting him off mid-sentence. Her voice carried a sharpness that silenced him completely. ¡°I know too well that it isn¡¯t. I was almost killed after someone ran away the moment they saw my face.¡±Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    Her words landed heavy in the mist, hanging between them like a weight. Penta¡¯s mouth opened as if to retort, but whatever he had to say, he thought better of it. For once, the ever-flippant rogue had nothing to say.

    At least for a moment.

    ¡°Goes to show how dumb it was to follow me in here¡­¡± he murmured, only for her eyes to lock onto him like twin daggers.

    He raised his arms in a swift surrender, ¡°Alright, yes, I am sorry for running away. At least the second time. In here. Had I known¡­¡± He trailed off, his expression growing somber as he shook his head. ¡°Look, these lands are not what you think they are. They show you things. Things you don¡¯t want to see. Even now, I¡¯m not entirely sure if you¡¯re the same lady who so graciously hosted me at the Draekart estate, and that¡¯s really twisting my nerves.¡±

    ¡°Want me to hit you a few times to see if that settles things?¡± Ember offered, her voice low but biting.

    Penta rolled his eyes, letting out a long-suffering sigh. ¡°Yes, fine. I get it. You¡¯re real. Too real, if you ask me. But could you please hand back the compass so that we can¡ª¡±

    It wasn¡¯t a howl this time. No, nothing that simple. Instead, a clicking sound emerged from the mist around them, like a thousand tiny legs skittering just out of sight. Penta froze mid-sentence, his head snapping toward the sound. Ember¡¯s spine prickled as a cold chill coursed through her.

    ¡°The longer we stay still,¡± he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound, ¡°the more we disturb this place. The more it becomes aware of us. So¡­?¡±

    There was something desperate in his tone¡ªa plea barely hidden beneath his words. She didn¡¯t need it. She¡¯d felt it herself. The Mistlands were alive, their attention heavy and suffocating, and she¡¯d already seen a glimpse of the horrors they harbored.

    ¡°Fine,¡± Ember said, her voice a reluctant whisper. She stooped to grab the fallen sack, shoving it into Penta¡¯s chest with more force than necessary. ¡°We¡¯ll get moving. But I¡¯m keeping the compass, and you are not getting out of my sight.¡±

    Without waiting for a response, she snagged the back of his collar, her grip firm and unrelenting. Penta gave her an incredulous glance but wisely held his tongue.

    Ember glanced down at the compass, its needle jittering wildly as if caught in an indecisive frenzy. One moment, it pointed straight ahead; the next, it twisted sharply to another direction. She swallowed hard, forcing down the rising tide of nerves.

    The clicking sounds were growing louder, closer, encircling them in the mist.

    ¡°This way,¡± she said, her voice steady despite the dread twisting in her gut. She pointed ahead, away from the growing cacophony.

    <hr>

    There was no telling how far or how long they walked. All that marked the passing of time was fatigue, creeping in like an unwelcome guest. Hunger followed not far behind, dull and persistent. Penta¡¯s breaths turned strained, his needless quips few and far between. Even Ember¡¯s own steps became a dull rhythm to her ears, counting each moment in this grim reality. The one thing that never faltered was her hand, a constant presence at the back of his neck, steering him forward as though she were marching a criminal to the gallows.

    Which, of course, he¡¯d pointed out several times.

    ¡°My hands are incredibly soft and warm, you know?¡± he¡¯d tried, wiggling his fingers in the air as if to prove it. Them moving seemed to have eased his mind; loosened his tongue. ¡°Much better for holding. We could turn this whole wretched night into something nice and romantic. Isn¡¯t that every noble girl¡¯s dream anyway? To be stolen away by a dashing thief?¡±

    Each time, she declined without fail, her responses curt and unamused. Even if it might have been more convenient to let him walk freely, Ember felt far more comfortable keeping her grip near his throat. A leash for a dog too clever by half. There was no telling when or where he¡¯d try to bolt again.

    And that, of course, posed its own problem.

    The Augur¡¯s Compass was a fickle thing, the needle jittering and twisting with no rhyme or reason. It refused to guide her in straight lines, instead jerking between one direction and the next like a bird unable to choose a single branch. Penta, for his part, had called it the mark of an uncertain heart¡ªwhile offering, with great exaggeration, to take on the burden of guiding them himself.

    She¡¯d declined that, too.

    And so, their progress through the Mistlands was slow, meandering, and deeply uncertain. The mist remained unchanging, a sea of pale, featureless nothing. Each step blurred into the next until the very concept of time felt meaningless.

    The one thing certain was: the longer they went, the heavier Ember¡¯s eyelids grew. When she¡¯d caught Penta skulking in the library earlier that night, she¡¯d been moments away from falling into bed. Sleep had seemed inevitable then, but now it felt like a cruel memory, something she¡¯d once had and might never find again.

    Her steps grew slower, the weight of exhaustion dragging at her heels. Walking in a straight line¡ªif it even was a straight line¡ªthrough this endless, unchanging mist wasn¡¯t enough to keep her awake. Every step felt the same, pressing forward into a pale, featureless void.

    Her attention wavered, drifting toward things better left unnoticed. The faint whispers within the mist, half-heard words that clawed at the edges of her mind. The crunch of their footfalls against the cracked, parched ground. The rhythm of Penta¡¯s breath, strained and uneven, rising and falling like an echo of her own.

    The feeling of bare feet against unfamiliar earth.

    Right. I don¡¯t have shoes. The thought surfaced sluggishly, like a bubble rising to the top of a still pond. That¡¯s going to be a problem, isn¡¯t it?

    Her focus slipped further, settling on the ache in her legs, the cold sting in her soles. She was so caught up in her thoughts, so consumed by the fog in her own head, that she didn¡¯t notice Penta slowing. Didn¡¯t see him pause until she stumbled forward, colliding into him.

    She would have fallen if not for his hands, catching her at the last moment. His grip was firm but strangely soft, more steady than she¡¯d expected from someone so quick to run.

    Penta¡¯s smile greeted her when she looked up, sharp enough to bring her crashing back to reality.

    ¡°I was asking,¡± he said, the faintest lilt of amusement in his tone, ¡°if it¡¯s time we stopped for a rest?¡± His expression was uncharacteristically sincere. Too sincere. Her head felt too muddled to sift through the layers of deception she knew must be hiding there.

    ¡°The mist¡­¡± Ember murmured, her objection unfinished but clear in its meaning.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t come that unprepared,¡± he said with a soft chuckle. And why¡ªwhy did he have to sound so genuine now? ¡°I can set up a ward. It¡¯ll keep us safe while we rest, at least for a while. Should we¡­?¡±

    You just want to run while I sleep, she thought. You¡¯ll take the compass and leave me here to fend for myself. Or worse, you¡¯ll stab me in my sleep, if you think that¡¯s safer.

    But those words stayed trapped in her throat.

    So many doubts. So many uncertainties that had never crossed her mind when she¡¯d dreamed of adventure back in her safe, comfortable bed. Now, the weight of those dreams pressed down on her shoulders like a cruel mockery.

    How could she trust a stranger she barely knew to keep her safe through the night?

    But then, the heavier question followed, dragging her spirit lower still: How can we go on if I don¡¯t?

    ¡°Let¡¯s,¡± she said at last, her voice rough with weariness. She knew, even as she spoke, that she was making a mistake.

    But she was just so very, very tired.

 Chapter 15

    Emberlyth awoke to a scream. Not her own. Not Penta¡¯s. A sound far worse.

    It cut through the stillness, raw and inhuman, like something wrenched from the very marrow of the world. Her heart lurched, and before her thoughts could catch up, she was on her feet, hands clawing at empty air for something¡ªanything¡ªto defend herself with.

    Nothing. Only cold, empty air.

    For a frantic moment, her mind struggled to make sense of it all. The Mistlands. Penta. The compass. It came back in pieces, jagged and scattered. Her hand flew to her pocket, fingers fumbling to confirm the compass was still there. When she felt its familiar shape beneath her touch, the tension in her chest eased just enough for her to exhale.

    Then there was his hand.

    Not pressed over her lips, not forcing her to the ground. Just a touch. Light enough to draw her attention without startling her further. Her breath hitched as she turned to find him, sitting cross-legged on a smooth stone, his eyes darker than she remembered. Penta raised a single finger to his lips, then gestured toward the sky.

    She nodded, pulse still pounding in her ears, and followed his gesture upward.

    Above them, the mists swirled and parted, revealing something vast. A shadow, larger than anything she¡¯d ever seen, passed overhead. It moved slowly, ponderously, its enormity defying comprehension. Whatever it was, it seemed to blot out the sky, its sheer presence making her chest tighten. The thing could have swallowed her entire home¡ªher whole world¡ªwithout even noticing.

    She sank back to the ground, knees weak, her breath shallow. ¡°What is that?¡± she mouthed, her lips barely moving as she tilted her head toward the heavens.

    Penta didn¡¯t answer. He didn¡¯t even look her way. Just shrugged, his eyes fixed on the colossal shadow overhead. His silence spoke louder than words, and her stomach turned cold.

    Keep quiet.

    With no answers to cling to, no sense of what was safe or what wasn¡¯t, Ember hugged her knees to her chest, her fingers tightening over the fabric of her clothes. Questions tumbled through her mind, an endless stream of them. None of them found their way to her lips.

    Instead, as the silhouette above became too much to bear, her gaze drifted over the strange, dreamlike scene around them. The haze of the Mistlands, lit faintly by muted flashes of shifting light, felt more like twilight than morning¡ªif morning even existed here.

    When they¡¯d first stopped to camp, the space around them had been barren, a stretch of cracked earth enclosed by the delicate, precise circle of runes Penta had etched into the ground. Now, the mist had receded, revealing something else entirely. The skeleton of an ancient church loomed in the distance, its crumbling walls and jagged spires reaching out like broken fingers. Around it, gravestones jutted from the earth at odd angles, their inscriptions worn away by time.

    Her eyes narrowed as she noticed Penta¡¯s perch. A gravestone. Of course.

    She let out a small, silent sigh and looked away, trying to push the absurdity of him¡ªof all of this¡ªout of her mind. But it clung to her, heavy and suffocating, like the mist itself.

    This was a far cry from the familiar ceiling of her bedroom, the warm safety of home. Here, even the silence felt like a threat.

    Even as she sat there, watching the ruins settle into their stillness, a wisp of fog drifted by. It coiled and writhed, delicate as a spider¡¯s thread, before unraveling into nothing. When it was gone, a dead willow tree stood in its wake, its branches bent low as if weighed by unseen burdens.

    ¡°With someone to witness it, this place is slowly remembering what it once was.¡±

    That¡¯s what Penta had told her the night before, at least. One of the few answers she¡¯d managed to coax out of him, though she wasn¡¯t sure what to make of it.

    What did it even mean, for a place to remember itself?

    She had no answer. Only more questions. A hundred of them. But as long as Penta stayed silent, she would too.

    The quiet stretched, interrupted only by the occasional flicker of movement among the gravestones. Something was out there, stirring the tall grass, muttering to itself in a voice too soft to hear. It left faint sounds in its wake¡ªthe crunch of pebbles shifting, the whisper of leaves brushing against stone. It was unnerving, enough to wear on her sanity did she listen to it for too long.

    Then, finally, after the shadow overhead had long since passed, Penta¡¯s mask cracked. His usual smirk pushed through the weight of his serious expression, like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds.

    ¡°Seems you needed the rest more than I did,¡± he said. His tone was light, almost teasing, as if she¡¯d only just woken up. As if they hadn¡¯t both been sitting there, quiet as statues, for what felt like hours.

    Emberlyth glanced at him, her brow furrowed. The words that came next weren¡¯t planned, weren¡¯t anything she¡¯d meant to say. They just slipped free, like water through her fingers.

    ¡°Why are you still here?¡±

    Her voice wasn¡¯t sharp. It wasn¡¯t even curious. It was flat, resigned, the kind of tone that came from too little sleep and too much time spent wandering through a nightmare.

    He shrugged, the movement as lazy as his smile. ¡°You still have my compass.¡±

    That should have been enough. It was enough, in a way. And yet, somehow, his answer only pulled at more threads, unraveling a tangle of new questions.

    ¡°Is it really that important¡ªthe compass?¡± she could have asked.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you steal it while I was sleeping?¡± she almost said, biting the words back at the last moment.

    Instead, what gnawed at her most rose unbidden. ¡°You could have left me. A dozen times over, you could have let this place take me. Why didn¡¯t you?¡±

    Penta didn¡¯t answer right away. Instead, he reached into the burlap sack beside him and pulled out one of the few apples she hadn¡¯t accidentally scorched. He held it out to her, a gesture so simple, so absurdly kind, it almost felt cruel.

    Her fingers hesitated before taking it. The weight of it in her palm was grounding, almost too real. But his kindness¡ªit felt wrong. A mockery of her doubts. A quiet betrayal of everything she¡¯d been bracing herself for.

    Was it more or less naive to trust him?

    She bit into the apple anyway, the taste sharp and sweet against her dry tongue. And as she chewed, she stared at Penta, waiting for him to explain. To justify why he was still here. Why he hadn¡¯t lived up to her worst expectations.

    But he didn¡¯t. He only smiled, the edges of it soft, inscrutable. And that, more than anything, set her teeth on edge.

    Another bite, and she realized how hungry she¡¯d been. How much time had really passed since they set foot in here? It felt as though days had folded into each other, minutes stretching and collapsing into something shapeless.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± Emberlyth asked as the silence prolonged, her voice cutting through the quite like the edge of a knife. It wasn¡¯t the question she¡¯d meant to ask, but it was the one that burned the hottest on her tongue.

    Penta paused, mid-motion, a wedge of cheese poised delicately in his hand. He bit off a piece, chewing it slowly, methodically, as though tasting the weight of her words along with the sharp tang of the cheese.

    ¡°Do you mean besides dashing, charming, and a dreamy hunk all baked into one?¡± he said, a wry grin curling at the corner of his mouth.

    ¡°Besides obnoxious,¡± Emberlyth retorted, her tone flat. She didn¡¯t have the energy for his games. ¡°A thief, I get that much. But why our house? And¡­ is it always that?¡±

    Her gaze flicked toward his rolled-up sleeves, her chin nodding faintly at the intricate lines etched across his skin. Aethermarks. They crisscrossed his arms like rivers on a map, weaving stories she didn¡¯t know how to read.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    It was strange. He had so many, yet he hadn¡¯t used a single one since they met. She had only one, and she used it every chance she got.

    ¡°It is what brings money,¡± he said, his smile widening into something that felt like a challenge. It was a thief¡¯s smile, the kind that asked, What other answer could there be?

    Maybe it was true. Emberlyth couldn¡¯t tell. She had no idea how much an Aethermark was worth¡ªonly that her family had spent years impressing upon her their rarity. They¡¯d moved mountains, overturned the world, just to get her a single one. Or so they¡¯d said.

    But then there was the stash beneath the estate. Come to think, Chamberlain Olsen had one. Efrain had one. Even Ginnis, who smelled perpetually of pipe-smoke and soup-stock, wore one like an afterthought. Perhaps they had more.

    Maybe everyone did.

    The longer she sat there, the clearer it became: her family had lied to her. About the marks, about their worth, about everything. That hurt in ways she couldn¡¯t explain. Maybe, had this entire situation been less bizarre, she would have been mad about it. Now, she couldn¡¯t.

    She let out a breath she hadn¡¯t realized she was holding, and in her pocket, she could almost feel the Augur¡¯s Compass spinning itself into knots. The motion felt like her thoughts¡ªrestless, erratic, and impossible to pin down.

    Her arms tightened around her knees, pulling them closer to her chest. When she spoke again, her voice was barely more than a murmur, each word pulled from her with painful effort.

    ¡°Where are you going?¡±

    Penta blinked, his eyes flicking toward her in surprise. She didn¡¯t meet his gaze, staring instead at the gravestones around them, their cracked surfaces blurred by the lingering mist.

    He said nothing for a long moment. The quiet stretched between them, heavy as lead, until it felt like the mist itself might swallow the question whole.

    ¡°Nowhere fun,¡± he said, the words carrying an edge of resignation, as if he had read her thoughts and dismissed them with a single glance. ¡°You¡¯re better off returning to your home. You¡¯ll be safer there.¡±

    ¡°Would if I could,¡± Ember replied, her hollow smile doing little to mask the weight behind her words. She pulled out the compass, its needle spinning wildly, as though it were screaming into the mist how deeply she was lying. Would she really go back if she had the choice?

    Sure, she¡¯d nearly died in here. The chill running down her spine every time she thought of¡­that thing was reminder enough of that. But in the past twenty-four hours, she¡¯d also lived more than she had in years prior. For once, her choices had been her own, even if they were foolish. No one could take that away from her.

    ¡°And you think things will get better by tagging along with me?¡± Penta asked as if having read her thoughts once more. His tone was carefully neutral, but she could sense the sharp edge of mockery lurking just beneath. Naive, foolish, doomed to fail. The unspoken words clung to the air between them.

    ¡°Maybe,¡± Ember huffed, her thumb tracing absent circles over the compass¡¯s surface. The mist around them seemed to grow quieter, as though listening. ¡°All I know is that, whenever the needle stops, it seems to point in one of three directions. The first one, I¡¯m sure, is leading me back. Back home, to safety. Familiarity. The second¡­¡± She hesitated, her voice softening as she tried to shape her thoughts into words. ¡°The second, I think, is leading me forward. Into the unknown. Into adventure.¡±

    Penta tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. ¡°And the third?¡±

    Ember¡¯s breath hitched. The hesitation in her throat stretched into silence, heavy and fragile.

    ¡°And the third?¡± he coaxed, his voice lighter now, but his gaze sharp.

    Her fingers tightened around the compass as she raised her eyes to meet his. ¡°The third,¡± she said, her voice barely above a whisper, ¡°is pointing straight at you.¡±

    Penta blinked, his expression unreadable for a moment, though his posture tensed. Ember tried, and failed, to stop the blush creeping into her cheeks. ¡°I¡ªI think us meeting back at the estate was no coincidence, Mister Penta Grammus¡­Maximus?¡±

    At that, he flinched, his shoulders jerking upward as if struck by a stray arrow. ¡°Penta,¡± he said quickly, clearing his throat. ¡°Just Penta is fine.¡±

    She opened her mouth to say more, but he cut her off, his voice suddenly lighter, as if trying to brush away the weight of the moment. ¡°Also, I gave you plenty of chances for a romantic encounter when we first met, Lady Draekart, but you didn¡¯t strike me as the type to care for such things.¡±

    The smirk that followed was practiced, but there was something else in his eyes¡ªsomething Ember couldn¡¯t quite place. Amusement? Concern? Or maybe it was something far more fragile.

    ¡°Well,¡± she said, her tone sharper now, fighting the urge to let him have the last word. ¡°You didn¡¯t strike me as the type to care for anything beyond running and¡­ stealing.¡±

    ¡°And yet here we are,¡± he said softly, the smirk slipping just a fraction. ¡°Following a compass neither of us understands, through a place neither of us belongs.¡±

    For a moment, the mist around them seemed to sigh, as though agreeing.

    Then, his next words struck like thunder, ¡°And I hope, for both our sake, not chasing something as foolish as love.¡±

    Emberlyth felt her embarrassment deepen, her cheeks burning despite the chill of the Mistlands. ¡°I-I didn¡¯t mean it like that,¡± she said quickly, her voice laced with insistence. Though, as she continued, it petered out into exasperation, ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ you seem to know so much about Aethermarks, and I¡ªwell, I¡¯m struggling with mine.¡±

    Penta arched an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping over her in an appraising manner that made her bristle. ¡°That¡¯s certainly a fresh angle, Lady Draekart, but¡ª¡±

    ¡°Ember,¡± she corrected.

    ¡°Ember,¡± he amended, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. ¡°But I¡¯m not really in the teaching or mentoring business. I¡¯m a gentleman by nature and a thief by trade, forced into this predicament by circumstances well beyond my control. If you knew even half my story, you¡¯d weep for days. But, since I don¡¯t want to get overly dramatic, let¡¯s just say I have my own problems to deal with. Babysitting a noble lady who dreams of life on the run? Not high on my list of priorities.¡±

    ¡°You really think I¡¯m just some naive, spoiled girl, don¡¯t you?¡± Ember shot back, her voice tinged with something halfway between defiance and hurt.

    ¡°Not naive,¡± Penta said, his tone unusually soft. ¡°Soft-hearted? Kind, maybe, in a strange sense. You¡¯re too kind for this world, and kindness like that gets people killed.¡± He leaned back, as if distancing himself from the weight of his own words. ¡°It¡¯s just like back in your library. Most people would¡¯ve shackled me and handed me over to the nearest hangman without a second thought. And I wouldn¡¯t even have blamed them. These runes on my arms? They¡¯re worth more than my life. The best way to keep them safe? Kill me, plain and simple. But you¡­ all you seem to care about is¡ª¡±

    He stopped, squinting at her as if searching for the right words. ¡°What is it you care about, actually?¡±

    ¡°Freedom?¡± Ember ventured, her voice uncertain. She fiddled with the compass in her hands, watching its needle spin as if it might give her an answer. Was she there to prove something? Defy her family? ¡°I guess¡­ I guess I don¡¯t understand your situation. But you wouldn¡¯t understand what it¡¯s like to me either¡ªto be shackled by a name you don¡¯t even know what it means half of the time. To realize your family has been lying to you your whole life. To question if they ever truly cared¡­¡±

    Silence stalked her words, lasting until Penta gave a low whistle, followed by a soft laugh that carried an edge of discomfort. ¡°Well,¡± he said, rubbing the back of his neck, ¡°here I was thinking: Wonder if there¡¯s a way to make camping in a graveyard even more depressing? Turns out, there was.¡±

    His smirk returned, though it lacked its usual sharpness. ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry, but I¡¯m not running a therapy service here. I¡¯m sure there¡¯s someone better suited to dig through your family trauma. A priest, maybe. Or a poet. They love that sort of thing.¡±

    ¡°Not if I go back,¡± Ember murmured, her voice quieter now, her gaze distant. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t let me. It¡¯s easier for them if I meet no one. If I just stay at the estate, quietly¡­¡± She poked at the ground, at her trousers, and bare feet. At anything that meant she didn¡¯t have to meet his gaze. ¡°In a way, I envy those who have nothing. They don¡¯t have to hear how much they stand to lose with every mistake they make. They don¡¯t have to be told to be happy with what things they have. They¡¯re free to seize the world as they see it, without fear.¡±

    ¡°It ain¡¯t that pretty, trust me,¡± Penta said.

    Ember shrugged, the motion small and weary. ¡°Guess I wouldn¡¯t know. I¡¯m just a sheltered girl who knows nothing, right?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad we¡¯re on the same page,¡± Penta said with mock cheer, brushing the dust from his trousers as he stood. ¡°Now, you said you could get the compass to point you back home? That sounds like an absolutely brilliant plan to me.¡±

    Ember tilted her head, her expression unreadable. ¡°If we don¡¯t go back,¡± she said carefully, ¡°I can let you keep the marks.¡±

    His eyebrow climbed higher. ¡°I don¡¯t see how you have any say in that matter.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re my family¡¯s,¡± Ember replied, tentatively, scraping for an angle of authority as she spoke. ¡°Without them here, I¡¯m the closest thing to an owner. If we go back, on the other hand, I might have to hand you over for that hanging you were so eager for earlier.¡±

    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t do that,¡± Penta said, his voice light, but there was a flicker of something guarded in his eyes.

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t I?¡±

    Penta sighed deeply, picking up a pebble from the ground and rolling it between his fingers. ¡°And who¡¯s to say I don¡¯t have a mark that allows me to flick this little rock,¡± he said, holding it up, ¡°through your skull at the speed of a crossbow bolt?¡±

    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t do that.¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t I?¡±

    Ember crossed her arms, her expression cool but amused. ¡°I don¡¯t think you can,¡± she said, her tone as sharp as her gaze. ¡°If you could, you wouldn¡¯t have let yourself get pushed around the way you have.¡± It was a challenge as much as it was a certainty. As he let the pebble slip from his finger with a sigh, she knew she was right. He wasn¡¯t Vaelen. He wouldn¡¯t suddenly turn around and nearly break one of her ribs.

    ¡°Whatever your Ascension Path entails¡ªand whatever your ¡®deal¡¯ is¡ªwe¡¯ve got a long road ahead to figure that out,¡± she continued, raising the compass in her hand. The needle quivered like a living thing before settling into a steady point. ¡°For now, I supposed we¡¯ll just have to see where this thing takes us.¡±

    Penta let out a deep breath, this time rubbing his neck with exaggerated care. ¡°We¡¯re not doing that thing with the collar again, are we?¡± he asked, his tone halfway between pleading and resignation. ¡°Can¡¯t I just, you know, walk nicely next to you? Like a normal person?¡± He caught her skeptical look and quickly added, ¡°Or hands! We could do hands. Have a nice, romantic saunter, even. Or¡ªcompromise¡ªI could give you my wrist to hold. That doesn¡¯t sound too bad, does it?¡±

    His smile, faintly crooked, seemed almost genuine this time, as though he were trying to coax some semblance of trust out of her. Ember stared at him for a moment, her expression calculating.

    ¡°And how will you carry our food if we do?¡± she asked.

    The hope drained from his face like water from a sieve.

    ¡°Collar it is,¡± Ember said, smirking faintly as she gestured for him to step closer. ¡°Now come here, boy. If you behave well enough, I might even let you run around freely when lunch comes around.¡±

    Penta muttered something under his breath¡ªprobably unkind¡ªbut stepped forward nonetheless, a faint grimace tugging at his lips.

    Yeah, if he had the power to shoot pebbles through her skull, then there was definitely something seriously wrong with him. Why else would anyone go along with this?

 Chapter 16

    Lunch did not arrive as peacefully as either of them had hoped. Not by half.

    The morning¡¯s walk, while tired and slow, had carried a rhythm that felt almost manageable. A trudging progress through the Mistlands, each step heavy but deliberate. There had even been moments where their shared grumbles became the shadow of a joke, half-formed and fleeting but enough to break the silence.

    Then the mist began creeping in, denser than before, coiling closer as if testing their resolve.

    Ember hadn¡¯t known what she¡¯d hoped for. That the thing that¡¯d stalked her yesterday¡ªwhatever it was¡ªhad given up? That it had truly been scared off by Penta¡¯s presence? It had seemed wary, maybe even deterred, but not gone. No, evidently not gone.

    ¡°Emberlyth...¡± The voices came, threading through the mist like a needle through cloth, stitching dread into her chest. ¡°Return to us. Don¡¯t go¡­¡±

    Her hands tightened, fingers curling into the fabric of Penta¡¯s shirt around his neck. He didn¡¯t startle¡ªhe never did¡ªbut she felt the subtle shift as he straightened his shoulders and turned his head slightly toward her.

    ¡°Don¡¯t listen,¡± he said softly, his voice steady, but there was a weight behind it that felt like stone. ¡°That¡¯s all you can do. Don¡¯t listen.¡±

    It was his kindness, again¡ªunexpected, unasked for¡ªslipping through the cracks of his sharp-edged demeanor. And, as always, it twisted in her gut like a knife.

    Kindness wasn¡¯t what she expected from him. It wasn¡¯t what she wanted from him. Too many people had been kind to her back at the estate: pampering her, shielding her, leading her down paths they thought best without ever asking what she wanted. Even Vaelen, who had effortlessly upended her life, hadn¡¯t spoken a single unkind word as she did it.

    No, Penta¡¯s honesty¡ªthe callous remarks, the biting jokes¡ªthose had felt real. Genuine. She had come to appreciate them, in a strange, backward way. But now they were gone, too. Replaced by something careful, something soft and wary, and she hated it.

    The flicker of a shadow at the edge of her vision made Ember flinch. A subtle twitch, nothing more, but enough to catch Penta¡¯s attention. She saw him stiffen, a tiny shift in his posture¡ªan imperceptible hesitation, but it was there. Not a flicker of unease to be found on his face, but she knew it well enough. She¡¯d seen it in the way his shoulders had drawn up ever since she, against better knowing, had told him what happened yesterday before he appeared.

    Now, there was something he wasn¡¯t telling her, something hidden beneath his easy-going mask. Something about this creature. She could feel it in the space between them, thick with unspoken things. It wasn¡¯t the first time she¡¯d caught him holding back, but this time felt different. This wasn¡¯t just a thief¡¯s secret or a wandering rogue¡¯s quiet past. This was something deeper.

    It stung.

    Everyone kept secrets. That much was clear. He didn¡¯t owe her the truth about his Aethermarks, or where he came from, or why he was even here. She had never expected him to lay his soul bare. But if he was hiding something from her to ¡°protect her¡±¡ªwell, that was different. That was the same thing her family had done. The one thing they had never needed to do.

    ¡°Ember, my sweet little Ember...¡±

    Her father¡¯s voice¡ªsharp, like broken glass¡ªcut through her thoughts, shattering the quiet. A memory she thought long buried, something near forgotten, crept back into her mind. It had been years since she¡¯d heard him speak that way, but the wound still lingered, dull but persistent. The weight of it hung in the air, settling heavily in her chest.

    ¡°Come here, my lovely¡ª¡±

    ¡°Shut¡ª!¡±

    The word came out before she could stop it, her voice rising, a shout meant to silence it all. But she was cut short.

    Penta¡¯s ¡°Don¡¯t¡± struck like a whip, sharp and final. It was the harshest thing she¡¯d heard from him. His voice didn¡¯t just stop her; it pinned her in place, cold as iron. She froze, a sudden, biting chill wrapping around her spine, as if she had been caught misbehaving, caught out in a way that made her feel small¡ªlike a child being scolded for something she hadn¡¯t known was wrong.

    ¡°There is nothing there,¡± he said, his voice steady but edged with something darker. ¡°Just keep moving.¡±

    Ember wanted to argue, to protest, but the words wouldn¡¯t come. She couldn¡¯t. He had said it like it was law, an unspoken command she couldn¡¯t defy. Ever since she had told him about that creature, he had shifted. There was something new in him now¡ªa tautness, a restlessness, as if every moment he spent with her stretched him tighter, pulling him to the brink of something.

    Maybe she should have kept that secret, too. Maybe some things were better left unsaid, left buried, hidden away from the people who would change when they heard them. People like Penta. People like her. Because once they knew, nothing was ever the same.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Emberlyth murmured into the stillness, the word soft and small.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± the mist echoed back, a dozen voices, a hundred sorries tumbling over one another.

    She knew these echoes too well. They came from the past, from places she didn¡¯t want to return to but couldn¡¯t help revisiting. A young girl, sitting at the edge of her bed, legs swinging above a floor her feet didn¡¯t quite touch back then. She¡¯d held a broken doll in her hands, parts of its painted face cracked and missing.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± she had whispered to herself, over and over, as if the repetition might stitch the doll back together.

    ¡°Dad gave it to me,¡± Vaelen had said, her voice bright with pride. i

    Ember had turned the doll over in her hands, careful, as if unsure she was even allowed to touch on it. ¡°What¡¯s it like?¡± she had asked, quiet and unsure.

    Vaelen¡¯s chin had lifted, her face glowing with a confidence that seemed too big for her small frame. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s no big deal,¡± she¡¯d said, as if speaking of the weather. It was strange, the way her cousin had seemed older then. Wiser. For a moment, their roles had felt reversed. ¡°They just paint a little ink on your back, and even if the brush is tickly and the ink is cold, you get a lot of candy and praise when it¡¯s done.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t the mark Ember had meant to ask about. It was the doll.

    To get something from your parents. To have them notice you, care for you, love you enough to give you something special. What must that feel like? Emberlyth had many dolls, but none quite like this one.

    ¡°Must¡¯ve been nice,¡± she had said instead, her voice so faint that it barely stirred the air between them.

    ¡°Oh, it really was,¡± Vaelen had sighed, her gaze dreamy and distant. ¡°Afterward, Mom took me all around the city. Let me see and buy whatever I wanted. She called me her little angel, the family¡¯s future star. She showed me off to everyone and¡­¡±

    What¡¯s that like? Ember had almost asked. To have a mom?

    She didn¡¯t, of course. How could she? She didn¡¯t even know what the words would mean once she said them. Her mother was a shadow of an idea, a phantom that lived in corners she couldn¡¯t quite reach. Was it something like Lady Efrain? She had tried. Last year, the woman had even thrown a party for Ember¡¯s birthday. Ginnis had baked a lopsided cake, and the guards had sung, their voices rough but warm. The halls had felt less empty that day.

    But it didn¡¯t seem right to tell Vaelen about that.

    Her cousin hadn¡¯t come to the party, despite Ember painstakingly spelling out her invitation with Olsen¡¯s help. Neither had Uncle. Only their gifts had arrived¡ªimpersonal, unwrapped things left on her bedside table. Nothing close to the doll now cradled in her cousin¡¯s hands.

    Ember had said nothing then, just as she said nothing now.

    ¡°Do you also think I¡¯ll be the family¡¯s future star?¡± Vaelen¡¯s voice had been so hopeful, her eyes bright with the kind of light Emberlyth had only ever seen reflected in others, never her own.

    Ember could have nodded. Could have smiled and told her cousin what she wanted to hear: Of course, you will. You¡¯re so brave. So clever. So loved.

    But the question hurt, in a way Ember couldn¡¯t name. It burned low and quiet, a coal left smoldering too long. Was it because she¡¯d spent her whole life waiting to hear those words herself, waiting for someone to tell her she mattered, only to be met with silence?

    Maybe that was why some dark, hateful part of her¡ªa part she hardly dared acknowledge¡ªwanted to shout, No, you won¡¯t. Your hair isn¡¯t even the right color. You¡¯re not special.

    But she didn¡¯t. Not this time. The last time she had said something cruel, Vaelen had cried for hours. Uncle had come, kneeling by Vaelen¡¯s side, his voice soft as he soothed her. And Ember? She¡¯d only gotten that look. The one that wasn¡¯t angry or sad but worse. Disappointed.

    The only look he ever gave her.

    It was better to change the subject. Something fun. Something to make them both forget. A game. One of the ones she used to play with her dad. Yeah, that sounded better.

    ¡°Catch!¡± she¡¯d yelled, springing to her feet without warning.

    The doll had flown from her hands¡ªwhy had she thrown it so hard? She didn¡¯t know. She hadn¡¯t thought.

    But maybe she had. Maybe some part of her hadn¡¯t wanted Vaelen to catch it. Maybe she¡¯d hoped it would fall, shatter, and be no longer whole. Was it jealousy? Envy? Some other wicked thing?

    The maids whispered as much afterward. How the ¡°wicked child¡± had laughed as the porcelain doll broke into pieces.

    She hadn¡¯t laughed. But she hadn¡¯t cried either. Not then. Not until later, sitting on the edge of her bed, locked in her room to ¡°think about what she¡¯d done.¡± Her legs had dangled over the side, too short to touch the floor, and her fingers had twisted the hem of her dress.

    Vaelen was crying again. She always cried when Ember was around.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Ember whispered into the quiet, her voice trembling as she rocked back and forth. ¡°I¡ªI didn¡¯t mean to¡­¡±

    It was that same sorry she had echoed a few months later, when they¡¯d found her in her room, smiling proudly despite being drenched in her own blood. Why had she etched the Aethermarks directly into her skin with a sharpened quill? She couldn¡¯t quite say. Normal ink hadn¡¯t felt good enough, hadn¡¯t felt magical enough. But none of that mattered.

    She had them now. Marks of her own.

    She could finally be praised. Finally be part of the family.

    But they had screamed. They had fussed. They had run back and forth in a panic, voices rising like a storm. Emberlyth hadn¡¯t understood why. What was the big deal? Why couldn¡¯t they see she¡¯d done something good?

    Later came the anger, the lectures that stretched for hours. And all the while, she¡¯d mumbled, Sorry, sorry, sorry, until the word lost its shape and meaning.

    Just like she had after they pulled her from the suitcase she¡¯d tried to stow away in. She¡¯d only wanted to see Eroboria with her own eyes, the magical city she¡¯d heard about deep within the Abyss.

    Just like she had when she set the rats loose on the maids.

    Just like she had when she broke the third-floor window, because¡ª

    There had been a lot of sorries in her life. Now, every one of them came rushing back, flooding the mist around her. They swirled at her feet, ghostly echoes of things long since shattered, long since ruined.

    She deserved it. Deserved to be alone. Every time someone got too close, she hurt them. That¡¯s all she knew how to do. She should have let Penta leave when he tried. Should have let him go. It would have been better for him.

    It was better for him now.

    So she loosened her grip on his collar, the rough fabric slipping through her fingers. With her palm against his back, she pushed him forward.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± she murmured, the word carrying more weight than it ever had.

    It was better this way. Even as she saw his wide, startled eyes glancing back at her¡ªjust before the mist swallowed him whole¡ªshe knew it was right.

    He¡¯ll be better off, she thought. They all are without me.

    And then the mist descended upon her like an avalanche.

    It had been holding back. Now, it didn¡¯t have to anymore.

    ¡°That¡¯s my sweet little Ember,¡± it whispered, soft as a mother¡¯s hand stroking her hair. ¡°That¡¯s my good girl¡­¡±

 Chapter 17

    It was the right decision. Ember knew that much. Even as the dense haze seemed to choke the breath from her lungs, as a hundred shifting shadows danced at the edges of her vision, their whispers crashing over her like dark waves, she knew she had made the right decision. This was better.

    Let them devour her while Penta got away. He wouldn¡¯t have to be afraid anymore. Not of this. Not of her.

    She just needed to buy him time. Enough for him to vanish into the Mistlands, maybe enough to find his way to something brighter. If she could manage that, maybe her life would have some value. Maybe, just maybe, someone would finally be glad she had been here.

    ¡°Sorry, dear family,¡± Ember wheezed, every breath a struggle as she forced the words through gritted teeth. ¡°If you really want me back, then come and get me.¡±

    And she ran. Opposite from the direction she¡¯d pushed him, she ran.

    She didn¡¯t know where she was going, and it didn¡¯t matter. Through the haze of her own fragmented memories, she ran as fast as she could. The closest shadows she broke through, scattering them like smoke. They weren¡¯t solid¡ªnot truly¡ªbut the cold bite of their passing sank into her bones, leaving her trembling, staggering even as she pushed forward.

    The whispers rose into an angry cacophony. Snarling voices tearing through her mind, pulling her back into moments she thought long buried.

    Still, she didn¡¯t look back. Not at the shadows, not at the path she¡¯d left behind.

    They¡¯re not real. Don¡¯t listen. Penta¡¯s voice echoed somewhere in the back of her mind, clear and sharp despite everything else. A futile mantra. You couldn¡¯t shut them out. Not really. She¡¯d seen the strain in him, too, the cracks forming behind his bravado.

    This was the only way.

    Ember didn¡¯t wish to die, but if that¡¯s what it came to, she wouldn¡¯t pull Penta down with her.

    ¡°Where are you going?¡± The voice that called after her was small and fragile. Too familiar. A shadow of a six or seven year old Vaelen stumbled through the mist, panting as it struggled to keep up with her. ¡°Wait for me. I want to¡ª¡±

    ¡°Wrong,¡± Ember hissed, her boot snapping forward to shatter the illusion mid-stride. The shadow splintered, breaking like glass, its pieces dissolving into the mist.

    Her whole body seized at the effort, cold trickling through her veins like ice water, stealing her strength. Noted, she thought grimly. Stay away from the shadows.

    Still, a bitter laugh clawed its way out of her throat. ¡°I was always the one chasing you,¡± she muttered, her voice hoarse. ¡°Try harder.¡±

    For nearly a decade, she had struggled to keep up with Vaelen¡¯s effortless brilliance, her cousin¡¯s star rising higher and brighter than anyone ever thought to hope for Ember. For the shadow to chase her now was nothing but wishful thinking, another cruel joke spun from the mist.

    And even knowing that, it still stung.

    The world seemed to take her challenge as an invitation. The mist folded around her, shifting with the dizzying tilt of a dream. She didn¡¯t even have time to gasp before she was lying on her back in a patch of grass.

    The sky above her was golden with evening light. Somewhere nearby, the soft buzz of summer insects hummed like a lullaby. Ember¡¯s breath caught as she raised her hand. Small, chubby fingers reached toward the sky.

    ¡°It¡¯s nice to just lay down every once in a while, isn¡¯t it?¡± her father murmured from beside her.

    The sound of his voice¡ªwarm, unhurried¡ªstirred something in her chest. She could hear the calm rhythm of his breathing, see the slow rise and fall of his chest out of the corner of her eye.

    ¡°Nu-uh,¡± Ember firmly objected, her smaller self sitting up with a defiance that left no room for argument. Even then, she was stubborn. ¡°More games. You promised we¡¯d play until nightfall.¡±

    Her father let out a soft groan, exaggerated for effect. ¡°We¡¯re almost there, though,¡± he said, his voice laced with amusement. ¡°And you¡¯ve already won every game there is to win.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s because you keep giving up too early,¡± she shot back, pushing at his side with all the might her small frame could muster. He rolled over onto his stomach, sprawling like a man undone.

    ¡°I¡¯m just a little dead,¡± her father sighed into the grass.

    ¡°Then get up!¡± Ember declared, her tone one of absolute authority. ¡°You¡¯re the one who always says there¡¯s no giving up for an adventurer. They fight to the bitter end¡ªuntil they either stand victorious or drop dead. Fully dead. You¡¯re not fully dead yet, are you?¡±

    Her father groaned again, dramatic and wheezing. ¡°No, just a little,¡± he conceded.

    ¡°Then on your feet you go!¡± she demanded, standing upright herself, fists on her hips. ¡°We¡¯ll play until you¡¯re fully dead or the sun sets. Whichever comes first!¡±

    The laughter had bubbled out of him then, uncontainable and bright. It was a sound she hadn¡¯t heard in years, and it warmed her to hear it again¡ªeven now, even here.

    But the warmth shattered in an instant.

    The golden light fractured, and the grass beneath her melted into ash.

    Tears struck the dead soil underneath her face, hot and unrelenting. Ember blinked hard, her vision swimming. When had her head grown so heavy? Her fingers curled into fists, trembling against the earth. When had the mist become so suffocating, its weight crushing her ribs? Even without turning, she could feel its weight, its rancid hunger clawing at her from the inside out.

    The cold was everywhere now, biting into her as if it meant to hollow her out entirely. It wasn¡¯t just in her skin or her bones; it felt as if it had reached the fragile core of her very soul. And yet, despite it all, a laugh bubbled up, sharp and defiant.

    ¡°Too bad,¡± she wheezed, flames stuttering to life between her fingers. They flickered unevenly, but their warmth was real, and for now, that was enough. ¡°That was one of my few good memories.¡±

    With a sudden, desperate motion, she lashed out, her fist connecting with something solid looming over her. Something real. It was brittle and icy cold, like the flesh of a corpse long left to decay.

    The thing reeled back with a shriek so piercing it fractured her thoughts like glass. Ember squeezed her eyes shut, clutching her head as though she could hold the shards of herself together. Just as the sound reached the brink of madness, the crushing pressure lifted, and she gasped for air as if breaking the surface of a deep, dark lake.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Her vision swam, but she forced herself upright, staggering as spindly limbs recoiled from her. And there it was. Standing before her.

    This time, it didn¡¯t wear the faces of her family or the guise of her own younger self. No illusions. No pretense. Just the creature as it truly was¡ªugly, wrong, hungry.

    Its shape was sharper now, more defined. She could see the jagged angles of its limbs, the slack, grotesque way its jaw hung too wide, its edges merging with the mist yet somehow separate from it. For the first time, it felt tangible. Vulnerable, even.

    ¡°Ah,¡± Ember rasped, hands raised in the feeble mockery of a fighter¡¯s stance. ¡°Vulnerable while you feed? How unfortuna¡ª¡±

    Her words died in her throat as another shriek lanced through her mind. This one was shorter, sharper, but it struck with the force of a javelin.

    She didn¡¯t notice herself falling until the ground slammed into her knees. Blood ran hot from her nose, her ears, her eyes. She coughed, the taste of copper filling her mouth.

    ¡°Damn,¡± she muttered, her voice slurring as her vision dimmed. ¡°Just¡­ damn...¡±

    Her arms gave out as she tried to rise, sending her crashing to her side. The impact barely registered. There was nothing now¡ªno heat, no pain. Only the cold, creeping deeper, pulling her further into its numbing embrace.

    She tried to move. She tried to think. But everything was slipping away.

    And there it was, looming over her. It flickered, its edges unstable, shifting between silhouettes as if sifting through her memories for the sharpest blade to carve her with. Her father¡¯s furrowed brow, Uncle¡¯s stoic disappointment, Vaelen¡¯s tear-streaked face, Olsen¡¯s courteous smiles. And then, Penta.

    Why him?

    The figure crouched low, closer now, barely visible as the mist thickened, dimming alongside her waning consciousness. Its voice came next, cruel and callous, dripping with scorn. ¡°Why did you try to play the hero?¡± it mocked, each word a jagged edge against her resolve. ¡°Someone like you could never fill that role. Useless as you are, you should have left it to someone¡ª¡±

    ¡°To someone like you?¡± Ember interrupted, her laugh dry and ragged, little more than a breath slipping from her lips. Amused, despite herself. Despite the cold. Despite the weight.

    The creature stilled, and for a fleeting moment, it almost seemed taken aback.

    Her lips curved into something like a grin, bitter and defiant. This thing didn¡¯t know much, did it? There was no way someone like Penta would¡ª

    She blinked, and the head of the silhouette snapped to the side, unnaturally fast, its movements sharp and jerking, like a marionette yanked by unseen strings.

    And then it came. A sound ripping through the mist, loud and primal¡ªa scream. Not hers. Not the creature¡¯s.

    Someone else.

    The scream grew, swelling, crashing through the oppressive quiet like a storm until¡ªanother Penta broke through the mist, a streak of wild motion and raw desperation.

    Ember¡¯s breath caught, her mind stuttering to keep up. She could only stare as this second figure¡ªso vivid, so real¡ªbarreled into the first with a senseless roar, colliding like a thunderclap.

    The world twisted again, a moment stretched taut until it snapped.

    The scream turned sharp, pained.

    And just as quickly as it began, the fight was over.

    The first silhouette flickered, its stolen shapes unraveling as its spindly limb plunged forward, piercing clean through the chest of the newcomer.

    Ember froze.

    Time fractured into pieces around her as the figure crumpled, slipping off the creature¡¯s limb like a doll discarded by an unkind child. A lifeless heap on the ashen ground.

    ¡°No¡­¡± Ember whispered, the word cracking in her throat.

    The mist seemed to pulse as if with breath, heavy and alive, and the creature shrieked¡ªa sound of triumph, sharp and gloating.

    But Ember barely heard it. The blood was roaring too loudly in her ears.

    ¡°Penta?¡± she croaked. Her voice faltered, caught between disbelief and despair.

    But there was no answer.

    The figure lay motionless.

    The creature stood over him, a shadow against shadows, silent and still, like a monument to her failure.

    ¡°Penta?¡± she repeated, her voice raw and cracking under the weight of the name. It couldn¡¯t be him. It shouldn¡¯t be him. Her mind raced, tangling itself in knots. She had pushed him away. She¡¯d led the creature away, hadn¡¯t she? She¡¯d ensured his safety. Why? Why had he come here?

    For her?

    Her hands trembled as her gaze locked on the scene before her. The creature loomed over his lifeless form, unhurried, indifferent. Wisps of something pale and glimmering rose from Penta¡¯s body like threads unraveling from a tapestry, drawn toward the creature¡¯s yawning maw. It wasn¡¯t flesh it was devouring.

    It was his soul.

    A crack split open inside Ember, hollow and jagged. And from that fissure, anger poured forth, molten and consuming, a fire too wild to be held. It burned through her veins, pooling in her chest, in her throat, behind her eyes.

    This wasn¡¯t fair. None of it was fair. He had come back for her. For her.

    The blood in her ears roared like a relentless drumbeat, drowning out everything else. Her fingers dug into the dirt, clawing, struggling for any strength at all. She had to stand. She had to fight. She had to stop it.

    Another roar tore itself from her lungs, desperate and primal. Heat surged through her body, blistering and chaotic, searing her nerves and scattering her focus. Her vision blurred, the edges of the world warping and twisting. A hundred scorching irons seemed to pierce her skin at once.

    Flames sputtered and died on her fingertips, weak and fleeting.

    ¡°Surge!¡± she screamed, her voice raw and broken.

    For a fleeting moment, the fire gathered, coiling at her right shoulder blade like a viper poised to strike. Bright flames rushed down her arm, fierce and hungry¡ªand then, just as quickly, they dissipated. Gone. Useless.

    It was yet to weak to live outside her. But the fire didn¡¯t leave entirely. At the nape of her neck, something different awakened. A forge blazed to life, billows pumping, an inferno roaring to existence. It wasn¡¯t fleeting. It was steady. Relentless.

    The pain came next, sharper and hotter than any fire she¡¯d known. Her back ignited as if her skin itself were splitting apart, and for the first time, the mist-borne creature faltered, its gaze snapping to her.

    But it was already too late.

    With a scream that ripped the air apart, Ember surged forward, her body dripping blood and smoke, her vision a haze of fury. She collided with the creature, a living inferno, fists slamming, fingers clawing, teeth sinking into its spindly, lifeless limbs.

    ¡°Surge! Surge! Surge!¡±

    She didn¡¯t care about the pain. She didn¡¯t care about anything except this moment.

    Burn it. Burn it all. Let it all go out in a blaze of glory.

    She didn¡¯t hear the shrieks, those sounds that had once torn her mind apart. Nor the brittle crack of her own bones, nor the soft sizzle of her smoldering clothes. The world had gone silent in the way only exhaustion could bring¡ªa silence thick and consuming, as though nothing else dared to intrude.

    All that remained were her wheezing breaths and the faint, uneven sounds of someone else¡¯s. Someone she desperately hoped was still alive.

    ¡°Penta?¡± Her voice was hoarse, caught somewhere between a whisper and a plea. She stumbled to his side through the haze, each movement clumsy, her limbs foreign and unsteady beneath her. Everything felt numb, distant, like she wasn¡¯t truly in her own skin.

    He was alive. He had to be. Even though his skin was pallid, his chest barely moving, blood pooling beneath him like a shadow pulling him under.

    Her fingers brushed against his cheek, a fumbling attempt to feel for a pulse, to sense a breath¡ªanything. What were you even supposed to do in a moment like this? How were you supposed to tell if¡­

    But then, his one eyelid weakly fluttered open. Just barely. Like the fragile wingbeats of a dying butterfly.

    His gaze, glassy and unfocused, struggled to find her. Yet still, he smiled¡ªa faint, crooked thing that almost broke her all over again.

    ¡°I can see why they call you Ember now,¡± he murmured, his voice thin as a thread of smoke. ¡°It¡¯s a fitting name¡­¡±

    ¡°Moron,¡± she hissed, though the insult barely carried weight. It was all she could do to keep the trembling relief from consuming her entirely. But the sigh that escaped her was short-lived. He was still fading, slipping through her grasp with every heartbeat that didn¡¯t come fast enough.

    She clenched her jaw, the fire in her veins threatening to roar back to life. She needed to act, to think. But first, she had to ask. She needed to know.

    ¡°Why?¡± Her voice cracked. ¡°Why did you come back?¡±

    His lips twitched, curving into a faint grin that looked almost triumphant. Weak fingers reached out and pressed something into her hand. She didn¡¯t need to look to know what it was.

    The compass.

    The same one she¡¯d slipped into his pocket before shoving him away.

    ¡°Because I couldn¡¯t let some spoiled noble lady be cooler than me,¡± he murmured, his grin widening just enough to sting her chest. ¡°Turns out¡­ there really was something here. Even though I was the one carrying the food¡­¡± His eyelids fluttered again, threatening to close. His voice so weak. Painfully weak.

    ¡°It led me back to you.¡±

 Chapter 18

    There was too much blood. Even Ember could tell that much. People weren¡¯t meant to bleed this much. She¡¯d seen her fair share of injuries growing up¡ªsplit knuckles, gashed knees, the occasional bruised bone. But nothing like this. Never anything like this.

    ¡°Hold on,¡± she wheezed, her voice trembling, the words as much a plea as a command. The flames of that furnace inside her still burned, driving her forward. She was running, faster than she¡¯d ever run before, Penta¡¯s lifeless body cradled in her arms. He wasn¡¯t smiling or joking anymore. That twisted her gut more than anything.

    ¡°Just hold on a little bit longer,¡± she repeated, her words meant for him as much as her own ravaged feet and burning legs. ¡°We¡¯re almost there.¡±

    Or so she hoped. So she prayed.

    The needle of the Augur¡¯s Compass hadn¡¯t flickered since she¡¯d snatched it back from him. Dead set. Unyielding. Pointing straight ahead. Whether it led to the estate, some forgotten ruin, or another nameless place in this cursed expanse, she didn¡¯t care. As long as it led somewhere safe. Somewhere she could treat his wounds.

    With Penta like this, there would be no wards¡ªthe ones that had bought them a single night of uneasy rest. She didn¡¯t know a first thing about them. She only knew it was dangerous to stay still. Even the brief moments she¡¯d crouched over him, trying to keep panic at bay, had been enough to hear them¡ªthe things creeping closer. Shadows in the mist. Creatures that never slept, only hungered. Like the one that had nearly killed them both.

    Maybe had killed one of them.

    ¡°Please,¡± she begged, her voice barely more than a whisper now. ¡°Just a little longer.¡±

    The mist coiled endlessly around them, gray and unchanging. It smothered the world, uncaring, unyielding.

    How long had she been running? Across a dead earth that stretched on, endless and the same? Minutes? Hours? Days¡­?

    No. It couldn¡¯t have been days. Penta wouldn¡¯t survive that long.

    Would he even survive this long?

    She couldn¡¯t think like that. Not now. Not when the compass still pointed ahead, unwavering as her desperate hope.

    Her legs burned, her arms ached from holding him close. His blood soaked through her clothes, warm at first, but now so cold it seemed to leech the strength from her skin. And still, she ran.

    Every step was a prayer. Every breath a promise.

    Just a little longer.

    Only the thunder of her own pulse and the steady rhythm of her footfalls marked the passage of time. That, and the inferno burning in her chest¡ªa roaring flame of defiance, refusing to accept the world as it was. Refusing this place, his wounds, her exhaustion.

    Just another dozen steps. Just a little further. The compass had to be leading her somewhere. It had to.

    Her legs screamed, her arms trembled, and her back felt like it might split in two. Blood marked the trail where her bare soles had passed across the cracked earth, each step carved in pain. Yet it all burned away in the raging heat surging within her. The fire drowned out everything else. There was only the next step, and the one after that.

    Faster. Further. She ran mindlessly, chasing the unwavering needle of the compass.

    Just another step. And the one after that. Creaking joints and hazy eyes.

    A mind numbing pain that she barely felt. There was a lot of things she barely noticed. Her wheezing breaths, her straining heart, an exhaustion that filled her veins like sluggish tar. She barely even noticed the first flicker of light brushing against her face. The rapid beat of tiny wings stirring the air, leaving a faint buzz in her ears. Warmth touched her skin, accompanied by a soft breeze and the gentle scent of summer.

    For a moment, the sensations caught her off guard, and then, a cold dread prickled down her spine. Was she slipping into one of her memories again? Had the creature returned, twisting her senses to claim them both?

    Then her foot caught on a root. She stumbled forward, falling with Penta still cradled in her arms.

    He wouldn¡¯t have been in her memories. That thought grounded her as she twisted mid-fall, catching the brunt of the impact on her shoulder.

    The ground beneath her wasn¡¯t cracked and lifeless anymore. It was soft, damp, alive. Moss spread out like a carpet under her battered body.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    After what had felt like days of running across barren, dead earth, here was something real. Something different.

    The mist retreated. It clung to the edges of the world like a wounded beast, no longer suffocating her. Above her stretched a twilight sky, endless and vast. Stars¡ªbright and unfamiliar¡ªscattered across its indigo depths, glittering with a faint, ethereal shimmer.

    The air smelled of things she didn¡¯t recognize. Warm, earthy, alive. Glowing bugs¡ªor something like them¡ªdanced in the air above her, their tiny bodies pulsing with a soft, golden light.

    Emberlyth lay still, her breath shuddering as reality caught up with her. Her arms clutched Penta close, her body shaking with exhaustion and relief.

    They had made it.

    They had left the Mistlands behind.

    And for the first time in what felt like forever, Ember felt like she could cry.

    A few ragged, unsteady breaths were all Ember allowed herself. Penta still lay cradled in her arms, his body growing heavier with every heartbeat she could no longer feel.

    ¡°Damn it,¡± she hissed through clenched teeth, forcing her trembling arms to shift him aside. Freeing herself felt like an impossible task, but she managed to lay him down gently in the moss. Where a roaring furnace had blazed in her chest moments ago, there were only embers now, faint and smoldering. The heat had left her hollow, her pulse weak, her body wracked with the metallic taste of spent power.

    Her knees scraped against the earth as she struggled upright, every movement an ordeal. Blood trickled from her split lips, and her fingers, trembling like brittle branches, curled into the moss beneath her. She was drained beyond exhaustion. Her limbs were leaden, her thoughts clouded as if wrung dry by some cruel hand.

    Breathing hurt. Every inhale was like a razor drawn over raw, burned flesh. Every exhale brought a rasp of smoke curling from her nostrils. Her veins felt scorched, as though they had carried fire for far too long and now held only blackened ruins.

    But Ember forced herself to focus. She had to focus. Penta was dying, his blood soaking the moss in an unbroken stream. If she didn¡¯t do something, if she didn¡¯t act now¡ª

    Her gaze flicked upward, catching the glassy expanse of a lake stretching before them. The water gleamed, its surface clear and cool, edged with reeds swaying in a song she couldn¡¯t hear over the pounding of her heart. Some desperate part of her longed to throw herself into its depths. To gulp down its clarity until the soot in her throat was washed away, until the fire in her chest was quenched.

    But no. Not yet. Penta came first.

    Stop the bleeding. She repeated the thought like a mantra, shaking her head as though to dislodge the haze clouding her sight. A few trees rose by the edge of the lake, leaning out over its waters. Birch bark¡ªwas that right? Could it stop bleeding? Or was it holly? Or...

    Her frantic thoughts stilled as her eyes caught movement among the trees.

    There, beneath the broad reach of a leaning birch, stood a figure. It hadn¡¯t been there moments ago. A stag, massive and still, its antlers spreading like bare branches against the twilight sky. Its body was heavy, its stance poised, and its dark eyes locked on her with an intensity that stole the breath from her lungs.

    It did not move. It did not blink. It simply watched, its gaze weighted and knowing, as if it saw through her desperation to something deeper. Something Ember hadn¡¯t yet grasped herself.

    It was an eerie thing, but it didn¡¯t seem immediately hostile. Even so, Ember¡¯s first instinct was to shift, dragging herself until she crouched between the stag and Penta, shielding his still form with her own.

    ¡°Stay¡ª¡± she coughed, the sound tearing through her throat like gravel, ¡°stay away.¡± The words were barely audible over the pounding in her ears, her blood rushing with the sound of grinding stones.

    Her strength was slipping through her fingers like sand. Whatever fire had driven her this far was now little more than stubborn embers, smoldering deep within her chest, impossible to snuff out. And perhaps it was from those coals, flickering on the edge of consciousness, that the hallucinations came.

    Because for a moment, it seemed as if the stag was speaking.

    ¡°I¡¯d worry less about him and more about yourself, human child.¡±

    The words echoed in her mind, though no voice broke the air. It was as if they had been placed there, heavy and undeniable. The stag hadn¡¯t moved, hadn¡¯t shifted. Yet Ember felt the weight of its gaze pressing against her like a physical thing.

    ¡°He¡¯ll survive,¡± it continued, the tone patient yet firm. ¡°But you may not.¡±

    ¡°Wounded,¡± Ember rasped, her voice little more than a whisper. ¡°He¡¯s¡­ wounded. Bleeding.¡±

    ¡°Is he?¡±

    The question was so absurd it stilled her for a moment. More absurd even than the notion of a talking stag. But despite herself, Ember glanced back toward Penta¡¯s body, her breath catching as she did.

    There was blood¡ªshe remembered it vividly, pooling beneath him as she¡¯d carried him¡ªbut now, there was none. The moss beneath him was clean, untouched by scarlet stains. The only blood she could see darkened the ground where she herself knelt.

    Her shaking hand reached for him, tugging at the reddened fabric of his shirt. What she found beneath was not the gaping wound she¡¯d feared but a blackened scar, the edges of it knitting together before her very eyes. Thin lines of ink traced the wound¡¯s edges, pulling it closed in a way that made her breath hitch.

    His Aethermarks.

    ¡°See?¡± the stag¡¯s words pressed against her thoughts again. ¡°Worry about yourself, child, before you exhaust what little vitality you have left. You¡¯ll burn yourself to a crisp. Is that what you prefer?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know how to stop,¡± Ember murmured, her voice trembling with a quiet, desperate plea. Maybe she¡¯d been aware all along, but had pushed the thought aside in favor of saving Penta. Now, she could deny it no longer. The fire beneath her skin was spreading, consuming. She was burning, her body little more than kindling for a blaze she couldn¡¯t control.

    ¡°I see.¡± There was something almost pitying in the words, as if the stag had expected no different. ¡°Then return to a place where you can burn no more. Sleep.¡±

    The final word was a command, resonating through her with a force she couldn¡¯t resist. Ember¡¯s body sagged, her arms giving way as she collapsed to the moss. The world darkened, her vision narrowing to a single point of light before vanishing entirely.

    And as she slipped into unconsciousness, she heard the stag¡¯s voice one last time, low and final.

    ¡°When you wake, leave this place. His kin is not welcome here.¡±

 Chapter 19

    Emberlyth¡¯s eyes fluttered open to find a glowing bug perched on her nose. It lingered there, oblivious to her gaze, calmly polishing its spindly legs. Its fiery abdomen pulsed gently, filling her vision with a warm, golden glow. For a fleeting moment, she thought of how absurd it all was¡ªfor her to be there, with the world¡¯s smallest lantern idling on her face. Then a shiver ran through her, unbidden, and the bug flicked its wings and darted off into the soft twilight.

    She didn¡¯t stir, not right away. Instead, she lay there in the damp moss, letting the full weight of her situation settle over her like a sodden blanket. The cold had long since seeped into her bones. Hunger clawed at her stomach. Every muscle in her body ached, a dull throb punctuated by sharper stabs where bruises and cuts had taken root. Some parts stung; others pounded like a blacksmith¡¯s hammer. Mostly, she just hurt.

    To put it lightly, this wasn¡¯t the adventure she¡¯d dreamed of. No grand feats. No tavern tales by a warm hearth. Just exhaustion, discomfort, and a terrifyingly close brush with death.

    At least the burning in her veins was gone. That was something.

    If only I¡¯d brought my bed, she thought, peeling herself from the ground. The movement sent a fresh wave of pain rippling through her body. Maybe things wouldn¡¯t be so bad?

    She raised a hand to rub at her face, her fingers unsteady and pale. Around her, the world was unnervingly still. The rustle of reeds and the faint buzz of the firebugs were the only sounds, save for her own labored breaths. She had grown too used to the creeping whispers and haunting screams of the mist.

    Then she heard it¡ªsoft footfalls approaching from the edge of the lake. She turned her head sluggishly, and there he was. Penta, looking just as worn as she felt, maybe worse. His damp hair was slicked back, his steps careful, and in his hands, he carried a simple wooden cup.

    He waved as he drew closer, a tentative, almost sheepish motion. His lips curled into a weak smile, but they were cracked and dry. His ashen complexion spoke of exhaustion and strain, and the dark circles under his eyes made it clear he¡¯d barely slept. Yet somehow, he still managed to summon that infuriating hint of cheer in his voice.

    ¡°You look worse for wear than I do,¡± he said, holding out the cup to her.

    Emberlyth wanted to argue, to tell him he looked like he¡¯d been dragged backward through the depths of the Abyss itself. But she couldn¡¯t muster the energy. She took the cup with a faint nod, her gaze falling to the water inside.

    It was cool against her lips, refreshingly clear, but it burned as it went down, scraping against her raw throat. Still, she drank every last drop, draining the cup in a single, unending motion.

    ¡°Where did you get this?¡± she rasped as she¡¯d finished. ¡°The cup, I mean. I get where you got the water.¡±

    Penta took it with a faint smirk as he eased himself down beside her, every motion careful, deliberate. ¡°I¡¯m a resourceful guy,¡± he said, setting the cup aside. ¡°No food, though. Sorry. That¡¯s¡­ somewhere out there.¡± He gestured vaguely toward the mist, and Emberlyth didn¡¯t follow his hand. She didn¡¯t care to look.

    Instead, her gaze lingered on him. He seemed thinner, somehow, his frame narrower, almost frail beneath his damp shirt. She couldn¡¯t help wondering¡ªwhat else besides cups was he hiding? And where?

    He probably wouldn¡¯t tell even if she inquired, so she didn¡¯t bother to.

    ¡°Your wounds?¡± she asked instead, leaving the rest of the question unspoken.

    ¡°I suppose¡­it won¡¯t work to just ask you to forget about all that?¡± he asked with a hopeful smile. As she just held his gaze, he gave a tired sigh.

    ¡°The cat¡¯s out of the bag, huh?¡± he said, his tone straining for levity but landing somewhere between tired and resigned. He tugged up his shirt, exposing the blackened scar where a spindly limb had speared him clean through. The skin around it¡ªhalf his torso, maybe more¡ªwas eerily bare, the intricate Aethermarks that once crisscrossed him now erased.

    ¡°Convenient,¡± he said with a hollow laugh. ¡°But incredibly painful. And not just the getting stitched back together part. This,¡± he tapped his bare skin where no ink could be seen, ¡°That¡¯s months of work gone. Half a year, at least. My entire stay at the Draekart estate, wasted.¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Ember murmured. The word felt brittle, insubstantial.

    Penta only shrugged. ¡°Beats being dead,¡± he said, his grin faint but still determined to surface. ¡°And it¡¯s a price I¡¯ve learned to pay. My line of work isn¡¯t exactly safe, and, well, me being me doesn¡¯t help.¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    He shifted, tugging his shirt lower to reveal another scar: a jagged black line slashed across his throat. His grin turned grim. ¡°Told you, didn¡¯t I? Most people prefer to just execute me on the spot if they catch me fiddling with their family¡¯s Aethermarks.¡±

    The sight of that scar¡ªstark and cruel against his pale skin¡ªsent a chill through Ember. The question formed on her tongue before she could stop it. Did it hurt? But she already knew the answer. She¡¯d seen it, the pain carved into his face, the way he¡¯d teetered on the edge of life.

    So she asked something else instead, something softer but no less heavy. ¡°And when the ink runs out?¡± Her gaze fell to the blank skin wrapping his torso. ¡°What then?¡±

    ¡°Honestly?¡± Penta¡¯s voice dipped, and he glanced down at himself, his fingers brushing the scar absently. ¡°I¡¯d rather not find out. Probably nothing pleasant.¡±

    Ember nodded. She had figured as much. Death. Cold, unforgiving, and final. The kind you didn¡¯t come back from.

    ¡°What about¡­ this?¡± Ember ventured, gesturing vaguely toward the side of her head in a halfhearted attempt to lighten the mood. ¡°Will the ink fix that too?¡±

    Penta blinked, then ran his fingers through his hair as if only just remembering. She¡¯d seen it too, streaks of white cutting through his raven-black locks. By now, he must have glimpsed his reflection in the lake, must have noticed the change. Just yesterday, his hair had been dark as midnight.

    ¡°Ah, no,¡± he said at last, his voice wearied. ¡°Soul damage is¡­ different. It doesn¡¯t heal the same way.¡± He sighed, letting his hand drop. ¡°Guess I should be happy I didn¡¯t go bald?¡± He glanced at her with a faint, crooked smile, then flopped back onto the mossy ground. ¡°Truth be told, I was hoping for another ten years before I started rocking the ¡®Dashing Dad¡¯ look. But¡­¡± He flashed her a toothy grin, eyes glinting with mock hope. ¡°Not all bad, is it?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Ember replied, her voice flat as the cracked earth they¡¯d left behind. ¡°I can barely keep myself from pouncing on you right now.¡±

    Silence hung between them, brittle as glass, until she broke it with a ridiculous, halfhearted ¡°rawr¡±.

    Penta snorted, and then they were laughing¡ªragged and wheezy, doubled over with the kind of unrestrained mirth that didn¡¯t ask permission. It hurt, of course. Ember clutched her ribs as each breath scalded her lungs. Penta ended up rolling onto his side, coughing hard enough to shake the ground beneath them. But it wasn¡¯t bad.

    No warm fire or cozy tavern tales, but maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªadventure wasn¡¯t supposed to be those things all the time.

    ¡°That,¡± Penta said between coughs, ¡°has got to be the most crippled cat I¡¯ve ever heard.¡±

    ¡°Now you know how you sounded back in the library,¡± Ember shot back, leaning against her knees as she fought to catch her breath.

    ¡°Hey, mine was different,¡± he protested, his voice scratchy but insistent. ¡°Mine was cute and sexy. Yours was¡­ that.¡± He waved a hand vaguely in her direction before flopping back against the ground with a groan.

    Ember smirked and lay back beside him, the ache in her body momentarily dulled by the weightless quiet of their surroundings. Above them, the twilight sky stretched on, endless and unchanging, a canopy of strange stars.

    ¡°What is this place?¡± she asked softly, her voice barely louder than the hum of the fiery bugs flitting through the air like errant sparks.

    ¡°I was hoping you¡¯d know,¡± Penta said, equally quiet. ¡°You¡¯re the one who dragged me here.¡±

    ¡°Following your compass,¡± Ember countered.

    Another silence, deep and heavy as the mist they¡¯d left behind.

    ¡°Then I guess we¡¯re exactly where we¡¯re supposed to be?¡± Penta ventured, flashing a grin that looked more confident than it had any right to be.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be so sure about that,¡± Emberlyth said, slowly pushing herself upright. As if by an afterthought, she pulled out the Augur¡¯s Compass from her pocket, now watching a needle that was once more spinning out of control. Once it spun around the dial, then it pointed forward, back, then forward again without every holding a single position for more than a second.

    Maybe Penta noticed, as he lazily said, ¡°Don¡¯t worry too much about that thing. While it¡¯s invaluable for traveling between worlds, here, where reality is a bit too solid, there¡¯s too much interference. Do you really desire something to eat more than another few minutes to rest? Is the itch on your nose more important to scratch than the one on your left butt cheek? Unless you were some transcendent monk who is beyond worldly desires, there are too many things vying for its attention. It¡¯s easier out there where everything is misery and your only way out is forward.¡±

    Despite his reassurance, Ember wasn¡¯t convinced. Her eyes flicked toward the trees where she¡¯d seen the stag¡ªor elk, whatever it was¡ªbut the shadows beneath the branches were empty now. Had it all been a fevered dream? She didn¡¯t know. Didn¡¯t want to know. Either way, it felt unwise to keep certain details to herself. ¡°It¡¯s not really the compass that worries me. You see, when we arrived here¡­¡±

    ¡°So, you mean to tell me some magical moose asked us to sod off because¡ªwhat? He didn¡¯t like my style?¡± The offense was heavy in Penta¡¯s voice.

    ¡°Your kin,¡± Emberlyth corrected, already weary of the moose-stag-elk debate she¡¯d apparently lost. She hadn¡¯t even known moose was an option. ¡°But yes. More or less.¡±

    ¡°And what, exactly, is my kin supposed to mean?¡± Penta huffed, brushing moss from his shirt with an exaggerated flourish. ¡°Young, devastatingly handsome men? Because I¡¯ll have you know, we¡¯re a very misunderstood demographic. Mostly harmless. Usually charming. If we¡¯re in the mood.¡± He crossed his arms. ¡°Well, too bad for Mister Antlers either way, because I¡¯m not leaving.¡±

    ¡°But¡ª¡± Emberlyth began, only for Penta to cut her off with a sharp gesture.

    ¡°What? You want to head back there?¡± He jerked his thumb toward the mist, an ominous smear on the edge of this strange sanctuary. ¡°Because I don¡¯t. Not until I¡¯ve had a proper meal and a few solid days of sleep. Minimum.¡± Without waiting for her reply, he started marching toward the lake. ¡°Guess I¡¯ll just have to meet your moose friend and have a chat. Maybe he¡¯ll see reason.¡±

    ¡°First of all, stag,¡± Emberlyth called after him, dragging herself to her feet. ¡°Second¡ª¡±

    Penta was already halfway to the water¡¯s edge, his stride brisk and unapologetic, clearly not listening.

    She sighed, rubbing a hand down her face as frustration bubbled up in her chest. The elk had seemed reasonable enough. The problem was that Penta usually wasn¡¯t.

 Chapter 19

    Emberlyth¡¯s eyes fluttered open to find a glowing bug perched on her nose. It lingered there, oblivious to her gaze, calmly polishing its spindly legs. Its fiery abdomen pulsed gently, filling her vision with a warm, golden glow. For a fleeting moment, she thought of how absurd it all was¡ªfor her to be there, with the world¡¯s smallest lantern idling on her face. Then a shiver ran through her, unbidden, and the bug flicked its wings and darted off into the soft twilight.

    She didn¡¯t stir, not right away. Instead, she lay there in the damp moss, letting the full weight of her situation settle over her like a sodden blanket. The cold had long since seeped into her bones. Hunger clawed at her stomach. Every muscle in her body ached, a dull throb punctuated by sharper stabs where bruises and cuts had taken root. Some parts stung; others pounded like a blacksmith¡¯s hammer. Mostly, she just hurt.

    To put it lightly, this wasn¡¯t the adventure she¡¯d dreamed of. No grand feats. No tavern tales by a warm hearth. Just exhaustion, discomfort, and a terrifyingly close brush with death.

    At least the burning in her veins was gone. That was something.

    If only I¡¯d brought my bed, she thought, peeling herself from the ground. The movement sent a fresh wave of pain rippling through her body. Maybe things wouldn¡¯t be so bad?

    She raised a hand to rub at her face, her fingers unsteady and pale. Around her, the world was unnervingly still. The rustle of reeds and the faint buzz of the firebugs were the only sounds, save for her own labored breaths. She had grown too used to the creeping whispers and haunting screams of the mist.

    Then she heard it¡ªsoft footfalls approaching from the edge of the lake. She turned her head sluggishly, and there he was. Penta, looking just as worn as she felt, maybe worse. His damp hair was slicked back, his steps careful, and in his hands, he carried a simple wooden cup.

    He waved as he drew closer, a tentative, almost sheepish motion. His lips curled into a weak smile, but they were cracked and dry. His ashen complexion spoke of exhaustion and strain, and the dark circles under his eyes made it clear he¡¯d barely slept. Yet somehow, he still managed to summon that infuriating hint of cheer in his voice.

    ¡°You look worse for wear than I do,¡± he said, holding out the cup to her.

    Emberlyth wanted to argue, to tell him he looked like he¡¯d been dragged backward through the depths of the Abyss itself. But she couldn¡¯t muster the energy. She took the cup with a faint nod, her gaze falling to the water inside.

    It was cool against her lips, refreshingly clear, but it burned as it went down, scraping against her raw throat. Still, she drank every last drop, draining the cup in a single, unending motion.

    ¡°Where did you get this?¡± she rasped as she¡¯d finished. ¡°The cup, I mean. I get where you got the water.¡±

    Penta took it with a faint smirk as he eased himself down beside her, every motion careful, deliberate. ¡°I¡¯m a resourceful guy,¡± he said, setting the cup aside. ¡°No food, though. Sorry. That¡¯s¡­ somewhere out there.¡± He gestured vaguely toward the mist, and Emberlyth didn¡¯t follow his hand. She didn¡¯t care to look.

    Instead, her gaze lingered on him. He seemed thinner, somehow, his frame narrower, almost frail beneath his damp shirt. She couldn¡¯t help wondering¡ªwhat else besides cups was he hiding? And where?

    He probably wouldn¡¯t tell even if she inquired, so she didn¡¯t bother to.

    ¡°Your wounds?¡± she asked instead, leaving the rest of the question unspoken.

    ¡°I suppose¡­it won¡¯t work to just ask you to forget about all that?¡± he asked with a hopeful smile. As she just held his gaze, he gave a tired sigh.

    ¡°The cat¡¯s out of the bag, huh?¡± he said, his tone straining for levity but landing somewhere between tired and resigned. He tugged up his shirt, exposing the blackened scar where a spindly limb had speared him clean through. The skin around it¡ªhalf his torso, maybe more¡ªwas eerily bare, the intricate Aethermarks that once crisscrossed him now erased.

    ¡°Convenient,¡± he said with a hollow laugh. ¡°But incredibly painful. And not just the getting stitched back together part. This,¡± he tapped his bare skin where no ink could be seen, ¡°That¡¯s months of work gone. Half a year, at least. My entire stay at the Draekart estate, wasted.¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Ember murmured. The word felt brittle, insubstantial.

    Penta only shrugged. ¡°Beats being dead,¡± he said, his grin faint but still determined to surface. ¡°And it¡¯s a price I¡¯ve learned to pay. My line of work isn¡¯t exactly safe, and, well, me being me doesn¡¯t help.¡±This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    He shifted, tugging his shirt lower to reveal another scar: a jagged black line slashed across his throat. His grin turned grim. ¡°Told you, didn¡¯t I? Most people prefer to just execute me on the spot if they catch me fiddling with their family¡¯s Aethermarks.¡±

    The sight of that scar¡ªstark and cruel against his pale skin¡ªsent a chill through Ember. The question formed on her tongue before she could stop it. Did it hurt? But she already knew the answer. She¡¯d seen it, the pain carved into his face, the way he¡¯d teetered on the edge of life.

    So she asked something else instead, something softer but no less heavy. ¡°And when the ink runs out?¡± Her gaze fell to the blank skin wrapping his torso. ¡°What then?¡±

    ¡°Honestly?¡± Penta¡¯s voice dipped, and he glanced down at himself, his fingers brushing the scar absently. ¡°I¡¯d rather not find out. Probably nothing pleasant.¡±

    Ember nodded. She had figured as much. Death. Cold, unforgiving, and final. The kind you didn¡¯t come back from.

    ¡°What about¡­ this?¡± Ember ventured, gesturing vaguely toward the side of her head in a halfhearted attempt to lighten the mood. ¡°Will the ink fix that too?¡±

    Penta blinked, then ran his fingers through his hair as if only just remembering. She¡¯d seen it too, streaks of white cutting through his raven-black locks. By now, he must have glimpsed his reflection in the lake, must have noticed the change. Just yesterday, his hair had been dark as midnight.

    ¡°Ah, no,¡± he said at last, his voice wearied. ¡°Soul damage is¡­ different. It doesn¡¯t heal the same way.¡± He sighed, letting his hand drop. ¡°Guess I should be happy I didn¡¯t go bald?¡± He glanced at her with a faint, crooked smile, then flopped back onto the mossy ground. ¡°Truth be told, I was hoping for another ten years before I started rocking the ¡®Dashing Dad¡¯ look. But¡­¡± He flashed her a toothy grin, eyes glinting with mock hope. ¡°Not all bad, is it?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Ember replied, her voice flat as the cracked earth they¡¯d left behind. ¡°I can barely keep myself from pouncing on you right now.¡±

    Silence hung between them, brittle as glass, until she broke it with a ridiculous, halfhearted ¡°rawr¡±.

    Penta snorted, and then they were laughing¡ªragged and wheezy, doubled over with the kind of unrestrained mirth that didn¡¯t ask permission. It hurt, of course. Ember clutched her ribs as each breath scalded her lungs. Penta ended up rolling onto his side, coughing hard enough to shake the ground beneath them. But it wasn¡¯t bad.

    No warm fire or cozy tavern tales, but maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªadventure wasn¡¯t supposed to be those things all the time.

    ¡°That,¡± Penta said between coughs, ¡°has got to be the most crippled cat I¡¯ve ever heard.¡±

    ¡°Now you know how you sounded back in the library,¡± Ember shot back, leaning against her knees as she fought to catch her breath.

    ¡°Hey, mine was different,¡± he protested, his voice scratchy but insistent. ¡°Mine was cute and sexy. Yours was¡­ that.¡± He waved a hand vaguely in her direction before flopping back against the ground with a groan.

    Ember smirked and lay back beside him, the ache in her body momentarily dulled by the weightless quiet of their surroundings. Above them, the twilight sky stretched on, endless and unchanging, a canopy of strange stars.

    ¡°What is this place?¡± she asked softly, her voice barely louder than the hum of the fiery bugs flitting through the air like errant sparks.

    ¡°I was hoping you¡¯d know,¡± Penta said, equally quiet. ¡°You¡¯re the one who dragged me here.¡±

    ¡°Following your compass,¡± Ember countered.

    Another silence, deep and heavy as the mist they¡¯d left behind.

    ¡°Then I guess we¡¯re exactly where we¡¯re supposed to be?¡± Penta ventured, flashing a grin that looked more confident than it had any right to be.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be so sure about that,¡± Emberlyth said, slowly pushing herself upright. As if by an afterthought, she pulled out the Augur¡¯s Compass from her pocket, now watching a needle that was once more spinning out of control. Once it spun around the dial, then it pointed forward, back, then forward again without every holding a single position for more than a second.

    Maybe Penta noticed, as he lazily said, ¡°Don¡¯t worry too much about that thing. While it¡¯s invaluable for traveling between worlds, here, where reality is a bit too solid, there¡¯s too much interference. Do you really desire something to eat more than another few minutes to rest? Is the itch on your nose more important to scratch than the one on your left butt cheek? Unless you were some transcendent monk who is beyond worldly desires, there are too many things vying for its attention. It¡¯s easier out there where everything is misery and your only way out is forward.¡±

    Despite his reassurance, Ember wasn¡¯t convinced. Her eyes flicked toward the trees where she¡¯d seen the stag¡ªor elk, whatever it was¡ªbut the shadows beneath the branches were empty now. Had it all been a fevered dream? She didn¡¯t know. Didn¡¯t want to know. Either way, it felt unwise to keep certain details to herself. ¡°It¡¯s not really the compass that worries me. You see, when we arrived here¡­¡±

    ¡°So, you mean to tell me some magical moose asked us to sod off because¡ªwhat? He didn¡¯t like my style?¡± The offense was heavy in Penta¡¯s voice.

    ¡°Your kin,¡± Emberlyth corrected, already weary of the moose-stag-elk debate she¡¯d apparently lost. She hadn¡¯t even known moose was an option. ¡°But yes. More or less.¡±

    ¡°And what, exactly, is my kin supposed to mean?¡± Penta huffed, brushing moss from his shirt with an exaggerated flourish. ¡°Young, devastatingly handsome men? Because I¡¯ll have you know, we¡¯re a very misunderstood demographic. Mostly harmless. Usually charming. If we¡¯re in the mood.¡± He crossed his arms. ¡°Well, too bad for Mister Antlers either way, because I¡¯m not leaving.¡±

    ¡°But¡ª¡± Emberlyth began, only for Penta to cut her off with a sharp gesture.

    ¡°What? You want to head back there?¡± He jerked his thumb toward the mist, an ominous smear on the edge of this strange sanctuary. ¡°Because I don¡¯t. Not until I¡¯ve had a proper meal and a few solid days of sleep. Minimum.¡± Without waiting for her reply, he started marching toward the lake. ¡°Guess I¡¯ll just have to meet your moose friend and have a chat. Maybe he¡¯ll see reason.¡±

    ¡°First of all, stag,¡± Emberlyth called after him, dragging herself to her feet. ¡°Second¡ª¡±

    Penta was already halfway to the water¡¯s edge, his stride brisk and unapologetic, clearly not listening.

    She sighed, rubbing a hand down her face as frustration bubbled up in her chest. The elk had seemed reasonable enough. The problem was that Penta usually wasn¡¯t.

 Chapter 20

    It was a strange thing. Trailing after him along swaying reeds where the fire bugs danced, beneath the rustling canopy of deciduous trees, Emberlyth struggled to find the words to speak. It wasn¡¯t that she had nothing to say¡ªquite the opposite. Questions burned in her throat, searing and insistent, too many at once to give voice to. Too many things she longed to ask, too many truths she feared to uncover. As seemed the theme ever since they¡¯d met.

    She could have tried to dissuade him from tempting fate like this, but the thought of returning to the Mistlands churned her stomach as much as it did his. She could have asked where he was going, but she already knew he didn¡¯t know. They were just exploring, hoping to find something. She could have asked about his Aethermarks, about her own, about how he was holding up, about what would happen now. But the weight of all those questions pressed heavy against her ribs. Some answers she craved; others, she dreaded.

    The estate was left behind. They had crossed the Mistlands. In a sense, their goal was achieved. Would this be where their paths split? She wasn¡¯t sure how to feel about it, except that it would probably be lonely.

    She had seen him die and come back to life. That warranted questions, too.

    Then there were her marks. Was the silence in them a warning sign she refused to heed? A dozen whispered ¡°Surge¡±, and not even a spark had sprung to life upon her fingertips. Was she simply drained, or had something inside her been damaged beyond repair?

    Her shirt hung in tatters, the cool breeze brushing against her back like a cruel reminder of everything raw and vulnerable. It licked across her skin like salt on an open wound, a physical echo of her doubts. Was her Aethermark even there anymore?

    She could have asked him to look but, in a sense, it felt as if she carried the silence of the estate with her. Maybe she always would. It had followed her here, wrapped around her like a cloak. That same stillness she¡¯d grown so accustomed to, so at home in, even as it made her a stranger to her own voice.

    And so, she said nothing. Not until the minutes stretched out, and even Penta seemed to grow uncomfortable with the silence. He paused, glanced back, and tilted his head. ¡°I figured you were following me,¡± he began. ¡°If you¡¯d rather rest, though, I can go fight this moose thing on my own, you know.¡±

    ¡°You? Fighting something on your own?¡± Ember asked, one eyebrow arching. Once the shackles of silence was broken, the words came naturally. ¡°You want to burn through the rest of your precious ink, or are you just feeling brave?¡±

    ¡°Suit yourself,¡± Penta shrugged, resuming his steady pace. ¡°It¡¯s not like I mind having some backup fire when I go bargain with a talking, magical beast. You just didn¡¯t look like you were¡­¡± He trailed off, glancing over his shoulder again.

    Ember hadn¡¯t moved. She stood rooted in place, staring down at her hands.

    ¡°¡­feeling it?¡± he finished. ¡°What¡¯s the matter? Afraid your moose friend¡¯s going to turn out fireproof?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that,¡± she murmured. Her fingers curled faintly in the air as she whispered, ¡°Surge.¡± Nothing. Not even a hint of warmth. She dropped her hand, shoulders sagging. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ should I be worried if my marks haven¡¯t recovered yet?¡±

    She expected a sarcastic quip¡ªPenta¡¯s usual armor against anything serious¡ªbut to her surprise, he hesitated. Maybe he saw something in her expression, the fear she couldn¡¯t quite hide, the way she was already far past worried.

    ¡°Depends on the mark,¡± he said, his voice unusually careful. His hands hovered as if searching for the right gesture, the right tone. ¡°Some take longer than others. Depends on a lot of things, really. Guess the real question is¡­¡± He met her eyes, something quiet and steady in his gaze. ¡°Would they usually have recovered by now?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ think so?¡± Ember said, though the words felt fragile in her mouth. A good night¡¯s sleep was usually all it took, but since leaving the estate, both good sleep and the reliable measure of time had become slippery concepts. Maybe she was just overthinking it? Maybe it was nothing¡­

    Then, Penta¡¯s casual tone shattered that illusion.

    ¡°Then a little worry might be in order,¡± he replied. ¡°Not too much, though. Just a smidge. In my experience, it takes a lot to really mess up an Aethermark. They¡¯re sturdy things. You¡¯d almost have to try to break one.¡±

    He¡¯d probably intended to be reassuring, but now, Emberlyth¡¯s gut twisted. She could still feel it¡ªthe memory of that moment. The splitting sensation across her back, flames sputtering in places they didn¡¯t belong, searing heat where there should have been control. She hadn¡¯t done ¡°a little.¡± She had pushed herself, over and over, far past the breaking point.

    And now, something had broken. She was certain of it.

    The thought clung to her, heavy and sharp. Her stomach coiled tighter, fear nesting deep in its folds. She opened her mouth, ready to say as much, to spill the worry before it festered further. ¡°Could you please take a look at my back? Could you¡ª¡± But before the words could escape, Penta was already walking again.

    ¡°Either way, I¡¯m starving,¡± he said, his voice light and breezy. ¡°Even if we don¡¯t find any magical moose to roast, I¡¯d settle for some raspberries. Or, you know, a pecan pie someone¡¯s left unguarded. Maybe¡­¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    It was an iron ball dropped to the pit of her stomach.

    It was a dismissal. A polite one, perhaps, but Emberlyth wasn¡¯t a fool. She recognized the shape of it. Penta had made himself clear back in the Mistlands¡ªher marks were her problem, not his. He didn¡¯t want to get involved.

    She¡¯d thought things had changed since then. Thought they¡¯d grown closer, that they¡¯d earned a measure of trust between them. Enough, at least, to share her fears without brushing them off as fleeting worries. That maybe he¡¯d care more about her than breakfast.

    Evidently not.

    ¡°Oh, look: a branch,¡± Penta announced, waving his latest prize in her face. Before that, it had been a pine cone¡ªthe third in a long and increasingly exasperating line of useless discoveries.

    ¡°Yeah, I see,¡± Emberlyth muttered, brushing past him. They¡¯d been circling the lake for what felt like an hour, and they weren¡¯t even halfway around. The terrain fought them at every step: dense foliage clawing at their legs, sharp drops forcing detours, and a river that had nearly soaked them both. The dim, twilit sky wasn¡¯t helping, nor was the light fog creeping up from the lake¡¯s edges. It wasn¡¯t the living, suffocating mist of the place they¡¯d left behind, but it was enough to obscure their path and set Ember¡¯s nerves on edge.

    The one thing certain, the longer they trudged, the smaller this refuge revealed itself to be. Beyond the lake¡ªits still waters the eerie heart of this place¡ªthe Mistlands loomed, no more than a few hundred paces in any direction. Another few hours, and they would probably have seen all of it. It was a cage, no matter how picturesque. The realization offered no comfort.

    ¡°What¡¯s gotten into you?¡± Penta asked, falling into stride beside her. His voice carried a forced lightness, like a jester testing the mood of a restless court. ¡°Has hunger soured your mood that badly?¡±

    ¡°Must be that,¡± Ember replied curtly, her gaze fixed ahead. ¡°Food is all that matters, right?¡±

    Her strides quickened, long legs leaving him behind without much effort. She¡¯d almost hoped that would end the conversation, but his voice carried through the trees.

    ¡°Your marks?¡± he ventured, sounding oddly relieved as he half-jogged to catch up. As if he¡¯d just discovered the source of an unpleasant smell, and it wasn¡¯t him. ¡°Is that what you¡¯re still worried about? I told you, they¡¯ll be fine. There¡¯s nothing to¡ª¡±

    ¡°There is something to worry about,¡± Ember snapped, spinning on him with sudden ferocity. She snatched the stick from his hand¡ªwhy was he even carrying it?¡ªand broke it over her knee. The sharp crack echoed over the lake. She hurled the pieces into the water, as hard and far as she could.

    The act made her feel marginally better. Marginally.

    ¡°At least for me,¡± she continued, quieter. ¡°I broke them. My marks.¡±

    The words sat heavy between them, the weight of her certainty pressing down on the space like a closing door. The longer she¡¯d tried to feel them¡ªthe steady hum of power that had once been as familiar as her own heartbeat¡ªthe less there had been to feel. Her Aethermarks, the thing she¡¯d spent six years honing, had vanished in one reckless, foolish night. She hadn¡¯t realized how much that would hurt until just now.

    ¡°But I guess for you it doesn¡¯t matter,¡± she pressed on, emotion making the edges of her voice unsteady. She hated the sound of it. How vulnerable it made her feel. ¡°It¡¯s not your marks. None of your business, right? So, you just keep worrying about finding your damned food, and I¡¯ll figure this out on my own.¡±

    She turned away before he could answer, her steps heavy with a mix of exhaustion and fury. The lake¡¯s fog seemed thicker now, or maybe it was just her vision swimming. Either way, she didn¡¯t care. Let him laugh it off. Let him brush her off again. She couldn¡¯t afford to.

    ¡°Hey, Ember, erm¡ª¡±

    ¡°Hey what?¡± Ember stoward him, eyes flashing. ¡°Is there another stick that¡¯s so damned interesting you just have to show me? Or do you think someone as naive and stupid as me couldn¡¯t possibly manage to break her own Aethermarks?¡± She snapped her fingers sharply, the sound cutting through the thick, misty air. ¡°Look. Surge, surge. Surge!¡± Her voice rose with each word, trembling under the strain. ¡°See? Nothing. It¡¯s ruined, okay?¡±

    For a moment, Penta just stood there, wide-eyed, his mouth slightly open like he wasn¡¯t sure if he was supposed to laugh, apologize, or bolt. Ember exhaled sharply, rubbing her face with hands that, to her dismay, were trembling.

    ¡°Never mind,¡± she muttered through clenched teeth. ¡°It¡¯s not your fault. Not your problem. I get that.¡± She looked down, her voice softening despite herself. ¡°It¡¯s just... I guess it really mattered to me. For a long time, these marks were all I had. The only thing that was mine. But now... I guess they¡¯re gone.¡±

    The words hung in the air, heavy and unwelcome. Only now, as she said them aloud, did she feel the full weight of the loss. The Aethermarks had been more than a tool, more than a source of power. They¡¯d been hers. Proof of what she¡¯d built, of what she¡¯d endured. Now, in their absence, the hollow ache left behind felt unbearable.

    No matter how skilled Penta was with marks, she doubted he could fix this. Then¡­ why was she so angry at him in the first place? Was it the miserable state of her body, hardly made better by trekking through thick underbrush, that¡¯d made her temper worse than usual? Or was it something deeper than that. Maybe it wasn¡¯t anger at all. Maybe she had just wanted someone to listen. Someone to care about her pain for longer than it took to make a joke. Maybe she wanted, for once, not to feel so completely alone.

    Her thoughts were interrupted by Penta¡¯s voice, filling the silence in his own peculiar way. ¡°I¡ªI realize this timing isn¡¯t great,¡± he began, his tone hesitant, almost sheepish. ¡°But that stag¡ªer, moose¡ªyou met. Exactly how magical would you say it felt? Like cabin-on-a-floating-island-in-the-middle-of-a-lake magical, or... no?¡±

    Ember blinked, frowning as her gaze followed the restless motion of his thumb. It pointed toward the lake, toward the direction she¡¯d thrown his stick.

    There, where the fog had parted, the lake¡¯s surface shimmered faintly. A large, dark shape floated just above the water¡ªno, not a shape. An island. A fragment of earth, severed cleanly from the world, hung suspended in the air like it had forgotten how gravity worked.

    Upon it grew a massive tree, its roots spilling out and curling into the air like claws. Its gnarled branches twisted upward, as if tangled with the very threads of the twilit sky.

    And there, nestled between its roots, stood a cabin. A quaint thing of timber and stone, sat precariously on its floating perch, as though some eccentric soul had decided this miniature world in the middle of the Mistlands was the perfect place to call home.

    ¡°How...¡± Ember began, her voice trailing off. Her lips parted in quiet wonder as the words slipped away, leaving only the sight of it to fill the space. ¡°How didn¡¯t we notice this earlier?¡±

    Whatever this was, whatever lived there, it wasn¡¯t like anything she¡¯d ever seen before.