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Chapter Text

The camp bustled quietly in the late evening light, the golden hues of dusk washing over the aravels. Their vibrant red and gold-painted designs glowed faintly in the dimming sunlight, as if capturing the last warmth of the day. The soft rustle of spring leaves in the nearby trees harmonized with the low hum of conversation and the occasional laughter of children playing near the fires. The scent of roasting meat and herbs hung in the air, blending with the earthy smell of the forest floor. Birds chirped their final melodies before nightfall, and the gentle breeze carried the murmurs of the clan’s hunters as they returned from the day’s work. It was an evening like any other, calm and comforting, the kind of peaceful moment that made the hardships of their nomadic life feel distant, almost forgotten.

Elves moved through the camp, tending to their tasks with practiced ease. Mothers braided their daughters’ hair, while fathers taught their sons the subtle art of fletching arrows. The aravels—their homes on wheels—stood tall and proud, their curved roofs painted with ancient symbols passed down through generations. They were symbols of the clan’s resilience, each one a testament to the history and heritage of their people. Fires crackled gently, casting flickering shadows on the ground as the elders sat together with the keeper, discussing the route they would take in the coming weeks. The air was filled with the kind of quiet contentment that came from years of survival and understanding that, for now, they were safe.

Thalia, just nine years old, sat cross-legged on the soft grass beside her father. His calloused hand gently held hers, guiding her as they stared at the sparks that flickered between his fingertips.

Next to one of the family tents, their small campfire flickered gently, casting a warm glow over the quiet evening scene. The family of four sat together in peaceful companionship, the air filled with the scent of wood smoke and freshly skinned game. Thalia, a small nine-year-old elf, sat cross-legged on the soft grass beside her father. Her wide red eyes, a mirror of his, gleamed in the firelight as she watched the sparks flicker between his calloused fingers. Her long, deep red hair, much like her mother’s, was wild and free, falling in loose waves around her face.

Her father’s hand, worn from years of hunting and work, gently held her smaller one, guiding her as they both focused on the delicate magic dancing in his palm. The purple lightning crackled softly at his fingertips, tiny arcs that looked both powerful and harmless. With practiced ease, he shifted the magic into delicate flames, flickering in the cool night air. Each spark held Thalia’s attention, her eyes wide with awe, her heart swelling with the innocent hope of someone still untouched by the world’s cruelties.

“Watch closely, da’len,” he whispered, his deep voice soothing, like the gentle hum of the night. “See how the magic listens. It doesn’t force itself. It flows, patiently.”

Thalia’s breath caught as she reached out, her small fingers daring to brush the warmth of the flames. They didn’t burn her, didn’t sting. She felt only a gentle warmth, and her awe deepened, her red eyes flickering like the sparks in her father’s hand. “When will I be able to do that?” she asked, her voice filled with the simple, eager curiosity of a child, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

Her father chuckled softly, his smile full of warmth as he ruffled her hair. “In time, lethallin. When the magic inside you is ready, it will come. You will shape it, just as I do. But for now, watch, listen, and be patient. Your time will come.” His eyes were soft, full of pride and love, knowing that his daughter’s future held great promise, even if neither of them could yet see the trials that awaited.

Thalia nodded, leaning into her father’s side, her gaze returning to the fading magic in his palm.

Across the camp, Thalia’s mother stood with her older brother, Therion, guiding him through the delicate process of skinning a rabbit. Therion, now thirteen and taller, was still lean from the growth spurt that had begun to shape him into the young hunter their father hoped he would become. His dark green eyes, matching their mother’s, were focused intently on the task at hand, while his brown hair, inherited from their father, fell into his eyes as he worked. The quiet sound of the knife sliding through fur and skin was just audible beneath the soft murmur of the camp.

“Careful,” their mother said gently, her voice low but instructive as she watched over him. “You need to work with the fur, not against it.”

“I know,” Therion muttered, though his tone held the affectionate grumbling of a boy determined to prove himself. His brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to follow her instructions perfectly, the frustration of wanting to get it right evident in the tension of his movements. Thalia, from where she sat with her father, could see the determination in her brother’s posture, the way he wanted so much to be the hunter their father always praised him for becoming.

The fire beside them cast a warm glow, illuminating their faces in flickering light and shadow, giving the scene a peaceful, timeless quality. Her mother’s hands were steady, confident, guiding Therion through the motions with the patience of someone who had done this a thousand times before. There was an unspoken bond between them, a connection born of tradition and trust, as they worked in quiet tandem.

The camp itself was alive with the soft sounds of family and the steady hum of clan life. The faint scent of fresh herbs mingled with the night air, drifting from the cook pot simmering over a fire, promising a meal soon to come. Clanmates sat together, talking in hushed tones and laughing softly, their children running and playing near the tents as the first stars began to twinkle in the darkening sky. There was a warmth to the scene, an undeniable sense of safety and belonging. This was home, a place of peace where the world beyond the camp’s borders felt distant, almost forgotten for a time.

Their mother’s face was adorned with the intricate vallaslin of June, the god of craft, her dedication to his teachings clear in the meticulous care she put into her work as one of the clan’s armorers. The delicate lines of the vallaslin traced over her skin like a map of her skills, reflecting her respect for creation and craft, the tools of protection she fashioned for her people. Her hands, calloused from years of shaping leather and metal, moved with an expert’s precision as she guided Therion through the motions of skinning the rabbit. Each movement of her fingers carried with it the patience and craftsmanship that came from years of dedication to the god she revered.

Their father, sitting beside Thalia by the fire, bore the vallaslin of Dirthamen, the god of secrets and knowledge. The dark markings on his face were symbols of his insatiable thirst for understanding. As the clan’s first mage, his magic was woven with a deep sense of curiosity and reverence for the mysteries of the world, much like the god he honored. His love for knowledge was not just about power, but about the quiet wisdom that could be found in the natural world, in the hidden corners of the Fade, and in the hearts of those he cared for. The way he had nurtured Thalia’s budding curiosity was a reflection of that devotion—each spark of magic he summoned was not just a display of power, but a lesson in control, patience, and respect for the forces that shaped their world.

Together, their parents were a balance of craft and intellect, of protection and insight, their lives a reflection of the gods they had chosen to honor. Thalia often looked at them and wondered how their different paths had come together so seamlessly, how the careful hands of a craftswoman and the brilliant mind of a mage had found harmony in their shared purpose to protect and guide their family, and by extension, the clan. As she sat beside her father, watching the sparks dance between his fingertips, she felt a deep connection to the lineage they had passed down to her and Therion—a legacy not just of skills, but of devotion, strength, and love.

But then… something shifted.

Thalia felt it before she saw it, a strange tightness in the air that made her skin prickle. It was subtle at first, like a warning from the world around her, a soft, insistent tug at the edges of her awareness. Her heart skipped a beat as the feeling grew, an unfamiliar unease creeping along her spine. She looked to her father, hoping for reassurance, but saw his magic flicker in his palm. His smile, which had been so full of warmth just moments before, faltered. His eyes, the same bright red as hers, darkened with concern as he glanced beyond her, his gaze locking on the horizon.

The wind, once a soft, soothing breeze that carried the scent of wildflowers and fresh leaves, now felt thick and oppressive, as though the air itself had changed. It brought with it the faint, acrid scent of smoke—of something burning. Thalia’s brow furrowed, her small fingers instinctively curling into her father’s hand as the distant crack of something splintering echoed through the camp. It was a sound that didn’t belong, an intrusion in the peace they had known only moments before.

Her father stood abruptly, his expression hardening as his eyes searched the tree line, looking for something—anything—that could explain the dread now crawling up their spines. Across the camp, her mother froze in the middle of her instruction, her knife stilling in her hand as she too sensed the shift. Therion’s eyes darted up to her, and for a moment, the entire camp seemed to hold its breath, every elf alert and poised, waiting for the source of the disturbance to reveal itself.

Then, chaos.

The night erupted into madness as one of the aravels at the edge of their camp was suddenly engulfed in flames, the fire roaring to life in an instant. The golden glow of the evening was swallowed by an orange inferno, casting harsh, dancing shadows across the once peaceful camp. Screams followed—panicked cries that tore through the night, desperate shouts of fear and agony that seemed to come from all directions at once. The acrid stench of burning wood and fabric filled the air, thick and choking, making it difficult to breathe.

Thalia’s heart raced, pounding in her chest as she turned, her red eyes wide with confusion and terror. Her small body trembled, frozen in the moment, as she watched the flames consume everything around her. The warmth of the fire, once comforting, now felt like a searing wave of destruction. Her gaze snapped toward her father, her voice lost in the overwhelming noise, but she didn’t need to speak to see the fear in his eyes.

Out of the trees, shadows moved—human bandits, their faces obscured by darkness and cruelty. They charged into the camp with terrifying speed, their weapons drawn, the glint of steel catching in the firelight. They slashed at anything that moved, their brutality swift and merciless. Elves scattered in panic, trying to defend themselves, but the bandits cut through them with a savage efficiency. The camp, once a place of safety and warmth, had turned into a battlefield in mere moments.

Her mother dropped the rabbit, the knife slipping from her trembling fingers and clattering to the ground, the metallic sound lost in the rising chaos. “Therion! Thalia!” she screamed, her voice sharp with terror, cutting through the smoke-filled air. “Run!” The sheer panic in her tone sent a jolt through Thalia, but her legs refused to move, frozen by the fear that gripped her small body.

Her father reacted quickly, pushing Thalia behind him, his protective instincts taking over. His face, once calm and full of warmth, was now a mask of determination and fear. With a wave of his hand, bolts of purple lightning erupted from his staff, the power crackling through the air with a force that made the ground tremble. The magic surged from his fingertips with desperate speed, striking down the bandits who charged toward them, their forms collapsing under the raw energy. But the enemy kept coming, relentless, their faces twisted with cruelty and greed. The shadows moved closer, swords flashing, and the fire roared louder.

Thalia’s heart raced in her chest, thudding painfully in her ears as she clung to her father’s leg, her fingers gripping tightly to the fabric of his robes. The acrid scent of smoke filled her lungs, stinging her eyes as she blinked through the chaos. Her whole body trembled, her mind reeling, unable to comprehend the violence unraveling before her. The peaceful camp, her home, was being torn apart.

Through the haze of the burning aravels and the confusion, Thalia saw her mother. She had grabbed Therion’s hand, pulling him toward the tree line with urgency. “We have to go!” her mother called out, her voice raw with desperation as she turned toward Thalia and her father. Her eyes were wide, her face pale as she called to them over the roar of the fire. “Come on!”

But there wasn’t enough time. The bandits closed in from all directions, a tide of violence and chaos that swallowed the camp whole. Shadows danced in the firelight, and the crackling of flames was drowned out by the shouts of attackers and the cries of the fallen.

One moment, her mother was pulling Therion along, rushing to reach Thalia and her father, and the next, she crumpled to the ground. Three arrows pierced her back, buried deep into her flesh. The sound that came from her mother wasn’t a scream—it was a sharp, ragged gasp, a sound so full of shock and pain that it seemed to cut through the night. Thalia froze, her heart stopping, her breath catching in her throat as her mother fell forward, her body still and unmoving on the cold ground.

“Ma!” Thalia’s voice broke, but her legs refused to move, trembling under the weight of terror. She wanted to run to her, to help her, but all she could do was watch, paralyzed by the horror that gripped her. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from her mother’s fallen form.

Before she could make a move, her father’s hand pressed firmly on her shoulder, keeping her in place. His magic flared again, purple lightning snapping through the air with deadly precision, but there were too many. The bandits kept coming, surrounding them, their faces filled with a hunger for destruction.

“Therion!” her father shouted, his voice filled with urgency as he called to his son, his eyes never leaving the threat around them. “Come to me! Now!”

Therion stumbled, his face pale and horrified, his hand still reaching for their mother even as he ran toward their father. But the distance between them felt impossibly far, the chaos of the battle closing in around them like a trap tightening.

Then, from a direction he wasn't looking, a bandit rushed toward her father.
The gleam of a sword caught the firelight as it arced through the air, a flash of silver before it sliced across her father's abdomen. His gasp echoed through the chaos, sharp and full of pain. His body crumpled, folding in on itself as he fell to his knees, his hands instinctively clutching at the wound. Blood, dark and vivid, soaked through his robes, spreading across the fabric with terrifying speed. His staff, once a weapon of protection and power, slipped from his grasp and clattered uselessly to the ground beside him.

Thalia stood frozen, horror overtaking her as she saw the life drain from his eyes, his body swaying as he tried to keep himself upright. "No!" The word tore from her throat, raw and full of agony, but it felt powerless against the overwhelming destruction unfolding around her.

Her father, her protector, the one who had shown her the wonders of magic only moments before, was on the ground, crumpled in a pool of his own blood. His face, pale and strained with pain, turned toward her, but his eyes couldn't focus, clouded by the shock and injury.

Thalia screamed, her tiny hands reaching out, desperately shaking her father's shoulders. Her fingers were slick with his blood, but she didn't care, couldn't care.
"Pa! Wake up! Please!" she cried, her voice breaking. Beside her, Therion joined in, his hands trembling as he tried to push their father upright. Panic and fear gripped both of them as their father slumped, his eyes glazing over with each passing second.

But the looming shadow of the bandit stood over them. The man still held the blood-soaked sword in his hand, his twisted grin growing wider as he towered over them. He laughed, the sound cruel and filled with malice. "Two more rabbits to kill," he sneered, his eyes gleaming with savage glee. "Lucky me." He raised his sword high, the blade catching the light of the flames as it hovered above their heads, ready to strike.

Time seemed to slow as Thalia's heart pounded in her ears, drowning out all other sounds. Her eyes locked onto the blade, her body frozen in place as terror seized her limbs.

This was it.

But then, as the bandit's arm swung down, an arrow whistled through the air, slamming into his chest with a powerful force. The man staggered, his eyes widening in shock as he gasped, blood spilling from his lips. He fell backward with a heavy thud, his sword clattering to the ground beside him.

Before Thalia could process what had just happened, strong arms wrapped around her from behind, lifting her off the ground. She gasped, her small body curling instinctively as she was cradled against a broad chest. "Hold on, lethallin!" a voice called out, rough with fear and urgency.

It was Theralas, the Keeper's husband and the lead hunter of their clan. His arms held her tightly as he pulled her close, his movements quick and desperate. Thalia barely had time to register the safety in his grip before she saw him reach for Therion's hand, yanking her brother to his feet with equal force. Therion struggled, his face streaked with tears and blood, his cries filled with agony. "No! Ma! Pa!" he shouted, trying to wrench free, but Theralas didn't stop, didn't slow. His own face was tight with fear, his gaze fixed on the trees ahead, away from the carnage behind them. “We have to go!” the hunter shouted, dragging them both away from the chaos. “We cannot save them now!”

Thalia sobbed, her small body trembling uncontrollably as she twisted in Theralas’s arms, her tear-filled eyes searching desperately over his shoulder. The world around her blurred in the haze of smoke and fire, but her gaze locked onto her parents’ fallen bodies. They lay still, side by side, illuminated by the flickering glow of the firelight. Her father’s magic, once so strong and full of life, now sputtered weakly around him, fading into faint purple sparks as his hand stretched out toward her. He was reaching, reaching for her, but he was too far. Always too far.

And her mother—gods, her mother—lay face down, her back twisted unnaturally, arrows buried deep in her flesh. The woman who had just called for her, who had smiled only moments ago, was now so still, her vibrant life extinguished in an instant. Thalia’s heart shattered at the sight, the pain of it nearly unbearable, each beat of her chest pounding with agony.

“Ma! Pa!” she screamed, her voice breaking under the weight of her sorrow, her throat raw with grief. She thrashed in Theralas’s arms, her small hands gripping at the air as if somehow she could pull them back to life. “Help them! Please!” Her voice was hoarse, desperate, but it was drowned out by the roar of the flames and the chaos around them. “Please help them!”

Her cries cut through the night, raw and filled with a hopelessness she had never known. Every step Theralas took felt like another fracture in her soul, another piece of her life being torn away. She fought against him, her sobs wracking her tiny frame, but the hunter held her tight, his own face etched with pain as he carried her away. Away from the only home she had ever known, away from the safety of her family, away from the bodies of the people she loved.

The flames roared behind them, a living, breathing force that consumed everything in its path. Shadows danced and stretched toward the dense forest ahead, like dark fingers reaching for them, urging them to run faster. The heat seared at Thalia’s back, the acrid smoke stinging her eyes and burning her throat with every desperate breath. Theralas moved swiftly, his steps sure, but even his strength couldn’t outpace the terror that nipped at their heels. The dark woods loomed ahead, their towering trees standing like silent sentinels, watching as the camp was swallowed in chaos.

As they broke toward the tree line, the world became a blur for Thalia—her vision clouded by tears and smoke, the pounding of her heart deafening in her ears. Every step seemed to echo with the images burned into her mind: the arrows sinking into her mother’s back, her father crumpling to his knees, the blood, so much blood. The memory played on repeat, flashing before her eyes no matter how hard she tried to push it away. The ground beneath her spun, the reality of it all too much for her small body and mind to bear.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, each inhale a struggle as panic clawed at her throat. She couldn’t stop seeing them—her parents, falling, reaching out to her in those final moments, and she was powerless, too far to help, too small to save them. The overwhelming grief swelled within her, rising like a wave that threatened to drown her as they fled into the safety of the trees.

Therion’s sobs filled the air beside her, his cries echoing hers as his arm clung to Theralas’ hand. But there were no answers, no relief, only the unrelenting push toward survival as Theralas dragged them further into the woods, away from the life they had known and into the uncertain darkness ahead.

“Keep going,” Theralas urged, his voice tight with strain, barely cutting through the crackling of the flames behind them. His breath came in labored gasps, his grip on Thalia firm as he pushed them forward, deeper into the woods. The comforting glow of their campfires had been replaced by the oppressive darkness of the forest, the trees towering above them like walls, offering only a fragile shield from the terror that chased them.

But it wasn’t enough.

The sounds of pursuit grew closer, louder. The bandits weren’t far behind. Thalia could hear them crashing through the underbrush, their heavy boots pounding against the forest floor. Shouts of anger rang out, cutting through the night, laced with cruel delight. The metallic clatter of weapons echoed through the trees, sharp and cold, a grim reminder of the danger that still hunted them.

Theralas’s pace quickened, but even his strides felt too slow, every step weighted with the knowledge that safety was slipping further away. The sound of blades slicing through leaves sent a new wave of fear coursing through Thalia’s body. They weren’t safe yet. The bandits were closing in.

Therion stumbled beside them, his face streaked with dirt and tears, his breathing ragged. “I can hear them,” he whispered, his voice shaking as he glanced over his shoulder, his wide eyes searching the darkness for the looming threat.

“Don’t look back!” Theralas growled, pulling him onward with a force that nearly knocked the breath from them. His voice, though filled with fear, carried a thread of determination. “We’re almost there. Just keep running!”

But Thalia could feel the weight of the pursuit, the shadows of the bandits creeping closer with each passing moment. The safety of the trees, the darkness they fled into, wasn’t enough to stop what was coming.

Just as they stumbled further into the forest, the Keeper appeared like a wraith from the shadows, her robes billowing around her, her face pale with terror. Her usually serene expression was gone, replaced by raw, desperate fear. Without a word, she reached out, her hands shaking as she grabbed Thalia and Therion from her husband’s grasp, pulling them tightly against her chest. She didn’t give them time to ask questions, didn’t pause for reassurance.

“Get to the cave!” she ordered, her voice firm but trembling, the weight of grief clinging to every syllable. She held them both close for only a moment before urging them forward. The urgency in her voice left no room for argument, only the command to survive.

Theralas didn’t hesitate. His eyes met his wife’s, a silent farewell passing between them. The weight of their shared knowledge—that this might be the last time they saw each other—hung heavy in the air. He turned swiftly, his steps decisive as he made his way back toward the camp, his bow already drawn, the quiver of arrows strapped tightly to his back. “Stay safe,” he said, his voice low but full of the love and determination of a protector. Then, without another glance, he vanished into the thick smoke and shadows, swallowed by the chaos.

Beside him, emerging from the dense underbrush like a shadow himself, came the clan’s second mage—Thalia’s uncle. Magic crackled around his fingertips, faint streaks of blue and silver dancing across his palms. His face was hard, set in a mask of focus as he moved to stand beside Theralas. Back-to-back, they readied themselves for the oncoming wave of attackers, their bond as fighters and protectors clear in their synchronized movements.

“Go!” her uncle shouted, his voice a force of its own as he glanced toward the Keeper and the children. His eyes burned with the same fierce determination, but there was something more there too—an unspoken plea for them to make it to safety. With that, the two men, bound by blood and duty, faced the tide of bandits surging toward them, ready to hold the line at whatever cost.

Therion pulled against the Keeper’s grasp, his tear-streaked face still searching the smoke, but her grip was iron. She dragged them forward, forcing their feet to move as they left behind the only home they had ever known.

The bandits emerged from the smoke like shadows of death, their weapons gleaming in the firelight, reflecting the chaos and destruction they had brought. Their faces were twisted with malice, their eyes burning with greed. The moment they crossed the threshold into the camp, the fight began.

Thalia’s uncle stood tall, his hands glowing with raw power. Green pulses of magic rippled through the air, knocking bandits back with such force that some were sent sprawling into the dirt. He moved with a fluidity she had never seen before, his fingers crackling with lightning that struck down enemies with lethal precision. His magic was not just a tool, but an extension of his will, a force of nature that he wielded with deadly grace. Every flick of his wrist sent ripples of energy through the smoke-filled air, every incantation laced with the desperation to protect those he loved.

Thalia’s eyes locked onto her uncle, watching him in awe and terror. The realization hit her like a weight on her chest—he was strong. Stronger than she had ever imagined, his magic more powerful than she had ever seen. But even with all his strength, all his skill, it still wasn’t enough.

Before she could call out, a scream pierced the night.

One of the bandits had drawn an arrow and let it fly with deadly accuracy. Time seemed to slow as the arrow cut through the air, whistling as it found its mark in her uncle’s chest. The impact staggered him, his body jerking as his hands flew to the wound. His magic flickered, faltering for the briefest moment, and then his legs buckled beneath him. He crumpled to the ground, his body folding in on itself as the light faded from his eyes.

“No!” Therion’s shout tore through the night, his voice cracking with anguish. He tried to run toward their uncle, but the Keeper’s grip tightened, her hands holding them both close as more arrows flew through the air, whistling past them, embedding themselves in the ground.

Tears streamed down Thalia’s face as she was pulled away, her heart shattering with each step that took them further from the fallen. The sound of her uncle’s body hitting the ground echoed in her ears, the fading crackle of his magic leaving a hollow silence in its wake. The Keeper’s face, normally so strong, was now twisted with grief and fear, her steps hurried but burdened with the weight of loss.

But there was no time to mourn, no time to stop. The arrows still flew, and the bandits still came. All they could do was run, leaving behind the bodies of their fallen, their family, as the darkness of the forest swallowed them whole.

The hunters of the clan-those who had survived the initial onslaught-stood their ground, fierce and unyielding, their weapons raised in defense of what remained of their home. Every last arrow was nocked and drawn, the whistle of each shot cutting through the night like the song of death. Spears were thrust forward with lethal precision, cutting down bandits as they rushed toward the remaining defenders. The clash of swords echoed through the forest, the sharp ring of steel meeting steel reverberating into the night, each strike accompanied by the desperate grunts of the fighters locked in mortal combat.

The forest itself seemed to tremble, as though the very trees bore witness to the horror unfolding beneath their branches. Leaves rustled and shook with the vibrations of the battle, their peaceful existence shattered by the fury of war. The once serene woods were now filled with the sounds of violence-the clash of blades, the cries of the wounded, and the guttural shouts of the bandits as they fell beneath the hunters' onslaught.

But even as the hunters fought bravely, the weight of the battle bore down on them.
For every bandit they felled, more seemed to take their place, emerging from the smoke and shadows with relentless fury. The ground beneath their feet was slick with blood, the air thick with the smell of smoke and death.

It was a losing fight, the hunters knew it, but they fought on, driven by the determination to protect their people, their families-those they had already lost and those still fleeing into the woods. Their arrows flew true, their spears cut deep, but the tide of enemies was unrelenting, pushing them further toward the edge of exhaustion.

The clash of steel, the cries of pain and anger, the struggle to hold the line-it all filled the night with a violence that seemed endless, as if the world itself was tearing apart.

The Keeper didn’t stop. Her grip on Thalia and Therion was iron, pulling them relentlessly forward as the chaos of the battle raged behind them. The children stumbled over roots and rocks, their tear-filled eyes catching glimpses of the red, fiery light that flickered and danced through the smoke and trees. The forest, once so familiar, now felt alien and terrifying, every sound amplified in the eerie glow. But the Keeper didn’t look back. Her pace was swift, her determination unyielding as she led the remaining survivors deeper into the forest.

Thalia struggled to keep up, her legs burning with the effort. The weight of what she had seen—her parents, her uncle, the destruction of their camp—pressed heavy on her small shoulders, making every step feel like it would be her last. Her heart raced in her chest, not just from the exertion but from the fear that clung to her like a shadow. The scent of smoke still filled her nose, the cries of the dying echoing in her ears, but she had no choice but to follow the Keeper.

They wound their way through the dense underbrush, the trees growing thicker and taller as they moved deeper into the forest. The Keeper seemed to know exactly where she was going, her every step purposeful. Thalia had never been this far before—she hadn’t known a place like this existed—but the Keeper moved as if she had walked these paths a thousand times. She led them to a cave hidden behind an outcropping of rocks and foliage, the entrance covered by thick vines that hung like a curtain, concealing it from any wandering eyes.

The cave loomed before them, its shadowy mouth offering refuge in the darkness. Thalia hesitated for just a moment, her breath catching in her throat as she stared into the inky blackness beyond the vines. She had always feared the dark, but now, as she stood on the threshold of the unknown, it felt less frightening than the red glow that still flickered in the distance, the reminder of what they had barely escaped.

The Keeper paused only long enough to ensure that the children were still with her before pushing aside the thick vines. “Inside,” she commanded, her voice low and hoarse from the strain of running. There was no hesitation in her tone—no room for questions. This was their sanctuary now, the only safe place left.

Thalia followed, her hand still tightly gripping the keepers as they stepped into the cool darkness of the cave. The air inside was damp and cold, the scent of moss and earth overwhelming. For the first time since the attack began, the roar of the flames and the sounds of battle were muffled, distant. But the fear remained, settled deep in her bones as she clung to the faint hope that they would be safe here, hidden from the horrors outside.

Inside the cave, the darkness was suffocating, pressing in from all sides as the cold dampness clung to their skin. The walls seemed too close, the space too small for the weight of the fear and grief that filled it. The children huddled together, their small bodies shaking with a cold that had nothing to do with the temperature. They clung to the adults, seeking a comfort that none of them could truly provide. Every face was pale, every eye wide and hollowed by shock.

Thalia and Therion held each other tightly, their arms wrapped around one another as though letting go would mean losing the last piece of their world. Their faces were streaked with dirt and tears, their gazes distant, unseeing. Neither spoke. There were no words to give voice to the devastation they had witnessed, no way to understand the full measure of their loss. Their parents, their uncle, their home—it was all gone, swallowed by the fire and the blades of the bandits.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, huddled in the darkness, the silence broken only by the occasional sob of a child or the soft whisper of a prayer muttered by one of the survivors. No one dared speak above a whisper, as if raising their voices would bring the danger crashing down on them again. The tension in the air was thick, every breath a struggle against the terror that still lurked outside the cave, even though the sounds of battle had faded.

The Keeper moved among them, her face a mask of sorrow as she counted the survivors, her gaze moving from face to face, searching for those who weren’t there. The absence of so many, the weight of the lives lost, clung to her shoulders. Too many missing. Too many gone. Her heart felt like it was breaking with each person she didn’t find, each name that would no longer be called.

When she finally spoke, her voice was low, barely above a whisper, but it carried through the cave like a tremor. “It’s over for now.” Her words were meant to comfort, but they were hollow, empty. The silence that followed was heavier than before, filled with the knowledge that what they had lost could never be reclaimed.

Thalia stared at the ground, her fingers still clutching Therion’s, but her mind was far away, back in the camp, where the red light of the fire and the crackle of magic still haunted her thoughts. The Keeper’s words were meant to bring relief, but the truth hung between them, unspoken but understood by all: they had survived, but they had lost more than they could ever bear.

As the night dragged on, no one dared to sleep. They sat, huddled together, waiting, listening for any sign of the hunters who had stayed behind. Every sound made Thalia jump, her body tense with fear, her mind replaying the last moments of her parents’ lives over and over again. Therion didn’t speak, didn’t move, his face locked in a mask of grief and fury.

When morning finally broke, a dull gray mist clung to the forest, and a gentle rain began to fall, its droplets mingling with the ash and smoke still lingering from the night’s devastation. The survivors huddled together in the cave, silent and unmoving, too exhausted and numb to speak. The forest outside seemed eerily quiet now, as if mourning the lives lost alongside them.

A handful of the hunters returned, their figures emerging from the mist like ghosts. Their faces were pale, streaked with blood and dirt, their clothes torn and tattered. Each step they took seemed weighed down by the horrors they had witnessed. Among them was the Keeper’s husband, his face lined with deep exhaustion. The strength he usually exuded had been drained from him, leaving only the worn shadow of a man who had fought and lost too much.

He knelt beside his wife, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. His touch was heavy, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke the words no one wanted to hear. “Half of the clan… gone.”

The words hung in the air like a curse, thick and suffocating. The survivors shifted uneasily, their grief too profound for words, their hearts too heavy to carry. Those who had made it back alive were few, their faces hardened from the horrors they had faced. The hunters who had stayed to fight were broken, their numbers decimated. Each of them carried a haunted look, the pain of what they had seen etched into their expressions.

The Keeper’s husband took a breath, steadying himself as he continued. “The bandits were relentless. We managed to drive them off, but the damage is…” His voice faltered, his grief too raw to conceal. “It’s bad.”

His eyes flicked toward the ground, unable to meet the Keeper’s as he delivered the grim report. The survivors didn’t need to hear more. They could see it in the haunted faces of the hunters, feel it in the weight of the silence that followed. The lives lost, the homes destroyed, the future of their once-strong clan shattered in a single night. There would be no going back, no reclaiming what had been taken from them.

The Keeper’s shoulders sagged under the weight of it all, her face pale and drawn. She didn’t cry, though the sorrow in her eyes was too deep for tears. She simply nodded, her hand tightening over her husband’s as she looked toward the children, her gaze falling on Thalia and Therion. They were the future now, what remained of the life they had known, and the road ahead seemed more uncertain than ever.

A few of the women, those too grief-stricken to move, remained behind with the surviving children, keeping them safe and hidden in the cave. The others, the ones still strong enough to stand, went back to the camp to salvage what they could. The forest was eerily silent now, the echoes of battle and the scent of smoke still clinging to the air.

What would happen to them now?

Chapter Text

The few days after the ambush blurred into a haze for Thalia, a relentless march of time that felt both endless and fleeting. She barely registered the passing hours as the clan’s elders and adults moved with a quiet, mechanical efficiency, gathering the broken bodies of their fallen and preparing them for burial. There were no comforting words exchanged, no gentle reassurances, only the grim, silent work of those who had no choice but to carry on.

For Thalia and the other children, the darkness of the cave was both a refuge and a prison. They had been ushered into its depths before the adults went to reclaim what they could from the destroyed camp, the children’s eyes shielded from the carnage left behind. But the thick stone walls of the cave did little to protect them from the growing weight of what had happened. The silence, once a balm in times of peace, now pressed down on them like a suffocating blanket, filled with the unspoken knowledge of the lives lost and the memories that would never be made.

Thalia knew. They all knew.

The absence of familiar voices, the missing warmth of families, hung like a void in the cold air. Her young mind struggled to make sense of it all, but there was no logic, no explanation that could justify the cruelty of what had happened.

She had seen the faces of her friends just hours before the attack, bright and full of life, laughing as they played near the aravels. They had been running together, their bare feet light on the soft grass, unaware of the terror that was waiting just beyond the trees. Now, those same friends were gone. The thought of it was incomprehensible, the finality of their deaths a sharp, painful ache in her chest.

The loss was too profound for her to fully understand, but she felt it all the same—a deep, gnawing emptiness that echoed in the pit of her stomach. She kept replaying the moments before the ambush in her mind, trying to hold onto the last vestiges of her old life, but each memory slipped further away, clouded by the horrific images of fire and blood.

Some of the children who had been lost were Thalia’s closest friends. She could still picture their faces clearly—the way they had grinned at her when they plotted their next game, the way they had called out her name in excitement as they ran through the camp. They had been there with her, laughing and playing, just moments before it all fell apart. And now, they were simply gone. Thalia’s heart ached with the realization that no one would ever see them again, that their stories had been cut short before they had even begun to live them fully.

Thalia saw it in the adults’ faces as they returned to the cave from the camp—the exhaustion, the grief, the haunted expressions that spoke of horrors too great for words. The dirt was smeared across their cheeks, streaked with the marks of tears that had fallen silently as they worked, gathering what remained of their once-vibrant home. Their eyes, dull and weary, held the weight of the losses they had witnessed. Thalia had always looked up to these adults, these figures of strength and stability, but now they seemed broken, just like everything else.

There were no words spoken as they passed the children, their silence louder than any cries of mourning. The smell of smoke and death clung to them, a heavy reminder of the destruction that had claimed half their clan. Thalia caught glimpses of some of the adults shaking their heads, barely able to speak as they settled around the fire that burned low, offering little comfort in its weak warmth. They had buried friends, family, and lovers—people they had known their entire lives—and now they were left with the grim task of moving forward, even though the future seemed bleak and uncertain.

Thalia didn’t know how many days had passed in the suffocating darkness of the cave, her sense of time warped by grief and fear. But when they were finally called out, the weight of reality settled over her again. She and Therion walked out together, their hands brushing but not quite holding, both too numb to find comfort in each other. The world outside felt utterly foreign to them, the sky a bleak expanse of gray, thick with smoke that still lingered in the air, a stark reminder of the devastation. The camp, once filled with life and warmth, now stood silent, its ruins a testament to the horror they had survived.

As they made their way through the remnants of the camp, Thalia’s eyes fell on what had once been their home—their family’s tent, now charred and broken. In front of it sat a basket filled with burnt possessions, the remains of a life they would never get back. She saw toys she had once played with, blackened and charred, the tools her mother used to work with, singed and broken. Blankets, pillows, their edges frayed and almost useless. It was a meager collection, a painful reminder of what had been lost. Her heart ached as she stared at the remnants, but she couldn’t bring herself to approach them. It felt like a mockery of the life they once had.

But what made her stop in her tracks, what truly shattered her, was the sight of the dirt mound in the center of the camp. A large, freshly turned mound, where the dead had been buried. Her eyes locked on the spot, her breath catching in her throat. There they all were, everyone who had been taken from them, lying together beneath the earth. And among them were her mother and father. Thalia’s knees wobbled, the weight of it all crashing down on her as she stared at the mound that marked their final resting place. Ma and Pa—gone, buried, their presence reduced to this silent, mass grave.

The remaining elves gathered solemnly around the dirt mound, their faces etched with grief and exhaustion. At the center, the Keeper knelt in front of the graves, her head bowed in deep prayer, her hands clasping a staff that had once belonged to Thalia’s father. Her soft voice broke the stillness, steady and sure, as she spoke words of honor and reverence for those who had fallen. “May Falon’Din guide their souls to the beyond, and may their memories be carried in the wind that touches us all,” she murmured, her voice just loud enough to carry over the gathered elves.

Thalia and Therion stood next to each other, their shoulders almost touching, but it felt as though there was a chasm between them. Both were silent, their eyes locked on the ground, neither able to look at the freshly dug grave that now held their parents and so many others. The grief was too raw, too overwhelming. The memories of their family, their home, felt like a distant dream. Every glance toward the mound threatened to shatter whatever fragile hold they had on their emotions, so instead, they focused on the dirt beneath their feet, on the steady sound of the Keeper’s voice, as if it could somehow anchor them to the moment.

The Keeper’s words of prayer came to a close. She stood slowly and made her way toward Thalia, her eyes heavy with sorrow, but her steps sure. The crowd parted as she walked, and Thalia’s heart hammered in her chest, her throat tightening with emotion. The Keeper knelt before her, still reciting the last words of a prayer under her breath, and with great care, she handed Thalia the staff she held—her father’s staff.

“Your father’s magic was strong, lethallan,” the Keeper said softly, placing the staff gently into Thalia’s trembling hands. “He would want you to carry this, to continue the path he walked.”

Thalia’s fingers closed around the staff, the wood familiar yet so heavy, as if it bore the weight of all her loss. “But… I’m not ready,” Thalia whispered, her voice cracking as tears welled up in her eyes. “I can’t… I can’t be like him.”

The Keeper placed her hand on Thalia’s shoulder, her expression tender, though grief still clouded her features. “None of us are ready for the losses we endure, child. But you will find strength in time. You will carry him with you, in your heart, in your magic.”

Thalia swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the staff. The sense of connection to her father, even in death, was a painful comfort. She looked up at the Keeper, her voice shaking as she asked, “How am I supposed to do this? How do I protect them… when I couldn’t even protect him?”

The Keeper sighed softly, her gaze full of compassion. “We honor the dead by continuing their work, Thalia. Your father trusted you, and so do I.” She stood, looking at both Thalia and Therion. “You will both have to find your way forward, but know that you are not alone in this.”

Therion remained silent, his jaw clenched, but when the Keeper handed Thalia the staff, something shifted in his eyes—recognition of the burden, of the responsibility they both now shared.

As the Keeper spoke, Therion stood stiffly by Thalia’s side. His eyes flicked to the staff in her hands, lingering a moment longer than necessary. A shadow passed across his face, a flicker of something bitter. Jealousy. It was subtle, but unmistakable—the way his gaze hardened, how his jaw clenched even tighter. Thalia’s hands wrapped around their father’s staff, the symbol of the magic she would carry, while Therion stood empty-handed. She was their father’s chosen successor, the inheritor of his role as the clan’s first mage, and though Therion had trained with weapons all his life, something about seeing Thalia hold that staff stirred resentment deep within him.

He said nothing, his expression masked again in silence, but Thalia could feel the shift between them. She glanced at him, searching his face for comfort, but found only distance.

The Keeper’s voice cut through the quiet, drawing the attention of the gathered clan. “We must gather what we can,” she called out, her voice steady though tinged with sorrow. “Place your belongings in the remaining aravels. We have enough hallas to drag them, but not enough for us all to ride. The children will be placed in the aravels, but some will have to walk.”

There was no choice, no time to linger. The clan moved with a grim sense of duty, gathering the remnants of their lives into what little remained. Thalia watched, clutching her father’s staff tightly, as her people loaded the aravels with their salvaged belongings. The weight of loss hung heavy in the air, but the urgency of survival pressed them onward.

Therion stood nearby, his face unreadable, his body tense as he watched their clanmates prepare for the journey. Thalia wanted to reach out to him, to say something, anything, to break the silence that had grown between them. But the words wouldn’t come, and before she could think further, strong arms lifted her into one of the aravels. The Keeper’s husband placed her gently among the other children, the soft blankets beneath her a stark contrast to the heaviness in her heart.

She clung to the staff, her small hands gripping it tightly, her knuckles white. The weight of it grounded her, even as her thoughts swirled with the dread of what came next. Below, Therion walked alongside the aravel, his steps measured but tense, his eyes fixed ahead, avoiding her gaze. The sight of him walking while she rode felt wrong—another layer of guilt she wasn’t prepared to carry.

The Keeper stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “We must leave this place,” she said, though the words seemed to hang in the air like a final goodbye. “We will find another home, another place where we can rebuild. The dead will rest here, and their spirits will guide us forward. It is the only thing we can do.”

Thalia’s heart ached at the thought of leaving her parents, of leaving the mound of dirt that marked their graves. The pain was sharp, like a knife twisting in her chest, but there was no other choice. They had to survive, and that meant leaving behind the dead. As the aravel began to move, the gentle pull of the halla leading them forward, Thalia looked back one last time at the camp, at the graves, the home that was no more. The loss felt endless, but there was no turning back now.

For about a week, they wandered through the dense forest, their movements slow and weary as they put more distance between themselves and the place where everything had fallen apart. The days passed in a blur for Thalia, the endless trees and underbrush blending together as the aravels creaked and groaned with the weight of their belongings and the quiet grief of the survivors. Every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of loss hanging over the clan like a shroud.

Therion remained by her side, walking in silence, his face set in a grim expression as they ventured deeper into the wilds. The world around them was a constant reminder of what they had left behind, but also a promise of what might lie ahead. They could not rebuild what had been lost, but they could find a way to survive, to carry on.

After days of searching, the clan finally found a small clearing tucked away at the foot of a cliff. The dense trees opened up to reveal a space that felt safe, almost protected. The cliffs rose high on three sides, offering shelter from the elements, while a small waterfall trickled down from the rocks above, feeding into a stream that wove its way through the clearing. The sound of the water was soft, soothing, and for the first time since the attack, Thalia felt a small spark of peace amidst the chaos.

“It’s not much,” one of the elders murmured, surveying the area, “but it’s enough.”

The Keeper nodded in agreement, her eyes scanning the space with a mix of relief and sadness. “It’s enough for now,” she said quietly. “And with time, it will become more than enough.”

Thalia looked around the clearing, her eyes taking in the trees, the water, the cliffs that rose like silent guardians. It wasn’t home, not yet. But it was something. And as the clan began to settle into the clearing, pitching what tents they could and setting up camp, Thalia allowed herself to hope, just a little, that this place might one day feel like home again.

Thalia and Therion struggled in the new camp. Deshanna, the Keeper, and her husband, Theralas, had taken them in, becoming their guardians after the deaths of their parents. Though the transition was made with kindness and care, it was still jarring, and the siblings could feel the difference in every interaction. Deshanna and Theralas did their best, making sure Thalia and Therion had food, shelter, and comfort, but the closeness and warmth their parents had provided were painfully absent. The tender moments of love, the effortless sense of home, were now replaced by a distant, dutiful concern that felt like a shadow of what had been.

Every meal with the Keeper and her husband was quiet, the conversations brief, punctuated by an awkward silence. The siblings received attentiveness, yes, but it was heavy with the weight of obligation rather than genuine affection. Thalia noticed it in every gesture—the way Deshanna watched over them with an air of responsibility rather than maternal warmth, how Theralas offered instruction but not the playful banter that once filled their days with their father. There was a hollowness in the interactions, a gap that no amount of care could bridge. Thalia longed for the gentleness and security of her parents, and though she didn’t speak of it, the emptiness gnawed at her heart.

Therion, however, took it much harder. His anger bubbled just beneath the surface, simmering in silence until it spilled out in frustrated bursts. He resented the helplessness that came with their new life, the feeling of being too young to make a difference, too powerless to protect those he loved. He wanted to fight, to prove himself, to channel his grief into action, but he was just a boy, and the frustration of his powerlessness consumed him. He sulked, his usual enthusiasm replaced by a quiet rage that he carried with him everywhere.

Thalia always clutched the staff, almost never letting it go, as if it were the last remaining piece of her parents she could still hold onto. The staff was beautiful in its simplicity—a smooth wooden surface that had been polished over the years by her father’s hands. The tip of the staff curved elegantly, the branches of the wood twisted together like the horns of a halla, delicate but strong, a symbol of the connection between nature and magic. Owl feathers, soft and pale, were tied to a leather string wrapped around the top, swaying gently whenever she moved, a reminder of the wisdom and protection her father had carried. The staff had a weight to it, not just in its physical form, but in the memories it held. It was a part of her father, a part of her past, and she couldn’t bring herself to let it go.

Therion, too, found solace in the memory of their parents, though he expressed it differently. He had gone to work with the tools their mother had once used, tools that they had managed to salvage from the wreckage of their camp. With patience and determination, he crafted himself a bow, each cut of the wood a way for him to focus his grief into something tangible. His hands moved with purpose, shaping the wood with a precision that spoke of his deep need to regain control, to feel like he was doing something. The bow was simple, but it was strong, much like the weapon their mother would have crafted herself. When he finished it, he held it like a lifeline, the embodiment of his own will to survive and protect.

Around them, the life of the clan began to slowly return to something resembling normalcy. The once-silent camp started to fill with murmurs of conversation, and even the soft sound of laughter began to emerge. The children, who had been so quiet and withdrawn after the attack, started to play with one another again, running and chasing each other through the clearing as if to reclaim the innocence they had lost. The adults, too, resumed their work, their hands busy mending tents and preparing food, the rhythms of everyday life resuming despite the weight of what they had endured.

But for Thalia, it didn’t feel the same. The laughter and play that surrounded her seemed distant, as if she were watching it all from behind a veil. She couldn’t bring herself to join the other children. While they ran and laughed, she sat on the edge of the camp, the staff always in her hand, her thoughts elsewhere. The joy that had once come so easily to her was now replaced by an ache she couldn’t shake. The weight of loss hung over her like a shadow, a constant reminder that things would never truly be the same. While the others began to heal, Thalia couldn’t. Not yet. She was still trying to piece together a world that had fallen apart, clutching to the only thing that still felt real—her father’s staff.

Some nights were the worst. The nightmares would come, creeping in with the darkness and swallowing her whole. Thalia would wake up screaming, her voice hoarse and broken as she called out for her mother, for her father, her small body trembling with fear and drenched in sweat as she fought against the horrors that had taken root in her mind. Her screams echoed through the camp, piercing the quiet night air, a painful reminder of all that had been lost.

Every time, without fail, Deshanna or Theralas would be by her side within moments, their hands gentle as they stroked her damp hair, whispered calming words, trying to pull her back from the edge of her terror. “It’s alright, lethallan,” Deshanna would murmur softly, her voice soothing but distant, as though she too were trying to convince herself. “You’re safe now. You’re with us.” Theralas would sit quietly beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder, the weight of his presence meant to offer some sense of comfort. But no matter how kind they were, no matter what words they whispered, it was never enough. It wasn’t her mother’s arms holding her, wasn’t her father’s deep voice reassuring her that everything would be okay.

The ache that settled in her chest was an emptiness nothing could fill. She would nod, she would try to calm her breathing, but the gnawing feeling of loss stayed. She felt adrift, as though nothing was real. She would lie back down, clutching her father’s staff beside her, waiting for sleep to return, though it never brought peace.

Across the tent, Therion would wake too, every time. He would hear her screams, feel the sharp pang of them cutting into his heart, but he wouldn’t come to her. He couldn’t. He lay in his bedroll, his back turned to her, his body rigid with the grief and anger he couldn’t express. Every scream was a reminder of that terrible night, the night they had lost everything. It tore at him, pulling him deeper into the darkness of his own sorrow. But just like Thalia, he didn’t know how to fix it. He didn’t know how to comfort her, or even himself. So he stayed where he was, silent and still, hoping the pain would dull with time, though every night it only seemed to deepen.

One night, Thalia was startled awake by her nightmare, but this time, the scream didn’t come. Her body jolted upright, her breath shallow and rapid, but she stayed silent, her heart pounding in her chest. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the tent, she instinctively glanced over to Therion’s bedroll. It was empty.

Confusion settled in her chest, and she quietly stood, picking up her father’s staff that she kept close by, the smooth wood a familiar comfort in her trembling hands. She scanned the tent—no sign of her brother. The silence felt heavy, like something was missing. Her mind, still clouded with fragments of the nightmare, urged her to move. She walked outside into the cool night air, her bare feet sinking into the soft earth, and her eyes caught sight of him.

There, by the dying embers of the campfire at the center of the settlement, sat Therion. His back was hunched, his face illuminated by the faint glow of the coals, his silhouette outlined against the dim flicker of firelight. He didn’t seem to notice her at first, his body still, his mind clearly lost somewhere far away.

Without a word, Thalia walked over to him, the grass brushing her legs as she moved. She sat down next to him, the quiet of the night wrapping around them like a blanket. They didn’t need to speak. The silent acknowledgment between them was enough.

Thalia hesitated for a moment before resting her hand on his. His fingers, calloused from crafting his bow, were cool to the touch. She felt him tense for just a second, but then his hand tightened around hers, gripping it firmly, as if he had been waiting for this. They held onto each other in the stillness, the weight of their shared grief pressing in around them.

It started slowly at first—just a single tear, then another—but soon both of them were crying. Quiet tears that flowed without sobs, without sound, as if the weight of all the loss, all the pain, had finally broken the dam they had both been holding back. And despite their stubbornness, despite their attempts to stay strong, they caved to their grief, their hands still clutching each other like lifelines.

Therion was the first to move, turning slightly toward her, and Thalia followed, leaning into him as their arms wrapped around each other in the quiet of the night. They held on tightly, not saying a word, just feeling the shared warmth of their embrace, their tears mixing with the night air. For the first time since the ambush, they allowed themselves to truly mourn, and in that moment, in the silence of the camp, they found a fragile comfort in each other’s arms.

Chapter Text

The midday sun hung heavy over the clearing, casting long shadows across the ground as the clan moved about their tasks. Children laughed and played, their voices echoing softly through the camp, adding a hint of life and innocence to the quiet that often lingered here.

The thick, towering trees and the cliffs that enclosed the camp on three sides had become their new home. The trees stood like silent sentinels, providing shelter and a sense of security, shielding the clan from the human settlements they had learned to avoid. But beneath the tranquility, an unspoken weight rested over the camp. It had been two years since the ambush—two years since everything had changed.

Thalia, now eleven, knelt by a small patch of earth, her brow furrowed in concentration as she focused on a simple spell Keeper Deshanna had instructed her to practice. Her fingers hovered just above a small fire pit, reaching for the thread of magic within her that she was slowly learning to control. A faint shimmer of light began to form in her palm, flickering with the promise of a spark. But as quickly as it appeared, the light faded, leaving Thalia with nothing but growing frustration.

“Breathe, da’len,” Keeper Deshanna’s voice was gentle but firm as she stood behind Thalia, a steady presence that had grown familiar over the past two years. “You’re rushing again. Let the magic flow through you. Feel it as part of you.”

Thalia’s shoulders tensed as she exhaled sharply, trying to expel her irritation with her breath. Her fingers hovered over the small fire pit, her eyes narrowed as she attempted again to reach for that elusive spark within her. “I am trying,” she muttered, her frustration slipping into her voice. The hint of warmth she had felt moments before was gone, leaving only an aching void where the magic should have been.

Deshanna’s hand rested gently on her shoulder. “The magic is there, Thalia, but it is not something to be forced. It flows like water, breathes like the wind. Feel it like you feel the forest around you.”

Taking a deeper breath, Thalia tried to calm herself, her brow still furrowed in determination. She closed her eyes, reaching inward, searching for that spark of warmth. For a moment, she felt it—a flicker, faint but present, like the warmth of her father’s hand when he’d guided her through his spells. Her heartbeat quickened, and she focused on holding onto it, to coax it into the light.

But as soon as she reached for it, the magic slipped away, leaving only empty air. Frustration bubbled up again, and she clenched her fists. “Why can’t I get this right?” she snapped, her voice tight with the sting of failure. “He made it look so easy.”

Deshanna crouched beside her, meeting her gaze with a calm smile. “Your father had years to practice, da’len. You are just beginning. Trust yourself, and remember—magic is patient. It will come in its own time.”

Thalia bit back a sigh, the weight of her expectations pressing heavily on her. She wanted to be like her father, to make him proud, but every attempt left her feeling like she was chasing something she’d never reach. Still, she nodded, taking another steadying breath, trying once more to grasp the elusive spark within her.

Not far from where Thalia practiced, Therion was training with Theralas. He loosed arrow after arrow at a target, each shot more forceful than the last. With every miss, his scowl deepened, frustration radiating through the tautness of his stance. The tension in his movements was as sharp as the arrows he aimed, his determination visible in every line of his face.

“You’re pulling too hard on the string,” Theralas said, his voice firm as he observed. “Relax your grip.”

Therion shot him a glare, his jaw clenched. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Clearly not,” Theralas retorted, stepping forward to correct his stance. “If you did, you wouldn’t be missing.”

Therion ripped the bow from his hand, his eyes burning with resentment. “I don’t need your help!”

The sharpness of Therion’s voice caught Thalia’s attention, drawing her out of her focus. She looked up from her spell, her gaze lingering on her brother. Therion had been like this for months—angry, distant, simmering with a resentment that he barely bothered to hide anymore. His face was a mask of frustration, each movement filled with a tightly-coiled energy that seemed ready to snap. She didn’t know if he was more angry at her, the world, or himself, but the intensity in his eyes made her stomach twist.

Therion loosed another arrow, this one flying wide of the target, and with a frustrated growl, he threw the bow to the ground, yelling, “Fenedhis!” The curse echoed through the clearing, his voice laced with bitter defeat. “I’m done.”

Thalia sighed from her spot, irritation flickering in her chest as she tried to return to the spell. “Maybe if you actually listened, you wouldn’t keep missing.”

Therion spun around, his eyes narrowing, anger flashing in his gaze. “What was that?”

Thalia’s body tightened, and she muttered, “Nothing.”

“Oh, and you’re one to talk!? You can’t even make a proper flame!” he sneered, stepping closer, his voice dripping with bitterness. “But you still got everything—everything that mattered.” His words stung, the resentment in them cutting deeper than the space between them.

Thalia blinked, taken aback by the venom in his voice. “What are you talking about?”

“You got everything!” Therion snapped, his voice thick with anger as he took another step forward, closing the distance between them. He hovered over her, fists clenched tightly at his sides as she crouched on the ground. “You got Pa’s magic, his staff—all the things that mattered! And what did I get? Some stupid tools!” He spat the words, his resentment spilling over. “That’s it. That’s all I have left of them.”

“It’s not like I asked for it!” Thalia shot back, her own frustration boiling over. She pushed herself to her feet, looking up at him, her eyes blazing with anger. “I didn’t choose this, Therion!” Her voice shook, fierce and defiant. “You think I wanted any of it?”

“No, but you didn’t move when Ma called for you,” Therion snarled, his voice cracking with bitterness. “You froze, and because of that, Pa had to keep you safe. He was distracted by you, and he got killed because of you!”

Thalia’s breath caught in her throat, the accusation hitting her like a punch to the gut. She took a shaky step back, her chest tightening. “That’s not fair! I didn’t do anything!”

“That’s the point, Thalia!” he yelled, his voice sharp with anger and grief. “You didn’t do anything. They’re dead, and it’s your fault!” He lashed out, shoving her shoulder, his face twisted with rage.

Tears welled in Thalia’s eyes, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. “You think it’s my fault? You think I wanted any of this?”

“I wish it had been you instead of them!” Therion shouted, his voice breaking, raw with emotion.

“Enough!” Theralas stepped between them, raising his hands in an attempt to defuse the tension. “That’s enough, Therion.”

But Therion wasn’t done. He shoved Theralas aside, his furious gaze fixed on Thalia. “No, it’s not! She needs to understand that everything we had is gone because of her!”

Thalia’s tears spilled over, her whole body trembling as she struggled to keep herself together. “I never wanted this!” she choked out, her voice quivering. “I never wanted them to die!”

Therion’s face twisted with grief and anger, his voice breaking as he spat out, “Well, they did! They’re gone, and we’re stuck here—all because of you. And you’re the one who gets to keep everything that mattered to them.”

Thalia’s lip trembled, her tears falling freely, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away.

“I hate you for it,” he snarled, the bitterness in his tone cutting deep. “I hate you for being the reason they’re dead. I wish you’d been the one to die that night. I wish you didn’t exist.”

The words shattered through her, and Thalia’s knees nearly gave out as she tried to hold herself up, her body wracked with silent sobs.

“Therion!” Deshana’s voice cut through the clearing, sharp and commanding. She had allowed them to argue, hoping it might ease the weight of their grief, but this had gone too far.

Therion turned to Deshana, his face still contorted with anger, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “It’s not fair! She gets everything—Pa’s magic, his staff—and I get nothing. Just some worthless tools! I wish she wasn’t here. I wish Ma and Pa were here instead!”

Deshana stepped forward, her expression stern but filled with sorrow. “I know this is hard, lethallin,” she said, her voice softer now, a plea for him to listen. “But blaming her won’t bring them back. You still have something precious—you have her, your sister.”

Therion shook his head, his voice raw, breaking under the weight of his words. “I don’t want her,” he spat, his voice barely more than a whisper but filled with the sharp edge of resentment. “I want them. I wish she had died instead of them. Every time I look at her, I’m reminded of what I lost!”

Thalia’s tears flowed freely, her whole body trembling as his words cut through her. Deshana reached a hand out to Therion, a glimmer of grief in her eyes. “Therion, I know you’re hurting, but she’s hurting too. You’ve both lost so much. Don’t lose each other.”

Therion pulled away, his face twisted with frustration. “But it’s not enough. She’s not enough. She’s the reason they’re gone, and I hate her for it,” he muttered, and without another word, he turned and ran into the forest, his shoulders hunched with the weight of his anger and grief. Theralas sighed heavily and went after him, making sure he didn’t stray too far or get into trouble.

Deshana approached Thalia, kneeling beside her and pulling her into a gentle embrace. Thalia sobbed into her shoulder, the words of her brother cutting deeper than she had expected. “I didn’t mean for any of this,” she whispered through her tears. “I didn’t mean for them to die.”

Deshana stroked her hair, whispering soothing words. “I know, da’len. I know.”

Thalia pulled away slightly, wiping at her eyes. “He said he hates me.”

“No,” Deshana said softly. “He’s hurt. We all are. But he doesn’t hate you.”

Thalia shook her head, sniffling. “I don’t know what to do.”

Deshana offered her a small smile. “Take a break for now. You’ve done well. You lit the fire, after all.”

Thalia frowned, confused. “What?”

Deshana nodded toward the fire pit behind them, and Thalia turned to see a small flame crackling there—the same flame she had been trying to summon all day. Her anger had awoken her magic.

Chapter Text

Therion’s feet pounded against the forest floor, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he pushed himself faster, deeper into the trees. The thick scent of pine and earth filled his lungs, mingling with the sharp chill of the wind. Every step felt like an attempt to escape the emotions tearing him apart—anger, guilt, grief, all clawing at his insides. He had no direction, no destination, only the desperate need to get away, to leave behind the painful words he’d thrown at his sister, the weight of everything he couldn’t fix. His vision blurred, though he wasn’t sure if it was from unshed tears or the relentless sting of the cold wind that whipped against his face.

In his blind sprint, his foot caught on a hidden root, and in an instant, he was flung forward, his body pitching through the air before he crashed into the ground. He landed hard on his stomach, the impact jarring every bone in his body, knocking the breath from his lungs. For a moment, he lay there, stunned, his face pressed into the damp, cool grass as his mind reeled from the sudden stop. Pain radiated through his chest and arms, but it was nothing compared to the storm of emotions that surged to the surface, relentless and overwhelming.

Slowly, he lifted himself onto all fours, his arms trembling under his weight as he finally let the tears fall. His body heaved with each shuddering breath, sobs wracking him as he clung to the ground, his fists digging into the dirt. Everything he’d been holding back—the anger, the helplessness, the unbearable loss—all poured out, raw and unchecked. He screamed into the forest, his voice breaking as he cursed the world, Fen’Harel, the bandits, even himself. “It’s not fair!” he choked, his voice hoarse with the weight of his fury and sorrow. “Why did they have to die?”

The forest around him seemed to echo his pain, the silence pressing in as he continued to sob, the frustration and hurt spilling out in ragged gasps. He felt empty, hollowed out by the weight of it all, as if nothing could ever fill the void left in his chest.

He straightened, his gaze falling on a nearby tree, its bark rough and unyielding. Without thinking, he slammed his fists against it, his knuckles scraping against the bark as he poured every ounce of frustration into the blows. He didn’t care about the sting, the skin peeling back with each punch. The pain was a welcome distraction, something he could control, something that dulled the sharper ache in his heart.

A scream tore from his throat, raw and desperate, as he kept pounding his fists against the rough bark of the tree, each hit stinging his skin and sending jolts of pain up his arms. But the pain didn’t matter; it was a distraction, something he could focus on outside of the swirling agony inside him. He cursed the world, cursed the cruelty of fate that had ripped everything from them, leaving nothing but emptiness and scars. “Is this what you wanted, Fen’Harel?” he spat, his voice breaking as he glared up at the sky as though the Dread Wolf himself could hear him. “To leave us with nothing but ashes? To watch us suffer while you sit in your cursed realm, laughing?”

His fists slammed against the tree again, the rough bark cutting into his knuckles, blood beginning to trickle down his hands. “You’ve cursed us!” he shouted, his words thick with bitterness. “You left us with despair—me, my sister—while you watch from the shadows like some twisted hunter, following our misery forever.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue, a plea and accusation wrapped in one, his heart filled with a hatred he had no one else to throw at. “What did we ever do to deserve this? What did they do to deserve this?”

His fists stopped, and he leaned against the tree, his forehead pressed against the bark, shoulders trembling as the last of his anger fizzled into exhaustion. He could feel the familiar ache of grief pressing down on him, crushing him from the inside. His breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps as he struggled to hold back the tears, but they fell anyway, silent and relentless.

A firm hand settled on Therion’s shoulder, pulling him abruptly from his rage. He twisted around, startled, to find Theralas standing there, calm and steady. Before Therion could react, Theralas wrapped him in an embrace, unyielding and solid. Therion’s immediate instinct was to fight it; his body tensed, his fists pushing weakly against Theralas’s chest.

“Let me go!” he spat, his voice thick with fury and grief. He pushed harder, his fists pounding against Theralas, but the older elf didn’t loosen his grip. Therion thrashed, trying to wrench himself free, his body rebelling against the comfort being offered. “I said, let me go!” he choked out, but the words held no strength, only desperation and pain.

Theralas didn’t budge, his arms still wrapped around Therion like an anchor, grounding him in the present. Therion’s struggles grew weaker, his fists slowing as exhaustion crept in. His breath came in ragged gasps, and slowly, the fight drained out of him. With a final, defeated exhale, he sagged against Theralas, his hands unclenching as the anger gave way to grief.

In a sudden, almost aggressive motion, Therion’s arms wrapped tightly around Theralas, clinging to him with a fierce, desperate grip. His body shook as he buried his face against Theralas’s chest, sobbing openly, every barrier he had tried to hold crumbling in an instant. He tethered himself to the warmth and strength of Theralas, letting the weight of his sorrow finally spill free, his raw, broken cries filling the quiet space around them.

Theralas held Therion firmly, his arms unwavering as the boy clung to him, his body trembling with the weight of his grief. “Breathe, lethallin,” Theralas murmured softly, his voice a gentle balm against the storm raging in Therion’s heart. He lowered his chin to rest on Therion’s head, a grounding presence that wrapped the boy in a sense of safety he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“It’s alright,” Theralas whispered, his hand moving in slow, steady circles across Therion’s back, a comforting rhythm to calm the boy’s shuddering breaths. Each stroke of his hand was filled with reassurance, a quiet reminder that he wasn’t alone, that he was allowed to feel this pain. Theralas didn’t rush him, didn’t try to force the grief to end. He simply held him, breathing steadily, grounding Therion in his warmth, in his presence, as if to say: I am here; let it out.

Therion’s grip on him tightened, his sobs slowing into quieter cries, his breaths gradually finding a steady rhythm against Theralas’s calm presence. In that embrace, he felt a flicker of solace, a space where his sorrow was understood and held, where he didn’t have to be strong or hide his pain. The world around them faded, leaving only the steady beat of Theralas’s heartbeat, a rhythm Therion clung to as he slowly, piece by piece, released the weight he had been carrying for so long.

Once Therion’s breaths had steadied and the last of his sobs had faded, Theralas released him gently, his hands still resting on Therion’s shoulders. He knelt down to meet his gaze, his eyes soft and understanding. A gentle smile touched Theralas’s face as he placed a warm hand on Therion’s cheek, a steadying presence that reminded him he was safe. “Come with me, Therion,” Theralas said softly, nodding towards the trees. “Let’s walk for a bit.”

Therion didn’t say anything, just nodded and followed in silence, unsure where they were going but comforted by the familiar presence beside him. The only sounds were the quiet rustling of leaves and the crunch of their footsteps on the forest floor, a calming contrast to the turmoil he’d felt moments before. Step by step, the tension in his body eased, his mind settling as he fell into the rhythm of their silent journey.

Eventually, they arrived at a small, clear stream. Theralas sat down by the water’s edge, cupping his hands to take a drink before splashing the cool water onto his face. Therion, feeling the dryness in his throat, knelt beside him and did the same, the refreshing water easing the ache from his earlier cries. As he looked down, he noticed the scrapes on his knuckles, raw from where he had punched the tree. The sting as he washed the blood away made him wince, a reminder of the physical toll his anger had taken on him. He regretted it now, the pain sharper than he had anticipated, yet it had been necessary—a release he’d needed in that moment.

They sat together in a comfortable silence, watching the gentle flow of the stream, the way the sunlight filtered through the trees and dappled the forest floor. Small creatures rustled nearby, birds flitting from branch to branch, their world oblivious to the weight of his sorrow. For the first time in a long while, Therion felt a hint of peace in the quiet, a sense of calm slowly creeping in as he sat with Theralas, both of them simply watching the world around them.

After a long silence, Theralas spoke, his voice soft but grounded. “I know you’re angry, Therion. All of us are. That kind of pain… it twists inside you, makes you want to lash out. But no matter how deep that anger runs, it won’t bring them back.”

Therion stared at the stream, his reflection blurring as he blinked back fresh tears. His jaw clenched tightly, frustration simmering beneath his grief. “I know it won’t. I know that. But knowing doesn’t make it any easier.” He paused, his voice thick with resentment. “I don’t get how everyone else just… acts normal. How can you keep going like nothing happened?”

Theralas let out a quiet sigh, his hand resting reassuringly on Therion’s shoulder. “We’re not moving on like nothing happened, Therion. We’re all carrying this pain, even if it doesn’t show. But sometimes, choosing to keep going, choosing to live… that’s the only way we can honor them. They’d want us to find peace, to be safe, even if it’s hard.”

Therion’s fists clenched, but the tightness came from guilt rather than anger this time. “I said awful things to Thalia,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean them, not really. But I was so angry, and she was… there. I couldn’t hold it in.” He looked away, shame coloring his face.

Theralas watched him for a moment, his expression thoughtful and patient. “Anger like that, it’s like fire. It flares up and finds whatever’s closest to burn. But anger doesn’t care who it hurts, Therion. It’s up to us to choose what we do with it.”

Therion nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on the water, watching as tiny ripples broke the surface. “I know. It’s just… I feel like I can’t control it sometimes. It’s like I want someone to blame, and it’s so easy to point it at her because…” He paused, struggling to find the right words. “Because she’s here. She’s still here, and they’re not.”

Theralas’s hand tightened on his shoulder, grounding him. “You’re not alone in that feeling, Therion. We all wish we had someone to hold responsible. But if there’s anyone to blame, it’s the ones who took them from us—not Thalia, not you.”

Therion’s face twisted with regret, and he let out a shaky breath. “I was cruel. She didn’t deserve it.”

Theralas nodded. “No, she didn’t. But you can make it right. She’s your sister, Therion. More than any keepsake, any weapon, she’s what you have left of them. And I know you care about her deeply.”

Therion swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. “I do.”

“Then let that guide you,” Theralas said gently. “When the anger comes, remember who you’re fighting for, not against. Remember what your parents would have wanted for you both.”

Theralas’s gaze softened, though there was a hint of sternness in his eyes. “Your sister is young, Therion. She lost just as much as you did, and she doesn’t understand the weight of it all. She’s looking to you, her older brother, for strength, even if she doesn’t say it. Blaming her for what happened is not only unfair—it’s hurtful. And those words you said, they may leave scars that won’t easily heal.”

Therion looked down, shame gnawing at him. “I know it was wrong. I know that. But I feel so empty… so lost. I thought if I blamed her, it would make me feel something else, anything else. But it just made things worse.”

Theralas nodded, understanding the turmoil in the young elf’s heart. “Objects are not what truly matter, Therion. Your father’s magic, the staff—those are symbols, yes, but the real legacy they left is you and Thalia. You’re each other’s family, your only connection to them. And if you let anger drive you apart, you’ll lose more than just their memory. You’ll lose the one person who understands the same pain.”

Therion swallowed, the words settling deep within him. He looked down at his scraped hands, feeling the sting of his earlier anger, and let out a shaky breath. “I don’t want to lose her. But it’s hard, Theralas. It’s so hard to let go of the anger.”

Theralas placed a hand on his shoulder, his voice gentle. “Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting them. It means carrying them with you in a way that honors their memory. They would want you to protect each other, to find peace where you can. Your sister is your last piece of them—she’s what’s left of your family now.”

Therion took a deep breath, the tension in his chest easing ever so slightly. The weight of his grief was still there, but it felt a little lighter, less suffocating. “I’ll try,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Theralas smiled, a hint of pride in his gaze. “That’s all anyone can ask, Therion. Trying is enough. Go back to her, and show her that you’re still her brother. She needs you, and you need her too.”

They sat together by the stream a while longer, Therion feeling a renewed sense of purpose filling the spaces where anger had once been.

-

The evening sun had dipped below the cliffs, leaving a soft twilight in its wake. Stars were beginning to sprinkle the sky, their light mingling with the gentle glow cast by the central fire. Thalia sat alone, her fingers wrapped around a warm bowl of stew, her movements slow and quiet as she sipped. The familiar sounds of the camp surrounded them—soft murmurs, quiet laughter, the clink of wooden bowls. Families sat in small groups, some huddled close for warmth, others sharing hushed stories. For Thalia, it was the first true sense of calm she had felt all day, a respite from the ache that had settled deep within her after the painful argument with Therion.

She had spent the rest of the day with Deshanna, her studies taking a new weight as she began her path as the clan’s First. Deshanna had taken her through the beginning steps, teaching her about their ancestors, the ways of the Dalish, and the gods whose stories shaped their lives. There were stories of wisdom, strength, and the guiding light of their ancient heritage, tales of what it meant to be a First and the role she would carry in keeping those traditions alive. Thalia tried to immerse herself in those lessons, finding comfort in the teachings that had grounded generations before her, hoping that some sense of peace would follow.

Yet no tale, no history lesson, could erase the sting of her brother’s words from her heart. They lingered, like a wound she couldn’t quite reach. She looked at her stew, her thoughts drifting back to the argument, the words he had thrown at her, the anger that had cut so deeply. Thalia felt the weight of her new role press even heavier as she remembered her brother’s accusations, the resentment that simmered beneath his grief. It was a wound between them, one she didn’t know how to heal, even as she longed for the closeness they had once shared.

The warmth of the fire flickered in her gaze, but her mind drifted, replaying the fight with Therion over and over, picking apart his words, trying to understand if there was any truth to them. Had she truly been the reason their parents were gone? The memory of her mother’s desperate call echoed in her mind, the urgency in her voice as she had shouted for her and Therion to run. What if she had moved, responded sooner? Her father had been right there, his protective hand on her shoulder as he summoned his magic to shield them. Had her hesitation drawn his focus away, distracted him just enough for the bandit to strike? Her heart twisted painfully as she questioned every small action, wondering if she had somehow made the worst come to pass.

Therion’s words played like a bitter melody in her head, each accusation embedding itself deeper: “It should have been you instead of them!” The sting of his anger made her question everything she had done that night. She could almost see her father’s face, the way his eyes had looked as he fought to protect her, the determination as he shielded her even in those final moments. A quiet voice in her mind whispered that perhaps Therion was right—perhaps if she had acted differently, if she hadn’t needed saving, her parents might still be alive. Maybe it was unfair that she had inherited the staff, the magic, all that was left of her father. His final wish wasn’t for her to carry on his legacy, was it? He had only wanted her safe.

A slight movement at the edge of the camp broke Thalia’s trance, and she glanced up, her heart skipping a beat. Therion and Theralas had returned, emerging from the darkness into the warm glow of the firelight. They had been gone since Therion had stormed off, and seeing him now, so quiet and subdued, made her heart twist in a way she hadn’t expected. Theralas’s arm was draped protectively over Therion’s shoulders as they walked closer, the older elf speaking softly, his hand steady as he guided her brother forward. Therion’s gaze shifted uncertainly around the camp, his head hanging low, his usual fire extinguished.

As they approached, Thalia could see the sorrow etched deeply into Therion’s face, a shadow she hadn’t seen before. His shoulders slumped, and gone was the anger that had lashed out at her earlier—replaced by a weariness that seemed too heavy for him to bear alone. His eyes, once bright with resentment, now looked hollow, softened with a sadness that tugged at her own heart despite the ache still lingering from his words. Theralas spoke to him quietly, his expression both calm and serious, his hand on Therion’s shoulder firm and steady. Whatever words they exchanged seemed to ground her brother, but as he took a breath and his gaze briefly looked up, she saw something else—a flicker of shame.

Thalia’s breath hitched, her heart hammering as her eyes looked at his for a brief second before she quickly looked away, the ache in her chest tightening. She glanced down at her bowl, her grip tightening as she struggled to suppress the mixture of hurt and anger still simmering within her. She wasn’t ready to let go of it yet, wasn’t ready to forgive the words that he spoke.

Theralas patted Therion’s shoulder one last time, giving him a gentle nudge and a reassuring smile before ruffling his hair, the faint, fatherly gesture bringing a small, weary smile to Therion’s lips. With a steadying breath, Therion moved to the cooking pot, ladling a portion of stew into a bowl. For a moment, he simply stood there, his gaze sweeping over the gathered clan, taking in the warmth of the fire and the quiet conversations, his own presence quiet and withdrawn.

His eyes found Thalia sitting alone on a log and off to the side, her small form curled over her own bowl. She looked as though she were a world away, her expression shadowed. Therion’s expression tensed; he looked down at the bowl in his hands, as though weighing his own regrets against the comfort he wanted to bring. For a heartbeat, he hesitated, his teeth gritting as his thoughts warred within him. Finally, he took a deep breath, his shoulders squaring as he steeled himself, and he slowly stepped toward her.

With slow, uncertain steps, Therion approached, his body tense as he sat down beside her, leaving a small but noticeable and awkward gap between them. The silence between them was thick and heavy, and he stared down at his food, his fingers gripping the bowl tightly, his posture as unsure as his expression.

As she kept her gaze down, Thalia’s eyes drifted subtly toward her brother. She noticed his hands gripping the bowl, knuckles swollen and tinged with red, as though they’d been scraped and bruised from impact. Her heart tightened at the sight, recognizing the evidence of his anger, his frustration made physical. He held the bowl awkwardly, trying to keep his grip steady, but the bruises seemed to betray the struggle within him, the pain he had inflicted on himself as much as on her. Thalia quickly glanced back to her own bowl, a quiet pang of empathy stirring beneath her lingering hurt.

Thalia kept her gaze fixed on her own bowl, eating in slow, deliberate bites, trying to ignore the tension that hung between them. The fire crackled softly, filling the silence that neither of them dared to break. But eventually, Therion set his bowl down, his hands intertwining together tightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he let out a heavy sigh.

“Thalia…” His voice was barely above a whisper, raw and broken. “I… I’m sorry.”

She looked up, startled by the sudden apology, his gaze was locked on his hands. The anger that had hardened her heart softened slightly, curiosity and surprise replacing it. Therion’s eyes, once burning with fury, were now filled with sorrow, his face etched with remorse. He stared down at his hands, his fingers entwined tightly, as if he couldn’t bear to meet her gaze.

“I didn’t mean what I said earlier,” he continued, his voice rough. “I was just so… angry. I didn’t know what to do. I’ve been carrying it around, feeling like I am about to explode. And… and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You didn’t deserve that.”

Thalia listened in silence, her own heart swelling with conflicting emotions. His words cut through the anger she’d been holding onto, softening her defenses. She realized just how much he had been carrying, how the weight of their shared grief had been pressing down on him, too.

Therion’s voice wavered as he spoke, his fingers clenching and unclenching. “I don’t know how to deal with it—losing them, feeling so empty… so lost. I keep trying to find something, anything, to hold onto, but nothing works. I thought if I blamed someone, it would… it would hurt less. But it doesn’t.” His gaze dropped further, his voice breaking. “I just end up hurting you, and that’s the last thing I want.”

Thalia slowly placed her bowl on the ground, her hands trembling as she reached out, resting her hand gently on his back. The hurt was still there, but so was the understanding. She was no stranger to the void that losing their parents had left, no stranger to the anger and pain that sometimes clawed at her chest in quiet moments. But hearing him speak those words, admitting his struggles, made her feel less alone in her own grief.

“I’m sorry too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the fire’s crackle.

Therion finally looked at her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You’re the only thing I have left that matters, Thalia. I don’t want you to think I meant any of those things. I… I don’t wish you were gone. I just… miss them so much, and sometimes it feels like it’s tearing me apart.”

A tear slipped down Thalia’s cheek, and she couldn’t hold back the frown that crossed her face at his words as she leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him. Therion’s arms came up quickly and hugged her tightly, as if clinging to the only anchor he had left in the world.

“I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I promise, I’ll never be angry like that again. I won’t let myself make you feel like that again.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, the warmth of the fire a small comfort against the vast, aching void of their shared loss. Thalia could feel Therion’s heartbeat, steady but heavy, his chest shuddering as he silently cried. The rhythm of his grief matched her own, the pain and longing they both held binding them closer, filling the silence where anger had once been. She held him tightly, her own tears spilling from her eyes, as the unspoken apologies between them settled like a balm over old wounds.

As they finally pulled back, Therion wiped at his eyes, his face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and relief. His expression softened, and for the first time in what felt like ages, he offered her a small, tentative smile—one she hadn’t seen since before the ambush. In that moment, she glimpsed the brother she had grown up with, the one who had protected her, made her laugh, and always been her closest friend.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but sincere. “For not hating me… even after everything I said.”

Thalia shook her head, giving him a small smile as she rested her hand on his shoulder. “I could never hate you, Therion. You’re my brother… even if you’re a giant pain sometimes.”

Therion let out a breath that turned into a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, well, I’m still not sure how you put up with me. I think I’d get annoyed with myself too.”

Thalia laughed, a sound she hadn’t heard from herself in days, and nudged him with her elbow. “Trust me, you’re lucky. You don’t have to be stuck with yourself every day like I am.”

Therion rolled his eyes, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, I’m the one who’s lucky? You’re the one who doesn’t know how hard it is to have a little sister tagging along, getting into trouble.”

Thalia scoffed, crossing her arms. “Excuse me, I’m not the one who punched a tree just because I was mad.”

Therion raised his bruised hand, flexing it with a wince. “Alright, fair point. That was… not my smartest move.”

They both laughed, a shared moment of genuine lightness that felt like a balm on the wounds between them. For a brief moment, the weight of their grief lifted, replaced by the familiar, comforting rhythm of being siblings.

After a beat, Therion’s smile faded slightly, turning a bit more serious, though he kept his gaze down. “You know… I’m really sorry, Thalia. For everything I said. I didn’t mean any of it.”

Thalia gave his shoulder a squeeze, her voice soft. “I know you didn’t. And I’m sorry too. I know things are… hard. But we still have each other, right?”

Therion looked up at her, a hint of gratitude shining through his sadness. “Yeah. And maybe we’ll be alright… as long as you promise not to be so annoying.”

Thalia rolled her eyes, nudging him again. “Only if you promise not to be mean.”

“Deal,” he laughed, the sound mixing with the crackling of the fire as they settled into an easy silence, the warmth between them slowly healing what had been broken.

Chapter Text

In the late afternoon, as the sun dipped lower behind the treetops, Thalia and a small group of kids gathered at the edge of their camp. The ever watching statue of Fen’Harel loomed nearby, its fierce gaze fixed on the forest beyond, as if keeping watch over their hidden world. The carving was embedded in the thick bark of an old and broken oak tree, towering over them with a silent, commanding presence. The Dread Wolf’s six eyes were narrowed, carved with a depth that made them seem to glint in the dimming light, while his mouth was frozen in a snarl, revealing sharp, intimidating fangs.

Their elders had always spoken of Fen’Harel with reverence and caution, reminding the kids of his cunning ways and the respect he demanded. Yet, for Thalia and her friends, those warnings seemed distant, just stories woven into the fabric of their childhood. Today, the statue felt more like a challenge than a guardian, its silent watch sparking a rebellious urge within them. They exchanged daring glances, nudging each other with a mischievous excitement that only grew as they dared each other to test their courage before the Dread Wolf.

Ralenor, a boy the same age as Thalia, grinned at the others, mischief lighting his eyes. “I dare you to touch his nose,” he said, glancing around to gauge their reactions.

Mirenna, the youngest among them, let out a nervous giggle, glancing at the statue warily. “You’re really going to dare Fen’Harel? What if he curses us?”

Lirassan, one of the older boys, rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Mirenna. It’s just a carving. I’ll go first.” With a cocky grin, he stepped forward, hesitating just long enough to make the others snicker before tapping the wolf’s nose and leaping back as though expecting the statue to spring to life. He laughed nervously, clearly relieved when nothing happened.

Ghilas crossed his arms, feigning boredom but watching closely. “That’s all? Come on, you call that daring?”

“Fine,” Ralenor shot back, stepping forward. “I’ll up the stakes.” He reached out and tapped the carved fangs, his fingers hovering over the sharp wooden edges before pulling his hand back quickly. “See? Not cursed yet.”

Thalia grinned, feeling a boldness rise in her chest. “If you lot are so scared, let me show you how it’s done.”

Mirenna tugged on her sleeve, her eyes wide with apprehension. “Don’t… you’re not actually going to climb it, are you?”

Thalia’s smirk widened, glancing up at the wolf’s carved face. “Why not? I don’t think Fen’Harel minds a little fun.”

Ralenor looked at her with a mix of awe and worry. “You’re mad if you go up there, Thalia.”

“Maybe,” she said, testing her grip on the wood before beginning to climb. Her fingers found the grooves and knots in the bark, and she moved swiftly upward, her expression a blend of concentration and mischief as she scaled the totem.

“Mythal’enaste,” Lirassan muttered, watching her climb higher. “She’s actually doing it.”

Ghilas chuckled, trying to mask his own surprise. “She’ll probably get cursed tomorrow.”

Thalia climbed until she reached the wolf’s carved head, carefully finding her balance before settling on top. She looked down, grinning at her friends, who all stared up in awe.

“See?” she called, hands on her hips. “I’m still here! Maybe the Dread Wolf actually likes me.”

Lirassan crossed his arms, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Or maybe he’s just saving his curse for later.”

Mirenna bit her lip, looking both amazed and terrified. “Please come down, Thalia… what if he’s watching?”

Perched atop the wolf’s carved head, Thalia swung her legs, her hands resting on the totem’s rough wood as if it were a throne. The snarling features of Fen’Harel seemed to soften under her touch, and she couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of companionship with the Dread Wolf. She gave his snout a playful pat, her fingers tracing the edges of the carved eyes, feeling an odd kinship instead of the fear that the others seemed to carry.

“Come on, Thalia!” Ralenor called from below, his voice edged with both awe and worry. “You’re actually sitting on Fen’Harel’s head—you’re mad!”

Thalia only grinned, glancing down at her friends with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “Cowards, all of you! You’re scared of a hunk of wood. Look, I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Mirenna clutched her hands to her chest, her wide eyes fixed on Thalia as if she were witnessing something forbidden. “Please, Thalia, just come down! You’re tempting fate!”

But Thalia only leaned forward, giving the wolf’s head another pat. “I think Fen’Harel and I understand each other. Isn’t that right, buddy?” she murmured, almost to herself, feeling oddly at peace atop the fierce wolf.

Suddenly, a familiar figure approached from the edge of the clearing. Therion’s face was a mixture of exasperation and concern as he took in the sight of his younger sister sitting atop the totem, her friends gaping up at her like she’d done the impossible.

“Thalia,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind, “come down. Now.”

The other kids exchanged uneasy glances, their excitement quickly fading as Therion approached. Ghilas rolled his eyes, muttering, “Figures Therion has to show up just when it’s getting good,” as he nudged Ralenor.

Ralenor gave Thalia one last glance. “Come on, let’s go before he makes us all do chores or something,” he whispered to Mirenna, who nodded quickly, tugging on Ghilas’ sleeve. All four of them began to drift away from the clearing, casting wary glances over their shoulders, their earlier thrill now replaced by nervous murmurs about Therion’s watchful presence.

Thalia huffed, glancing down at her brother with a frown. “They’re just scared. I’m fine up here, Therion. You don’t have to spoil it.”

He held her gaze, crossing his arms. “It’s not about fear, Thalia. It’s about respect. Now come down, or I’ll climb up there myself to bring you down.”

Reluctantly, Thalia sighed and slid down the totem, landing lightly in front of him. As Thalia’s feet touched the ground, Therion reached out to steady her, his hand firm but gentle on her shoulder. He fixed her with a stern look, his usual protective gaze sharpened with worry. “Thalia,” he began, his voice low, “I promised I’d keep you safe. That includes keeping you from doing something reckless—like provoking Fen’Harel.” He hesitated, his gaze hardening. “He’s already cursed us enough with Ma and Pa’s deaths. We shouldn’t tempt fate any further.”

Thalia pulled her shoulder free, her expression defiant as she crossed her arms. “Maybe we’ve already been cursed enough by him,” she shot back, chin raised. “Maybe now he’s finally giving us his favor, showing us we’re his… his favorite subjects.”

Therion’s frown deepened, his lips pressed into a tight line as he shook his head. “Don’t fool yourself, Thalia. Fen’Harel doesn’t give favors, and he doesn’t have favorites. All he wants is chaos. If he’s lingering around, it’s not to protect us—it’s to torment us.”

Therion’s gaze softened as he studied her, though the worry didn’t leave his eyes. “You don’t have to prove anything, Thalia,” he murmured, his voice firm but gentle. “You’re already strong. You don’t need to tempt the gods to show it.”

Thalia shrugged, her lips quirking into a faint, defiant smile. “I wasn’t trying to prove anything. I just… don’t think he’s as terrible as everyone says. Maybe Fen’Harel likes a bit of mischief, like we do.” She paused, glancing back at the statue. “And I think he’d like me.”

Therion let out a low sigh, shaking his head. “You think he’d like you?” His voice held a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Fen’Harel doesn’t ‘like’ anyone, Thalia. If anything, he watches from the shadows, looking for the right moment to make things worse. He’s not some friend to win over.”

She looked up at him, her eyes bright with a spark of stubbornness. “Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe he’s not as evil as everyone believes.”

Therion’s face hardened a bit at that. “Our parents are gone because of his cruelty, Thalia. I don’t want to lose you to it too. Just… promise me you’ll be careful.”

A touch of guilt flickered across her face as she dropped her gaze to the ground. “I promise, Therion. I’ll be careful.”

He squeezed her shoulder again, the tension in his expression easing slightly. “Good. Let’s go back,” he said softly, guiding her back toward the camp.

As they walked in silence, Thalia couldn’t resist a final glance back at the totem, feeling that strange connection once more. There was a quiet understanding in her heart—a sense that somewhere in the spirit world, the Dread Wolf watched her, not with malice but with a keen, enigmatic interest that both unsettled and intrigued her.

When they arrived back at camp, Thalia spotted her friends gathered by the central fire, their heads huddled together, whispering and occasionally glancing up as she approached. The moment she sat down, they broke into laughter, though a few of them shook their heads in disbelief.

“You’re insane, you know that?” Ghilas snickered, nudging her with his elbow. “Climbing up Fen’Harel’s totem? You could’ve been cursed on the spot!”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t,” Thalia replied smugly, crossing her arms. “Maybe he likes me. Maybe I’m his favorite.”

“Oh, come on.” Ralenor rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t hide his grin. “You’re lucky you didn’t fall and break your neck. I’d never climb that thing.”

“Me neither,” Mirenna added, pulling her knees up to her chest. “And I’m definitely not trying to get Fen’Harel’s attention.”

Thalia smirked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, I’m the bravest, then?” She lifted her chin proudly. “None of you would’ve even dared to touch it.”

“Brave or just an idiot?” Lirassan chuckled, shaking his head. “There’s a difference, Thalia.”

But as they continued their playful jabs, Thalia’s mind began to drift back to the moment she’d had with the statue, her fingers tracing its carved snout and her heart pounding with an exhilaration that wasn’t rooted in fear. She felt something she couldn’t quite explain—a pull, a curiosity that went beyond the stories of curses and mischief. While her friends saw only danger in the Dread Wolf’s symbol, she had sensed something else entirely. An understanding? A bond? She wasn’t sure.

As their laughter died down, she glanced back in the direction of the statue, feeling a strange connection tug at her heart. Why did Fen’Harel frighten them so much, yet stir only curiosity in her?

-

After supper, Thalia lingered near the fire, her mind racing with thoughts of the strange connection she had felt. The warmth of the flames danced over her skin, but it didn’t chase away the lingering sensation of something… otherworldly. She watched Deshanna from a distance, noting the Keeper’s calm presence, her face softened by the evening light. Finally she gathering her courage, Thalia moved closer, sitting down beside her.

“Keeper,” she started, her voice quiet, almost hesitant, “do you know any stories about Fen’Harel? About… about whether he’s ever had any favourites? Someone he’d… protect, maybe?”

Deshanna’s gaze shifted toward her, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before it settled into something gentler, more understanding. She placed her hands in her lap, considering her words carefully.

“The Dread Wolf does not favor anyone, da’len,” Deshanna said slowly, her voice carrying the weight of countless tales. “Fen’Harel is the god of mischief and trickery, but there’s no love in his attention. Those who claim his ‘favor’ are often burdened, not blessed. He brings them only strife, torment, and endless trouble.”

Thalia swallowed, her earlier confidence wilting under the Keeper’s words. She shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether to share the strange sensation she’d felt at the statue—the lack of fear, the sense that the wolf had looked at her with something other than malice. But Deshanna’s tone was firm, her eyes watchful, and Thalia hesitated, choosing instead to listen.

Deshanna continued, her gaze distant, as if seeing beyond the firelight. “Fen’Harel has been known to bring ruin to those who seek his favor or claim his interest. His ‘gifts’ are traps, his blessings disguised curses. Even the gods feared his intentions, for he walks a path of deception, often hidden in shadows. To seek his favor, Thalia, would be to invite a life marked by misfortune.”

Thalia nodded, but a knot of uncertainty remained. Deshanna’s words were cautionary, layered with years of ancestral wisdom, yet they clashed with the flicker of connection she had felt at the statue, an unexplainable spark of something not quite like the terror the others spoke of.

“So… there’s no one he’d ever protect?” Thalia asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She wanted to believe that perhaps, despite all the tales, the Dread Wolf could have a side yet unseen.

Deshanna shook her head gently. “If anyone thinks they are protected by him, they are simply in his snare, a pawn to his games. The wolf may appear kind, but that’s the nature of his deception. Those who claim to feel his favor are often haunted by it for the rest of their lives.”

The words sent a chill down Thalia’s spine. She thought back to the statue, to the way she’d dared to sit atop its head and pat the snout, feeling something closer to companionship than fear. The idea of being haunted by misfortune made her stomach twist, but at the same time, there was a whisper of defiance, a quiet belief that she had seen something real, something different.

As Deshanna moved to speak with another elder, Thalia remained by the fire, lost in thought. She traced small patterns in the dirt with her finger, recalling how she’d felt atop the totem. For all of Deshanna’s caution, Thalia couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d glimpsed a side of the Dread Wolf hidden from the tales. Where others saw terror, she had seen something else—a spark of understanding, perhaps even a strange kinship.

Chapter Text

The forest hummed with life as Thalia and Therion darted between the trees, their laughter blending with the rustling of leaves and the chirping of distant birds. They were both barefoot, their steps light and practiced, avoiding the occasional thorn or sharp twig. Thalia clutched their father’s staff, the polished wood cool under her fingers as she tried to match Therion’s pace. Her brother moved like a shadow, his bow slung across his back, his sharp eyes scanning the forest as if he were stalking prey.

“Keep up, Lia,” Therion called over his shoulder, his voice teasing but encouraging. He crouched low and disappeared into the underbrush with practiced ease.

Thalia smirked, tightening her grip on the staff. “Oh, I’ll catch you soon enough.” She took a deep breath, feeling the pulse of her magic. Her body dissolved into a silvery mist, and in the blink of an eye, she reappeared several feet ahead, darting through the trees.

Therion’s head popped out of a bush nearby, his brows lifting in mock surprise. “Show-off,” he muttered, not quite able to hide his grin. “What happened to good old-fashioned sneaking?”

Thalia stopped briefly, hands on her hips. “Good old-fashioned sneaking isn’t nearly as fun. Plus, why sneak when you can poof?” She made a dramatic flourish with her hand as if her magic were a grand trick.

Therion rolled his eyes and shook his head, pulling his bow from his shoulder. “Magic isn’t going to help you track prey. You’re too flashy—you’ll scare everything off.”

“Better than stomping around like a bear,” Thalia shot back, sticking out her tongue before darting off again, her hair bouncing behind her.

The two of them weaved through the forest, each testing their skills. Thalia hopped between tree roots, her steps quick and nimble. Therion climbed a nearby tree, moving effortlessly along its sturdy branches before leaping to another. “You should be quieter, Lia,” he whispered from above, his voice like the wind. “You’re scaring off the wildlife.”

“Wildlife? Oh, you mean the chipmunks that were laughing at your last landing?” she retorted, barely missing a beat as she crouched low and darted through the underbrush. Therion groaned, shaking his head but unable to hide the amused smile that tugged at his lips.

From above, Therion loosed an arrow, hitting a distant knot on a tree with pinpoint precision. “That’s how it’s done,” he said, his voice filled with smug satisfaction.

“Oh, impressive,” Thalia teased, rolling her eyes. “You hit a tree! What’s next? A daring duel with a particularly menacing squirrel?”

Therion snorted, lowering himself from the branch and landing silently behind her. “I’m refining my aim, not performing parlour tricks.”

Thalia dissolved into mist again, reappearing directly behind him this time. “Parlour trick or not, one day I’m going to catch you off guard.”

Therion jumped, flinching at her sudden appearance. “One day,” he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m going to tie bells to you so I can hear you coming.”

Thalia grinned. “You’re just mad I’m better at this.”

“Better? You couldn’t catch a hare in an open field,” Therion shot back, his grin widening.

Thalia smirked, pointing at his bow. “And you couldn’t hit a moving target if it danced right in front of you.”

Therion raised a brow, pulling another arrow from his quiver. “Want to test that theory?”

She laughed, darting into the trees again. “You’ll miss me every time!”

Their banter filled the forest as they chased each other through the foliage, their movements fluid and coordinated despite the teasing. It was a game, but it was also a reminder of how much they relied on each other. Even as they tested their skills, their bond shone through in every glance and every taunt.

As they raced through the woods, a misstep in Thalia’s magic caused her Fade Step to falter. She stumbled, nearly tripping over a root, and Therion was instantly at her side. “Careful,” he said, his teasing tone replaced with concern. “Don’t want to ruin that ‘better-than-you’ streak, do you?”

“Not a chance,” Thalia replied with a playful but grateful smile. And just like that, they were off again, their laughter echoing through the forest like the music of the wild.

Feeling emboldened, Thalia decided to try another Fade Step, determined to outpace Therion. She reached for her magic, letting the familiar energy surge through her body. But as the power built, something went wrong. Instead of the smooth burst of mist she expected, the spell erupted into a sudden, violent explosion of fire. Flames roared out in all directions, consuming the air around her and igniting the dry grass beneath her feet.

The heat was overwhelming, and Thalia stumbled, her heart pounding as the flames licked dangerously close to her skin. She cried out, her temporary immunity to fire shielding her only briefly. The searing heat brushed against her legs, making her wince as panic gripped her. The crackling of the flames and the acrid scent of smoke filled her nose, her mistake blazing wildly out of control.

“Thalia!” Therion’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and filled with alarm. In an instant, he sprang from the cover of the bushes, his eyes wide with panic as he took in the flames encircling his sister. Without hesitation, he bolted forward, darting straight into the inferno. The heat scorched the air around him, but he ignored it, his focus solely on Thalia. He grabbed her tightly, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her with him as he threw them both out of the ring of fire.

They tumbled to the ground, rolling over the cool grass to extinguish any lingering sparks. The roaring flames continued behind them, the heat radiating as they lay sprawled in the dirt. Therion’s breath came in ragged gasps, his arms still firmly around Thalia as he shifted to check her over, his wide eyes scanning for burns. “Are you hurt?” he demanded, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and urgency.

Thalia’s breathing came in shallow, ragged gasps, her hands trembling as she glanced down at her feet. Small burns had started to blister, the angry red marks stark against her skin. The heat still clung to her, and the acrid smell of smoke filled her nose. The realization of what had just happened crashed over her like a tidal wave, and her vision blurred with unshed tears. “I—I’m sorry,” she stammered, her voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to… I just… I couldn’t control it.”

Therion knelt beside her, gripping her shoulders gently but firmly, his sharp eyes locking onto hers. “Thalia, listen to me. It’s okay,” he said, his voice steady despite the lingering panic in his expression. “You didn’t mean for this to happen. But right now, we need to put that fire out before it spreads.” He turned his head toward the raging flames, the urgency clear in his tone. “You can do this. I know you can. Just focus.”

Thalia shook her head, panic flaring in her chest, her words tumbling out in a frantic whisper. “I can’t—I’ll just make it worse! I always do!”

“Thalia!” Therion’s voice was sharp, cutting through her fear like a blade. She flinched but looked up at him, her wide eyes locking onto his. “Look at me,” he commanded, his tone steady but firm. His hands tightened slightly on her shoulders, grounding her. “You’ve got this. You’ve done it before.”

Her breath hitched, the panic still bubbling under the surface, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. He softened his tone, his voice calm and encouraging. “Just breathe. Don’t think about the fire—think about the ice. Feel it. Remember how it feels when it forms in your hands, how it listens to you. Pull it out, Thalia. You can do this.”

She stared at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but his words began to break through the storm inside her. With a trembling nod, she closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe, to push aside the fear. She reached for her magic, her mind latching onto the memory of cool frost creeping over her skin during practice, the way it felt controlled and soothing.

Slowly, carefully, Thalia extended her hand and staff toward the raging flames, her fingers trembling but her mind focusing on the cool sensation of frost. She pulled on her magic, picturing ice spreading over the fire like a calming wave, smothering its fury. A pale blue glow shimmered on the ground around the fire, and she whispered under her breath, urging the magic to obey.

The frost burst outward in jagged shards, thick blocks of ice erupting from the blue glyph that appeared beneath the flames. The air crackled as the icicles shot up, piercing through the fire and smothering it with an explosive hiss. Steam rose in swirling clouds, and the once-roaring flames were silenced, consumed by the freezing power. When it was over, the scorched ground was covered in glistening, jagged ice, the fire reduced to nothing but a faint memory beneath the sharp, crystalline frost.

Thalia exhaled shakily, her breath visible in the cold air that had surrounded her. It was quiet, save for the sound of her and Therion’s heavy breathing. She let her hands fall to her side, trembling from both exhaustion and relief.

Therion let out a sigh of relief, the tension in his shoulders easing as the flames disappeared entirely. Without wasting a moment, he turned back to Thalia, his gaze fixed on her blistered feet. “Hold still,” he murmured, scanning the forest floor for anything that could help. Spotting a few large, broad leaves nearby, he tore them from their stems and pressed them gently against her burns, his touch firm but careful.

“You’re going to be okay,” he said, his voice steady despite the worry flickering in his eyes. His hands worked quickly to wrap the makeshift bandages, ensuring the leaves covered her blisters securely. “We’ll head back to camp, and Maelis will take care of the rest.” He glanced up at her, offering a faint, reassuring smile.

Thalia sniffled, her voice trembling as she spoke. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to mess everything up.”

“Hey,” Therion interrupted gently, his tone firm but full of warmth. He crouched in front of her, tilting his head to catch her gaze. “You fixed it. That’s what matters.” He paused, giving her a small, reassuring smile as he reached out to brush some ash off her cheek with his thumb. “Besides, you’re learning. Mistakes happen, but that’s how you get better. No one gets it right the first time—or even the fifth.”

His words settled over her like a calming wave, though her heart still thudded in her chest. Thalia wiped at her face, smudging the dirt and ash, and managed a shaky smile in return. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Therion chuckled softly, his hand lingering briefly on her shoulder. “Well, you’re good at keeping me on my toes. Let’s just… avoid setting the forest on fire next time, alright?” His teasing tone softened the moment, and despite herself, Thalia let out a weak laugh, the tension between them easing.

Thalia stared down at the staff, tracing the smooth grain of the wood with her fingers. The weight of it felt heavier in moments like this, as if her father’s legacy rested within the polished surface. “Do you think… do you think Pa ever struggled with his magic like this? Or was he just… good at it?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if she were afraid of the answer.

Therion moved and sat beside her, wiping his hands against his trousers after finishing with her makeshift bandages. His brow furrowed in thought, and for a moment, the forest’s silence surrounded them. “I think everyone struggles at first,” he said finally, his tone steady but gentle. “Even Pa. But he worked through it, just like you will. Magic isn’t something you just know. It’s something you learn. Something you grow into.”

Thalia tilted her head, her eyes scanning the staff again. “But… it always seemed so easy for him. Whenever he did spells, it was like he barely had to think about it. Like it just… came to him.”

Therion gave a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “You were little back then. Of course it seemed like that to you. You didn’t see the years it probably took him to get to that point. I mean, do you think I just woke up one day knowing how to shoot straight? Ma and Theralas trained me for years before I could even hit the broad side of a tree.”

She frowned, gripping the staff tighter. “But what if I can’t get better? What if my magic’s just… wild? Like this?” She motioned to the frozen ground where the fire had burned, her voice growing thick with frustration. “What if I can’t control it, and I just keep making mistakes?”

Therion leaned closer, meeting her gaze. “Then you’ll keep working at it. Because that’s what Pa would’ve done. That’s what he would’ve told you to do. He wasn’t perfect, Lia. He made mistakes too. You think he never had spells go wrong? You think he never scared himself with his own power?”

Thalia blinked, startled by the thought. “I don’t know… I never thought of it like that. Pa always seemed so… steady.”

Therion smiled faintly, his voice softening. “Yeah, but he had to be steady. For us. For the clan. That doesn’t mean he didn’t have moments where things went sideways. You didn’t see it because he never let us see it. He didn’t want us to worry. But Deshanna’s told me stories… about how he struggled when he first started learning. How his magic was unpredictable at times too.”

Her grip on the staff loosened slightly, and she glanced up at him. “Really? Like what?”

Therion shrugged. “She didn’t tell me everything, but there was one time he tried to summon a barrier during practice, and it went completely haywire. Knocked himself out cold and sent a tree branch flying into camp. Everyone thought it was hilarious—except him, of course.”

Thalia let out a small laugh despite herself, the tension in her shoulders easing. “I can’t imagine Pa messing up like that.”

“Well, he did. And he learned from it. Just like you will.” Therion leaned back, propping himself up on his hands. “The important thing is that he didn’t give up. And neither will you. You’ve got his magic, Lia. It’s in you. You just need time to figure out how to make it yours.”

Thalia nodded slowly, her gaze still fixed on the staff. “Do you ever feel like… it’s too much? Like we’re trying to fill shoes that are too big for us?”

Therion leaned back, resting his elbows on the ground as he glanced up at the canopy of trees. His expression softened, and he let out a small sigh. “All the time,” he admitted. “It’s hard not to. I mean, Pa and Ma… they were everything to the clan. And now it feels like everyone’s looking at us, waiting for us to step into their place.”

Thalia shifted the staff in her hands, her fingers tracing the intricate carvings. “I don’t know if I can do it. Being the First Mage… training to become a Keeper someday? It’s… a lot. What if I’m not good enough?”

Therion looked over at her, his brows furrowed slightly but his tone steady. “You’re going to be great, Lia. You already are. Deshanna wouldn’t be training you if she didn’t see something in you. And I see it too.”

She met his gaze, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You have to say that. You’re my brother.”

“Doesn’t make it less true,” he replied with a small shrug. “You’ve got more power in you than most mages could dream of. Sure, it’s a bit… wild right now, but that’s what training’s for. You’ll get there.”

Thalia sighed, setting the staff across her lap. “What about you? You’re going to be the Lead Hunter. Doesn’t that feel… big? Like, how do you even prepare for something like that?”

Therion let out a low chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s… definitely big. I’m not going to lie, sometimes I feel like I’m just pretending to know what I’m doing. Theralas makes it look easy, but I see how much weight he carries for the clan. And one day, that’ll be on me.” He paused, his smile fading slightly. “But… I want to protect us. Protect you. If taking that role is what it takes to keep everyone safe, I’ll do it.”

Thalia tilted her head, watching him closely. “You always seem so sure of yourself, though. Like… like nothing fazes you.”

Therion snorted softly. “I’m not as sure as I look, trust me. Half the time, I’m just trying to keep up. But I figure if I keep pushing forward, I’ll figure it out as I go. That’s what Ma and Pa would’ve done, right?”

She gave a small nod, the tension in her shoulders easing. “Yeah… I guess so. They never seemed to have all the answers either, now that I think about it. They just… did what they had to.”

“Exactly,” Therion said, his tone light but firm. “And that’s what we’ll do. One day at a time.”

Thalia glanced down at the staff again, her voice soft. “Do you think they’d be proud of us?”

Therion’s smile widened, and he nudged her gently with his elbow. “I know they would be. We’re doing everything we can to take care of each other. That’s what they would’ve wanted.”

Her lips curved into a faint smile, and she looked up at him. “You really believe that?”

“Absolutely,” he said without hesitation. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he added, “Pa would’ve wanted you to be the best mage you can be. And Ma… well, she’d probably want me to make sure you don’t set the forest on fire.”

Despite herself, Thalia laughed, wiping at her eyes as a small smile broke through her tears. “You’re such an ass.”

“Only because you make it so easy,” he shot back, reaching over to ruffle her hair. She batted his hand away with a half-hearted glare, but there was no real heat behind it. “But seriously, we’re a team. We’ll figure it out together. You’ve got your magic, and I’ve got my bow. Between us, I’d say we’re in pretty good hands.”

Thalia leaned back, picking up the staff close to her chest as she glanced at him. “You know, for someone who’s always so cocky, you’re not half bad at this ‘reassuring’ thing.”

Therion smirked, leaning back on his hands. “Don’t get used to it. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. “Yeah, sure. Big bad Therion, protector of the forest… and his overly dramatic little sister.”

He laughed, nudging her with his shoulder. “Hey, someone’s got to keep you in check. Besides, I’m older, which means I get to be the boss.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Thalia teased, her tone lighter now. “Just wait until I get better with my magic. You won’t stand a chance.”

Therion raised an eyebrow, feigning mock horror. “Oh no, I’m terrified. A flaming mage with a temper. Whatever will I do?”

“Exactly,” she shot back, grinning. “Better watch your back.”

Their laughter echoed through the forest, the earlier tension melting away as they teased and bantered.

They sat in the quiet forest for a while longer, the faint smell of smoke and ice lingering in the air but the danger passed. In that moment, Thalia felt a renewed sense of determination. She wasn’t alone in this. No matter how chaotic her magic seemed, she had her brother by her side.

Therion sat back up and examined her burned feet, the edges of the blisters angry and red. His brow furrowed as he inspected them, carefully pressing the leaves against the burns again to provide some relief, though even that made Thalia wince. “Can you walk?” he asked, his voice steady but laced with concern.

Thalia shook her head, her face contorted in pain. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as she shifted her weight. “I don’t think so. It hurts… a lot.”

Therion nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line as he considered their options. “Alright,” he said softly, “Try to stand up. Let’s see how bad it is.”

She hesitated, but with his help and the staff to lean on, she tried to push herself up. The moment she put weight on her feet, though, she gasped, tears springing to her eyes as she faltered. “I can’t… I can’t do it,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Therion’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t let frustration show. Instead, he slid his arm around her shoulders and gave her a small, reassuring squeeze. “Okay, then. New plan.” He crouched down in front of her, gesturing for her to climb onto his back. “Get on. I’ll carry you.”

Thalia blinked at him, her cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. “I’m not a little kid anymore, Therion.”

“Lia,” he said firmly, glancing back at her with a raised eyebrow and a hint of a smirk. “Don’t start. Just get on.”

She hesitated for a moment longer before looping her arms around his shoulders, the staff in one hand. With an ease that surprised her, Therion hoisted her onto his back, her legs dangling on either side of him. “See? Easy,” he teased, adjusting her weight slightly as he started walking. “Now try not to kick me in the ribs.”

Thalia couldn’t help but smile, even through her pain. “No promises,” she shot back, resting her chin lightly on his shoulder as he carried her through the forest.

As they made their way through the forest, the earlier tension between them seemed to dissipate. Therion spoke as he walked, his tone light despite the situation. “Alright, so maybe next time we stick to climbing trees and sneaking through bushes instead of playing with fire spells, yeah?”

Thalia let out a soft laugh, her voice tinged with both relief and weariness. “Noted. Though, to be fair, I didn’t mean to set the forest on fire.”

“Well, next time you ‘accidentally’ summon a fire mine, I’ll be sure to bring a bucket,” Therion quipped, glancing back at her with a smirk.

Thalia groaned, leaning her head against him. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

Therion chuckled, adjusting her weight slightly on his back as he navigated a patch of uneven ground. “Oh, I absolutely do. It’s my job as your big brother. You’d do the same if I missed a shot and accidentally took out someone’s tent.”

Thalia snorted, her breath warm against his neck. “Maybe. But at least I wouldn’t be as smug about it.”

“Lia, I’m not smug,” Therion said, feigning indignation. “I’m just… confident.”

“Confidently annoying,” she muttered, though the corners of her mouth twitched with a small smile.

Therion grinned, his tone teasing. “Careful, or I might accidentally find a low branch to duck under.”

Thalia gasped, lightly smacking his shoulder. “Don’t you dare!”

“Try me,” he shot back, laughter bubbling in his chest.

She shook her head, though she was laughing too, the sound brightening the forest around them. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet here I am, carrying you like the benevolent brother I am,” he replied, exaggerating his tone with mock grandeur. “You should be thanking me.”

Thalia rolled her eyes but tightened her arms around him slightly. “Fine. Thank you, oh great and humble Therion, for saving me from my own magical disasters.”

“That’s better,” he said, a satisfied grin on his face. “See? I’m practically a hero.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Thalia warned, but there was no malice in her voice—only warmth.

Therion adjusted his grip on Thalia, shifting her weight higher on his back as they continued through the forest. His steps grew slower, the strain becoming more noticeable with each passing moment. “Alright, Lia,” he huffed, his tone teasing but with a hint of genuine effort, “you’re definitely heavier than I remember. What have you been eating? Rocks? The entire camp’s supply of flatbread?”

Thalia gasped, smacking his shoulder lightly. “Excuse me? I’m not heavy! You’re just weak.”

“Weak?” Therion scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I carried a full-grown deer carcass back to camp last week. Trust me, you’re heavier.”

Thalia smirked against his shoulder, leaning forward a bit to add to his struggle. “Oh, really? You carried it all by yourself? No help from anyone?”

“None,” Therion said with mock seriousness. “I’m a legend in the making.”

“You’re full of it,” she shot back, poking his side. “Admit it, you tripped at least twice and probably needed Theralas to pull you out of a ditch.”

“I did not!” Therion huffed, his ears turning red. “Once, maybe, but that was because the ground was uneven.”

“Uh-huh,” Thalia said, her grin widening. “Uneven ground. Sure.”

Therion groaned dramatically, but his voice was laced with humor. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“That’s because you’re clumsy, and you trip over roots half the time!” Thalia retorted, her arms tightening around his shoulders. “Or is that just when you’re trying to show off in front of that girl? What’s her name again? Talenya?”

Therion nearly stumbled, his ears and face turning pink. “I wasn’t showing off!” he shot back, his voice defensive. “And it’s Talrin, thank you very much.”

“Oh, Talrin,” Thalia drawled, her voice teasing. “Right. The one you fell out of a tree for.”

“That was a tactical descent,” Therion grumbled, though his blush deepened. “Besides, she was impressed.”

“Sure she was,” Thalia said, grinning. “Nothing says ‘impressive’ like landing flat on your face in front of the whole camp.”

Therion groaned, shaking his head. “Keep it up, Lia, and I’ll accidentally drop you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Thalia challenged, tightening her grip on him.

“Try me,” Therion quipped with a smirk, deliberately ducking under a low branch so that the leaves brushed against Thalia’s face.

“Therion!” Thalia yelped, jerking her head back. “You did that on purpose!”

“Did what?” he asked innocently, though the grin on his face betrayed him. He ducked under another branch, letting it hit her again.

“That’s it!” Thalia growled, letting go of his shoulders long enough to rub her knuckles into his scalp, hard.

“Hey! Ow!” Therion protested, laughing as he tried to shake her off. “Cut it out!”

“You deserve it!” Thalia snapped, digging her knuckles in more. “Maybe this’ll knock some sense into you.”

“Alright, alright! Mercy!” Therion said, still laughing as he ducked out from under her assault. “Mythal’enaste, you’re violent.”

“And you’re annoying,” Thalia shot back, but she couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. Thalia rested her chin on Therion’s shoulder, her curiosity piqued after teasing him about Talrin.

“So,” she started casually, “what exactly do you see in Talrin? Why do you like her?”

Therion groaned, his head tilting back slightly. “Lia, don’t start.”

“Oh, come on!” Thalia pressed, her grin audible in her voice. “I need to know what my big brother finds so fascinating about her.”

Therion sighed dramatically. “Fine. She’s smart, alright? She knows a lot about herbs and healing, and she’s always willing to teach others. Plus, she’s got this… calmness about her.”

“Calmness?” Thalia teased. “That’s what you’re going with? Not her hair? Or her eyes? Or, I don’t know, her ability to make you trip over your own feet?”

Therion glared playfully over his shoulder. “For your information, she has pretty hair. And her eyes are… nice, too.”

“Nice,” Thalia echoed, her tone dripping with mockery. “Wow, such poetry. ‘Her eyes are nice.’ I’m sure she’ll swoon when she hears that.”

“You’re unbearable,” Therion muttered, though his ears turned pink. “What do you want me to say, Lia? That she’s the prettiest girl in the clan? Fine, she is. Happy?”

Thalia chuckled, clearly enjoying his embarrassment. “Aww, my big brother has a crush. This is adorable.”

Therion shook his head, his grip adjusting slightly as he carried her. “Don’t make me drop you.”

“Like you’d dare,” she shot back, tightening her arms around his shoulders with a mischievous grin. “I’m injured, remember? You’re supposed to be the responsible one.”

“Right now, I’m questioning how injured you actually are,” he quipped, his smirk returning. “All this energy for teasing—makes me think you’re faking it.”

Thalia laughed, the sound light and warm. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop. But for the record, you should work on your compliments. ‘Nice eyes’ isn’t going to cut it.”

Therion rolled his eyes. “Noted. Next time you fall on your face while casting a spell, I’ll make sure to critique your technique.”

“Touché,” Thalia replied, shaking her head with a grin. “But seriously, you should tell her how you feel. She might like you back.”

Therion gave a noncommittal grunt. “Yeah, maybe.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment, the camp’s edge just coming into view through the trees. Thalia broke it with one last jab. “Just don’t trip over a root when you’re trying to impress her.”

Therion groaned again. “Why do I even talk to you?”

As they entered the camp, the soft chatter of their clanmates faltered. Eyes turned toward them, a mix of curiosity and concern evident on their faces. Therion, carrying Thalia on his back, barely seemed to notice the attention. Thalia, however, felt the heat of their stares and buried her face against his shoulder.

“What happened?” one of the hunters called out, stepping closer to get a better look.

Therion waved a hand dismissively, his usual carefree grin plastered on his face. “She got into a bit of trouble with her magic. Nothing to worry about.”

Thalia groaned into his shoulder. “Don’t make it sound like I blew myself up.”

“Oh no,” Therion said loudly, clearly having too much fun. “Nothing like that. She was trying to fight off a swarm of vicious chipmunks. Brave, really.”

The onlookers chuckled, a few shaking their heads in amusement. “Chipmunks?” one of the elders repeated, raising a brow. “Never thought I’d see her bested by those little things.”

“Vicious,” Therion emphasized, his grin widening. “You wouldn’t believe it. They were after the staff, I think. Thought it was a nut.”

Thalia smacked his shoulder weakly. “I hate you.”

By the time they reached the healer’s tent, Therion couldn’t resist one last jab as he carried Thalia toward the healer’s bed. Maelis, a stern but kind elf whose patience had been tested countless times by the siblings, looked up from her work. Her sharp gray eyes immediately narrowed at the sight of them.

“Oh, for the love of Sylaise,” she groaned, setting down her bundle of herbs with a loud thud. “What did you two manage this time?”

Therion smirked, as if this were all part of a grand adventure. “Oh, nothing much. Lia just tried to set the forest on fire. Again.”

“Again?” Maelis raised an eyebrow, glancing at Thalia, who looked away sheepishly.

“I fixed it!” Thalia protested, glaring at her brother as he gently lowered her onto the cot. “It was an accident.”

“She’s clumsy,” Therion added with a grin, ignoring her protests. “But don’t worry, I saved her. Like the hero I am.”

“Hero?” Maelis snorted, kneeling to examine Thalia’s feet. “You mean the same hero who stumbled back here with an arrow in his shoulder last month? Or was it the time you broke your arm falling out of a tree, trying to impress Talrin?”

Thalia snickered despite herself, and Therion shot Maelis an exaggeratedly wounded look. “I thought healers were supposed to heal, not attack their patients.”

“I’d hardly call you a patient,” Maelis replied dryly, wrapping a damp cloth around Thalia’s blistered feet. “You’re more like a frequent hazard report.”

“See, Lia?” Therion said, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Maelis loves me. She’s just bad at showing it.”

“Keep talking, and I’ll love to remind you how painful stitching up an arrow wound can be,” Maelis retorted, making a mock stabbing motion with her fingers.

Thalia bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “Therion, you really are the worst.”

“I’m the best, and you know it,” he shot back, ruffling her hair before backing toward the tent’s exit. “Just admit it.”

“Get out of here, Therion!” Thalia snapped, pointing at the door, her face red with embarrassment.

He laughed, waving over his shoulder as he walked away. “Love you too, Lia!”

Chapter Text

The golden light of the setting sun bathed the cliffs in warmth as Thalia sat near the edge, her father’s staff planted in the rocky ground beside her. Below, the clan’s camp spread out like a tapestry of life, its fires flickering like stars among the trees, blending with the soft hum of activity that floated upward on the breeze. From this height, everything seemed peaceful, but Thalia’s world was far from still.

Thalia’s determination was etched into her features, her brows furrowed as she focused on the faint sparks of magic dancing between her fingertips. Her father’s voice echoed faintly in her memory, guiding her even now. She could see him clearly in her mind, the way his fingers moved with practiced ease, his gentle encouragement coaxing her to try. This was the spell he’d shown her so long ago—a flicker of lightning to flame, simple in its elegance, but requiring patience and control she still struggled to master.

“Focus,” she murmured to herself, her voice barely louder than the wind. Her breath came slow and deliberate as she closed her eyes briefly, shutting out the rustling leaves and distant sounds of the camp. “Calm.”

She felt the magic awaken, a surge of energy stirring in her chest. Her fingers tingled as the spark flared to life, a tiny arc of lightning leaping between them. It crackled softly, unpredictable but alive, and her lips quirked into a smile. Confidence swelled within her as she focused, holding the energy steady, her breathing slow and controlled. The lightning danced, its sharp edges flickering, but she kept it balanced, determined not to let it spiral out of control.

Slowly, the lightning began to shift, its wildness softening under her careful guidance. The arc transformed, morphing into a warm ember that hovered just above her palm, glowing with a gentle, steady light. The sight made her grin widen, pride bubbling up within her as the small success settled in her hand like an old friend. It felt like a connection to her father—a spark of his memory brought to life, a moment she had been chasing for so long finally realized.

From the forest’s edge, Therion emerged, moving with the quiet grace of a hunter. His bow was slung over his shoulder, and his sharp eyes scanned the scene ahead. He had been tracking game earlier, his thoughts focused on the tasks of the day, but the sight of his sister practicing alone on the cliffs made him pause. For a moment, he simply stood there, taking in the scene—the determined set of her shoulders, the soft glow of the ember in her hand, and the pride written all over her face as she held her success steady.

The golden light of the setting sun caught his fresh vallaslin, the intricate lines honoring both June and Dirthamen. It marked his growing place within the clan, his role as their second best hunter, and the responsibility that came with it. At 19, Therion carried himself with a quiet confidence, but when it came to Thalia, his protective instincts never wavered. Leaning casually against a nearby tree, he let a small smile tug at his lips, watching her with a mix of pride and quiet amusement. “Not bad, Lia,” he whispered, offering her silent applause but not wanting to break her focus.

As Thalia tried to shift the ember back into a larger flame, the energy wavered, sputtering briefly before disappearing into a puff of harmless smoke. She let out a frustrated sigh, shaking her hands as if to rid it of the failure. Her brows furrowed, determination flashing in her eyes. “Come on,” she muttered to herself, shifting where she sat and steadying her breath.

From the trees, Therion leaned forward slightly, his voice low but clear. “You’ve got this, Lia. Just breathe. Focus.”

Thalia exhaled slowly, closing her eyes and summoning the magic again. The lightning crackled to life, bright and sharp between her fingers. This time, the transition was smoother—the ember returned, glowing warmly in her palm, and with a deft flick of her wrist, it bloomed into a small flame. Her grin widened as she flicked the flame to her other hand, the fiery orb responding gracefully to her movements.

Encouraged by her success, Thalia let the magic flow freely. The flame shrank back into a flicker of lightning, then reignited, the energy shifting between her hands like a carefully choreographed dance. Sparks and embers leapt and spun in rhythm, illuminating her joy as she swapped the elements back and forth, their contrasting light flickering against her skin. She Held the glowing ember aloft as though presenting her triumph.

That was when Therion clapped, the sound breaking the quiet, startling her. The ember fizzled out in her hand as she jumped slightly, whipping her head toward the noise.

“Not bad, Lia,” Therion called out, a smirk playing on his lips as he stepped out from the trees. His bow shifted on his shoulder as he approached, his stride casual but confident. He lowered himself to sit beside her on the cliff’s edge, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Though I think you’re just showing off now,” he added with a teasing grin.

Thalia rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You could’ve warned me, you know. I almost made it explode.” She shook out her hands, trying to calm the lingering sparks in her fingers.

Therion chuckled, resting his arms on his knees as he glanced at the view below. “If that startled you, maybe you need more practice. What if someone does that in a fight?”

She nudged him lightly with her elbow. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Therion.”

“You’re welcome,” he quipped, his grin widening as he looked at her. “But honestly, you’re getting good at this. That flicker-into-flame trick? Pa would’ve been impressed.”

Thalia glanced down at her hands, her fingers idly brushing over the grooves in her father’s staff. “I don’t know,” she murmured, her earlier confidence waning. “It still feels… wild sometimes. Like I’m barely holding it together. What if I mess up when it actually matters?”

Therion tilted his head, studying her with a rare softness in his gaze. “You won’t,” he said simply.

She snorted, shaking her head. “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have magic sparking out of your hands, ready to explode if you blink wrong.”

“True,” Therion admitted, leaning back on his hands, his eyes flicking to the horizon. “But I’ve seen you, Lia. You mess up, sure, but you don’t stop. Most people would’ve thrown their staff into the river by now, cursing the gods and giving up.” He looked back at her, his tone steady. “But not you.”

Thalia scoffed, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face. “Right. Because I’m too stubborn.”

“Exactly,” Therion said, his lips curving into a small smile. “You’re too stubborn to quit. Too stubborn to let this beat you. I’ve seen you face down stuff that would make most people run for the hills. And you know what? You get better every time.”

She glanced at him, her expression caught between disbelief and a faint smile. “Are you being serious right now?”

Therion raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “What? You think I’d lie about something like this?”

She shrugged, a wry grin tugging at her lips. “I just thought teasing me was your favorite pastime.”

“Oh, it is,” he replied with a smirk. “But I’m also proud of you, Lia. Even if you are a pain in the ass most of the time.”

Thalia blinked at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. “Thanks,” she finally muttered, looking down at her hands again.

Therion nudged her with his shoulder, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Just don’t let it go to your head. You still can’t hit the broad side of a tree with a bow, Lia.”

Thalia groaned, rolling her eyes. “Ugh, not this again. I’m trying, okay? It’s not like I’ve been using a bow my whole life like you.”

“Trying?” Therion teased, leaning back on his hands. “You almost hit me the other day. I wasn’t even the target.”

“That’s because you moved, you idiot!” she shot back, though a smile tugged at her lips. “And I’m not even supposed to be a hunter. I’m training to be a mage and a keeper, remember?”

“Doesn’t mean you can slack off on the basics,” he said with a shrug. “You think Deshanna doesn’t expect you to defend yourself if something gets too close? What are you going to do, lecture a wild bear until it gives up?”

Thalia snorted, swatting him lightly on the arm. “I’ll figure it out. Besides, I’ve got my staff, and my magic’s getting better.”

Therion smirked, pointing at her. “You did almost trip over it during sparring last week.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thank you for your undying support, dear brother.”

“Anytime,” he replied, laughing. “Seriously, though, you’re getting there. Just… maybe don’t try to accidentally cast Fade Step while swinging the staff. You almost knocked yourself out.”

Thalia flushed, shaking her head. “One time! It happened one time.”

“And I’ll never let you forget it,” Therion said with a grin, leaning closer. “Because that’s what I’m here are for.”

She sighed, shaking her head but unable to hide her amusement. “Fine, then. Next time we train, I’m going to hit you with the fire. Let’s see how you handle that.”

Therion laughed, patting her on the back. “You can try, Lia. But you’ll probably miss. Again.”

Thalia rolled her eyes, nudging him with her elbow. “Oh, please. The only thing I missed was the chance to throw you off this cliff for saying that.”

He grinned, leaning back on his hands. “Fair point. I’ll give you credit for not tripping over your own feet this time. That’s progress.”

“Ha, ha,” Thalia said dryly, though a smirk tugged at her lips. “Just wait until I actually beat you at something. Then we’ll see who’s laughing.”

Therion tilted his head, giving her a mock-thoughtful look. “I’m not worried. But seriously, Lia, your quick thinking? It’s no joke. That spell earlier? The one you turned into flame? That takes focus, and you nailed it. Most mages would still be fumbling to keep the spark alive.”

Thalia blinked, surprised by the unexpected praise. “You’re just saying that.”

“Nope,” he said with a shrug, his expression serious now. “I mean it. You’ve got something, Thalia. You’re not just learning magic—you’re making it your own. That’s… rare.”

Her face warmed at his words, and she looked down at the staff in her hands. “Thanks, Therion,” she murmured. Then, after a pause, she smirked and added, “But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook. You’ve been showing off too, you know.”

“Me?” Therion asked, feigning innocence. “What could you possibly mean?”

“Come on,” Thalia said, her tone playful but proud. “You’ve become the best hunter in the clan—after Theralas, of course. But honestly, even he’s been impressed with you. Don’t think I didn’t notice him bragging about your last hunt.”

Therion chuckled, shaking his head. “He brags because I don’t embarrass him too much. Yet.”

“And your vallaslin,” Thalia continued, her voice softening. “It’s perfect. June and Dirthamen. You carry both of them so well… It’s like you’re carrying Ma and Pa with you every time you step out into the forest.”

Therion’s playful grin faded into something gentler, his gaze distant as he traced the edge of his vallaslin with his fingers. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s the point, I guess. It’s like they’re still here… guiding me.”

Thalia leaned over, nudging his shoulder with her own. “They’d be proud of you. You know that, right?”

He glanced at her, his lips curling into a small smile. “Thanks, Lia. That means a lot. And for the record, they’d be proud of you too. You’re going to be a hell of a keeper someday.”

Thalia scoffed, brushing off the compliment with a wave of her hand. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll believe it when I get my vallaslin.”

For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, the bond between them unspoken but ever-present. Words weren’t needed; the shared warmth of their presence was enough. Thalia rested her chin on her knees, her father’s staff still stuck in the ground next to her, while Therion stretched his legs out in front of him, absently toying with the strap of his quiver. Both of them, caught in the serenity of the moment, felt the weight of their responsibilities lift, if only for a little while.

After a moment, Thalia broke the quiet. “Do you ever wonder… what we’d do if things were different? If we weren’t bound to the clan’s fate?”

Therion leaned back on his palms, the orange glow of the setting sun casting shadows across his face. He seemed to mull over the question for a moment before answering, his tone quiet but honest. “Yeah, I think about it. Not often, but… sometimes. If I didn’t have to hunt, or protect, or make sure everything runs smoothly. If I didn’t feel like I owed it to them—to Ma, to Pa—I’d probably… I don’t know, maybe travel.”

Thalia turned to him, surprised. “Travel? Really? You’ve never said that before.”

He gave her a small shrug, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “It’s not exactly a priority, is it? There’s always something that needs to be done. But yeah, I’ve thought about it. Leaving the forest, seeing what’s out there. The mountains. The cities. Even the deserts they talk about in the old stories.”

“You’d leave all of this behind?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. “The clan? The forest?”

Therion glanced at her, shaking his head. “Not forever. The clan is home. It always will be. But part of me wonders… what if there’s more? What if there’s something we’re missing? Something I’m missing.” He paused, the weight of his words settling. “I guess it’s not really about the places. It’s about finding something out there that makes all of this worth it.”

Thalia tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “And what does Talrin think about this grand adventure?”

He chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’ve talked about it a little. It’s still new, but… she understands. She gets it, the weight of all of this. The expectations, the duty. She doesn’t hold me back.” His voice softened as he added, “But if I’m honest, what I really want is to make sure you’re safe first. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

She frowned, her fingers tracing the length of the staff beside her. “Therion, you can’t put your life on hold for me. You’ve already done so much—”

“I promised you,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “I promised you and them. After everything we’ve been through, I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You’re my sister, Lia. My family. That comes first.”

Thalia sighed, her gaze drifting back to the horizon. “I know. And I’m grateful, but sometimes… it feels like there’s more out there. Like something’s pulling me beyond the forest, beyond what we know.”

Therion studied her carefully. “What would you do, if you weren’t tied to the clan?”

She hesitated, her thoughts swirling before she answered. “I’d explore. See the old elvish ruins, learn more about the past. About who we were, before… everything fell apart. But it’s just a dream. I’d never make it out there. The Templars would find me and drag me to a Circle before I even left the forest.”

He leaned closer, his voice quiet but resolute. “That won’t happen. Not while I’m here.”

Her lips curved into a small, bittersweet smile. “You can’t protect me from everything, Therion.”

“I’ll try,” he said simply, and the weight of his words left no room for argument.

Therion stretched his arms behind his head, leaning back slightly as he glanced at the horizon. “You know,” he began, his tone light, “if you’re so interested in exploring ruins and proving how skilled you are, why don’t you show me that spell of yours again?”

Thalia raised an eyebrow, her skepticism evident. “Why? So you can make fun of me when I mess it up?”

“Not exactly,” Therion said with a sly grin. “Let’s make it interesting. If you manage to pull it off—lightning to ember and back again, smooth and controlled—you can skip bow practice with me for the entire next week. But if you fail…” He paused dramatically, enjoying the moment. “It’s all bow practice. No sparring matches, no excuses.”

Thalia groaned, already feeling the soreness in her arms from their previous sessions. “No sparring? At all? That’s so boring!”

“Those are the terms,” he said, shrugging casually. “Unless you’re scared you can’t do it.”

She shot him a glare, gripping her staff as determination flashed across her face. “I’m not scared. I can do it.”

Therion smirked. “Alright, Lia. Let’s see it, then.”

Thalia remained seated, the golden light of the setting sun casting a warm glow around her as she planted her hands firmly on her knees, steadying herself. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment as she summoned the magic within her. Without the staff as a guide, the energy felt raw and unfiltered, but she trusted her hands alone to shape it, letting her fingers tingle with the building power.

Therion leaned back on his palms, watching with interest but keeping his expression neutral. “No pressure,” he teased. “Just your pride and a week of sparring on the line.”

“Shut up,” Thalia muttered, though the corners of her mouth twitched in a faint smile.

The magic stirred, building in her chest and traveling down to her fingers. A spark leapt to life, crackling as it danced between her fingers. She exhaled slowly, guiding the energy as it shifted from the sharp, chaotic arcs of lightning into a steady, glowing ember. The flame hovered above her palm, flickering gently in the breeze.

“Good,” Therion said, his tone genuinely encouraging. “Now, bring it back.”

Thalia nodded, her brow furrowing in concentration. The ember brightened, its edges sharpening as it transformed back into a crackling current of lightning. She grinned, the surge of success filling her with confidence. She flicked her wrist, the lightning arcing back into flame, then repeated the motion, switching between forms with an ease that had eluded her before.

When she finally let the spell fade, she turned to Therion, her chest heaving slightly from the effort but her grin triumphant. “Well?”

Therion clapped, the sound echoing off the cliffs. “Alright, I’m impressed. I guess you’re off bow practice for the week.”

Thalia beamed, brushing her hands together as if dusting off an invisible accomplishment. “Told you I could do it,” she said, her confidence shining as she sat tall, her legs folded neatly beneath her.

Therion rolled his eyes, though his smile was genuine. “Don’t let it go to your head. You’re still stuck with sparring. And if I catch you slacking…” He tapped the side of his bow for emphasis.

“You won’t,” Thalia said, sticking her tongue out at him. “Unlike someone, I don’t need to show off to impress anyone.”

Therion laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. Let’s head back to camp before Deshanna starts wondering if we’ve decided to move out here permanently.”

Therion fell into step beside her, the two of them walking in companionable silence along the forest path that hugged the cliff’s edge. The descent toward the camp was steady, the familiar sounds of the forest filling the air—the rustle of leaves, the distant call of birds, the quiet crunch of their bare feet on the earth. The golden hues of the setting sun filtered through the trees, casting long shadows that danced with each step they took.

Thalia held her father’s staff loosely in her hand, the polished wood a comforting weight. Her fingers traced the carvings absentmindedly, the familiar grooves and marks etched into her memory. The spell she had just performed lingered in her thoughts, a reminder of how far she had come—but also how far she still wanted to go. Her eyes drifted to the distant treetops, their tops stretching out like an endless sea of green.

She couldn’t shake the pull she felt—the yearning to see what lay beyond the forest, beyond the cliffs, beyond the boundaries of the life she had always known. Old elvish ruins, ancient cities buried in time, stories carved into stone walls waiting to be rediscovered. The thought filled her with excitement and fear in equal measure. She wanted to see it all, to understand what the world was before it had become what it was now.

But then there was the clan. Her people, her family. She could never abandon them—not now, not ever. And she was only 15. A part of her wondered if she was too young to even dream about a life outside the camp. Maybe this was just a phase, a fleeting thought she would grow out of. Yet, deep down, she wasn’t sure if the longing would ever truly fade.

Therion’s voice broke the quiet. “You’re awfully quiet. Thinking about how to brag to everyone when we get back?”

Thalia glanced at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Something like that.” But her tone carried a hint of wistfulness, her gaze returning to the horizon.

Her brother didn’t press her further, instead falling back into the silence that had settled between them. They walked together through the calm forest, their bond unspoken but undeniable, as the light of the campfires began to flicker in the distance below.

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the camp as Thalia crouched low, her staff gripped tightly in both hands. Across from her, Therion stood tall, his own staff resting easily in his grip. The training grounds where they sparred was quiet save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the sharp crack of wood as they clashed. It was their final task of the day before they could sit down and eat, and the stakes were high—or at least, high enough for sibling rivalry.

“You sure you want to do this, Lia?” Therion asked, his voice carrying that infuriating blend of teasing and confidence.

Thalia smirked, narrowing her eyes. “The loser gets the smaller portion.”

Therion raised a brow, twirling his staff once before planting his feet. “Deal.”

The fight began with a flurry of movement. Thalia darted to the side, her bare feet light on the packed dirt as she swung her staff low, aiming for Therion’s knees. He blocked the strike with ease, his staff meeting hers with a loud crack. His strength made the parry look effortless, but Thalia didn’t let it discourage her. She spun on her heel, switching her attack to his side, her movements quick and deliberate.

Therion stepped back, his staff swinging in a wide arc to force her away. “You’re going to have to do better than that,” he teased, his grin playful as he reset his stance.

Thalia’s eyes narrowed, determination glinting in her gaze. She tightened her grip on her staff, feinting to the left before lunging forward with all the speed she could muster. The sudden move caught Therion off guard, and the end of her staff glanced off his arm. He winced, stepping back as his grin faltered. “Alright, not bad,” he admitted, shaking his arm. But his expression quickly shifted to one of focus, his stance firm and steady as he prepared for her next attack.

She pressed her advantage, darting to the right and aiming another strike toward his ribs. He blocked it, their staffs clashing with a solid crack. “Getting tired yet?” she taunted, circling him like a predator.

Therion raised an eyebrow. “Tired? Not even close. You, on the other hand…” He lunged forward, forcing her to leap back to avoid his strike.

The match continued, the siblings trading blows and testing each other’s skills. Therion’s strength and reach gave him a clear advantage, but Thalia’s agility kept her in the game. She moved like a shadow, weaving between his strikes and darting in with quick jabs. For a moment, it seemed like she might actually win.

But Therion was patient. He waited for the right moment, his sharp eyes tracking her every move. When she feinted to the left again, he saw through it and stepped in close. With a sharp twist of his staff, he hooked hers, locking it against his arm. Before she could react, he pulled her off balance and swung her over his shoulder with ease.

Thalia let out a startled yelp as she hit the ground with a thud, her staff clattering to the side. She lay flat on her back, staring up at the sky, winded and stunned. Above her, Therion loomed, his grin wide and triumphant as he looked down at her.

“I win,” he declared, planting the end of his staff into the ground like a victorious warrior.

Thalia groaned, her pride more bruised than anything else. “That wasn’t fair,” she muttered, reaching for her staff.

“Fair?” Therion laughed, offering her a hand. “You’re the one who said you’d win. Guess you’ll just have to settle for the smaller portion tonight.”

“Maybe I’ll just break your knees,” she shot back, swatting his hand away and sitting up on her own.

Therion chuckled, ruffling her hair as she scowled. “You’re too stubborn to quit, I’ll give you that. But you’ve got to learn when you’re outmatched, Lia.”

“Next time, I’m wiping that smug grin off your face,” she muttered, brushing dirt off her breeches.

“We’ll see,” he said with a grin, slinging his staff over his shoulder as they began walking toward the central fire. On his way, Therion bent down and picked up Thalia’s practice staff, which she had left on the ground. He carried it over to the spot where the other practice weapons were stored, propping it neatly against the rack alongside the others. As he placed it, he picked up their father’s staff, which Thalia had carefully set aside for safekeeping before their sparring session.

Therion caught up with Thalia, his strides unhurried but deliberate. He approached her quietly, the carved wood of the staff resting lightly in his hand. He extended the staff toward her in silence. Thalia without a word, took it from his hand, her fingers curling around the familiar wood. She didn’t look at him directly, her attention still focused on the being annoyed at him, as she adjusted the staff against her shoulder.

As they walked back toward the central fire, the aroma of roasted vegetables and fresh bread wafted through the camp, making both their stomachs growl in unison. Therion smirked, nudging Thalia with his elbow. “Hear that? Even your stomach knows I earned the bigger portion.”

Thalia rolled her eyes, clutching her staff tightly. “You cheated, you know. Swinging me over your shoulder like that? Totally unfair.”

“Unfair? Thal, I’m just playing to my strengths. You’re the one who kept bragging about being quicker,” Therion teased, his grin widening as they approached the bustling center of camp. “Face it, you lost fair and square.”

Thalia huffed, crossing her arms as they stopped near the serving table. “Next time, I’ll win. And I won’t resort to dirty tricks.”

Therion chuckled, grabbing his bowl and flashing her a victorious look. “Keep dreaming. Oh—A large portion for the champion.” He made a show of taking the bigger serving, heaping his bowl high with roasted vegetables and took two pieces of bread.

Thalia glared at him as she scooped up her portion, deliberately taking an extra slice of bread just to spite him. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Better than being a sore loser,” he quipped, plopping down on a log near the fire. “You didn’t stand a chance.”

“Oh, I had a chance,” she shot back, sitting next to him and prodding him with the staff before resting it against the log. “You’re just a brute.”

Therion grinned, tearing into his bread and spoke with his mouth full, “A brute who’s eating more than you. You’re lucky I don’t eat your portion too.”

Thalia rolled her eyes but couldn’t help a small smile. “You keep this up, and one day I’m going to cast something right in your face.”

“Can’t wait,” Therion replied still with a mouthful of food, smirking at her. “Until then, enjoy your second place.”

Thalia shook her head, biting into her bread as the fire crackled.

As they ate, Deshanna rose from her place by the fire, her tall figure commanding yet serene. The soft crackling of the flames filled the brief silence as she lifted a hand, calling for the clan’s attention. Conversations dwindled, and all eyes turned toward her, their faces bathed in the warm glow of the firelight. Children shuffled closer to their parents, curiosity sparking in their eyes, while the hunters and elders leaned in to hear her words.

“I have an important announcement,” Deshanna began, her voice calm yet firm, carrying the weight of her role. Her tone immediately silenced the last murmurs of conversation. “Our clan will soon welcome a new member into our midst. A young mage from a neighbouring clan, Clan Vireth’alas, will be joining us to train as our second mage.”

The air buzzed with a ripple of murmurs as the clan absorbed her words. For a mage to leave their clan and join another was a decision that carried deep implications—not just for the individual, but for both clans involved.

Deshanna continued, her expression steady, though there was a flicker of compassion in her voice. “This decision was made after careful discussion with Keeper Lathariel of Clan Vireth’alas. Their clan has recently found itself blessed with an abundance of gifted mages. However, their resources and ability to train them are stretched thin. To ensure this young mage has the best chance to thrive and learn, Keeper Lathariel reached out to me, and I agreed to take him into our fold as we have space for more.”

The whispers grew slightly louder, a mixture of curiosity and acceptance weaving through the group. For the younger members, the idea of a new mage brought intrigue. For the elders, it signified the clan’s commitment to the greater Dalish community.

Deshanna raised a hand to quiet the murmurs, her voice softening just slightly. “His name is Silasirin. He is seventeen, with a promising talent in magic that Keeper Lathariel believes will flourish under our guidance. He will arrive within the next week. Though he comes from another clan, he will be one of us once he arrives. I expect all of you to extend him the same respect and warmth as any of our own.”

A quiet hum of agreement spread through the group, the clan nodding in unison. They trusted Deshanna’s judgment, and while the idea of an outsider joining them carried a hint of uncertainty, it was tempered by their pride in the Keeper’s decision.

Thalia froze mid-bite, her bread hovering just below her lips. Her heart raced with a mix of emotions she couldn’t quite name—curiosity, nerves, and maybe a little excitement. Another mage? Someone around her age? She cast a glance at Therion, who was smirking at her.

“You’re going to have competition, Lia,” he teased, leaning closer.

Thalia shot him a sharp look, her brows furrowing. “Competition? I don’t need competition,” she muttered, though her tone betrayed her nerves. “I’m already working hard enough as it is.”

Therion smirked, clearly enjoying her unease. “Well, better step it up then. What if he’s already better at magic than you? Or what if Deshanna decides he’s the new favourite?”

“Shut up,” Thalia hissed, glaring at him as she bit at her food with more force than necessary. “I don’t need Deshanna’s favouritism. I’m doing just fine on my own.”

“Sure you are,” Therion said with a mock-serious nod. “But imagine—what if he’s tall, handsome, and incredibly talented? The whole clan might start calling him the next great mage.”

Therion smirked, clearly enjoying her unease. “Well, better step it up then. What if he’s already better at magic than you? Or what if Deshanna decides he’s the new favorite?”

“Shut up,” Thalia hissed, her glare sharp as she stabbed at her food with more force than necessary. “I don’t need Deshanna’s favoritism. I’m doing just fine on my own.”

Therion leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And just think, Lia. What if he’s not only better than you, but everyone starts saying he should be Keeper instead of you?”

Thalia froze mid-bite, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “I will set your gear on fire.”

Therion leaned back, laughing loudly. “See? Terrifying. You’re proving my point!”

Deshanna approached Thalia and Therion, her hands clasped loosely in front of her. Thalia, still nursing a playful scowl from her brother’s earlier teasing, straightened when she saw the Keeper approaching. Therion leaned back lazily, his ever-present smirk hinting at another quip, but even he seemed curious about what she would say.

“Thalia,” Deshanna began, her tone calm but deliberate, “I wanted to speak with you about your studies and how they’ll change once Silasirin arrives.”

Thalia blinked, setting her bowl down on the ground between her feet. “Change?”

Deshanna sat on the log next to her, her expression a mix of reassurance and seriousness. “Silasirin won’t just be training as the second mage; he’ll be learning everything alongside you. Your magical studies, physical training, and lessons in history, tradition, and ancestry will now be shared. You’ll also work together on your day-to-day duties, whether that’s foraging, tending to the halla, or helping me and the elders.”

Therion raised an eyebrow. “So, basically, he’ll be her shadow.”

Deshanna gave him a wry smile. “In a manner of speaking, yes. Silasirin’s Keeper believed he would benefit from experiencing life in another clan. His strengths and weaknesses complement Thalia’s, and together you both stand to learn more than you would on your own.”

Thalia frowned, unsure whether to feel flattered or uneasy. “So, he’ll be around… all the time?”

Deshanna nodded. “All the time. I expect you to work together, help each other improve, and eventually become a unified force as mages of this clan.”

Therion snorted. “Sounds like you’ve got a new best friend, Lia.”

Thalia shot him a glare before turning back to Deshanna. “What do you know about him? What kind of magic he’s good at?”

Deshanna’s gaze softened as she leaned forward slightly. “His Keeper described him as meticulous. He’s particularly adept with frost magic—ice walls, freezing spells, even delicate enchantments. He also has a natural affinity for healing, though he still has much to learn in that area. His strength lies in precision, where yours lies in raw power. Together, you should balance each other.”

“Great,” Thalia muttered in frustration, half to herself. “He sounds perfect.”

“Not perfect,” Deshanna corrected. “No more than you are. From what I’ve been told, Silasirin struggles to adapt quickly, and his creativity in action is limited. That’s why this is such a valuable opportunity for him—and for you.”

Therion tilted his head, studying Thalia with amusement. “So, Lia, what I’m hearing is he’s better at ice, and you’re better at setting things on fire. Sounds like a solid team to me.”

“Shut up,” Thalia muttered, though a small grin tugged at her lips. “I guess we’ll see how it goes.”

Deshanna placed a hand on her shoulder, her expression kind but firm. “Silasirin is here to learn. Be patient with each other. And Therion,” she added, her tone sharp but teasing, “you’ll be continuing her physical training, but Silasirin will join you. I trust you’ll handle the extra responsibility.”

Therion groaned dramatically. “Oh, good. Two mages to wrangle. Can’t wait.”

Thalia smirked. “Maybe he’ll put you in your place.”

“Highly doubtful,” Therion shot back, standing and stretching. “But I’ll give him a chance to try.”

-

The next few days passed in a blur of preparation and routine, though Thalia found herself with even more to do than usual. The new tent for Silasirin had to be set up at the edge of the camp, close to her and Therion’s tent and within sight of Deshanna’s. She spent her mornings gathering materials—soft furs for bedding, spare cutlery for his meals, and simple decorations to make it feel welcoming. The elders had instructed her on what was expected, but they also teased her gently, calling the task “practice” for when she one day becomes the Keeper.

It wasn’t all work, though. Her studies with Deshanna continued uninterrupted, and each lesson seemed to grow more intense. Whether they were poring over tomes of elven history or debating the myths of their gods, Thalia couldn’t shake the feeling that Deshanna was subtly preparing her for something beyond the arrival of the new mage.

The afternoons belonged to the elders, where she sat cross-legged with the others as they told stories of Mythal’s wisdom, Andruil’s cunning, and Fen’Harel’s betrayal. She had heard these tales a hundred times, but now, as her own role in the clan began to feel more tangible, their lessons resonated more deeply. Each myth carried a warning, a piece of wisdom she couldn’t afford to overlook.

And then there was Therion. If she thought he was relentless in their training sessions before, she quickly learned just how far her brother could push her when he had an excuse to “prepare” for another trainee.

“Alright, Lia, let’s pick up the pace,” he barked one afternoon as she darted through the forest. He had devised a new plan that involved a combination of stealth drills, endurance runs, and mock combat scenarios. With Silasirin set to join her training, Therion claimed it was only fair to “set the bar high.”

“Why do I feel like you’re just making me do double the work?” Thalia called out as she crouched low in the underbrush, clutching her staff.

“Because I am,” he replied with a wicked grin, drawing his bowstring back and loosing an arrow just over her head. It wasn’t meant to hit her—just to remind her that he could.

“Idiot!” she hissed, rolling out of the way and charging toward him. She cast a small barrier spell just as he loosed another arrow, her magic deflecting it harmlessly into the dirt.

“Not bad,” Therion admitted as he lowered his bow, but his grin didn’t fade. “But Silasirin might be faster. Better keep practicing.”

Thalia groaned, dragging herself upright and brushing dirt and leaves from her breeches. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were actually trying to hurt me.”

“Hurt you? Nah,” Therion said with a shrug, effortlessly slinging his bow over his shoulder. “I’m just making sure you’re ready. Can’t have the great Thalia Lavellan getting shown up, can we?”

She shot him a flat look, though her lips twitched in a grudging smile. “You’re so full of it.”

“Always,” he replied with a wink. “Now, come on, Lia. We’ve still got a few rounds left.“

-

The day finally arrived when Silasirin was expected. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of dew-drenched grass and the distant hum of activity from the camp. Thalia, oblivious to the excitement, was deeply immersed in meditation with the elders.

At the camp’s edge, Deshanna, Theralas, and Therion stood waiting. Silasirin emerged from the dense forest, a slender figure with dark brown eyes and a mess of black hair that curled slightly at the ends. He clutched a staff tightly in one hand, its sleek, sharp design an immediate contrast to the organic curves of Thalia’s, and in the other had a pack of supplies slung over his shoulder. His steps were cautious, his gaze flicking between the three waiting for him.

Deshanna stepped forward, offering a warm smile and a bow. “Welcome, da’len. I am Keeper Deshanna. This is Theralas, our lead hunter, and Therion, one of our finest hunters and trainers.”

Theralas gave him a curt nod, his posture relaxed but his sharp gaze assessing. Therion, on the other hand, leaned forward, resting on his bow with a smirk. “One of the finest, huh?” he quipped, raising a brow.

Silasirin hesitated, his grip tightening on his staff. “Uh, it’s an honor to meet all of you,” he said, bowing slightly. He straightened nervously, his eyes flitting between them before Deshanna stepped in to ease his tension.

“How was your journey, da’len?” she asked gently, her tone inviting.

Silasirin’s shoulders relaxed a fraction as he replied, “It was long, Hahren, but uneventful. The Keeper of my former clan made sure I had all I needed for the trip.”

“Uneventful is good,” Theralas remarked, his tone approving. “The forest can be unpredictable for lone travelers.”

Therion, however, couldn’t resist. “Bet you’re glad to finally stretch your legs and stop looking over your shoulder, huh?”

Silasirin managed a small, hesitant smile. “Yes, it’s a relief to arrive. Though, I admit, I was a bit nervous about meeting all of you.”

“Relax,” Therion said, waving off his nervousness. “No one bites. Well, maybe Thalia.”

“Thalia?” Silasirin asked, confused but his curiosity piqued.

Deshanna stepped in with a small smile, her tone even. “Thalia is the first mage of this clan. She’s a year younger than you, but she has proven herself to be resourceful and talented. You’ll be working closely with her as her training partner.”

Therion smirked, resting his elbow on the tip of his bow. “Don’t let her age fool you. She’s tough—quick with a spell and even quicker with her tongue. She doesn’t hold back, not even on me.”

Deshanna gave him a pointed look, though there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. “What Therion means to say is that Thalia is dedicated to her craft and her clan. You’ll find she has much to teach you, as you will her.”

Silasirin’s brow furrowed slightly as he absorbed their words. “She sounds… impressive.”

Therion grinned, leaning closer to him with a conspiratorial whisper. “She’s impressive, alright. Just wait until she’s yelling at you for stepping on her toes while sparring.”

Deshanna sighed, shaking her head but letting the banter slide. “Come on, da’len. Let’s walk the camp and get you acquainted with your new home.”

Deshanna and Theralas led Silasirin through the winding paths of the camp, their voices calm and steady as they introduced him to the workings of Clan Lavellan. “This is where the hunters gather before setting out,” Deshanna explained, gesturing toward a shaded area near the edge of the camp where bows and quivers were neatly stacked. “You’ll find that everyone here has a role, and soon enough, you’ll find yours too.”

Theralas added, “Discipline and balance are at the heart of what we do. You’ll be expected to carry your weight, but don’t hesitate to lean on the clan when you need to.”

Silasirin nodded, his eyes darting between the various tents and busy clanmates. The earlier tension in his shoulders had started to ease as he watched the harmony of the camp—children playing near the central fire, hunters exchanging tips while fletching arrows, and armorers working on leathers.

A woman with sharp gray eyes and a warm smile approached them. She carried a basket full of herbs in her arms and offered Silasirin a nod of greeting. “You must be the new mage,” she said, her tone kind but matter-of-fact. “I’m Maelis, the healer. If you ever get into trouble—or need patching up or to patch up someone else—you’ll find me in that tent over there.”

Silasirin dipped his head respectfully. “Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Maelis.”

Therion, walking slightly behind, leaned closer to Silasirin and muttered, “She’s great, but don’t get on her bad side.”

Deshanna shot Therion a stern look but couldn’t completely hide her smirk. “Perhaps save the teasing for later, Therion.”

As they moved further into the camp, Deshanna pointed toward a larger tent near the center. “That’s where the elders gather for meditation and counsel. Thalia is in there now, meditating. We won’t be disturbing her for the moment.”

Therion grinned. “Don’t worry. She takes forever to meditate anyway. Probably too busy thinking about how to set things on fire.”

Silasirin gave a tentative chuckle, glancing between Therion and Deshanna. “Is she really that bad?”

“Oh, no,” Therion said, feigning seriousness. “She’s worse.”

Deshanna sighed, her tone amused but firm. “Ignore him, Silasirin. Thalia is a skilled mage, you’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

Silasirin felt a small knot of apprehension twist in his stomach. “I hope I can keep up,” he said quietly.

Therion clapped him on the shoulder, his grin turning genuine. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t trip over yourself, and you’ll survive.”

Deshanna shook her head, gesturing for them to move along. “Come, let’s continue. There’s still more to see.”

As they walked, Silasirin took in the sights around him, the camp alive with a quiet energy. He noticed the way the hunters moved with purpose, the children weaving flower crowns near the fire, and the way everyone greeted each other with a respectful incline of their heads. It was different from his own clan, more tightly knit and focused. For a moment, he let himself feel the weight of his new surroundings, the realization that this place would be his home now settling into his chest. He adjusted the grip on his staff, silently vowing to prove himself to everyone.

“That space there,” Therion said, pointing to a fenced-off area near the cliff walls that surrounded the camp, “is where Thalia practices setting things—and occasionally people—on fire. You’ll love it.”

“Therion,” Deshanna said with a sharp but patient sigh, though a flicker of amusement softened her tone. “Behave.”

“I’m joking! Mostly,” Therion replied with a mischievous smirk, his eyes glinting with satisfaction at Silasirin’s wide-eyed expression.

Silasirin let out a nervous snort that quickly turned into a chuckle, though he awkwardly hid it behind his hand.

By the time they reached the training grounds, Silasirin was feeling more at ease, though the sight of charred tree stumps and scorched patches of earth made his stomach twist slightly. It was clear that the mage who trained here didn’t hold back. His grip on his staff tightened as he imagined trying to keep up with someone who wielded such raw power.

Deshanna turned to Therion, who was already halfway unslinging his bow in anticipation of sparring. “Fetch Thalia, please. I think it’s time for her training, and I’d like Silasirin to meet her properly.”

Therion’s grin widened mischievously, his earlier playfulness returning full force. “With pleasure,” he said, already spinning on his heel to head toward the central tent. Deshanna sighed again and shook her head as she led Silasirin further around the training area.

As Therion strolled away, his grin still evident in his posture, Silasirin watched him curiously. He couldn’t help but feel a bit out of place around someone so self-assured. His gaze lingered for a moment before he turned back to Deshanna and Theralas.

Deshanna, noticing his thoughtful look, offered a small smile. “As you can see, Therion can be… spirited, but his heart is as strong as his aim. He and Thalia have been under our care since they were children.”

Theralas nodded, his expression softening. “Their parents were key members of this clan—his father was the first mage, and their mother was a gifted hunter and armourer. When we lost them…” He paused, his jaw tightening briefly. “It was a dark time for the clan. Therion and Thalia were just children then, thirteen and nine.”

Silasirin’s brow furrowed, and he adjusted his posture. “I heard rumors… about an ambush on your clan. Said it was bandits, humans who resented the Dalish.”

Deshanna’s expression turned grave, though her voice remained steady. “Yes that’s right. Not so much a rumour, but the truth. We moved far from that place to protect what remains of our people. Therion and Thalia have carried more than most their age, but they’ve risen to the challenge.”

Theralas glanced toward the camp, his gaze following Therion’s retreating figure. “Therion’s determination to protect his sister has made him one of the finest hunters in the clan. He’s already preparing to take on my role and is improving with each passing day.”

Silasirin looked thoughtful for a moment, “It’s admirable.”

Deshanna nodded, her tone softening. “You’ll find no greater example of resilience than those two. And though Therion may seem playful, he takes his responsibilities seriously. He’ll expect the same from you.”

Silasirin straightened, his nerves easing slightly under Deshanna’s calm reassurance. “I’ll do my best to live up to that.”

Deshanna gave him a reassuring smile. “Good. You’ll find that this clan values effort and heart as much as skill. You’ve already taken a brave step by coming here and leaving your old clan behind.” She gestured for him to follow as they began to walk. “In time, this place will feel like home.”

Silasirin glanced around the camp as they moved, taking in the serene activity of the clan members—some tending to the evening fires, others repairing tools or weaving baskets. The hum of a connected community surrounded him, easing some of the tension in his chest. He noticed a few curious glances from the others but found comfort in their quiet acceptance.

Deshanna turned back to Silasirin. “While we wait for them, let me show you to your tent. So you can set down your belongings and prepare. There will be a short bit of training later, just to see where your skill is at.”

Silasirin nodded, clutching his staff tightly. “Thank you, Hahren.”

Deshanna gave him an approving nod, leading him toward a smaller, freshly prepared tent situated on the outskirts of the camp. “This will be yours,” she said, gesturing to the tent. “Therion and Thalia live in the tent next to you. Having them close by should help you adjust.”

Silasirin ducked inside, setting his bag down carefully. The interior was modest but thoughtfully arranged—a neatly placed bed roll in the corner, a small low table for his tools and books, and enough space to make the place his own. The reality of his new home began to settle in, a mixture of nerves and a budding sense of belonging.

Turning back to Deshanna, he met her gaze with sincerity. “Thank you, Hahren. It means a lot to me to be trusted with this chance.” He hesitated briefly before adding, “I promise I won’t let you down.”

Deshanna’s expression softened as she nodded. “I know you won’t. Take a moment to get settled, da’len. This is your home now.” With a soft smile and a gentle gesture toward the camp outside, she continued, “When you’re ready, we’ll begin. There’s much to learn and plenty to prepare for.” She stepped away gracefully, her presence lingering even as she left him alone to process the weight of the new chapter unfolding before him.

Silasirin took a steadying breath and crouched down to his pack, carefully untying the leather straps. One by one, he retrieved his belongings, each item a small reminder of the life he had left behind.

He placed his staff gently against a pole in the tent, the smooth, polished wood almost cool to the touch. From the pack, he pulled a neatly wrapped bundle of books—his journals, magical theory texts, and a small collection of stories passed down from his previous clan. He set them on the low table, arranging them meticulously, as though their placement would somehow ground him in this unfamiliar space.

Next came a small, carved figurine of a halla, worn smooth from years of being carried in his pocket. He placed it on the edge of the table, its eyes catching the faint light filtering through the tent’s fabric. A small satchel of herbs and spell components followed, along with a rolled-up map of the surrounding forest he had been studying during his journey here.

Finally, he pulled out a folded piece of cloth—a simple but well-loved scarf dyed in deep greens and blues, gifted to him by his mother before he left. He held it for a moment, his fingers brushing over the soft fabric, before draping it carefully over the bedroll.

With each item unpacked, the tent felt less like a stranger’s dwelling and more like a place he could begin to call his own. Silasirin sat back on his heels, gazing around at the modest but meaningful arrangement. Though the unfamiliarity of his new home still loomed large, there was a flicker of warmth in his chest—a hope that this new life, this new clan, might be a place where he could truly belong.

Silasirin stood up, his hands grabbing on his staff as if it could steady the nervous energy coursing through him. He adjusted his shirt, brushed off imaginary dust, and exhaled slowly. Taking one last look around his new tent, he stepped outside, blinking against the sunlight.

He started walking back toward the training ground, his staff lightly tapping the ground with each step. Despite Deshanna’s calm assurances and Therion’s playful demeanor, a pit had settled firmly in his stomach. Meeting Thalia, felt like a monumental moment. He had heard so much about her—her fierce determination, her sharp wit, and, of course, seeing her reputation as a fire mage.

From what Therion and the others had said, she sounded… intense. Capable. Intimidating, even. Silasirin wasn’t sure if he should be excited or terrified. He clutched his staff a little tighter, the wood familiar and grounding against his palm, as he drew closer to the training ground where Deshanna and Theralas were waiting.

-

As Therion stepped into the central tent, a wave of earthy, bittersweet scent enveloped him. The air was thick with the aroma of burning elfroot and embrium, curling lazily from an ornate incense bowl placed at the center of the circle. The tendrils of smoke rose and twisted like delicate silver threads, filling the space with a sense of calm and focus.

The tent itself was spacious but dimly lit, the canvas walls filtering the warm glow of the sun outside. Thick rugs and woven mats covered the ground, arranged in a circular pattern around the incense bowl. At the edges of the tent, low shelves and wooden trunks held neatly stacked scrolls and tomes, carved figurines of the Gods, and bowls filled with dried herbs and polished rune stones. Hanging from the central pole and the beams was a cluster of small, woven charms, each spinning gently in the faint draft.

The elders sat in a loose circle, their eyes closed, their voices humming in low, rhythmic chants that seemed to resonate with the very air around them. Thalia sat with her legs crossed, their father’s staff balanced across her knees, her hands resting lightly on the smooth wood. Her eyes were closed, her breathing steady, as she let herself feel the chaotic energy that always pulsed through her like fire and smoke.

Therion crept around the edge of the circle, his steps deliberately exaggerated to remain silent, though the cheeky grin on his face hinted at mischief. He crouched down behind Thalia, his elbows resting casually on his knees as he waited for her to acknowledge him. He knew she’d sensed him—she always did—but she remained perfectly still, the picture of focus, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

When her deliberate silence dragged on, Therion cleared his throat in an over-the-top fashion, loud and theatrical, shattering the meditative calm like a rock tossed into a serene pond. One of Thalia’s ears twitched in annoyance, but she didn’t move. The elders, however, were less composed. Their chants faltered, and several pairs of narrowed eyes turned on him, their disapproval radiating like a scolding heat.

Therion grimaced, his grin faltering as he raised his hands in mock surrender, offering a sheepish shrug. Without a word, he pointed at Thalia and then gestured dramatically over his shoulder in the direction of the training grounds, miming an exaggerated urgency as if to say, She’s needed. His antics did little to soften the elders’ glares, but he couldn’t help the flicker of amusement in his eyes as he watched Thalia’s shoulders tense in exasperation.

Thalia slightly opened one eye, fixing Therion with an exasperated stare over her shoulder. Her gaze was sharp but laced with familiarity, as though she had anticipated his intrusion. His grin widened in response, clearly unbothered by her annoyance.

She let out a long, drawn-out sigh, her shoulders sagging slightly. “You couldn’t wait five more minutes?” she whispered, her voice low enough to keep from disturbing the elders further, though the irritation was clear.

Therion leaned in slightly, resting his chin on his hand with an exaggerated pout. “Five more minutes? Thal, I’ve already waited forever. Besides you’re just sitting there. It’s hard to tell when you’re actually doing something.”

Thalia rolled her eyes, straightened her posture, and took a steadying breath. “I am meditating,” she whispered firmly.

“Sure, sure,” Therion replied breezily, rocking back on his heels. “But Deshanna sent me to fetch you. It’s time for training, and I figured I’d save you the embarrassment of being dragged out by someone less charming than me.”

Her other eye opened, and she shot him a look that practically screamed, You’re impossible.

Therion smiled back at her with a knowing look, his amusement plain as he stood up and left the tent. He waited just outside the entrance, leaning casually against one of the poles, his grin widening in anticipation.

Thalia closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a slow, steadying breath before sighing softly. She stood up, her movements smooth and deliberate, then bowed her head respectfully to the elders. “Ir abelas, Hahren,” she whispered, her voice quiet but earnest.

The elders gave her a faint nod of acknowledgment, their chants resuming as she turned and made her way out of the tent. The moment she stepped outside, she spotted Therion’s smug expression and promptly shoved him roughly forward, nearly making him stumble.

“You’re lucky they didn’t curse you and kick you out,” she said, her tone sharp with irritation, though her lips quirked in faint amusement.

Therion chuckled, brushing off her shove with ease. “Please. They like me.”

“They tolerate you,” Thalia corrected, rolling her eyes.

“Same thing,” Therion replied with a shrug, his grin never wavering. “Anyway, Silasirin’s here.”

Thalia blinked, surprised. “Already?”

“Yep,” Therion said, turning to lead the way. He shot her a mischievous glance over his shoulder. “And judging by how much he was clutching his staff, I’d say he’s already nervous about meeting you, Lia.”

Thalia gestured emphatically with her staff as they made their way through the camp, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “Why are you making me seem like some kind of terrifying mage?”

Therion blinked at her, genuinely confused. “What are you talking about? Of course you are.”

She stopped mid-step, turning to glare at him. “I’m not intimidating! Everyone in the clan knows that.”

“That’s because they know you,” Therion replied, his tone matter-of-fact as he tilted his head at her. “They’ve seen you trip over tree roots, face-plant into the dirt, and you laugh at your own jokes until you can’t breathe. But to anyone outside the clan? Yeah, you’re intimidating.”

Thalia stared at him, mouth slightly open in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m serious,” Therion said, smirking as he walked beside her. “You’re quick on your feet, your magic is impressive—even if it’s a little messy—and you’ve got that fire in your eyes when you’re focused. And the bright red eyes, don’t exactly scream ‘harmless.’ Trust me, if I didn’t know you, I’d be scared of you.”

Her brows furrowed as she processed his words. “But I don’t want to be scary.”

“Well, you don’t really get a choice in how people see you,” Therion said with a shrug. “It’s not a bad thing, Lia. Intimidating doesn’t mean bad. It means people respect you, even if they’re a little nervous around you. Besides, you’re not scary all the time. I mean, look at you now—flustered and stomping around like a sulking wolf.”

Thalia groaned, her shoulders slumping.

Therion laughed, nudging her gently with his elbow. “And you’re too stubborn to admit I’m right.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, her lips twitching as though fighting a smile. “Fine. Maybe you’re a little right. But if he’s scared of me, I’m blaming you.”

“Fine,” Therion said with a grin. “But don’t worry—if he runs off screaming, I’ll bring him back. I’ll tell him you’re secretly a softie.”

“Don’t you dare,” Thalia warned, jabbing him with her staff.

Therion raised his hands in mock surrender, chuckling as they reached the edge of the training grounds. “Alright, alright.”

-

At the training grounds, Silasirin stood waiting alongside Deshanna and Theralas, his staff resting casually yet ready against his shoulder. The sunlight dappled the clearing, catching on the etched patterns of his staff and the dark strands of his hair as he shifted from foot to foot. His normally calm demeanor betrayed a hint of unease as he scanned the area, though his expression softened when Thalia appeared, walking alongside Therion.

The moment his gaze landed on her, it was as though the rest of the world faded into the background. His eyes lingered, taking in the soft contours of her face, the way her vibrantly red hair framed her features, and the determined set of her mouth. A faint blush spread across his cheeks, creeping up to his ears, and he quickly straightened his posture as if to mask his reaction. Clearing his throat, he shifted his staff to his other shoulder in an attempt to look nonchalant, though his fingers tightened briefly around it.

He couldn’t help but note the details—the subtle glint of sunlight in her hair, the confident way she carried herself despite her young age and short stature, and the fire in her eyes that seemed to promise more than her demeanor let on. Silasirin’s gaze lingered a moment too long before he tore it away, pretending to focus on the Keeper, though the heat in his face betrayed his thoughts. Theralas, ever observant, smirked slightly, but Silasirin ignored him, determined not to let his feelings show. Not yet, anyway.

Once Thalia was close enough, she greeted Deshanna and Theralas with a polite nod and soft words of respect. Her caretakers returned the gesture warmly before stepping aside to allow her and Therion to join the group. Finally, Thalia turned her attention to Silasirin, meeting his dark brown eyes and noting his tussled black hair. His posture stiffened slightly under her gaze, though she seemed unphased by his nervous energy.

They politely bowed their heads to each other. “Hi, I’m Thalia,” she introduced herself, her tone even and calm.

“Silasirin,” he responded quickly, his voice steady but the faint blush on his cheeks betraying his unease. “But, uh, you can call me Silas, if you’d like.” He gave a hesitant smile, scratching the back of his neck. “Everyone does.”

Thalia arched a brow, tilting her head slightly. “Silas, then,” she said with a small nod, her tone neutral but not unkind.

Eager to fill the silence, Silas cleared his throat and added, “I’ve, uh, heard a lot about you. Everyone has spoken highly of you—except, well…” He faltered, realizing too late what he’d just said. Panic flickered across his face. “Not that… I mean… Your brother said some things, but nothing bad! Just… uh…”

Therion smirked from where he stood nearby, clearly enjoying the spectacle, but remained silent.

Thalia’s sharp gaze swung to her brother for a brief moment before she turned back to Silas, her lips curving into a sly, knowing smirk. “Oh, I’m sure Therion had plenty to say,” she replied, her voice laced with dry humor. “Likely something about how I’m terrifying or impossible to deal with. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Silas blinked, trying to salvage the situation. “N-no, that’s not exactly what he said,” he stammered. “I think he meant it in a… uh… complimentary way? Like… like you’re very determined and, uh…” He trailed off as Thalia’s sharp look deepened, her smirk growing.

Therion chuckled under his breath, crossing his arms as he leaned forwards casually, “Don’t worry, Silas. She only bites if you really provoke her.”

Thalia shot her brother a glare. “Do you ever stop talking, Therion?” she quipped before turning back to Silas with a softer look, though there was still a playful glint in her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ve heard worse from him. You’re off the hook.”

Silas exhaled a quiet breath of relief, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Good to know,” he said, trying to muster a more confident smile. “I’ll… keep that in mind.”

Therion stepped forward, his smirk widening as he rubbed his hands together in mock anticipation. “Well, this is going to be fun,” he said, his tone laced with mischief. “I’ve been waiting all day to see either Silas knock you flat on your back or, more likely, you knocking him down. Either way, this is going to be entertaining.”

Thalia gave him a dry look, crossing her arms. “You really enjoy this, don’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Therion shot back with a grin. “But let’s be real—this is more about seeing how Silas does against you.”

Therion motioned to both Thalia and Silas. “Hand over your staves. We’re doing this properly—no magic blasts to the face, no trying to out-flash each other. Just technique and strategy. Let’s see what you two are made of.”

Silasirin hesitated, glancing at Thalia as if silently seeking her approval, then reluctantly handed over his staff. Thalia followed suit, though not without muttering under her breath, “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Therion ignored her comment, taking their staves and walking them over to a wooden fence surrounding the training grounds. With exaggerated care, he leaned the staves against the posts, making a show of arranging them as though they were priceless artifacts. “There. Safe and sound.”

As he turned back, he grabbed two plain, dull wooden staves—the same ones he and Thalia had used countless times for their own training sessions. He approached them slowly, holding the staves aloft like a bard presenting a pair of legendary relics. “And now,” he declared, his voice mockingly dramatic, “the tools of your inevitable defeat.”

He handed one to Thalia, who took it with a roll of her eyes. “You’re really milking this moment, aren’t you?” she said, giving the staff an experimental twirl.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Therion replied without missing a beat, before turning to Silas and offering him the other staff with a mock bow. “And for you, Master Silas, the weapon of your imminent humiliation—or victory, if the gods favor you today.”

Silas took the staff, his grip tightening but unsure as he glanced between Therion and Thalia. “Thanks…” he muttered, clearly unsure whether Therion’s words were meant to encourage or intimidate him.

Therion stepped back, his palms pressed together and an amused grin on his face. “Now then,” he said, gesturing to the sparring circle in the middle of the grounds. “Let’s see what you two are made of. And don’t hold back—this is to gauge where you two are at, after all.”

Thalia shot him a look, her expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “I hope you realize I’m going to make you regret this the next time we spar.”

“You can certainly try, dear sister.” Therion teased, leaning casually against the fence. “Now get to it. Show Silas how terrifying you can really be.”

Silasirin cleared his throat, gripping the staff as he stepped into the circle with Thalia. He offered a nervous but determined smile. “I’ll do my best not to, uh, embarrass myself,” he said, standing at the ready.

Thalia smirked, twirling her staff, showing off with ease. “Good,” she replied. “Because I won’t go easy on you.”

Therion chuckled behind them. “That’s the spirit!” he called, clearly enjoying himself far too much as the two squared off.

As they prepared their stances, Silasirin adopting a more defensive posture while Thalia took on an aggressive one, the training grounds began to draw an uncomfortable amount of attention. Deshanna and Theralas watched closely, their expressions serious and focused as they silently evaluated Silasirin’s abilities. Theralas, standing slightly behind her, crossed his arms with a thoughtful tilt of his head, clearly invested in the young mage’s performance.

Unbeknownst to Silas, several other clan members had gathered nearby, intrigued by the new mage. Thalia’s friends—Ghilas, Lirassan, Ralenor, and Mirenna—had all drifted over, exchanging quiet comments among themselves. Ghilas leaned casually against the fence, smirking. “Think he’s got a chance?” he whispered to Ralenor, who shrugged but watched with interest.

Lirassan chuckled softly, his gaze flicking between Silas and Thalia. “Not likely,” he replied. “You know how competitive Thalia gets. He’s in for a rough time.”

Mirenna, always the more even-tempered of the group, offered a quieter opinion. “Give him a chance,” she said. “He’s clearly nervous. It might just take him a moment.”

Standing closer to Therion, Talrin, his girlfriend, had joined the group, her arms looped around his chest over the fence and head resting on his shoulder, with an amused expression on her face. She tilted her head toward Therion, who was leaning against the fence with an all-too-satisfied grin. “I see you’re enjoying yourself,” she said dryly.

Therion chuckled. “Of course. Thalia’s going to have his ass handed to him, and I get to say I called it. Unless he somehow surprises me, of course.” He gestured toward Silas, who was gripping his staff a little too tightly as he tried to read Thalia’s movements. “But, uh, I’m not holding my breath.”

Talrin rolled her eyes. “You’re terrible, you know that?”

“Terrible, but honest,” Therion countered with a wink.

The gathered spectators continued to murmur, their attention fixed on the sparring circle. Silasirin, for his part, did his best to ignore the growing crowd. He tightened his grip on the staff and adjusted his stance, his defensive posture solid but betraying his nerves in the slight tension in his shoulders. Across from him, Thalia was the picture of calm intensity, her sharp gaze locked on him as she tested the balance of her staff with a small twirl.

“Ready?” she asked softly, her voice cutting through the soft hum of the onlookers’ chatter.

Silasirin nodded, swallowing hard. “Ready,” he replied, his voice steady despite the faint blush that still lingered on his cheeks.

Therion clapped his hands together loudly, making Silas flinch. “Come on! Let’s get this started! Don’t hold back, either of you!”

Thalia rolled her eyes but didn’t take her focus off Silas. “Ignore him,” she said to her opponent, her smirk sharp. “Focus on me.”

Silasirin exhaled slowly, his grip firming on his staff. “Don’t worry. I am,” he said a little too quickly, and though his words were earnest, the pink creeping up his neck betrayed him once again.

The crowd fell silent as the two began circling each other, their movements deliberate, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

And the sparring began. To his credit and bravery, Silas made the first strike, lunging forward with a calculated jab toward Thalia’s midsection. She responded with swift precision, deflecting the blow with a sharp twist of her staff and countering with a light tap against his thigh.

“Point to Thalia,” Therion called out from the sidelines, his voice brimming with amusement. “Come on, Silas, you’ve got to do better than that!”

The fight continued, and to everyone’s surprise, the match proved relatively even—at least at first. Silas demonstrated solid technique, his movements deliberate and careful, but he hesitated just enough for Thalia to gain the upper hand. She was quicker, more fluid, and relied on instinct rather than overthinking her actions. Every swing of her staff was confident, her strikes unpredictable and sharp, while Silas seemed to second-guess his own moves, slowing him down.

Thalia smirked as she sidestepped another of Silas’s strikes, twisting her body with a dancer’s grace to avoid the attack. “You’re too predictable,” she said, her tone teasing as she lashed out with her staff. The blow didn’t land, but it forced Silas back, his stance wobbling slightly. “You’ll have to stop thinking so much if you want to keep up.”

Silas clenched his jaw, his dark eyes narrowing. He adjusted his grip on the staff and tried to focus, but Therion wasn’t making it easy.

Having moved from the fence, Therion had started circling the pair like a wolf, calling out commands and taunts with infuriating enthusiasm. “Watch your left, Silas!” he shouted, only to laugh as Thalia ignored his advice and came at Silas from the right instead, forcing him to scramble to block her strike.

“Nice one!” Therion hollered, his grin widening. “But don’t let him off easy! Give him a proper thrashing!”

Thalia spared him a brief glare, sweat beginning to bead on her forehead. “If you’d shut up for two seconds, I might!” she snapped, though her tone carried a hint of humor.

“Don’t mind me!” Therion shot back, completely unbothered. “I’m just here to make sure you both stay on your toes. Silas, keep your guard up! She’s faster than you!”

Silas muttered something under his breath—likely unflattering—but kept his focus on Thalia. Despite her clear advantage, he was holding his own better than anyone had expected. His defensive stance remained solid, and his strikes, though slower, were calculated and precise. He managed to block several of Thalia’s more aggressive attacks, even forcing her back a step twice.

“Not bad,” Thalia admitted, breathing harder now as she stepped back and adjusted her grip. Her eyes gleamed with competitive fire. “But you’re still too stiff. Loosen up, or I’ll knock you flat on your back.”

Silas huffed, his grip tightening on the staff. “I’ll try to remember that,” he replied, his voice steady despite the sweat trickling down his temple.

As soon as Thalia promised she would knock him down, Silas faltered. Her words hung in the air, and the pressure to prove her wrong made him overthink his next move. He struck out, a calculated attack aimed at forcing her back, but his hesitation was enough for Thalia to see an opening.

She pressed the advantage with a flurry of strikes, each one faster and sharper than the last, leaving Silas struggling to keep up. Thalia’s agility proved too much for him as she feinted to one side, spun around him with graceful precision, and used the momentum of her staff to sweep his legs out from under him. Silas hit the ground with a thud, his staff slipping from his hands as Thalia stood over him, triumphant.

The onlookers erupted in applause and cheers, their enthusiasm filling the training grounds. Therion doubled over, laughing so hard he had to clutch his stomach. “I knew it!” he shouted between breaths. “I knew she’d knock you flat!”

Deshanna and Theralas exchanged approving glances, both clapping politely. Deshanna stepped forward, her expression calm but pleased. “That’s enough for now,” she said, her voice cutting through the noise of the crowd. “You’ve both demonstrated your strengths well.”

Theralas nodded in agreement, a rare smile gracing his usually stoic face. “Well done, both of you,” he added, his tone measured but warm. “There’s potential here—on both sides.”

Thalia exhaled and stepped back, planting her staff against the ground. She extended a hand toward Silas, who was still lying on his back, looking dazed but not entirely defeated. “Come on,” she said, her tone softer now, though there was still a teasing edge to her smile. “You did well—better than I expected, honestly. But I did warn you.”

Silas blinked up at her, his cheeks flushed from exertion and perhaps a bit of embarrassment. He let out a low chuckle, accepting her hand. “You did,” he admitted as she pulled him to his feet. “I guess I should’ve taken you more seriously.”

Therion clapped loudly from the sidelines, still grinning like a fool. “Don’t feel too bad, Silas! You lasted longer than most would against her. But next time, maybe try falling with a bit more style.”

Thalia shot her brother a glare. “If you’re so eager to critique, why don’t you step in here and show him how it’s done?” she retorted, earning a chorus of laughter from the onlookers.

“Maybe next time,” Therion quipped, still grinning. “For now, I’m just enjoying the show.”

Deshanna stepped forward as the onlookers began to disperse, her calm voice cutting through the lingering chatter. “Thalia, Silasirin, you’ve both done well today,” she began, offering them a faint smile. “Take the rest of the day to rest and get to know each other. Tomorrow, I’ll be testing you on your other skills, and after that, your schedules will be strict. Make the most of this time while you can.”

Thalia exhaled, leaning her staff against her shoulder. “I’ll take the break,” she said with a smirk, then glanced at Silas. “Come on, let’s get some water.”

Silas nodded, looking grateful for the reprieve. “Good idea,” he said softly, but before he could take another step, Thalia paused and turned back toward the fence where their proper staves had been set aside.

“Hold on,” she said, walking over to retrieve her father’s staff. She twirled the staff around, the familiar weight comforting in her hands as she slung it across her back. “Don’t want to leave this behind.”

Silas followed her lead, picking up his own staff and hesitating for a moment as he adjusted his grip. He glanced at Thalia, who was already turning back toward the path.

“Ready?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she looked over her shoulder at him.

“Yeah,” he replied quickly, jogging a few steps to catch up with her. Together, they started walking toward the stream that ran through the camp.

Deshanna watched them leave, her thoughtful expression returning as she turned to Theralas and Therion. “Well?” she asked, resting her hands on her hips and glancing between them. “What are your thoughts?”

Theralas was the first to speak, his tone measured and serious. “Thalia’s instincts are excellent, as expected. She’s quick, agile, and confident in her movements. But her aggression is a double-edged sword—it gives her an advantage when she’s on the offensive, but it leaves her open when she overcommits. She relies too much on speed and instinct without always reading her opponent fully. Against someone more patient and deliberate, she could get caught off guard.” He paused briefly, considering.

Deshanna nodded, her expression contemplative as her gaze lingered on the empty training circle. “I agree. Her passion and determination are her strengths, but we’ll have to temper that fire, teach her when to wait and when to act. She has the potential, but she needs balance.” She turned to Theralas. “And Silasirin?”

Theralas tilted his head slightly, folding his arms as he chose his words. “Silasirin is the opposite. His foundation is solid—his form is precise, his focus is clear—but he hesitates. He’s overly cautious, too wrapped up in reading his opponent and predicting their next move. Against someone like Thalia, who fights with instinct and speed, that hesitation slows him down. It makes him predictable and reactive rather than proactive. He needs to learn to trust his instincts and act with more confidence.”

Therion, leaning casually against the fence, let out a soft chuckle. “He’s too stiff, that’s for sure. Thalia ran circles around him by the end. But honestly, Hahren,” he added with a grin, “you’re missing the obvious. Poor Silas was distracted. Did you see the way he was looking at her?”

Deshanna raised an eyebrow, her expression stern. “And why do you think that is?” she asked, though her tone suggested she already knew what he’d say.

Therion’s grin widened. “Oh, come on. He’s smitten, plain and simple. The way he blushed every time she got close? It’s written all over his face.”

Theralas exhaled, shaking his head. “You’re overinterpreting,” he said, though there was a flicker of amusement in his usually serious tone. “He’s young and nervous, and Thalia isn’t exactly an easy sparring partner.”

“Young and nervous, sure,” Therion countered, “but let’s not pretend Thalia’s confidence isn’t half the reason he’s so flustered.”

Deshanna sighed, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. “Regardless of what’s causing his distraction, it’s something he’ll need to overcome. Their training will demand focus, from both of them. Personal feelings, can’t get in the way.”

Therion shrugged, still grinning. “Oh, it’s harmless. If anything, it’ll push him to try harder.”

Deshanna shot him a look and ignored his comment. “Their strengths and weaknesses are clear, but so are the challenges. Thalia needs to learn patience and restraint. Silasirin must gain confidence and decisiveness. They’re opposites in many ways, and that may work to their benefit.”

Theralas nodded, his expression thoughtful. “We’ll need to test their other skills tomorrow—magic, teamwork, history. Sparring is one thing, but they’ll need to be well-rounded if they’re to work together.”

Deshanna agreed, her gaze drifting toward the spot where Thalia and Silas had disappeared. “Let’s see how they manage. This time they have to connect may make all the difference.”

Chapter Text

The sun crept lazily over the horizon, casting its warm light through the canopy of the forest. Though it was late summer, hints of autumn were already teasing the leaves, painting their edges with the faintest touch of red and gold. The air was crisp but not yet cold, carrying the earthy scent of the changing seasons.

Thalia stirred awake as the sound of footsteps rustled through the grass outside her tent. Before she could fully process what was happening, the flap was thrown open with an exuberant burst of energy.

“Good morning, birthday girl!” Therion declared, his voice loud enough to startle a flock of birds outside. He entered with a wide grin, his arms full of small trinkets and a carefully wrapped package. “Get up! It’s your seventeenth birthday, and you’re not spending it lazing around.”

Thalia groaned, pulling the blanket over her head. “You couldn’t have let me sleep for five more minutes?” she muttered, her voice muffled by the fabric.

“Not a chance,” Therion replied, setting the gifts down on the small table by her bed. He yanked the blanket off her with a dramatic flourish, revealing her groggy scowl. “Come on, sleepyhead. The whole clan’s excited, and I’ve got plans—big plans.” He said as he poked her nose dramatically.

Thalia sat up, rubbing her eyes and fixing her brother with a glare that quickly softened as she noticed his excitement. He practically vibrated with energy, his grin so infectious that she couldn’t stay annoyed for long.

“What kind of plans?” she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

Therion’s grin widened. “That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he said, tossing her a small bundle wrapped in soft cloth. “But first, happy birthday.”

Thalia arched an eyebrow but took the package, unwrapping it carefully. Inside was a delicate charm crafted from braided leather, adorned with a small polished stone in the center. She recognized Talrin’s handiwork immediately—the intricate design and careful weaving were unmistakable.

“It’s a charm. For protection,” Therion said, watching her closely. “Talrin made it just for you. Figured it might bring you luck.”

Thalia ran her fingers over the smooth surface of the stone, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Thank you,” she said softly, touched by the gesture. “And thank Talrin for me too.”

“I will,” Therion said, his voice unusually gentle. Then, with a dramatic clap of his hands, he snapped back into his usual boisterous self. “Now, hurry up and get dressed! I asked Deshanna to gave you and Silas the day off, and we’ve got some adventuring to do before tonight.”

“Adventuring?” Thalia repeated, already intrigued despite herself.

“Yes, adventuring,” Therion confirmed, practically bouncing on his heels. “We’ve got errands to run, things to gather, and fun to be had. Silas is meeting us in a bit, so don’t keep him waiting. You know how he gets.”

Thalia chuckled softly, shaking her head as she climbed out of bed. “All right, all right. Give me a minute.”

“One minute,” Therion said, pointing at her teasingly. “No more, no less.”

Thalia rolled her eyes, but as Therion left the tent to give her some space, she glanced back down at the charm in her hand. Despite his over-the-top energy, her brother had a way of making her feel loved, and today was no exception. She tied the charm to her belt with care before dressing quickly, grabbing her staff and ready to face whatever adventures Therion had in store.

As Thalia stepped out of her tent, the sunlight had grown brighter, bathing the camp in golden light. The air carried the faint warmth of summer, though the cooler hints of autumn teased at the edges of the breeze. Therion was already waiting, his bow slung across his back and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Standing beside him was Silas, his usual reserved demeanor tempered by the faintest smile as he shifted his weight nervously. His staff was strapped securely to his back, and his dark hair looked slightly more tousled than usual, as though Therion had roused him from sleep and dragged him out of his tent with little warning. His tunic was a little wrinkled, and he rubbed the back of his neck, yawning, clearly still waking up, but his expression was lighthearted. Though Silas was typically cautious, there was a quiet eagerness in his eyes as he glanced between Therion and Thalia, clearly curious about whatever plans Therion had concocted.

Silas had been with the clan for about two months now. Though he had arrived as an outsider, he quickly became part of the fold, especially with Thalia and Therion. Thalia, despite her initial nerves about having a fellow mage around, found herself drawn to Silas’s quiet curiosity and eagerness to learn. His thoughtful approach to their studies balanced her more chaotic tendencies, creating an unexpected harmony between them. Therion, on the other hand, wasted no time pulling Silas into their dynamic with his relentless energy and playful teasing. The three of them had settled into a steady rhythm, their bond growing stronger through shared training sessions, clan duties, and Therion’s endless schemes to involve them in his antics.

“There she is,” Therion declared dramatically, throwing his hands up as though he’d been waiting for hours. “Took you long enough! Silas and I were just about to leave without you.”

Silas raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a subtle smirk. “You dragged me out of bed ten minutes ago,” he pointed out dryly. “Let’s not pretend you’ve been waiting all morning.”

“Details, details,” Therion said with a dismissive wave of his hand, a grin still plastered on his face. “The point is, we’re all here now. And Thal, you’re in for an amazing day. Aren’t we, Silas?”

Silas gave a slight shrug, his smirk growing as he glanced at Thalia. “I’ll admit I’m still not entirely sure what he’s planning,” he said, his tone carrying an amused edge. “But, just go along with it.”

Thalia folded her arms, eyeing her brother with a mixture of suspicion and amusement. “Should I be worried?”

“Not at all,” Therion said, his grin full of confidence. “I’ve got it all planned out. It’s going to be perfect. Besides, it’s your birthday—you deserve something special.”

Thalia raised an eyebrow, her tone skeptical but her lips twitching into a faint smile. “Special, huh? That sounds suspiciously like something that could go very wrong.”

Therion shook his head with exaggerated offence. “Come on, when have my plans ever gone wrong? It’s all about adventure, a bit of tradition, and making sure today is unforgettable.”

Silas chuckled softly, his gaze shifting to Thalia. “You know he’s not going to let this go, right? Might as well see where he takes us.”

Thalia sighed but couldn’t suppress her smile. Adjusting the charm on her belt, she nodded. “Fine. Lead the way, Therion. Let’s see what you’ve got this time.”

“Now that’s the spirit!” Therion declared, practically buzzing with excitement as he turned and started down the forest path.

Silas and Thalia exchanged a look before following, their steps falling into sync with Therion’s energetic stride. The three of them moved with the easy rhythm of close friends, their laughter breaking the stillness of the morning as they disappeared into the woods.

Therion had clearly spent time planning this day, his enthusiasm bubbling over as they walked through the forest. He refused to give away too many details, keeping both Thalia and Silas in suspense, but his excitement was infectious. The cool shade of the trees stretched over them as the sunlight flickered through the shifting leaves, and Therion’s voice carried ahead of them as he teased and hinted at what lay ahead.

“So,” Thalia asked, arching an eyebrow as she glanced at her brother, “are you going to tell us what this ‘amazing’ plan is, or are we just wandering aimlessly until you spring it on us?”

Therion grinned, adjusting the strap of his quiver as he walked. “Wandering? Nah. Everything is carefully planned. Well… mostly,” he added with a wink. “But fine, I’ll give you a hint: the first stop involves a certain patch of wildberries that you love.”

Thalia blinked, tilting her head. “Wildberries? You mean the ones near the glade? You’re dragging us all the way out there for berries?”

“Not just any berries,” Therion said, his tone mock-offended. “The best wildberries. And before you start rolling your eyes, just wait—it’s part of something bigger.”

Thalia exchanged a glance with Silas, who looked faintly amused but said nothing. “Bigger than berries? I’m intrigued,” she said dryly.

Therion waved off her sarcasm. “Patience, dear sister. That’s just the first stop. After that, we’ve got a few other places to visit. Think wildflowers, a hidden tree, and maybe even a surprise or two.”

“A surprise?” Silas asked, raising an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

Therion laughed. “Relax, Silas. You’ll love it. And if not, well, at least Lia will. That’s the point, after all.”

As they continued deeper into the forest, Therion’s plan began to unfold. Their first stop was, indeed, the patch of wildberries he had mentioned, nestled in a sunlit glade surrounded by tall grasses and wildflowers. The glade was vibrant, the late summer sun casting dappled light over the lush greenery. The bright red and deep purple berries stood out like tiny gems, while wildflowers of every color swayed gently in the breeze.

Therion led the way, crouching by one of the bushes and pointing out the ripest clusters with dramatic flair. “There!” he said, plucking a plump purple berry and popping it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully before nodding with satisfaction. “Perfect. You can thank me later when you’re snacking on these,” he added with a triumphant grin.

Thalia rolled her eyes, crouching next to a bush to pluck some berries of her own. “You’ve been excited about these berries all morning. They better live up to it,” she teased as she popped one into her mouth. Her eyebrows lifted slightly at the burst of sweetness, and she gave a small, approving nod. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” Therion scoffed in mock offense. “These are the best berries in the forest! And you two aren’t leaving this glade until your satchels are stuffed full of them. Get to work, birthday girl.”

Thalia raised an eyebrow. “You’re putting me to work on my birthday?”

“Hard work makes the berries taste better,” Therion shot back with a grin. “Besides, you’ll need them for later. Trust me, you’ll thank me when it’s dinner.”

Silas, crouching beside another bush, carefully plucked a handful of the ripest berries and slipped them into his satchel. “Do all your adventures include snack requirements, or is this a special occasion?” he asked, glancing up at Therion with a faint smirk.

“Special occasion,” Therion replied, winking at him. “Birthday adventures call for provisions, and these berries are just the start.” He straightened and gestured toward the glade’s vibrant flowers. “And while we’re at it, grab some of those wildflowers. The really pretty ones—bright colors, big petals, you know the drill.”

“Wildflowers now?” Thalia asked, though she was already reaching for a delicate red bloom nearby. “What, are you decorating something?”

Therion waved her off, crouching to pick a cluster of orange and yellow blossoms. “Maybe. Maybe not. You’ll find out later. Just pick the best ones you can find—it’s all part of the plan.”

Thalia and Silas exchanged a glance, both amused by Therion’s unrelenting energy but humoring him all the same. Silas carefully added a few bright blue flowers to his satchel, his movements deliberate and precise. “Are these good enough for your mysterious plan?” he asked, holding them up.

Therion squinted at them for a moment before nodding. “Solid choice, Silas. You’ve got a good eye. Thalia, step it up—your flowers are looking a little sad.”

Thalia huffed but couldn’t help smirking as she added a few vibrant blooms to her collection. “I don’t see you doing much better,” she quipped, gesturing to his haphazard bunch of flowers.

“My flowers are perfect, thank you very much,” Therion said with a grin, holding up his admittedly messy bouquet. “Anyway, this isn’t about me. It’s about making sure you have the best birthday ever.”

By the time they were done, their satchels were brimming with berries and adorned with the colorful petals of wildflowers tucked into every available corner. Therion surveyed their haul with a satisfied nod. “Now that’s what I call a successful first stop,” he declared, slinging his satchel over his shoulder. “All right, onward to the next destination! The day’s just getting started.”

With that, he strode confidently back into the forest, Thalia and Silas following close behind. Their laughter echoed through the trees as they teased Therion about his flair for dramatics, all the while curious about what else he had planned.

Therion led them to a small clearing nestled in the heart of the forest, where the trees formed a natural circle around a single, larger tree standing proudly in the middle. Its branches stretched wide, and from them hung dozens of small charms and trinkets that swayed gently in the breeze. The sunlight filtering through the canopy above dappled the clearing in soft, golden light, making the objects glint and shimmer. Feathers, polished stones, tiny woven tokens, and carved wooden figures dangled from the branches, each one unique, yet together forming a tapestry of memories.

“It’s a charm tree,” Therion said, his usual playful tone giving way to something quieter, more serious. He stepped closer, his hand brushing one of the charms. “I started it a while ago. I thought… maybe it could be a place to keep all the little things that matter. A reminder of the things that keep us safe and strong.” He glanced at Thalia, his grin softer now. “You can add to it whenever you want. It’s yours as much as mine.”

Thalia stood silently for a moment, her eyes sweeping over the tree and the collection of trinkets. Her gaze lingered on some of the charms she recognized—pieces from their childhood, tokens they had found or made during their adventures. There was a small, weathered feather she had picked up on a practice hunt years ago, a carved totem Therion had made when he was barely old enough to hold a knife, and even a delicate woven charm their mother had once tied into her hair. Each item seemed to hold a story, a memory woven into the fabric of their lives.

She stepped forward slowly, reaching out to brush her fingers over a few of the dangling charms. The texture of the objects—smooth stone, soft feather, rough wood—grounded her, the warmth of her brother’s thoughtfulness settling over her like the golden light of the forest. “Thank you, Therion,” she said softly, her voice carrying a rare tenderness. Her fingers lingered on a charm made of braided string and beads, its simplicity striking a chord in her heart.

Therion shifted slightly, folding his hands on his chest as though to deflect the weight of the moment. “It’s no big deal,” he said, though the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed him. “Just thought it might be nice for you to have a place to come when you need it. You know, somewhere that feels… ours.”

Silas, who had been standing quietly a few steps behind, finally spoke, his voice low and warm. “It’s beautiful,” he said, his gaze moving over the charms. “You’ve put a lot of care into it.”

Therion shrugged, though his grin grew a little wider. “Had to make it perfect, didn’t I? It’s for her, after all.”

Thalia turned to him, her red eyes shining with emotion. “It is perfect,” she said, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile. “More than perfect. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Therion replied, stepping forward to ruffle her hair playfully, earning a half-hearted swat from her. “Just add to it whenever you want. That’s the whole point—it’s a living thing. Like us.” He gestured to a low-hanging branch. “Go on. You’ve got that charm I gave you earlier. It’s a good start.”

Thalia hesitated for only a moment before untying the charm from her belt and stepping closer to the tree. She carefully tied it to one of the branches, adjusting it until it hung just right. For a moment, she stood back and admired it, the new addition blending seamlessly with the others. The tree, in its simple yet powerful presence, felt like a reflection of her family, her history, and the strength she carried with her.

“Looks good,” Silas said, his voice soft but full of encouragement.

“It does,” Therion agreed, his chest swelling with pride. Then, with his usual dramatic flair, he clapped his hands and turned to face them. “All right, enough of this sentimental nonsense. It’s time for the next thing on the plan—my favorite thing. Hunting for dinner!” His grin was practically gleeful as he added, “And you two are going to assist. So get ready to use that fancy magic of yours in action.”

Thalia raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as a smirk tugged at her lips. “Oh, so you’re putting us to work now?”

“Damn right I am,” Therion said with a laugh, slinging his bow over his shoulder. “You’re not getting out of this one, Thalia. And you too, Silas. Think of it as bonding time—me, you two, and a bunch of clueless forest creatures we’re going to outsmart.”

Silas chuckled softly, shaking his head but clearly amused. “I’m not sure using magic against forest animals counts as a fair hunt, but all right. Lead the way.”

“That’s the spirit!” Therion said, striding confidently out of the clearing, his enthusiasm as unrelenting as ever. “Just wait. I’ve got a spot in mind, and it’s teeming with game. Rabbits, pheasants, maybe even a deer if we’re lucky. But let me tell you this—if you two don’t pull your weight, you’re only eating bread for dinner.”

Thalia rolled her eyes, though her lips curved into a smirk. Her brother’s energy was infectious, even if it came with constant teasing. “Fine, fine,” she said, adjusting her satchel as she followed him. “But if Silas and I out-hunt you, I’m never letting you live it down.”

Therion barked a laugh, glancing over his shoulder with a mischievous grin. “Oh, please. As if that’s going to happen. I’ve got the skills, the experience, and—” he paused to point at them both with mock seriousness “—the ability to boss you two around. Let’s see your magic keep up with that.”

Silas smirked as he caught up, his staff bouncing lightly against his back. “We’ll try not to embarrass you too much, Therion. But no promises.”

Therion scoffed, pretending to look offended. “Embarrass me? You? The day either of you out-hunts me is the day I hang up my bow and call myself a failure.”

Thalia arched an eyebrow, her smirk sharpening. “Oh, is that so? That sounds like a challenge to me.”

Therion glanced over his shoulder, his grin mischievous. “It’s not a challenge—it’s impossible. I’ve been out here tracking and hunting since before you could cast a simple spell. And Silas, no offense, but I’m not sure your magic is going to make up for experience.”

“None taken,” Silas replied lightly, though his smirk remained. “But if experience is all it takes, why do you need us to help you?”

Therion slowed his pace slightly, turning to walk backward so he could face them. His grin softened, though the playful glint in his eyes didn’t fade. “Well, let’s be honest,” he began, spreading his arms dramatically. “This isn’t just about hunting. It’s about giving Lia a day that’s different from the usual routine. She deserves that, don’t you think?”

Thalia tilted her head, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “So this isn’t some elaborate scheme to stroke your ego?”

Therion gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. “How dare you suggest such a thing! My ego is perfectly fine, thank you very much.” He dropped the act, his tone turning more genuine. “Look, hunting’s one of my favorite things to do. It’s exciting, it’s rewarding, and it’s something I think you’ll enjoy too—if you let yourself. You’ve been cooped up practicing spells, studying with Deshanna, and working your butt off. Today’s supposed to be about fun. Something different. Something for you.”

Thalia hesitated, her smirk softening as she glanced at Silas, who gave her an encouraging nod. “Well, when you put it like that…” she said, rolling her eyes but smiling. “I guess I can’t argue.”

Therion grinned triumphantly. “Exactly. And you, Silas, you’re here because every adventure needs a third wheel,” he teased, earning an amused huff from Silas.

“Happy to play my part,” Silas said dryly, though there was a warmth in his tone that matched the easy camaraderie between them.

Therion turned back around, walking with a spring in his step. “Trust me, Lia. This is going to be the best birthday ever. And who knows? Maybe you’ll even catch something to brag about. I’m not promising anything, though. That’s still my job.”

Thalia laughed, shaking her head as she adjusted her satchel. “You’ve got high expectations for yourself, Therion. Let’s just hope you don’t end up eating humble pie tonight.”

“Not a chance,” Therion called over his shoulder. “Now let’s get moving. I’ve got a prime spot picked out, and we’ve got work to do if we’re going to make dinner tonight memorable!”

As they walked through the forest, the sunlight filtered softly through the canopy above, dappling the ground with patches of gold. The scent of earth and moss filled the air, mingling with the faint sweetness of wildflowers. Thalia adjusted her grip on her staff, her eyes scanning their surroundings with curiosity. Silas walked a few steps behind her, occasionally brushing a hand along the bark of trees or stopping to inspect plants that caught his eye. Therion led the way with confidence, pausing every so often to point out a trail or a patch of edible herbs they could use later. The quiet sound of their footsteps and the occasional chirping of birds accompanied them, creating a tranquil rhythm as they ventured deeper into the woods.

Once they arrived at the spot Therion had been eagerly talking about, the three of them instinctively slowed their pace. The forest seemed to quiet around them, as if it too held its breath in anticipation. Therion raised a hand, signaling for them to crouch low to the ground, and they obeyed, moving carefully to avoid snapping twigs or disturbing the underbrush.

The area was lush and teeming with life. A small clearing stretched ahead of them, framed by dense trees and scattered with patches of tall grass. Nearby, a narrow stream trickled through the earth, its soft gurgling adding a gentle rhythm to the stillness. The faint rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of birds provided a backdrop, but it was clear they were in prime hunting territory.

Therion motioned for them to stay close as he led them toward a thicket at the edge of the clearing. His movements were smooth and practiced, the kind of precision that came with years of tracking prey. Thalia and Silas followed his lead, doing their best to match his silent steps.

Therion turned back, his expression serious but alight with excitement. He pointed to a spot near the stream where the ground showed fresh hoofprints. “Looks like a deer’s been through here recently,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Maybe even a buck. Keep your eyes sharp and stay low.”

Thalia crouched behind a bush, her eyes scanning the clearing with focus. She shifted her grip on her staff, the faint hum of magic tingling at her fingertips as she prepared to assist if needed. Beside her, Silas knelt behind a fallen log, his staff resting lightly against his shoulder as he watched the area with quiet concentration.

Therion, meanwhile, crept forward, his bow in hand and an arrow nocked. He gestured silently for them to spread out slightly, his movements deliberate and fluid. He was clearly in his element, his usual playful demeanor replaced by the sharp focus of a hunter on the prowl.

Minutes passed as they waited, the tension building with each subtle shift in the wind. Then, from the far side of the clearing, a faint rustling caught their attention. Therion froze, his eyes narrowing as he signaled for them to stay still. The rustling grew louder, and a moment later, a deer stepped cautiously into the clearing—a large, graceful buck with impressive antlers.

Therion’s grin was faint but unmistakable as he raised his bow, pulling the string back slowly to avoid alarming the animal. He glanced at Thalia and Silas, nodding slightly to indicate he was ready. Thalia adjusted her stance, her magic simmering just below the surface as she prepared to assist if needed. Silas tightened his grip on his staff, ready to act on Therion’s lead.

The three of them remained perfectly still, their breath quiet and steady as they waited for the perfect moment.

The buck stepped further into the clearing, its head raised high as it sniffed the air, oblivious to the three figures hidden among the underbrush. Its muscles rippled beneath its coat, and for a moment, the forest seemed to hold its breath.

Therion steadied his aim, his bowstring taut and his fingers firm. The buck lowered its head to graze, its antlers catching the soft sunlight that filtered through the canopy above. This was it—the perfect moment.

But before Therion could release the arrow, the sound of rustling came from the opposite direction. Another deer, a smaller doe, emerged from the shadows to join the buck. The two animals moved cautiously, their ears twitching at every faint noise.

Therion lowered his bow slightly, his eyes flicking toward Thalia and Silas. He gestured quickly with two fingers, indicating the doe, then pointed back to himself, signaling that he would take the buck. It was clear he wanted all hands on deck for this one.

Thalia gave a subtle nod, her fingers glowing faintly as she prepared a soft burst of magic. Nothing too showy—just enough to redirect the doe’s attention or hit it if things went awry. Silas raised his staff slightly, his movements slow and deliberate. His magic simmered just under the surface, ready to assist Therion or Thalia if needed.

Therion took a deep breath, drawing the bowstring back once more. His focus was absolute, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by the sharp determination of a seasoned hunter. Time seemed to stretch as he adjusted his aim, his target perfectly aligned.

Then, with a soft thrum, the arrow flew, cutting cleanly through the air. It struck true, hitting the buck just behind its shoulder. The animal staggered, letting out a brief sound of alarm before collapsing to the ground.

The doe jerked its head up, its muscles tensing as it prepared to bolt. Silas acted immediately, slamming the base of his staff into the ground as he cast a frost glyph beneath the deer. A pale blue circle of magic flared to life, frost climbing up the doe’s legs and freezing it in place. The animal let out a startled sound, its movements halting as the icy magic held it steady.

Thalia, reacting just as quickly, raised her staff and channeled a fire spell. A streak of flame shot from staff as she swung it, burning bright as it struck the doe. The sudden heat and crackling sound overwhelmed the animal, causing it to collapse in a stunned heap, its strength sapped by the shock of the opposing elements.

The clearing fell silent again, the tension evaporating as the two mages stood poised, their spells dissipating into the air. Therion stepped forward cautiously, lowering his bow as he surveyed the scene. He let out a whistle, clearly impressed.

“Now that was something,” he said, glancing back at them with a grin. “Quick thinking, both of you. Didn’t even need my help.”

Silas straightened, a smoke of frost seeping from his palm. “Figured it was the easiest way to keep it from running,” he said with a faint smirk, though the slight flush on his cheeks suggested he wasn’t entirely used to the praise.

Thalia twirled her staff in her hand before resting it against her shoulder, a confident glint in her eye. “Looks like fire beats experience this time,” she said with a shrug, though her grin mirrored her brother’s.

Therion stepped closer to the doe, checking to make sure it was subdued. Satisfied, he turned to the buck he had shot, nodding to himself. “All right. Two catches in one go. Not bad at all.”

Thalia arched an eyebrow. “You mean because of us. You didn’t even try to help with the doe.”

Therion dismissively waved his hand. “Team effort, right? Now, let’s get these back to camp before they start feeling heavier just sitting here.”

Thalia and Silas moved to the doe, exchanging a quick glance before silently coordinating their efforts. Thalia grabbed one side, using her strength and staff for leverage, while Silas took the other. Together, they began to drag the doe toward the path leading back to camp, their movements steady and efficient.

Meanwhile, Therion tackled the buck on his own, gripping its antlers with both hands as he dug in his heels and started to drag it. “I’ve got this,” he muttered under his breath, though his tone betrayed the effort it was taking. He paused briefly to adjust his grip, his breath puffing in short bursts. “This is what experience looks like, by the way,” he called over his shoulder, though the faint strain in his voice lessened the impact of his words.

Thalia couldn’t resist smirking. “Is that why I keep hearing you muttering complaints under your breath? Doesn’t sound very experienced to me.”

Therion shot her a mock glare, his pride clearly outweighing his discomfort. “Complaints? These aren’t complaints—they’re battle cries,” he said, grinning despite himself. “Besides, someone has to handle the big catch.”

Silas chuckled as he and Thalia continued working together, their teamwork making the task smoother. “Sure, Therion. Whatever helps you feel better about us pulling our weight over here.”

“Ha, ha,” Therion replied dryly, adjusting his grip again. Despite his occasional groans, there was no denying the pride that shone in his eyes. “Just remember, I’m the one who took down the buck. That’s the real prize.”

Thalia rolled her eyes but smiled as she adjusted her grip on the doe. “Keep telling yourself that. But if you want help, all you have to do is ask.”

“Help? Please,” Therion said, puffing out his chest as he dragged the buck another few feet. “I could do this all day. You two just focus on keeping up.”

Silas shook his head, adjusting the grip on the doe again. “If you strain something dragging that thing, I’m not healing you. And, honestly, I’d be happy to let Maelis know to take care of you. You know she’d love to heal you again after last week’s escapade.”

Therion groaned, his confidence wavering. “Oh, come on, that wasn’t my fault! How was I supposed to know that there was a beehive in the cliff I was climbing?”

Silas smirked, his tone light but pointed. “Maelis didn’t seem to care whose fault it was. She cared about the fact that you came back looking redder than a tomato—and then had the audacity to complain the entire time she was cleaning the stings.”

“Can you blame me?!” Therion shot back, adjusting his grip. “She enjoyed that way too much. And don’t get me started on the stinging salve she used.”

“Which you absolutely deserved,” Silas countered, grinning. “So, if you want to relive that experience, by all means, keep dragging that buck like a show-off.”

Therion snorted, his voice tinged with amusement despite his growing effort. “Come on. Do I look like the kind of person who would let a little hard work get the better of me?”

Thalia, smirking as she helped steady the doe, chimed in. “You look like the kind of person who’s regretting bragging about being able to do this all day.”

“Regret? Never.” Therion threw a glance over his shoulder, his grin defiant. “I’m setting an example here. Hard work, dedication—”

“—and a lot of unnecessary pride,” Thalia interrupted, earning a chuckle from Silas.

Therion sighed dramatically, though the smile never left his face. “You two are relentless. Fine, I’ll admit it’s a little harder than it looks. But that’s the cost of glory, and I’m willing to pay it.”

Thalia laughed, shaking her head. “Speaking of glory, are you planning to make some big speech during dinner tonight? You know, the usual ‘Therion birthday special’ nonsense?”

“Tempting,” Therion said with a grin. “But I think I’ll let you have the simple spotlight tonight. Speaking of which…” He trailed off, his grin softening into something more thoughtful. “Deshanna’s got something planned for you. A surprise.”

Thalia frowned slightly, tilting her head. “A surprise? What kind of surprise?”

Therion shrugged, dragging the buck another few feet as they neared the camp. “No idea. She didn’t tell me, and believe me, I tried to find out. All I know is it’s something she’s been preparing for a while, and she’s saving it for dinner. You’re going to have to wait to find out.”

Thalia raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “She’s being secretive? That’s not like her.”

“Exactly why I think it’s something big,” Therion replied, glancing back at her with a glint in his eyes. “And before you ask, no, I can’t give you any hints because I genuinely don’t know. Trust me, if I did, I’d have spilled by now.”

“Not sure if I believe that,” Thalia said, her voice teasing.

“It’s true!” Therion insisted. “Anyway, whatever it is, I think you’re going to love it. Deshanna’s not one to go halfway on something like this. Just try to enjoy the mystery for once.”

Thalia sighed but smiled, her intrigue growing. “Fine, I’ll wait. But if it’s another lecture about responsibility, I’m blaming you.”

Therion laughed as they approached the edge of the camp, the familiar sights and sounds of the clan coming into view. “If it is, I’ll take full responsibility. But I’m betting it’s something good. You deserve it, after all.”

As they entered the camp, the warm light of the afternoon bathed the bustling village in a golden glow. The familiar sounds of laughter and work drifted through the air, accompanied by the faint scent of wood smoke and the earthy smell of the forest. The weight of the day’s work seemed to lift from their shoulders, replaced by the hum of anticipation for the evening.

A group of hunters approached them, their sharp eyes immediately catching sight of the game they were dragging. One of the older hunters, a broad-shouldered elf named Malvion, let out a low whistle as he closed the distance. “Well, look at this haul! A buck and a doe? Not bad at all.”

Another hunter, a young woman named Kaedha, stepped forward with a grin. “And here I thought Therion was just dragging you two out to show off. Guess you really pulled your weight, huh?”

But before Thalia could reply, Kaedha pulled her into a warm hug. “Happy birthday, Thalia,” she said, her tone full of affection. “Looks like you’ve already had an eventful day.”

“Thanks, Kaedha,” Thalia said with a small laugh, returning the hug before pulling back.

One by one, the other hunters stepped in, giving Thalia brief hugs or pats on the back as they offered their own birthday wishes. Therion, standing exhausted off to the side with an exaggerated look of mock indignation, folded his arms.

“What, no hugs for me?” he said loudly, raising his eyebrows as he gestured to the buck. “I mean, come on—look at this guy. Isn’t this worth at least one hug?”

Malvion snorted, shaking his head. “You want a hug, Therion? How about I toss you in the stream instead?”

Therion grinned, unfazed. “Hey, I’ll take what I can get. Just admit it—I’ve outdone myself. Again.”

Kaedha laughed, clapping Therion on the shoulder as she took the buck’s antlers from him. “Fine, fine. Good job, Therion. Now let us take it from here before you hurt yourself bragging too much.”

The hunters moved quickly, taking the deer from Thalia, Silas, and Therion and hefting them toward the preparation area near the center of camp. Malvion paused, holding out a hand. “The satchels too—berries and flowers.”

Thalia and Silas handed over the satchels without hesitation, the rich smell of the berries wafting up as Malvion slung them over his shoulder. “Good haul,” he remarked. “Should make for fine dinner tonight.”

As the hunters got to work, a rhythmic sound of knives against whetstones and voices discussing preparations filled the air. Therion stretched his arms over his head and turned to Thalia with a grin. “Well, that’s our part done. Now it’s their turn to make us look good.”

Thalia raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “You mean make you look good?”

Therion shrugged before he leaned casually on his bow, tilting his head toward her. “So, birthday girl, anything you want to do while they handle the rest? It’s still your day, after all. You want to explore a bit? Take a walk? Maybe I can talk Silas into giving you a lesson on being serious for five minutes.”

Silas chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned on his staff. “I think we both know you’re the one who could use a lesson in that. But I’m up for whatever she wants.”

Thalia tought for a moment, a small smirk forming on her lips as she glanced between Therion and Silas. “You know,” she said, her tone light but purposeful, “I think I want to practice some moves while casting spells. See how I can do in combat while actually using magic.”

Therion raised an eyebrow, a grin spreading across his face. “Practicing on your birthday? Really?”

Thalia shrugged, her smirk widening. “What can I say? I’ve been inspired today. Besides, it’s not like we get a lot of chances to experiment with this stuff. Might as well make the most of it.”

Silas nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “It’s a good idea. Practicing spellwork in motion can make a big difference in real combat.”

Therion snorted, leaning more heavily on his bow. “Of course you’d say that. Fine, I’ll stick around and watch. Someone has to make sure you don’t set the camp on fire.”

Thalia rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her amusement. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Therion. But fine, stick around if you’re so worried.”

“Not worried,” Therion replied, already stepping back to give her room. “Just making sure you don’t outshine me too much. So lead the way.”

Thalia grinned, her excitement building as she moved toward the training grounds. Silas followed closely, while Therion trailed behind with a mix of curiosity and mischief in his eyes.

As they reached the grounds, Thalia twirled her staff in her hand and stepped into the center, glancing at the space around her. “All right,” she said, planting her feet firmly. “Let’s see what we can do.”

-

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm orange glow over the camp, the air buzzed with the smells of cooking and the hum of quiet, cheerful voices. Thalia stood in the training grounds, her chest heaving slightly as she leaned on her staff, a victorious grin plastered across her face. Across from her, Therion lay sprawled on the ground, breathing heavily from exhaustion, while Silas knelt a few feet away, trying to catch his breath.

Therion groaned theatrically, throwing an arm over his face. “I can’t believe this. My own sister, knocking me down twice in one day. Have you no mercy?”

Thalia smirked, flipping her staff lightly in her hand before leaning on it again. “None whatsoever, especially not today. You started it by teaming up with Silas.”

Therion sat up, pointing a finger at Silas. “I blame him. He’s supposed to be good at this magic stuff, and yet here I am, on the ground.”

Silas, still catching his breath, raised an eyebrow at Therion. “I was protecting you from her spells. You’re the one who decided to charge in like a lunatic with no plan.”

Therion huffed and waved him off with a grin. “I demand a rematch. Just… not right now. I need food first.”

Thalia laughed, rolling her shoulders to shake off the tension from the practice session. “You’re just making excuses because you can’t handle losing. But yes, let’s get some food before you start crying.”

Therion groaned dramatically, dragging his staff behind him as they walked. “Excuses? Please. I let you win. It’s called being generous.”

Thalia smirked, rolling her eyes. “Oh, is that what it’s called? Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were trying pretty hard not to end up flat on your back.”

“I was pacing myself,” Therion shot back, holding up a finger as if making a grand declaration. “Besides, someone has to let you feel like you’re the superior sibling every once in a while. Builds character.”

Silas, walking a step behind them, couldn’t help but chuckle. “Therion, you’ve been ‘building her character’ all day. At some point, you might want to consider working on your own.”

Therion turned around, walking backward so he could glare mockingly at Silas. “Oh, and I suppose you’re the expert on humility now?”

“I’m just saying,” Silas replied, his tone light but pointed, “if you’re going to boast, maybe win first.”

Thalia laughed, nudging her brother with her staff. “See? Even Silas agrees you’re all talk.”

Therion gasped in mock offense, clutching his chest. “You too, Silas? Betrayed by my own sister and the clan’s newest mage. Truly, this is a dark day.”

“Dark day indeed,” Thalia said, grinning as they neared the clearing, “let’s focus on getting food before you embarrass yourself any further.”

Therion opened his mouth for another retort, but he stopped mid-step as they entered the camp. Thalia followed his gaze, her teasing smile fading into wide-eyed surprise. Bright, colorful decorations hung between the tents, swaying gently in the breeze. The wildflowers they had gathered earlier were woven into garlands, adorning the seats and tents. Lanterns had been lit, casting a warm, inviting glow over the clearing, and a special seating area near the central fire stood out, decorated with even more flowers. It was clear everyone had gone all out.

Thalia slowed her steps, her mouth falling open slightly as she took it all in. “When did they—?”

Therion grinned, his earlier defeat forgotten as he nudged her shoulder. “What? Did you think we’d let your birthday pass without making it special? You were too busy showing off to notice.”

Silas chuckled beside her, his expression softer. “They’ve been working on this all afternoon.”

As they approached the central fire, several members of the clan greeted her with warm smiles and hugs. A few children darted past, laughing and weaving through the crowd, while some of the elders nodded approvingly at her as she passed. The energy was infectious, and Thalia couldn’t help but feel a warmth in her chest.

When they reached the special seat near the fire, Kaedha appeared, gesturing grandly toward it. “For the birthday girl,” she said with a playful grin.

Thalia hesitated, her cheeks flushing slightly. “You didn’t have to do all this…”

“Of course we did,” Malvion said, stepping forward with a warm smile. “You’ve earned it, Thalia. Now, sit. Let us celebrate you.”

Reluctantly, Thalia sat down, adjusting her staff across her lap. She glanced around, her gaze lingering on the garlands of flowers and the happy faces of her clanmates. “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice almost lost in the hum of conversation around her.

Therion plopped down next to her, stretching his legs out in front of him. “You’re welcome. Though, honestly, you should thank me the most. I carried the day, after all.”

“Carried what? The buck? Barely.” Thalia quipped, earning a laugh from those nearby.

The food was soon brought out, and to Thalia’s surprise, it wasn’t the game they had hunted earlier. Instead, it was a beautiful spread of dishes made from the berries they had gathered, along with fresh bread, roasted vegetables, and other delicacies the clan had clearly been working a lot on.

Therion leaned over, nudging her. “See? Told you those berries were worth it.”

Thalia smiled, taking in the effort and care that had gone into the celebration. For once, she didn’t have a snarky comeback. She simply let herself enjoy the moment, surrounded by her family, friends, and the warmth of a day filled with love and laughter.

As the feast carried on, the warm hum of laughter and chatter filling the air, Deshanna approached the gathering. Her steps were deliberate yet graceful, her presence commanding attention even before she spoke. Thalia, noticing her arrival, immediately stood, brushing her hands against her skirt out of habit.

“Keeper,” Thalia greeted with a soft smile, stepping forward to meet her.

Deshanna’s expression warmed, and she opened her arms to embrace Thalia. “Thalia,” she said gently, pulling her into a hug that carried a weight of both pride and affection. “Happy birthday, da’len. Sit, child. I have a few words to share.”

Thalia obeyed, curiosity flickering in her eyes as she returned to her seat, her attention fixed on the Keeper. Deshanna turned to face the gathered clan, her posture straight and her voice clear, carrying easily over the crowd as the murmurs and laughter died down.

“My friends. My family,” she began, her tone both formal and warm, “today we celebrate not just another passing year, but the growth and achievements of one of our own. Thalia, who was once just a bright-eyed child running through the camp, has grown into a young woman of great strength, intelligence, and determination.”

She paused, letting her words settle as her gaze swept over the crowd. “Her dedication to her studies has been nothing short of remarkable. She has spent countless hours honing her magical skills under my guidance, mastering spells and understanding the responsibilities that come with being the clan’s first mage. But her contributions go beyond magic. Thalia’s heart and resolve have inspired those around her, reminding us of the resilience of the People.”

Thalia blinked, her face heating under the weight of Deshanna’s words. Around her, the clan nodded and cheered in agreement, their smiles genuine and approving. Even Therion, usually quick with a quip, was uncharacteristically quiet, a proud grin spreading across his face as he listened.

Deshanna’s voice softened, but her words carried a distinct gravity. “It is for these reasons that I believe Thalia has reached a new chapter in her life. She has proven herself capable, not just in her studies but in her spirit, and she is now ready to take on more responsibility as the clan’s first mage. Tomorrow, at the light of full moon, Thalia will receive her vallaslin.”

The words barely had time to settle before the clan erupted into cheers, their voices ringing out in excitement and pride. Some clapped enthusiastically, while others whooped and called out Thalia’s name, their joy unmistakable. Children darted around the gathered adults, laughing and shouting congratulations, while her friends stood and cheered the loudest, waving their hands in the air. The energy in the camp became electric, the collective pride of the People spilling over in celebration.

Thalia sat frozen for a moment, wide-eyed at the sheer outpouring of love and support. Her cheeks flushed as she took it all in, the sound of her clan’s voices lifting her up. Finally, she managed a large, grateful smile, her chest swelling with a mixture of awe and gratitude as the cheers continued to echo around her.

Deshanna turned back to Thalia, her gaze softening as she addressed her directly. “You have earned this, da’len. You have proven yourself in ways that go beyond magic. The vallaslin is not only a mark of adulthood but a symbol of the trust and faith your people place in you. I know you will wear it with pride and honor.”

Thalia swallowed, her emotions a whirlwind of pride, nervousness, and gratitude. She stood slowly, her voice steady despite the weight of the moment. “Thank you, Keeper,” she said, bowing her head slightly. “I won’t let you down.”

Deshanna stepped forward, placing her hands gently on Thalia’s shoulders. “You never have, and you never will.”

The clan kept up their excitement and cheers, their pride and joy filling the air as Thalia glanced around at the faces of her family and friends. Before she could fully process the moment, Therion stood up from his seat, his grin wide but his eyes brimming with emotion. He crossed the small distance between them quickly and pulled her into a hug, his arms wrapping tightly around her.

When he pulled back, his hands gently cradled her face, his calloused fingers brushing her cheeks as he looked at her with a mixture of pride and affection. Without a word, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead softly against hers—a gesture steeped in love and tradition.

“Thalia,” he said, his voice low and warm, the usual teasing edge replaced by sincerity. “I’m so proud of you. I can’t even begin to say how much.” He swallowed, his voice thickening slightly. “Happy birthday, Lia. Ma and Pa would be so happy if they were here. I know they’re watching and smiling right now.”

Thalia’s breath hitched at his words, her heart swelling with a mix of joy and bittersweet emotion. She reached up to rest her hand over his, closing her eyes for a brief moment to ground herself in the connection. “Thank you, Therion,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

Therion pulled back, his usual grin returning as he ruffled her hair lightly, earning a soft laugh from her. “Don’t go getting all emotional on me now,” he teased, though his own eyes glistened faintly. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow, and I need my sister looking fierce, not teary-eyed.”

Thalia nodded, her smile growing as the applause around them continued. She felt the full weight of the moment, but with Therion by her side, she also felt an overwhelming sense of strength and belonging. His unwavering pride and love bolstered her confidence, grounding her in the knowledge that no matter what challenges lay ahead, she would never face them alone.

The celebration continued, the warm glow of the fire mirrored in the smiles of the clan as one by one, people came to Thalia to congratulate her on the next step in her journey. Elders offered words of wisdom and encouragement, while younger clanmates spoke of admiration and excitement for her future. Each interaction brought a sense of pride and warmth that swelled in Thalia’s chest.

Eventually, Silas approached, lingering just slightly at the edge of the crowd before stepping forward. His usual reserved demeanor was even more pronounced as he hesitated briefly, rubbing the back of his neck before gathering his courage.

“Thalia,” he said, his voice soft but earnest. “Congratulations. You… you’ve more than earned this.”

Thalia turned to him with a warm smile, touched by the sincerity in his voice. “Thank you, Silas,” she said, her tone as genuine as his. “That means a lot coming from you.”

Encouraged, Silas stepped closer, his cheeks faintly flushed. He paused for a moment, glancing around as though seeking approval before opening his arms in an awkward but determined gesture. “Can I… I mean, would it be all right if I—?”

Thalia tilted her head in mild surprise before letting out a small laugh. “Of course,” she said, stepping into the hug without hesitation.

Silas wrapped his arms around her gently, his grip firm but careful, as though unsure of how much was too much. His heart raced, the faintest hint of his crush on her betrayed by the pink tint of his ears. Despite his shyness, the hug lingered just long enough to convey his genuine pride in her.

“Happy birthday,” he added quietly as he pulled back, meeting her eyes briefly before glancing away.

“Thanks, Silas,” Thalia said, her smile warm and kind, though she seemed blissfully unaware of the deeper feelings he harbored.

Therion, watching from the side with a knowing smirk, folded his arms and leaned slightly toward Silas as he walked past. “Smooth,” he whispered with a teasing grin, causing Silas to flush an even deeper shade of red.

-

The next day dawned with a buzz of activity as the entire clan worked tirelessly to prepare for the night’s feast and the sacred ceremony that would mark Thalia’s transition into adulthood and her new responsibilities as the clan’s first mage. The air was filled with the scents of freshly cut flowers, cooking fires, and the earthy tang of herbs being bundled and prepared for the ritual. Everyone seemed to have a role, their movements purposeful and filled with a sense of shared pride and anticipation.

Thalia, however, found herself at the center of it all, the ladies of the clan fussing over her with relentless care. They had ushered her once she woke up to a secluded tent near the stream, where she was instructed to bathe thoroughly. When she emerged, they wrapped her in soft robes and set to work on her hair, weaving it into intricate braids that glimmered with small beads and charms. As they worked, they asked her gentle but pointed questions, their tones both curious and reverent.

“Have you decided which god you will honor with your vallaslin, da’len?” one of the women asked, her nimble fingers working a braid into place.

“And what design do you want?” another added, holding up a polished mirror so Thalia could see her reflection.

“I’ve been thinking of June and Dirthamen,” she admitted softly. “June, to honor Ma, and Dirthamen for Pa. I want to carry on their legacy.”

The women around her exchanged approving nods, their expressions softening. “A beautiful choice,” one of them murmured. “To carry both their legacies—your ma and pa would be proud.”

Meanwhile, the rest of the clan moved with vigour to prepare for the evening’s ritual. Silas, working with Deshanna, sat cross-legged on the ground, carefully binding bundles of sage, royal elfroot, and crystal grace. He worked quietly but diligently, following Deshanna’s instructions to ensure the herbs were properly prepared.

“These bundles are vital to cleanse her spirit,” Deshanna explained, her voice calm and steady as her hands moved deftly. “Sage drives away unwanted energies that may cling to her, clearing the path for a pure connection between her soul and the Gods. Royal elfroot strengthens the spirit, grounding it in her purpose as she takes on her new responsibilities.”

She paused, picking up a sprig of crystal grace and holding it between her fingers. “And crystal grace… this invites the spirits themselves. Its energy is delicate yet powerful, drawing benevolent spirits closer to bless her during the ritual. Without it, the ritual would feel hollow, incomplete.”

Her gaze shifted to Silas, her tone firm but instructive. “The balance between these plants is essential. Too much sage, and the cleansing can become too harsh, overwhelming her spirit. Too little royal elfroot, and she may feel disconnected from her path. And if the crystal grace is not prepared properly, the spirits may not come at all.”

Silas nodded solemnly, his focus sharpening as he mimicked her precise technique. “I understand,” he said quietly, his respect for the ritual evident in the care he took with each bundle.

Deshanna watched him for a moment before offering a faint smile. “Good. These herbs do more than prepare the ritual space—they honour the balance between the physical and the spiritual. Thalia will carry that balance with her as she receives her vallaslin.”

Silas’s movements slowed for a moment as he considered her words, the gravity of the task settling in. Then, with quiet determination, he continued binding the bundles, ensuring every one was worthy of its sacred purpose.

Therion, on the other hand, had thrown himself into the more practical preparations. He worked with the hunters to prepare the game from their previous day’s hunt, his loud voice carrying over the camp as he gave instructions on how Thalia preferred the meat to be cooked.

“Not too much seasoning on the roast,” he said, pointing at the venison being marinated. “Thalia likes it simple—let the flavor of the meat shine. But go heavy on the berries for the glaze. Trust me, she’ll love it.”

Despite his usual playful demeanor, there was a seriousness to Therion’s work that mirrored his pride for his sister. He checked every detail twice, and then twice again, ensuring that nothing was left to chance.

The elders, meanwhile, had gathered in the central tent, preparing the sacred tools for the ceremony. The bone ritual knife and the ceremonial needle were cleaned and blessed, their pale surfaces glowing faintly in the dim light. Pots of ink, ground from rare herbs and minerals, were prepared with care, their deep hues shimmering like liquid gemstones. The space inside the tent was carefully arranged, the items placed in a circle around the mat where Thalia would sit. The elders began humming a low, rhythmic chant as they worked, their voices blending into a hauntingly beautiful melody that filled the air with reverence.

Outside the tent, the younger members of the clan worked tirelessly to decorate the area where the celebration would take place. Thalia’s friends had taken it upon themselves to ensure everything was perfect. They swept the ground clean, spread colorful blankets, and arranged garlands of wildflowers around the tent’s entrance. A large circle of stones was laid out in front of the tent, marking the space where the clan would gather to pray as the tattooing took place.

The children, eager to be part of the preparations, carried small bundles of flowers and herbs to their parents, their giggles and chatter adding a lighthearted energy to the day. Some helped with weaving a delicate flower crown, which would rest on Thalia’s head after the ceremony, while others ran errands between the tents, their small hands carrying tools, food, and decorations.

By late afternoon, the camp was transformed into a place of beauty and sacred purpose. The scent of herbs and roasted meat filled the air, blending with the faint perfume of the flowers that adorned every corner. The elders’ chants grew louder as they finalized their preparations, and the rest of the clan began to gather near the central tent, their voices hushed with anticipation.

Thalia, still surrounded by the women braiding her hair, felt the weight of the day settling over her. It was not a heavy burden but a profound one—a sense of stepping into something far greater than herself. As she glanced around the camp, seeing the love and care each person poured into their work, she felt a swell of gratitude.

Once the final braid was in place, the women stepped back, admiring their work. Thalia stood and changed out of the soft robes she had worn throughout the day and into her ceremonial attire. The robes were loose-fitting, made of fine, red fabric that swayed with her every movement. They revealed more skin than they covered, but they were elegant, modest enough to highlighting the beauty and power of the moment. The material shimmered faintly in the firelight, adorned with small, embroidered patterns that symbolized the gods and the clan.

As the final preparations concluded, the camp grew quieter, the energy shifting as everyone settled near the central tent, waiting for the moon to rise. The anticipation was palpable, a collective breath held as the sky darkened and the first silvery glow of the moon began to bathe the camp in soft light.

When the moon was fully risen, illuminating the clearing with its ethereal glow, Thalia took a deep breath and stepped forward. The crowd parted silently, creating a pathway for her to walk alone through the gathered clan. Barefoot, she felt the cool earth beneath her feet, grounding her with every step she took. Her movements were steady, each one deliberate, as she made her way toward the central tent where Deshanna and the elders waited. The soft grass and scattered petals brushed against her skin, a tangible connection to the land and the People she was about to honor.

As she reached the tent, Deshanna offered her a nod of approval, her expression calm but filled with pride. The elders stood solemnly beside her, their presence grounding the sacredness of the moment. Thalia stopped just before the entrance, her gaze meeting Deshanna’s for a brief, reassuring moment.

Deshanna turned, leading the way into the tent, the elders following her in silence. Thalia took a final glance at the crowd behind her, their faces reflecting a mixture of pride, reverence, and love. Then, she stepped forward, crossing the threshold and entering the sacred space, ready to receive her vallaslin and embrace the responsibility it symbolized.

The tent flap closed softly behind her, muffling the sounds of the camp outside. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with reverence and purpose. The elders began their low, melodic humming, their voices weaving together in a chant that seemed to resonate with the very air. They moved in a slow circle around the center of the tent, where a small wooden platform awaited her.

As the elders moved, they carefully lit the bundles of sage, royal elfroot, and crystal grace that Silas and Deshanna had prepared earlier. The fragrant smoke curled upward, filling the space with its cleansing aroma, a mix of earthiness and subtle sweetness. The flames flickered, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the tent walls.

Deshanna stepped forward with quiet purpose, her hands gentle as she helped Thalia remove the ceremonial robes from her body. The fabric slipped away, leaving Thalia standing bare, her skin catching the soft glow of the firelight. Deshanna folded the robes carefully, treating them with reverence, and placed them neatly on the ceremonial table near the edge of the tent. Her movements were precise, unhurried, and filled with care.

The elders, now holding the smoldering bundles, returned to the center, their chants growing more rhythmic and resonant. They waved the smoke over Thalia’s body, the fragrant tendrils curling around her like an unseen blessing. The herbs worked to purify her spirit, the rising smoke carrying away anything that might weigh her down. The sensation was warm, almost soothing, as the smoke wrapped her in its sacred embrace.

Deshanna’s voice broke softly through the chants, calm and steady. “Lan em’bor viran’vhen, ma sul lan’ath’vir samahl emaha’lin i var viras emaha’tel. Ame lethallin, ame maen’dirtha.”

Thalia closed her eyes, breathing deeply as the smoke swirled around her. She could feel its warmth against her skin, the mingling scents grounding her in the moment. The humming chants resonated through her chest, their rhythm steadying her nerves as she stood tall on the platform, feeling the weight of the moment and the strength of her ancestors surrounding her.

Deshanna moved with practiced grace, picking up a small, intricately carved bowl that sat on the ceremonial table. The bowl, filled with fragrant oils, shimmered faintly in the firelight. She picked it up carefully and carried it to Thalia, her movements deliberate and steady as the elders continued to circle, their chants and the wafting smoke creating an almost otherworldly atmosphere.

The scent of the oil mingled with the smoke, a rich blend of herbs and flowers that added another layer of sanctity to the ritual. Deshanna dipped a fine, slender brush into the oil, the bristles absorbing the glistening liquid. Without hesitation, she began to paint symbols across Thalia’s bare skin, her strokes fluid and precise.

The brush traced ancient patterns over Thalia’s shoulders, arms, back, and chest, each symbol imbued with meaning, reflecting her past and the path she was about to embrace. The oil glistened against her skin, catching the soft glow of the firelight and shimmering faintly as Deshanna worked.

Deshanna’s voice joined the hums of the elders, her low, melodic tones weaving seamlessly into the rhythm of the chants. Her movements were as much a part of the ritual as the symbols she painted, each stroke carrying intention, each motion tied to the prayers being sung in unison.

The air inside the tent grew heavier, the weight of the sacred act pressing gently against Thalia’s chest. She stood still, her breathing slow and steady, as Deshanna’s brush continued its work, anointing her with the sacred oil.

Deshanna finished the last of the symbols, the oil gleaming on Thalia’s skin in the flickering firelight. Stepping back to the ceremonial table, her humming grew louder, a signal for the next phase of the ritual. The elders ceased wafting the bundles of smoke, their chants fading into silence. With a synchronized motion, they threw the smoldering bundles into the central fire, which flared briefly as the herbs ignited, sending a final wave of fragrant smoke curling upward.

The elders then turned toward Thalia, their movements reverent and deliberate. They circled her and crouched low, pressing their foreheads to the ground in a gesture of profound respect and devotion. All except one, who remained standing and moved to Deshanna’s side. The remaining elder retrieved a bowl filled with the ink, its surface shimmering faintly in the dim light.

Deshanna stepped forward, her hands steady as she picked up the ceremonial bone knife from the table. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as though the very air in the tent demanded reverence. She turned to Thalia, her voice calm but resonating with authority as she spoke, the ritual words flowing like a prayer.

“Dura’thalin, ma dura samahl’viras tel’dan’en. Sul i’varin’dalas emma solasan tel’dirtha i’myethas, tel’halani i’darethas, i tel’ma’arathas. June, ghi’lan’vara ara’da’lav. Dirthamen, enaste tel’sul’asa vhen’nas.”

Thalia extended her hands toward Deshanna, her palms steady despite the weight of the moment. Deshanna took one of her hands and cut into Thalia’s finger with the knife, the sharp tip drawing blood. With care, she let the blood drip into the ink bowl held by the elder, mixing it into the shimmering liquid.

The elder swirled the ink, the red from Thalia’s blood threading through the pigment, deepening its already red hue. Deshanna then stepped back to the fire, tilting the knife to let a few drops of Thalia’s blood fall into the flames. The fire crackled and flared, the blood hissing faintly as it was consumed, the smoke spiraling upward as if carrying the offering to the gods.

The tent was silent for a moment, save for the soft crackle of the fire, as the sacred act concluded. Deshanna turned back to Thalia, her movements deliberate as she returned the ceremonial knife to the table. She reached for her staff, its carved surface glinting faintly in the firelight, and stepped forward to stand directly in front of Thalia. Closing her eyes, Deshanna began a low, resonant chant, her voice weaving into a melody that seemed to echo with the weight of generations. The hums of the other elders rose to join her, their foreheads still pressed to the ground, their voices a reverent undercurrent to her song.

The elder holding the bowl of ink remained steady, their gaze focused and hands careful. With precise movements, they picked up the needle—a ceremonial tool made of bone, carved with intricate designs—and dipped its fine tip into the blood-infused ink. The dark liquid gleamed as the elder lifted the needle, ready to begin the ritual that would mark Thalia’s skin with the vallaslin and bind her to her gods, her people, and her ancestors.

The first mark was drawn carefully across her brow, the vallaslin of June, framing her face with lines of symmetry and precision that spoke to the god’s craftsmanship and balance. A delicate design flowed downward from her lower lip to her trachea, etched like roots seeking strength in the earth. The elder’s movements were steady, deliberate, each press of the needle into her skin precise.

Thalia stood tall, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, but her face remained resolute. Her jaw did not tremble, though the sharp, unrelenting pain surged through her with every mark. She welcomed it, let it flow through her without resistance. Each sting was a vow—a promise to her people, a connection to her family, and a reminder of who she was and who she was becoming.

From her face, the elder moved to her chest, where the design mirrored the symmetry of her brow. The lines flowed down the center of her sternum, framing her collarbones and descending toward her abdomen in a single line and dots. The strokes of the needle felt heavier here, the skin more sensitive, but Thalia remained steady, her breath slow and measured.

The elder’s focus never wavered as they moved to her hands. Using the smallest tip of the needle, they etched two delicate lines around each of her index, middle, and ring fingers. The marks wrapped like bands, subtle but unbreakable, symbols of her connection to the magic she would wield in service of her people.

Next, intricate designs were etched encircling her arms, inspired by the strength of roots and the fluidity of wind. Extended onto her thighs and calves. The flowing lines wrapped gracefully around her legs, mirroring the patterns on her arms and creating a sense of harmony throughout her body. Each mark was deliberate, a symbol of her connection to her people and her gods. The mirrored designs united her limbs with her core, reflecting the balance she sought to uphold as the clan’s first mage. Together, the patterns told a story of strength, unity, and her place within the greater whole.

The hours passed slowly, the ritual stretching deep into the night. The rhythmic hums of Deshanna and the others filled the space, weaving a steady counterpoint to the needle’s punctuated rhythm. The scent of herbs lingered in the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of the ink. Despite the time and the weight of the ritual, Thalia’s resolve never wavered.

When the final mark was drawn, the elder set the needle aside with careful precision, signaling the conclusion of the tattooing. Deshanna stepped forward, her movements steady and deliberate as she dipped her thumb into the last of the ink. With reverence, she pressed her thumb against Thalia’s forehead, leaving a small red smudge.

“Tel’dhalasan, tel’ma’arathas, i tel’halani vhen’dura,” Deshanna intoned, her voice calm and resonant, carrying the weight of the ritual’s conclusion.

The chanting ceased, fading into an expectant silence that filled the tent. The air was heavy with reverence, the only sound left was the crackle of the fire as it reflected off the ink glistening on Thalia’s skin. Her body ached, the hours of the ritual etched into her muscles as much as her flesh, but her spirit felt weightless, as though the markings had not burdened her but liberated her.

The elders moved with quiet care, helping her into her ceremonial robes once more. The light fabric draped around her, its revealing design highlighting the intricate patterns that now adorned her body. The marks, red and vivid, seemed alive in the firelight, a testament to her strength and her new role among her people.

Her face felt warm, a mix of pride and emotion flushing her cheeks, but she held her head high as she stepped through the tent’s opening and into the night.

Outside, the full moon bathed the camp in a silvery glow, its ethereal light mingling with the golden warmth of the lanterns strung between the tents. The air was still, heavy with reverence, as the entire clan knelt before her, their foreheads pressed to the ground in silent homage. The sight was overwhelming, and Thalia’s breath caught in her throat, her chest tightening with the weight of the moment.

An elder stepped forward gracefully, carrying a delicate crown woven from Gladiolus, Iris, snapdragon, and embrium. The vibrant blooms shimmered faintly in the moonlight, each flower chosen for its symbolism and connection to her—strength, wisdom, perseverance, and renewal. The elder approached Thalia with quiet reverence, raising the crown with both hands before placing it gently atop her head.

Thalia’s heart swelled as the crown settled in place, its weight light yet profound, a reflection of the responsibilities and pride she now carried. She turned slowly to face her clan, her gaze sweeping over them as they rose, watching their proud faces, each one filled with love, hope, and trust. The marks on her skin felt alive, their presence grounding her as she stood tall, her posture embodying the strength and grace expected of the clan’s first mage.

The Keeper raised her staff high, the carved wood catching the moonlight as her voice rang out across the camp, clear and commanding. “Thalia of Lavellan, our first mage, bearer of wisdom and strength, chosen to guide and protect our People. May the Dread Wolf turn away from your door, and may the gods walk with you always.”

Then the entire clan began to sing the prayer of clan Lavellan in unison, their voices weaving together in harmony under the moonlit sky:

“Irhemsal’an, ghi’lan’var sule’marah,
Halani em’an vir’valas tel’durthal.
Lanir’han sul’da’lavin, lanir’lath tel’diran,
I nuva Fen’Harel vara su ar’arlise.”

Thalia stood tall in front of them, the words filling her chest with a sense of pride and belonging. Her eyes scanned the crowd as the prayer continued, searching for her brother. Finally, she found Therion near the back, a proud grin lighting his face as he gave her a small nod. Their eyes met, and in that brief moment, his pride in her shone brighter than any words could convey.

Thalia’s lips curved into a faint smile before she turned her gaze back to the clan, the weight of her new role settling firmly on her shoulders, balanced by the love and trust of her people.

As the prayer ended, the collective voices of the clan faded into a deep, expectant silence—only for it to be shattered by a roar of cheers. The camp came alive with celebration as music began to play, the soft, melodic notes of harps mingling with the rhythmic beat of drums and the airy, playful tunes of flutes. The sound filled the night air, weaving joy into every corner of the gathering.

Thalia was guided into the crowd, her steps buoyed by the love and pride radiating from her people. One by one, clanmates embraced her in congratulations, their words heartfelt and their smiles wide. Each touch, each word was a reminder of the bond they shared and the significance of the ritual she had just undergone.

Her friends were quick to surround her, their voices a mix of excitement and curiosity. “How was it?” Ghilas asked, his eyes bright with admiration. “Did it hurt?” Ralenor added, his tone half-worried, half-teasing.

Thalia chuckled, holding up her hands to calm the barrage of questions. “Yes, it hurt,” she admitted, her voice warm with humour. “But it was worth every moment. The pain wasn’t just pain—it was purpose. It’s hard to explain, but it felt… right.”

Her friends nodded eagerly, their expressions a mix of awe and pride as they listened to her recount her experience.

The scent of food drew her attention, and she was guided to a special spot prepared for her, a place of honour adorned with garlands of flowers and soft cushions. She sat gracefully, the light fabric of her ceremonial robes draping around her, the vallaslin on her skin catching the flicker of the lanterns. Plates of the prepared feast were brought to her, laden with roasted venison, berries, fresh bread, and other delicacies.

As she feasted, the celebration around her grew livelier. Children danced to the beat of the drums, their laughter ringing through the air. Clanmates swayed in rhythm, their movements joyous and free, while others sat in small groups, sharing stories and laughter.

As Thalia savoured the feast, Silas approached her, his staff absent for once as he moved through the bustling crowd. He stopped a respectful distance away before stepping closer, his expression a mixture of admiration and nervousness.

“Thalia,” he began, his voice steady but softer than usual. “Congratulations. That was… incredible to watch. You’ve truly earned this.” He gestured vaguely to the intricate vallaslin adorning her skin, his gaze lingering briefly before he quickly looked away, his cheeks faintly flushed.

Thalia smiled warmly, sitting up straighter in her seat. “Thank you, Silas. It means a lot.”

Silas hesitated for a moment, then continued, his tone thoughtful. “The ritual… it’s very different from how it’s done in my clan. The chanting, the smoke, the symbols—it all felt so… alive. Sacred. Ours is quieter, more private. Just the Keeper and the elders. No feasts, no decorations. It’s… simpler, but still meaningful in its own way.”

Thalia smiled softly, glancing at the intricate marks on her arms. “That sounds beautiful in its own way. Different doesn’t mean less—it’s about the connection, isn’t it? To your gods, your people.”

Silas nodded, his expression brightening a little at her words. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”

His eyes flicked briefly to her robes, the light fabric accentuating the intricate patterns of her markings while leaving more skin exposed than he was used to seeing. He quickly averted his gaze, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. “You look… incredible, by the way,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “The markings, the robes—everything suits you.”

Thalia chuckled, entirely oblivious to the undercurrent of his words. “Thanks, Silas. The elders did an amazing job with the vallaslin. They put so much care into every detail.”

Silas nodded, his nervousness evident as he shifted slightly. “Yeah, the robes…” He trailed off, swallowing hard before forcing himself to focus. “Anyway, I just wanted to say… you’re amazing. And you deserve this moment.”

Thalia tilted her head slightly, her smile bright and genuine. “That means a lot, Silas. I’m glad you’re here to share it with me.”

Silas opened his mouth as if to say more, but instead, he nodded, his face still a little flushed. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it,” he managed, stepping back slightly to let her enjoy the celebration.

As Silas moved away, Thalia returned her attention to the festivities, completely unaware of the lingering glance he cast her way before he disappeared into the crowd, his feelings for her still carefully tucked away.

Silas walked through the crowd, his focus still flustered from his conversation with Thalia, he nearly walked straight into Therion, who was making his way over to his sister with his usual confident stride. Silas stumbled slightly, mumbling a quick, “Sorry,” before attempting to step aside.

Therion, however, wasn’t about to let the moment pass unnoticed. He stopped in his tracks, folding his arms and tilting his head with a sly grin. “Careful there, Silas,” he said, his tone light and teasing. “Your face is about as red as that ink they used for her vallaslin.”

Silas froze, his ears burning as he looked up at Therion. “What? No, it’s not—” he stammered, but the denial came too late.

“Oh, don’t bother,” Therion interrupted with a mock-pitying shake of his head. “You’ve got it written all over you. The way you look at her, like she hung the moon herself. It’s kind of adorable, really.”

Silas groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Therion—”

“I’m just saying,” Therion continued, leaning in slightly and lowering his voice, though the playful glint in his eyes didn’t falter. “If you’re going to keep crushing on her like that, you might want to work on the whole talking to her without tripping over your own feet thing. Just some friendly advice.”

Silas narrowed his eyes at him, though the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed his embarrassment. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Therion said, clapping a hand on Silas’s shoulder with exaggerated camaraderie. “But don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me… for now.”

Silas sighed heavily, muttering something under his breath as Therion gave him a final smirk and stepped past him. “Good luck, Silas,” Therion called over his shoulder, clearly reveling in the younger man’s discomfort as he approached Thalia with an easy grin.

Therion finally reached his sister, weaving his way through the cheerful crowd until he stood before her. Thalia, noticing him approach, rose gracefully from her seat, the faint glimmer of her vallaslin catching the warm glow of the lanterns. She met his eyes with a small, expectant smile, and for a moment, Therion said nothing, simply looking at her.

When he finally spoke, his voice was rich with pride and warmth. “You look amazing, Lia,” he said, his grin widening. “The markings suit you. Not just because they’re beautiful, but because they’re you. They’re everything you’ve worked for, everything you’ve earned.”

Thalia’s smile grew, and for the briefest moment, her stoic demeanor softened. “Thanks, Therion. That means a lot coming from you.”

He leaned in slightly, his tone turning playful. “Though, let’s be honest—they don’t look quite as good as mine. I mean, come on, look at this face,” he said, gesturing at himself with exaggerated pride.

Thalia laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, please. If anything, mine are better because I’m the first mage. You’re just the second-best hunter.”

Therion clutched his chest in mock offense. “Second-best? You wound me. But fine, I’ll let you have this one. It is your night, after all.”

Thalia smirked. “Generous of you.”

Therion’s teasing grin softened into something more genuine as he rested a hand on her shoulder. “Seriously, Thalia. I’m proud of you. Not just for tonight, but for everything you’ve done to get here. Ma and Pa would be too.”

Her breath hitched slightly at his words, but she managed to hold his gaze, her voice steady. “Thank you, Therion.”

He gave her shoulder a small squeeze before stepping back, his grin never faltering. “Now, don’t let it go to your head,” he teased. Then, with a playful glint in his eyes, he extended a hand to her. “But before you get too comfortable, how about a dance? After all, it’s not every day my little sister gets her vallaslin.”

Thalia blinked in mild surprise, but her smile quickly grew as she placed her hand in his. “You just want to show off,” she teased, letting him pull her gently toward the open space where others had begun to sway to the rhythm of the music.

“Absolutely,” Therion said, spinning her into the dance with dramatic flair. “If I can’t claim the best vallaslin, I’ll at least claim the best moves.”

Thalia laughed as they began to move together, her steps matching his as they twirled and swayed to the beat of the drums and flutes. The celebration around them seemed to melt away for a moment, leaving just the two of them, brother and sister, sharing a rare moment of lightness and joy. Therion’s grin was infectious, and soon Thalia found herself laughing even harder as he added a few exaggerated flourishes to his steps.

As the night deepened, the celebration only grew livelier. Thalia and Therion danced together until their legs ached, their laughter carrying over the music. When they finally took a break to enjoy the food and drinks, Therion spotted Silas lingering at the edges of the festivities, hesitant to join. Without hesitation, Therion grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the crowd.

“Come on, Silas!” Therion said with a grin. “No standing on the sidelines tonight.”

Silas protested weakly, his cheeks flushed a deeper red than the drink in his hand, but the infectious joy of the celebration quickly got the better of him. Thalia laughed as Therion dragged him closer, and she held out her hand. “You’re not getting out of this,” she said, pulling him into the dance.

Despite his initial awkwardness, Silas soon found himself laughing, caught up in the rhythm and the sheer energy of the moment. His nervousness melted away, though his cheeks stayed faintly pink, especially when Thalia spun him in a playful flourish.

The group grew larger as Thalia’s friends joined in, with Ghilas and Lirassan throwing exaggerated moves that had everyone in stitches. Talrin, Therion’s girlfriend, joined with a grin, pulling Therion into a twirling dance of their own before taking her turn with Thalia. Each of them danced with her one-on-one, their shared laughter and camaraderie filling the night with warmth and joy.

The celebration stretched on, the drums and flutes keeping the tempo as the moon arced across the sky. Some danced until they could no longer stand, collapsing on the soft grass in exhaustion, their faces flushed from the drinks. Others wandered off to tents, though not always their own, laughter and sleepy murmurs trailing behind them.

By the time the first rays of the morning sun crept over the horizon, most of the clan lay scattered across the camp, fast asleep in the aftermath of the celebration. Thalia, however, remained awake, sitting quietly on the cliff surrounding the camp. Wrapped in a light shawl, she watched the sunrise paint the sky in hues of pink and gold, her thoughts quiet but content.

As the light grew brighter, Deshanna approached, her footsteps soft on the dew-kissed grass. She stood beside Thalia for a moment before sitting down next to her. “Good morning,” Deshanna said warmly, her voice gentle as the breeze.

Thalia glanced at her, smiling softly. “Good morning.”

Deshanna looked out at the horizon, her expression serene. “I wanted to see the sunrise with you,” she said after a pause. “And to say how proud I am of you, Thalia. You have shown strength, wisdom, and grace. You’ve earned your place, not just as the clan’s first mage, but as someone the People will look to for guidance.”

Thalia swallowed, her chest swelling with emotion at the Keeper’s words. “Thank you, Deshanna. That means more than I can say.”

Deshanna turned to her with a small smile, a glimmer of humour in her eyes. “I also noticed you and Silas dancing last night. You two have grown close.”

“He’s a good friend,” Thalia said, her voice light. “It’s easy to be around him.”

The Keeper nodded knowingly, her gaze returning to the sunrise. “Friendship is a foundation that strengthens us, just as the roots of the forest strengthen the earth, whatever path you walk together.”

Thalia nodded, her thoughts lingering on Silas for a brief moment before she returned her attention to the rising sun. As they sat in companionable silence, the weight of the celebration and the ritual settled into a quiet pride. For now, the day belonged to the dawn, the future stretching out before her like the endless horizon.

Chapter Text

The golden hues of autumn painted the camp in vibrant shades of red and orange, the trees shedding their leaves in a gentle cascade to the forest floor. The air carried a crispness that hinted at the coming chill of winter, and the earthy scent of fallen leaves lingered in the breeze. The sunlight filtered through the thinning canopy, casting dappled patterns across the ground, where Thalia and Silas stood in the training circle.

Their breaths came in soft puffs, faintly visible in the cool air as they faced each other. Thalia’s stance was steady, her expression unwavering as she prepared to counter Silas’s next move. The atmosphere between them was focused but charged with the competitive edge that had become common during their practice sessions.

Silas raised his staff, conjuring a burst of crackling energy, which shot toward Thalia with precision. She reacted instantly, her fingers weaving a spell that summoned a shimmering barrier of light. The energy struck her defense and dissipated harmlessly, leaving only a faint crackle in the air. A smirk tugged at Thalia’s lips, her confidence unmistakable as she held her ground.

It had been three weeks since Thalia received her vallaslin, and the once-fresh marks had fully healed, now an intricate part of her skin. The red ink framed her face with graceful symmetry, each line accentuating her sharp features and expressive eyes. The patterns wrapped around her arms and across her chest, the delicate curves and lines telling a story of strength, heritage, and devotion.

The markings had become a seamless extension of her, no longer just a symbol of the ritual but an embodiment of who she was. They carried the weight of her responsibilities, the honour of her gods, and the unspoken pride of her people. Each time she caught her reflection, she felt a flicker of that significance—a reminder of the path she was destined to walk.

“You’ll have to do better than that, Silas,” Thalia taunted, her smirk widening as she twirled her staff with practiced ease. The playful glint in her eye only added to her confidence as she prepared for her next move.

Silas adjusted his stance, his grip tightening on his staff. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, masking the focus in his sharp gaze. “I was just warming up,” he replied, his tone light but determined, already preparing his next spell.

Without warning, Thalia flicked her staff forward, unleashing a burst of fire that crackled through the air. The spell shot toward Silas, catching him off guard, but his reflexes kicked in just in time. He raised his staff with a sharp motion, conjuring a shimmering ice wall that absorbed the flames with a loud hiss of steam.

“Warming up, you say?” Thalia called out, her tone playful but laced with challenge, a sly grin spreading across her face. She spun her staff again, already preparing for her next strike. “Let’s see how long you can keep up, then!”

“Not like that,” Silas shot back, his voice sharp with determination as he steadied his stance. He raised his staff, the faint shimmer of magic already gathering at its tip, ready to deflect whatever Thalia decided to throw his way next. His expression, though focused, carried a hint of a smirk, as if silently daring her to try again.

Before Thalia could cast again, Deshanna’s voice rang out, sharp and clear through the crisp autumn air.

“That’s enough for now,” the Keeper said as she stepped onto the training grounds, her staff tapping lightly against the ground with each measured step. Her tone carried quiet authority, one that neither of them dared to question, though her expression remained calm.

Both Thalia and Silas immediately lowered their staves, their focus shifting to Deshanna. The intensity of their sparring faded, replaced by curiosity as they waited for the Keeper to speak.

Deshanna stopped a short distance from them, her gaze shifting between Thalia and Silas as she tilted her head slightly. “How is the training coming along?” she asked, her tone measured but carrying an undertone of genuine interest.

Thalia exchanged a quick glance with Silas before speaking up. “It’s going well,” she said confidently, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “We’ve been focusing on refining spellwork and defenses, making sure we can anticipate each other’s moves.”

Silas nodded in agreement, adjusting his grip on his staff. “Thalia’s been relentless,” he added with a faint smile. “But it’s paying off. I think we’re both improving.”

Deshanna’s lips curved into a small, approving smile. “Good,” she said, her eyes lingering on both of them. “That’s exactly what I want to hear.”

Deshanna shifted slightly, her grip tightening briefly on her staff as she drew in a measured breath. It was a subtle movement, but one that didn’t escape Thalia’s notice. The Keeper’s usual calm seemed tinged with hesitation, as though she were steeling herself for what she was about to say—and for their inevitable reaction.

Her gaze moved between Thalia and Silas, her voice steady but quieter than before. “There’s something we need to discuss,” she began, the weight of her words already hanging in the cool air. “A decision has been made, one that will shape the future of this clan—and both of you.”

Thalia’s curiosity immediately bubbled to the surface, her brow furrowing as she took a step closer to Deshanna. “What is it?” she asked, her tone sharp with both interest and concern. “Is Silas getting sent away? Are you sending me somewhere? Wait—” her eyes widened suddenly, her thoughts spiraling. “Are you… dying? Am I supposed to take over as Keeper already? I’m way too young for that!”

Deshanna laughed softly, holding up a hand to stem the flood of questions. “No, Thalia,” she said, her voice warm but firm. “None of those things.” Her gaze lingered on both of them, her expression softening. “I’ve been observing you two for some time now—how you’ve grown, how quickly you’ve learned, and how you’ve worked together. It hasn’t escaped my notice how well you’ve complemented each other’s strengths. You’ve become quite a formidable team.”

Thalia blinked, her earlier tension fading slightly, though a hint of suspicion still lingered in her eyes. Silas shifted uncomfortably beside her, rubbing the back of his neck as he murmured, “Thank you, Keeper.” Thalia echoed his thanks, though her tone carried the same uncertainty as his. They both sensed there was more to this conversation than just praise, the unspoken weight in Deshanna’s words making their nerves prickle.

Deshanna stiffened slightly, her shoulders straightening as if bracing herself for the words she was about to speak. Her gaze remained steady, though the faintest hint of hesitation flickered in her expression.

“Both of you have shown great potential and strength,” she began, her voice calm and measured. “And the bond between a first mage and a second mage is critical to the survival of our clan.” She paused for a moment, as though giving them time to absorb her words, then continued with deliberate care. “For this reason, the elders and I have decided that you two will be paired.”

The words hung in the crisp air, the weight of their meaning crashing down on Thalia and Silas like a sudden storm. Silas froze, his eyes widening slightly as his face flushed crimson, while Thalia’s jaw tightened, her expression quickly shifting to one of shock and disbelief. Neither of them spoke, the silence between them charged with unspoken emotions.

Thalia was the first to speak, her voice sharp and burning with barely restrained anger. “What?” The single word cut through the air like a blade, her disbelief palpable.

Deshanna’s expression didn’t waver, though she drew herself up taller, standing firm as if she had anticipated this very reaction. “You will be paired,” she reiterated, her tone now steadier, firmer, as if to leave no room for argument. “This is not a decision made lightly. The elders and I have considered this carefully. The bond between the first mage and the second mage is essential to the strength and unity of the clan.”

Her words carried the weight of finality, and it was clear she wasn’t about to change her mind. Her gaze met Thalia’s directly, her resolve unwavering, though there was no malice in her tone—only the certainty of someone who believed she was doing what was best for the clan.

Thalia’s gaze burned with intensity, her fury simmering just beneath the surface as she stared at Deshanna. Her hands clenched at her sides, her entire posture rigid with anger. The air around her seemed to hum faintly, a telltale sign of her magic reacting to her emotions.

Silas, standing beside her, blinked in stunned silence. His staff slipped slightly in his grasp as his fingers fumbled to steady it. His face flushed deeply, the weight of Deshanna’s words crashing over him. His gaze darted nervously to Thalia, whose fiery expression made his stomach twist. His emotions were a whirlwind of disbelief, anxiety, and something deeper—something he wasn’t ready to fully acknowledge.

He swallowed hard before finally managing to speak, his voice uneven. “Keeper… are you sure about this choice?” His question carried a mix of doubt and an unspoken hope that there might still be room for reconsideration. But even as the words left his lips, he feared the answer he already knew was coming.

Deshanna turned her attention to Silas, her gaze softening as she took in his unsure posture and the unease written across his face. Her voice was gentler when she spoke to him, offering a moment of reassurance. “Silas, I understand this is a lot to take in,” she said, her tone steady but not unkind. “But this decision was not made lightly. You have shown great potential, and your bond with Thalia strengthens not just your magic, but the unity of the clan. This is about more than either of you—it’s about what’s best for all of us.”

Her words lingered for a moment as she looked at him, hoping to calm his uncertainty. But her gaze quickly hardened again as she turned back to Thalia, who was practically trembling with fury. The anger radiating from the first mage was impossible to ignore, and Deshanna’s tone grew firmer, her authority unmistakable. “Thalia, I know you’re upset, but this decision is final. It is not a punishment, nor is it a slight against your autonomy. It is a responsibility you were meant to bear, just as Silas was. You will honor this.”

Her voice cut through the tension like a blade, commanding the space around them, though Thalia’s fiery gaze remained locked on her, unyielding.

Thalia practically exploded, her voice cutting through the air like a crack of thunder. “No!” she shouted, her fury igniting as if it had been waiting for this exact moment. “You don’t get to make this choice for me! Not this. I will not honour this pairing—you can’t just decide my future without even asking me!” Her words came fast and sharp, her magic flaring faintly at her fingertips as her emotions spilled over.

She turned sharply to Silas, her gaze hard and unyielding. “And I’m sorry Silas,” she said, her voice trembling with frustration, “but don’t get any ideas. I don’t like you like that. I never have, and I never will.” Her words hit like a physical blow, and Silas recoiled slightly, his face paling as her rejection sunk in. He looked away, gripping his staff tighter, the faint hurt in his eyes betraying the crack in his composure.

Deshanna’s expression darkened, her authority rising to match Thalia’s rage. “Enough!” she commanded, her voice firm as she stepped closer. “Thalia, you are the first mage. You have a responsibility to this clan. This is not about what you want—it is about what is best for the People. Your bond with Silas strengthens the future of our clan. You must honor this.”

Thalia didn’t back down. Her hands clenched into fists, and her voice rose with every word. “What’s best for the clan? What about what’s best for me?” she shot back, her chest heaving. “I’ve had no choice in anything, not since the ambush that killed Ma and Pa! My life hasn’t been mine since then. I didn’t ask for any of this—not for my magic, not for this responsibility, and certainly not for you to decide who I’m supposed to be bonded with!”

The tension between them crackled like a storm, the weight of years of expectations clashing against Thalia’s bottled-up anger. Deshanna stood firm, her voice resolute. “You were chosen by the gods, Thalia. You are meant to lead. This is your path, whether you like it or not.”

Thalia’s eyes burned with unshed tears as she shook her head, her voice breaking. “And what if I don’t want it? What if I want something—anything—that’s actually mine?”

The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating, the gap between Thalia and Deshanna filled with unspoken pain. Silas stood to the side, caught in the crossfire, as he watched the first mage he admired so deeply unravel before him.

Thalia’s chest heaved with the force of her emotions, her voice trembling as she spat, “May the Dread Wolf turn his gaze upon you for this!” Her words hung heavy in the crisp air, laced with venom and pain. Without another glance, she turned and bolted through the camp and to forest, her footsteps pounding against the earth, leaving Deshanna and Silas standing in stunned silence.

Deshanna blinked, her composure faltering for just a moment before she turned toward Silas. His face was pale, his grip on his staff slack as if the weight of Thalia’s words had drained the strength from him. Deshanna’s tone softened as she addressed him. “Silas… are you all right?”

Silas opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came. He felt raw, exposed, as though her rejection had left a wound he couldn’t quite articulate. After a long pause, he managed to shake his head slightly. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze stayed fixed on the ground, the hurt in his chest twisting deeper with every second of silence between them.

Thalia ran through the camp, her vision blurred by the tears streaming down her face. Her chest burned as she choked back sobs, her steps frantic and unsteady. Her staff clattered to the ground as she threw it aside near the forest’s edge, its weight an unnecessary burden as she sprinted forward. The world around her felt distant, her anger and anguish swallowing everything else as she disappeared into the trees.

Therion, who had been at the hunters’ tent close to the forest, paused mid-conversation when he saw Thalia dash past. His brow furrowed as he watched her toss their father’s staff to the side, the cherished relic landing carelessly on the forest floor. Concern gripped him instantly. Thalia never treated their father’s staff with anything less than reverence. Something was wrong—very wrong.

Alarm shot through him. He quickly turned back to the group of hunters, his voice hurried. “I’ve got to go. Something’s wrong with Thalia,” he said, already stepping away.

One of the hunters, Malvion, called after him, “Do you need help?”

Therion shook his head, his tone sharp but not unkind. “No, I’ll handle it. Just keep things going here.” Without waiting for a response, he jogged over to the staff, picking it up carefully. His hands lingered on the familiar wood for a moment, worry etched across his face.

He glanced toward the forest’s edge, his grip tightening. “Thalia!” he called, his voice cutting through the still air as he broke into a run, following the faint path she had left behind.

The trees closed around him as he ran, their fiery autumn leaves creating an eerie quiet in the air. He called her name again and again, his voice echoing through the woods, but there was no answer. Her tracks were scattered, her path erratic, and soon he realized he had lost sight of her. Slowing his pace, Therion tightened his grip on the staff, his heart pounding as he scanned the forest ahead. “Thalia!” he shouted once more, the worry in his voice cutting through the stillness.

Therion slung the staff onto his back, carefully tying it onto his quiver to keep it secure. His movements were swift and practiced, but his mind raced with questions. Once the staff was in place, he crouched low to the ground, his sharp eyes scanning for any sign of a trail. The leaves were disturbed, the faint impression of her feet leading deeper into the forest.

“Thalia,” he muttered into the empty air, his voice a mix of frustration and concern. “What happened? Are you all right?” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as he straightened and began to follow the faint trail.

The broken twigs and trampled leaves guided him forward, though the erratic nature of the path unsettled him. He called her name again, louder this time, his voice echoing through the trees. “Thalia! Talk to me!” But only silence answered him, the stillness of the forest amplifying his worry as he pressed on, his pace quickening with every step.

As Therion pressed forward, his sharp eyes picking out each broken twig and scuffed patch of dirt, the frantic and disoriented trail began to feel oddly familiar. The further he went, the more his worry shifted into a quiet realization.

His steps slowed slightly, his chest tightening as the path ahead became clear in his mind. Despite the chaos of her trail, there was purpose behind it—a direction she had taken without even realizing. The charm tree.

Therion muttered under his breath, gripping the straps of his quiver tighter. “Of course,” he said softly to himself, his pace quickening again. “Of all places…” The memory of crafting that tree for her, weaving their shared moments into its branches, tugged at his heart. It was her sanctuary—a place of solace when she felt most overwhelmed.

He broke into a jog, determined to find her. “Hang on, Thalia,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with urgency.

Therion jogged through the forest, the familiar path to the charm tree guiding his steps. The cool autumn air felt heavier now, each breath coming faster as worry pushed him forward. When he reached the clearing, his heart sank.

There she was, curled at the base of the tree, her body small and trembling. Her knees were drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them, and her face was buried as deep sobs wracked her frame. The sight of her like that struck him like a physical blow, his chest tightening with a deep ache.

He slowed his pace, careful not to make too much noise, and whispered her name as he approached. “Thalia… it’s me,” he said softly, his tone low and gentle, trying not to startle her.

She didn’t respond. Her sobs continued, broken and raw, and her silence stung almost as much as seeing her cry. He crouched down in front of her, his movements deliberate as he reached out, placing his hands gently on her arms. “Thalia,” he said again, his voice edged with worry as he tried to meet her gaze. “What happened? Talk to me.”

Her face remained hidden, her body trembling beneath his touch. Therion’s hands tightened slightly, not in force but in an attempt to anchor her. “Come on, Lia,” he said softly, “I’m here. Please, talk to me.”

Therion leaned down, his arms slipping around her in a gentle hug, and the moment his touch settled, Thalia broke her tightly curled posture. With a sudden, desperate movement, she threw herself into his arms, clinging to him with all her strength. The force of it made him almost stumble back, but he caught himself, steadying both of them as her face buried into the crook of his neck.

Her sobs grew louder, her fingers clutching at his tunic as if afraid to let go. Therion’s heart clenched painfully, and his expression darkened with worry as he tightened his hold on her, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head. He rocked her slightly, his voice low and soothing as he tried to reach her through her tears.

“Thalia,” he murmured, his voice shaking despite his effort to stay calm. “What happened? Are you hurt? Who hurt you?”

His questions spilled out, each one filled with more urgency than the last. He pulled back just enough to try to see her face, his hands framing her shoulders, but she wouldn’t lift her head, her tears soaking into his neck. His grip firmed, his voice breaking slightly as he whispered again. “Please, Thalia. Tell me what’s wrong. I need to know.”

Thalia finally mustered her words, her voice trembling and broken by her sobs. “Deshanna…” she choked out, her breath hitching as more tears spilled down her cheeks.

Therion’s grip on her shoulders tightened slightly, his worry deepening. “What about Deshanna?” he asked gently, his tone laced with both concern and anger as he tried to piece together what had happened. “What did she do?”

Thalia’s face remained buried against his neck, her words barely audible through the sobs. “She… she decided—and the elders—that I’m supposed to… to be bonded with Silas,” she managed, her voice breaking further with each word. “Like I don’t have a say… like I’m just—just a thing for them to decide for!”

Therion’s jaw clenched as her words sunk in, and a flicker of anger crossed his face. He hugged her tighter, his hand moving in soothing circles against her back. “That’s ridiculous,” he said firmly, his voice steady but edged with barely restrained frustration. “No one should be able to make that kind of choice for you. You’re not just some tool for the clan to use. You’re you—you deserve to make your own decisions.”

Thalia only clung to him harder, her sobs intensifying as his words gave voice to the unfairness she felt so deeply.

Therion gently pulled her back from the hug, his hands cradling her face as he sat further down to meet her gaze. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her eyes red and puffy from crying, and her expression shattered. It made his heart ache to see her like this, so vulnerable and hurt.

“Thalia,” he said softly, his thumbs brushing away the fresh tears that spilled down her cheeks. “Why would they decide that for you? What reason could they possibly have to think they have that kind of right?”

Her lip trembled as she struggled to find her voice, her breaths coming in shallow, hiccuping gasps. “They… they said it’s to…” she finally whispered, her voice barely audible. “That the bond between the first and second mage is ‘essential for the clan.’ They decided it was best for everyone without even asking me.”

Therion’s jaw tightened, his own frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “That’s not fair,” he said firmly, his tone sharper now but still laced with concern. “You’re not just some piece of a plan, Thalia. You’re a person. You deserve better than this.”

He kept his hands on her face, his thumbs still moving gently over her skin as he looked into her broken expression. “You deserve to choose your own path. No one else has the right to take that away from you.”

Thalia’s breath hitched at his words, her tears flowing freely now. Her voice broke as she whispered, “I’ve had no choice in anything, Therion. Not since the day the bandits came. Everything’s been decided for me—my magic, my training, and now this.” Her shoulders trembled, and the weight of her anguish seemed almost unbearable.

Therion frowned deeply, his brows knitting together in both anger and empathy. He moved his hands from her face to her shoulders, gripping them firmly but gently, as though grounding her. “That’s insane,” he said, his voice low but filled with conviction. “You’ve already given so much—your time, your freedom, your life. And now they think they can just decide who you should love? Like that’s something they have any right to take from you?”

His words hung in the air, his tone carrying a protective fury that mirrored the ache in his chest. He couldn’t fathom how anyone—especially Deshanna—could justify forcing something so personal, so sacred, onto his sister.

Therion’s grip on her shoulders remained steady, his eyes locked on hers as he nodded firmly. “You’re right to be furious, Thalia,” he said, his voice fierce with solidarity. “This isn’t fair. You’ve already sacrificed more than anyone should ever have to. They can’t just keep piling things onto you like this and expect you to go along with it.”

Thalia’s lips trembled, and her voice cracked as her anger boiled over. “It’s always been this way, Therion! Since the day Ma and Pa died, I’ve had no say in anything.” Her words came tumbling out now, raw and unfiltered. “I didn’t choose to train with Deshanna. I didn’t choose to take on every single expectation they could throw at me. I didn’t choose to be the first mage!”

Therion’s jaw tightened as he listened, his hands giving her shoulders a comforting squeeze as if to silently tell her to keep going.

“They treat it like some great honor,” she continued, her voice rising with the weight of years of bottled frustration. “But it’s not! It’s endless work, endless pressure to be perfect, to never make mistakes, to never rest. Every day, I’m reminded that I have to be better, stronger, because I’m the first mage. And if I fail, it’s not just me who suffers—it’s the entire clan. Do you know how that feels?”

Her hands gestured wildly now as she spoke, her tears still falling but her voice laced with unrelenting fury. “I didn’t even have a proper childhood, Therion! While you were out learning to hunt and spending time with the others, I was stuck with books, spells, and lectures about my ‘responsibility.’ And now they want to tell me who I’m supposed to bond with? Who I’m supposed to love? I can’t do that!”

Therion’s heart ached at her words, guilt mingling with his anger. “You’re right,” he said, his voice quieter but no less firm. “You didn’t get to choose. You’ve been carrying all of this alone for so long, and it’s not fair. None of this is fair.”

Thalia’s chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, her eyes searching his face for any sign of doubt. Instead, she found only unwavering support. “I just… I just want to live my life, Therion,” she whispered, her voice cracking again.

Therion nodded, his gaze steady. “You should be able to live your life. And if they can’t see that, then maybe it’s time someone reminded them.” His tone carried a dangerous edge now, his protective instinct kicking in full force. “Whatever it takes, Thalia, I’ve got your back. Always.”

Thalia shook her head, wiping at her tear-streaked face as she met Therion’s determined gaze. “You can’t go to them,” she said firmly, her voice still trembling but resolute. “The elders, Deshanna—they’ve already decided this. You know how they are. Once they make a choice, it’s final. There’s no changing their minds.”

Therion frowned deeply, his hands still resting on her shoulders. “That’s ridiculous,” he said, his voice laced with frustration. “They can’t just force something like this on you and expect you to accept it. There has to be a way—”

“There isn’t!” Thalia interrupted, her voice sharp with the bitterness of her reality. “They don’t care how I feel, Therion. To them, this is about what’s best for the clan, not for me. They think it’s my duty, my responsibility, and that’s the end of it.” Her voice broke again as she added, “And they’ll make sure I do it, whether I want to or not.”

Therion clenched his fists at her words, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. “That doesn’t make it right,” he said, his voice quieter but no less intense. “You’re not a tool, Thalia. You’re a person. If they can’t see that, then…” He trailed off, shaking his head as he tried to rein in his frustration.

“I know,” Thalia whispered, her voice heavy with defeat. “But it doesn’t matter to them. It never has.”

“You’re the pride of the clan, Thalia,” Therion said, his voice thick with frustration and disbelief. “You’ve done everything they’ve asked of you—more than anyone else would have. So why do they think they can control you like this? Like you’re just…” He struggled to find the words, his anger threatening to boil over. “Like you’re just a thing for them to decide over?”

Thalia let out a bitter laugh, wiping the tears away from her face again. “Because that’s exactly what they think I am,” she said, her voice raw with bitterness. “I’m the first mage, Therion. To them, that means I belong to the clan. My life, my choices—it’s all for them, not for me. I’m not me anymore. I’m just their mage.”

“That’s nonsense,” Therion shot back, his voice sharp as he gripped her shoulders again. “You’re more than that. You’re Thalia—you’re my sister, our parents’ daughter, a person with her own life. They don’t get to take that away from you just because they think it’s ‘best for the clan.’”

His words hung in the air, heavy with truth, but the fire in his tone couldn’t quite chase away the weight of Thalia’s despair. She looked at him, her eyes glistening with fresh tears, but this time they weren’t just from anger—they were from the ache of longing, of wanting his words to be true.

Therion tilted his head, his expression softening slightly as he asked, “What about Silas? How does he feel about all this?”

Thalia hesitated, her fingers twisting the edge of her sleeve. “I… I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “He didn’t really get a chance to speak after Deshanna told us. I was so angry, I didn’t give him the chance.” She glanced away, guilt flickering across her face. “But I did say some hurtful things to him.”

Therion frowned, leaning in slightly. “What kind of things?”

Thalia swallowed hard, her voice trembling with regret as she repeated, “I told him I don’t like him in that way… that I never have and never will.” She looked down, her hands clenched in her lap. “It wasn’t fair to him. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded, but I was so mad, I just… I took it out on him.”

Therion raised an eyebrow, a faint chuckle escaping his lips despite the seriousness of the conversation. “Poor Silas,” he said, shaking his head with a small grin. “That must’ve stung.”

Thalia shot him a sharp look. “You think this is funny?”

“No, no,” Therion said quickly, holding up his hands. “It’s not funny. I feel bad for the guy. But Thalia…” His grin returned, a little sly this time. “You do realize Silas has had a crush on you since the day you met, right?”

Thalia blinked, her anger momentarily replaced with stunned disbelief. “What?” she said, her tone a mix of confusion and exasperation.

Therion laughed lightly, leaning back against the tree trunk beside her. “Oh, come on. It’s obvious. The way he blushes every time you talk to him, how he tries way too hard when you’re around—it’s been painfully clear for a while now. And you, as usual, are completely oblivious.”

Thalia stared at him, her face a mixture of incredulity and frustration. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” Therion said with a grin, crossing his arms. “Poor guy’s been mooning over you for ages, and now they drop this on him?”

Thalia groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Great. Just great. I probably crushed him even more with what I said.”

Therion’s grin widened mischievously as he added, “You should’ve seen him during your vallaslin ceremony. When you were wearing those robes? I thought he was going to explode right there in front of everyone.”

Thalia lowered her hands, her face burning as she stared at him, mortified. “Therion, I swear to the gods—”

“What?” Therion teased, leaning away as though to dodge an incoming punch. “I’m just saying. The poor guy didn’t know where to look, and it was hilarious. I almost felt bad for him. Almost.”

Thalia groaned again, pressing her hands to her face. “This just keeps getting worse.”

Therion softened, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. “Hey, it’s not your fault. You didn’t ask for any of this. But maybe… talk to him. Clear the air. If nothing else, he deserves to know where you stand—and so do you.”

Thalia sighed deeply, her hands falling away from her face as she shook her head. “I wouldn’t even know what to say to him, Therion. ‘Sorry the elders are forcing us together and I crushed your feelings in the process’? That’s not exactly going to make things better.”

Therion leaned back against the tree, his grin fading into something softer but still edged with playfulness. “You’re overthinking it. Silas isn’t going to expect some grand speech. Just be honest with him. Tell him how you feel—not what you think the clan wants, or what Deshanna expects, but you.”

Thalia hesitated, her brow furrowing as she mulled over his words. “I don’t even know how I feel, Therion. I mean, Silas is… fine, I guess. He’s kind and he’s smart, and I know he’s good at what he does, but…” She trailed off, searching for the right words. “I just don’t see him like that.”

Therion shrugged, his grin returning with a mischievous glint. “Then don’t. Who says you have to figure it out right now? If you’re not into him, you’re not into him. No harm in that.”

Thalia looked at him, frustration and uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “So what am I supposed to do? Just ignore him and hope this all blows over?”

“No,” Therion said, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees. “Do nothing.”

Thalia blinked, confusion crossing her face. “What?”

“Do nothing,” Therion repeated, his grin widening. “Stop following their stupid routine. Stop running yourself ragged trying to be the perfect first mage. If you want to talk to Silas, do it because you want to—not because Deshanna or the elders think you should. And if you don’t, then don’t. Just do whatever the hell you want to do for once.”

Thalia stared at him, her lips parting as if to argue, but then she stopped. The idea seemed so simple, yet so foreign. “You really think that’ll work?”

Therion shrugged casually. “Who cares if it works? It’s not about them, Thalia. It’s about you. You’ve spent your whole life doing what everyone else wants. Maybe it’s time you figure out what you want.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their conversation hanging in the cool forest air. The only sounds were the rustling of leaves above them and the occasional distant chirp of birds. Thalia stared at her hands, her fingers tracing the faint patterns of her vallaslin as she tried to absorb everything Therion had said.

Finally, Therion reached behind him and untied the staff from his quiver. He held it out to her, his expression soft and sincere. “Here,” he said, his tone quiet but firm. “Take it.”

Thalia glanced at the staff, then back at him, hesitating. “Therion, I…”

“Not because you’re the first mage,” he interrupted gently, his gaze steady. “Not because the clan expects you to carry it, or because Deshanna says it’s your responsibility.” He pressed the staff toward her a little more. “Take it because you’re Thalia. Our parents’ daughter. My sister. And the strongest, most stubborn person I know.”

Her throat tightened, her fingers hovering over the staff.

His eyes softened, a quiet pride in his voice as he continued, “I’ve watched you grow into someone fierce, someone strong, someone who carries more than anyone should ever have to. And you’ve done it with a grace that most people could only hope for.”

Thalia’s breath caught as she reached out for the staff. Her fingers brushed the worn wood, the weight of his words settling over her.

“You’re more than they’ll ever see,” Therion added, his voice quieter now. “More than their rules or their plans. You’re you. And that’s what matters.”

She stared down at the staff, her fingers tracing the familiar carvings, the pride in his words filling a hollow space she hadn’t realized was there. For the first time since the confrontation with Deshanna, she felt a sense of grounding. She looked up at Therion, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Therion nodded, his gaze steady and full of quiet admiration. “You don’t need to thank me. Just don’t forget who you are, Thalia. You’re more than enough. Always have been.”

Therion reached around her, pulling her close once more. He leaned in and pressed a familial kiss to her temple, lingering for a moment before closing the hug tightly. “I love you, Thalia,” he said softly, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “No matter what happens, I’ve always got your back. Always.”

Thalia’s arms wrapped around him, holding him just as tightly. Her voice was quiet, but full of sincerity as she replied, “I love you too, Therion. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Therion pulled back gently, his hands resting briefly on her shoulders as he studied her face. “Do you want to come back to camp?” he asked softly, his tone careful and understanding. “Or would you rather stay here for a bit longer? I can head back and grab you some food if you want. You don’t have to come back until you’re ready—even if that means waiting until night.”

Thalia looked down at the staff in her hands, her fingers tightening around the smooth wood. She considered his offer, the quiet sanctuary of the charm tree soothing her frayed emotions. “I think…” she began, her voice hesitant. “I think I’d like to stay here for a little while longer. Just to clear my head.”

Therion nodded, his expression kind. “All right. I’ll bring you something to eat. Take your time. No one’s going to rush you.”

Thalia gave him a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Therion. For everything.”

He grinned, the familiar warmth of his presence steadying her. “Always,” he said simply, before standing and adjusting his quiver. He gave her one last reassuring look before heading back toward the camp, leaving her alone with the tree and her thoughts.

-

Therion strode into the camp, his steps purposeful but heavy with simmering anger. Around him, the clan buzzed with activity, preparing for the shared dinner. The scent of roasting meat and spiced stews filled the air, but it did little to soothe his frayed emotions. His brows furrowed, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he headed toward the tent that stored their food.

Inside, he grabbed a satchel and began packing it with care. He selected a loaf of bread, a handful of berries, and some dried meat, tucking them neatly inside. His movements were sharp, his frustration evident in the way he tied the satchel tightly. Slinging it over his shoulder, he turned to leave the camp again, his mind set on returning to Thalia.

“Therion,” a calm voice called behind him. He froze, his shoulders stiffening as he recognized the tone. Turning slowly, he saw Deshanna approaching him. Her posture was relaxed, but her expression carried a trace of worry that only fuelled his frustration further.

“Can we speak for a moment?” she asked, her voice gentle but firm.

Therion tightened his grip on the satchel’s strap, his jaw clenching before he answered. “Sure. What do you want?” His tone was measured, but the sharpness in his words was unmistakable.

Deshanna stopped a few paces away, tilting her head slightly as she studied him. “Do you know where Thalia is?”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Why?” he asked, his voice guarded.

Deshanna’s expression softened, though her worry was still evident. “There’s more I need to discuss with her. Something important. She didn’t give me a chance to finish before she ran off.”

Therion’s lips pressed into a thin line, his frustration bubbling closer to the surface. “More to discuss?” he repeated, his tone sharp enough to cut. “Like what? Another decision made without her? Another expectation she didn’t ask for?”

Deshanna sighed, her gaze steady but calm. “No,” she replied evenly. “It’s something she deserves to hear—something I owe her. But I need to speak with her directly. Do you know where she is?”

Therion stared at her for a moment, his emotions warring between defiance and caution. “She’s clearing her head,” he said finally, his voice firm but vague. “She doesn’t need more lectures right now.”

“It’s not a lecture,” Deshanna said, her voice softening further. “It’s an explanation. One she’s owed.”

Therion’s fingers flexed on the satchel strap, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. “If she wants to hear it, she’ll come back,” he said shortly. “But right now, she doesn’t need you cornering her.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and began walking away, his pace quickening as he headed toward the forest again. Deshanna watched him leave, her expression pensive as her worry deepened.

-

Therion and Thalia moved quietly through the darkened camp, the stars above casting faint light over the tents. The air was crisp with the chill of the night, and their breaths puffed visibly as they whispered to each other. Most of the clan had already gone to sleep, the faint flicker of a few lanterns marking where scouts kept watch. Therion’s sharp eyes scanned the area, and he smirked as he gestured for Thalia to follow him through a less-traveled path, keeping low and out of sight.

“You’d think they’d keep better track of the first mage,” Therion joked softly, glancing over his shoulder as they passed the edge of the hunters’ tents. “Too easy.”

Thalia rolled her eyes, her voice equally low but tinged with exhaustion. “They’re not expecting me to sneak back in like a rebellious teenager, Therion.”

“Well, they should, because you are one,” he quipped with a grin, leading her toward her tent. Once they were safely inside, Therion sat cross-legged on the ground, pulling the empty satchel of food from his shoulder and setting it down. “All right,” he said, his tone quieter now. “So what’s the plan?”

She sighed, sitting down heavily on her cot and letting her staff lean against the tent wall. “I just want to rest,” she admitted, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders. “I’m tired, Therion. I’ve been tired for a long time. If I’m not going to follow their ridiculous routine, then I’m just going to sleep. For once.”

Therion nodded thoughtfully, his grin softening into a more serious expression. “You deserve that,” he said quietly. Then his grin returned, sly and mischievous. “But what if we make them think you never came back? Keep ‘em guessing.”

Thalia arched an eyebrow. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

He leaned forward, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I’ll spread a few tracks around the forest tomorrow morning. Make it look like you’re still wandering out there. The scouts won’t even question it—they’ll just assume you’re off sulking.”

Thalia considered it for a moment, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips. “You really think you can pull that off?”

“Absolutely,” he said confidently. “I’ve been outsmarting these people since I was ten. You focus on resting. Let me handle the rest.”

She chuckled softly, shaking her head.

He stood, brushing dirt off his knees. “Now, you stay hidden in here. If anyone asks, you’re still out there. Let them stew.”

Thalia nodded, her smirk fading into a small, genuine smile. “Thanks, Therion. For everything.”

He grinned and ruffled her hair before heading to the tent flap. “Get some sleep, Thalia. I’ll take care of the rest.” With that, he slipped out into the cold night, the faint sound of his footsteps disappearing into the quiet camp.

-

Therion woke before dawn, slipping out of his tent with practiced stealth. The chill of the morning air nipped at his skin as he made his way into the forest. With careful attention to detail, he planted tracks that mimicked Thalia’s movements—broken twigs, footprints in soft patches of dirt, and subtle disturbances in the underbrush. He led the trail in a wide loop, ensuring that anyone who followed would find themselves going in frustrating circles.

Satisfied with his work, he returned to camp just as the first light of day crept over the horizon. The camp was slowly stirring, people moving about to start their routines. Therion kept his expression relaxed as he made his way toward the hunters’ tent. But as he approached, Deshanna’s voice called out to him.

“Therion,” she said, her tone calm but edged with authority. “Where is Thalia?”

Therion turned, feigning an innocent expression. “Still out in the forest,” he said with a casual shrug. “I don’t know where she went.”

Deshanna’s eyes narrowed slightly, her calm demeanor unwavering but her suspicion evident. “You seem awfully relaxed for someone who doesn’t know where his sister is.”

Therion’s grin widened slightly. “What can I say? She’s resourceful. I’m sure she’s fine.” He gave a quick nod before adding, “I’d love to chat, Deshanna, but I’ve got to do what I do best—hunt.” Without waiting for her reply, he turned and strode toward the hunting tents.

Deshanna watched him go, her gaze thoughtful but tinged with frustration. She knew he was hiding something, but Therion was notoriously difficult to pin down when he didn’t want to be.

As the day drew on, Therion was sorting through his gear with the other hunters, adjusting his quiver and checking his bowstring, when Silas approached him. He looked flustered, his staff clutched tightly in one hand.

“Therion,” Silas began, his tone edged with worry, “have you seen Thalia? She’s late for a lecture with Deshanna.”

Therion glanced up, his expression calm and unreadable. “Same thing I told Deshanna,” he said easily. “She’s off in the forest. No idea where.”

Silas frowned, clearly unsatisfied with the answer. “You’re her brother. You have to know something.”

Therion slung his bow over his shoulder and leaned casually against the table. “She’s clearing her head,” he said, his voice steady. “That’s all you need to know.”

Silas opened his mouth to press further, but Therion cut him off. “What about you, Silas?” he asked, his tone shifting to something quieter, more probing. “How are you feeling about all of this?”

Silas blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “What do you mean?”

Therion raised an eyebrow. “You know exactly what I mean. The whole pairing thing. Having it thrown on you out of nowhere. Doesn’t exactly seem like something you’re thrilled about.”

Silas hesitated, his grip on his staff tightening slightly. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “It’s a lot to take in. I didn’t expect it, and I’m not sure how to feel about it.”

Therion tilted his head, his expression softening but growing more serious. “That’s fair,” he said, crossing his arms. “But let me ask you something, Silas. And I want a real answer—not some polite, careful response.”

Silas blinked, caught off guard by the shift in Therion’s tone. “What is it?”

Therion leaned in slightly, his gaze sharpening. “How do you really feel about Thalia? And I don’t mean as your first mage or your study partner. I mean her. What are your feelings for my sister?”

Silas froze, his mouth opening and closing as if he were searching for the right words. His face flushed a deep red, and his grip on his staff tightened further. “I… I mean, I—what?” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly.

Therion raised an eyebrow, his expression calm but firm. “Take your time,” he said evenly. “But I’m asking as her brother. I need to know what your intentions are.”

Silas swallowed hard, his blush deepening as he struggled to form a coherent sentence. “I… I don’t know if it’s… I mean, yes, I—I like her,” he finally admitted, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ve liked her since I moved here. She’s… she’s incredible.”

Therion’s gaze didn’t waver, though he gave a small nod for Silas to continue. Silas took a shaky breath, his voice quiet but growing steadier as he went on. “She’s brilliant. The way she thinks, the way she fights—she’s so determined and strong, but she’s kind, too. She cares about everyone, even when she’s frustrated or angry. She doesn’t give up, no matter what’s thrown at her. And she’s… she’s beautiful.”

His voice faltered for a moment, but then, as if a dam had broken, the rest of his thoughts spilled out in a rush. “Her hair, her face, her eyes—they’re so bright, even when she’s glaring at me. Her vallaslin is stunning, the way it frames her features, and the way she carries herself—it’s like she knows she’s unstoppable. And her arms, the way she holds her staff, her movements, her—” He stopped abruptly, his face flaming as he realized what he’d just said.

He stared at Therion, wide-eyed and mortified. “I—I mean, not that I—uh…” Silas stammered, his words a tangled mess as he tried to backtrack. “I didn’t mean—well, I did mean—uh, but not like—oh, Creators, I just said all of that to her brother.”

Therion stood there, his expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, slowly, his lips curved into a faint smile—not teasing or mocking, but something almost approving. “You’re honest,” he chuckled. “That’s good. She deserves honesty.”

Silas blinked, his embarrassment still vivid on his face, but Therion’s reaction caught him off guard. “You’re… not mad?”

Therion shook his head, his tone calm but firm. “No, Silas. I’m not mad. But I needed to hear it from you—what you feel for her, and why. Because if you ever hurt her, whether by accident or not…” He let the words hang in the air, his meaning clear.

Silas nodded quickly, his posture stiff. “I—I wouldn’t. I could never…”

Therion studied him for a moment longer, then clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Good. Now get back to whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing. And maybe think about talking to her yourself one day. She deserves to know what’s in your head—even if it’s a mess.”

Silas nodded again, still flustered but visibly relieved, and hurried off. As Silas turned to walk away, still visibly flustered from their conversation, Therion called out after him, his tone steady but carrying a hint of authority. “Silas!”

Silas stopped abruptly, glancing over his shoulder, his cheeks still tinged red. “Yes?” he asked, his voice slightly wary, unsure if Therion had more to say about the earlier topic.

Therion gestured toward the group of hunters gathering nearby, waiting for him to lead the expedition. “Tell Deshanna that the hunting party will be keeping an eye out for Thalia while we’re out there. Just so she knows we’re looking for her.”

Silas blinked, his expression shifting from embarrassment to faint confusion. “Looking for her? But… you said she’s clearing her head.”

Therion nodded, his tone measured. “She is. Just tell Deshanna that we’re doing our part to keep an eye out, in case she’s worried.”

Silas hesitated, then gave a quick nod. “I’ll let her know.”

“Good,” Therion said with a slight grin. “Now get going before Deshanna starts thinking you’re hiding something.”

Silas turned and hurried off, his steps quicker as he processed both the strange request and their earlier conversation. Therion watched him go, shaking his head slightly before turning back to his hunters, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. Let them all stew for a bit longer, he thought, adjusting his quiver and preparing to lead the group into the forest.

-

As the hunting party returned to camp, their haul of game slung over shoulders and strung on a stick carried between two, Therion’s sharp eyes immediately caught sight of Deshanna standing at the edge of the camp. Her stance was stiff, her frustration evident in the way her arms clasped behind he back. She spotted him instantly and called out, her voice firm and unwavering, “Therion, a word.”

Therion sighed, adjusting the strap of his quiver as he walked over. He could feel the eyes of the clan on them, curiosity buzzing in the air. He came to a stop in front of her, his posture relaxed though his mind raced. “Keeper,” he greeted casually, brushing off the tension.

Deshanna wasted no time. “Did you find her?”

Therion shook his head, exhaling a little too quickly. “No, but we found her tracks—she’s fine. Looks like she’s just keeping to herself for now.”

Deshanna’s lips pressed into a thin line, her nod slow but unconvinced. “I see,” she said, though her voice betrayed her frustration. She looked at the game the hunters were carrying for a brief moment before turning her attention back to him. Then, without preamble, she asked again, her voice sharper now, “Where is she, Therion? Don’t lie to me. I know you know.”

Therion’s heart skipped a beat, but his face remained neutral. “I told you,” he said, his tone steady but cautious. “She’s in the forest. That’s all I know.”

Deshanna’s eyes narrowed, her sharp gaze studying him. “Then you won’t mind,” she said slowly, “if I take a look in your tent.”

Therion stiffened, a flicker of alarm crossing his face before he could stop it. “Why would she be in the tent?” he asked, feigning confusion. He stepped slightly in her path, attempting to deflect her attention. “She’s probably deeper in the forest, Keeper. I can—”

Deshanna didn’t wait for him to finish. She pushed past him, her determination cutting through his protests. “Move aside, Therion.”

“Deshanna, wait,” Therion said, his voice rising slightly as he tried to grab her attention. “There’s no need to—”

But Deshanna was already striding toward Thalia’s tent, her jaw set. Therion followed, his mind scrambling for a way to stop her, but it was too late. Deshanna reached the tent and threw open the flap.

There, sitting peacefully inside, was Thalia. She was cross-legged on the floor, carving a small totem from a piece of wood. Her focus was entirely on her work, her expression calm and serene, a stark contrast to the storm brewing outside her tent.

Deshanna’s anger surged instantly. “Thalia Lavellan!” she barked, stepping into the tent and grabbing Thalia’s wrist with one hand. Before Thalia could protest, Deshanna reached back and caught Therion’s ear in a firm grip with her other hand.

“Both of you,” Deshanna growled, her voice low but filled with authority. “To the centre of the camp. Now.”

“Deshanna—” Therion started, wincing as her grip on his ear tightened.

“Not. A. Word,” Deshanna snapped, dragging them both out of the tent and into the open, her frustration radiating off her in waves. The entire camp stirred at the sight of the Keeper marching through the clearing with the siblings in tow. Whispers broke out among the clan as they reached the central fire, the tension palpable.

Deshanna released their hands and glared at both of them, her eyes flashing with barely contained anger. “Explain yourselves,” she demanded, her voice ringing out across the camp. “Now.”

Thalia stumbled over her words, the sudden attention and Deshanna’s unrelenting glare scattering her thoughts. “I… I just needed time to think!” she blurted out, her voice shaking slightly.

Therion stepped in, his tone quick and defensive. “She’s been under a lot of pressure lately—she just needed space, Deshanna. It’s not like she was running away or anything.”

Deshanna’s eyes narrowed, her gaze cutting into him like a blade. “Therion,” she said sharply, “you are not telling me the truth. Stop shielding her and explain yourselves properly.”

The growing tension in her voice drew the attention of the camp. People began gathering around the central fire, curious and concerned whispers rippling through the crowd. Among them, Silas lingered at the edge of the group, his expression conflicted as he watched the scene unfold.

Thalia’s jaw tightened as she glanced around, the weight of so many eyes fueling the fire burning inside her. She suddenly stood, her movements sharp and deliberate, and her magic flared in response to her rage. Sparks of energy crackled faintly around her fingertips, the air around her almost shimmering with heat. “It’s not fair!” she shouted, her voice ringing out over the murmurs of the clan.

Deshanna’s expression darkened, her disappointment clear as she stepped forward. “Fair?” she echoed, her tone heavy with authority. “You speak of fairness while abandoning your duties? Disrupting your training? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to leave your role unfulfilled? I am disappointed in you, Thalia. You’ve disrespected your position and the People.”

Thalia’s hands clenched into fists, the crackling magic intensifying as she shouted back, “You mean your expectations, Deshanna! You don’t care what I want. You never have! You’ve decided everything for me—my training, my future, my life. And now this? Pairing me off like I don’t even get a choice?”

The camp fell silent, the tension thick as Deshanna’s jaw tightened. Her voice, cold and unwavering, cut through the stillness. “Your role is not a burden, Thalia. It is a privilege. You were chosen for your strength, your potential. The pairing is not an insult; it is what is best for the clan. For all of us.”

Thalia’s voice broke, her anger boiling over. “It’s not best for me! You’re asking me to live a life that isn’t even mine to begin with. You make the decisions, and I’m just supposed to smile and go along with it? I’ve had no say in anything!”

Deshanna’s expression softened for a fleeting moment before she straightened again, her tone firm. “The pairing will not happen until both of you are of proper age. This is not something being forced upon you tomorrow, Thalia. It is a partnership meant to grow over time. You will have the opportunity to learn about each other, to build trust, to understand the bond. But whether you like it or not, it will happen.”

The finality of Deshanna’s words struck like a blow. Thalia’s magic flared violently, and for a moment, it seemed as though she might lash out. But instead, she let out a sharp, ragged breath, turning her burning gaze away from Deshanna.

Chapter Text

The moonlight filtered through the dense forest canopy, casting faint shadows as Thalia and Therion moved carefully through the underbrush. Every step was deliberate, every rustle avoided, their movements an unspoken dance of precision. This wasn’t a mission they had chosen—it was a punishment. Their failed attempt to disrupt Thalia’s first mage duties had earned them the Keeper’s wrath, and now they were sent on a task that carried real risk. The weight of the clan’s disappointment and the danger ahead pressed heavily on them both.

Therion, slightly ahead, turned back and gave her a quick gesture to stop. They crouched low, their eyes scanning the faint glow of the human settlement visible through the trees. His expression betrayed a flicker of excitement despite the seriousness of the mission. He thrived on moments like this, the thrill of danger sparking in his eyes, but there was caution in his movements too. Thalia, on the other hand, felt her nerves tightening with every step. She kept her breathing shallow, her heart pounding as distant voices from the village floated toward them. This wasn’t just about punishment—it was about survival. The clan needed supplies to weather the coming winter, and failure wasn’t an option.

Therion’s confidence had always been steadying for her, but tonight she found it harder to share his enthusiasm. She clutched her staff tightly, her fingers brushing the carved wood as if to ground herself. She hadn’t wanted this role. Spying, stealing—these weren’t the responsibilities she hadn’t trained for as first mage. But when Deshanna had announced their punishment, Therion had leapt at the chance to prove himself, to make up for their defiance, and Thalia was forced to go along. Now, as she crouched in the shadows, the distant glow of the village lights filling her vision, unease settled firmly in her chest. This wasn’t just a punishment—it was a test. One she wasn’t sure she wanted to pass.

Their mission was clear: gather knowledge, make notes of supplies—whatever they could find to help the clan prepare for the winter. The village was modest, quiet, with torchlight flickering as guards patrolled. Baskets of grain and tools sat outside homes, and clothes hung between buildings, swaying gently in the night breeze. Despite its simplicity, this settlement was important to the clan’s survival. Thalia felt the weight of responsibility pressing on her, yet the unease gnawing at her heart refused to fade.

Therion had his bow ready, an arrow nocked but not yet drawn, his movements precise as he scanned the settlement for any signs of danger. He had always been quick and sure, his instincts sharp, and tonight was no different. His fingers rested lightly on the string, poised to react to the slightest threat. Beside him, Thalia clutched her staff, the familiar weight of it in her hands brought her a small measure of comfort.

“We should head back,” Thalia whispered, her voice barely audible as she glanced at Therion, her grip tightening on the staff. “We’ve seen enough.”

But Therion shook his head, that familiar spark of mischief and determination flashing in his eyes. “Not yet. Let’s get a closer look. Make more notes.”

“Therion,” she warned, unease knotting in her stomach. Every instinct told her they were pushing their luck, but her brother’s impulsiveness was something even the weight of their roles couldn’t temper. “We shouldn’t—”

“We’ll be fine,” he interrupted with a grin, confidence radiating from him as he slipped away from their hiding spot without waiting for her to agree. His footsteps were light, barely a whisper against the forest floor, as he darted toward the edge of the town, bow still ready in his hand.

With a sigh, Thalia followed, her heart pounding in her chest. Her brother’s reckless streak had never changed, not even after everything they had endured. And yet, despite her concern, there was a part of her that trusted him deeply. After all they had been through together—the grief, the loss—she believed in him. He had always managed to pull them through.

They moved like shadows, slipping between the narrow streets of the village, keeping to the edges where the torchlight didn’t reach. Their eyes darted from side to side as they weaved between barrels and crates, staying low, scanning for anything useful.

Thalia whispered urgently, her voice tense as she glanced around the quiet village, “Therion, are we done yet? We’ve gathered enough information. We’ve made enough notes for when Deshanna and the hunters come back here. We were only meant to observe from afar.”

Therion, still brimming with eagerness, shook his head. His eyes gleamed with an idea, his mind already racing ahead. “There’s more. I saw some storage sheds deeper in the village. There could be something valuable in there, something they could take without anyone even noticing it’s gone.”

Thalia’s stomach twisted at the thought, but before she could protest, Therion darted away, moving swiftly between houses. He kept low, his lithe form blending with the shadows, slipping between the shadows like a phantom.

With a begrudging sigh, Thalia followed, her grip tightening on the staff. She didn’t like the idea of taking this risk, but she had to admit, his reasoning was sound. The clan was in desperate need of supplies, and any and all information they could acquire would help. Still, a knot of unease remained lodged in her chest as she tailed her brother, watching him move with the same reckless confidence she had both admired and feared her entire life.

They made it to one of the sheds Therion had spotted earlier, its worn wooden walls barely visible in the dim light. Therion crouched beneath the small, grimy window, signaling for Thalia to follow. He peered inside first, his eyes lighting up with satisfaction, then gestured for her to take a look.

Thalia hesitated before leaning forward, her breath fogging up the glass slightly as she pressed her face closer. Inside, she saw rows of hanging game—rabbits, deer, and larger cuts of worked meat, all neatly arranged. The sight of it made her stomach twist in hunger, her mouth watering despite her reservations about the entire plan.

Therion, catching her reaction, grinned. “See? It was worth it to come this far,” he whispered, his voice tinged with triumph. His eyes gleamed with that familiar confidence, the thrill of discovery in his gaze.

Thalia sighed, knowing they couldn’t afford to pass up this chance. She still didn’t like the risks they were taking, but it was hard to argue when the sight of so much food—enough to keep the clan going through the next difficult weeks—was right in front of them.

Thalia, feeling a little defeated by Therion’s unwavering confidence, sighed. “Fine, you were right to go this far,” she admitted, her voice low but resigned.

Therion chuckled softly, a playful glint in his eyes as he turned toward her. “See? And here you were, worrying for nothing. We’re fine,” he teased, his grin widening as he saw her roll her eyes at him.

“Maybe,” she muttered, crossing her arms, “but we’ve made good notes on the village now, and we should leave.”

Despite her words, she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. As much as Therion’s impulsiveness unnerved her, there was a certain comfort in his unshakable optimism. But even so, the knot of unease in her stomach hadn’t fully loosened.

As they turned to leave, it happened in an instant, too fast for either of them to react.

A hand shot out from the darkness, clamping onto Thalia’s arm with a grip like iron. She gasped, jerking back in surprise, but before she could cry out, a second figure darted past her like a shadow. Her heart leapt into her throat as she saw the blur of movement aimed at Therion.

“Therion—!” she managed to choke out, but the warning came too late.

The figure struck him with brutal precision, a heavy fist slamming into the side of his head with a sickening crack. The force of the blow sent him staggering sideways, his body colliding with the shed wall. His head struck the wooden planks with a dull, bone-jarring thud, and his body collapsed limply to the ground, his bow slipping from his fingers and landing in the dirt with an eerie finality.

“Therion!” Thalia screamed, panic surging through her veins like fire. She tried to summon her magic, her free hand trembling as flaming energy flickered at her fingertips, but before she could focus, a searing pain exploded at the back of her skull. The world spun violently, her vision tilting and blurring as she stumbled forward, her magic fading into nothingness. Her staff slipped from her grasp, clattering uselessly to the ground as her knees buckled.

Strong, rough hands grabbed her as she fell, yanking her upward like she weighed nothing. Her head lolled as she struggled weakly, barely aware of her surroundings as she was thrown over someone’s shoulder. The motion made her stomach churn, and the sounds of Therion’s fall—the sickening thud of his body, the faint clatter of his bow—echoed in her ears, twisting her panic into a suffocating knot of helplessness.

Thalia tried to fight, her hands twitching and feet kicking feebly, but the strength was draining from her fast. The pain at the back of her head roared like thunder, and her limbs felt like lead. The world around her dissolved into a whirl of shadow and pain before everything finally slipped into darkness.

-

Thalia woke with a searing headache, the pounding at the back of her skull blurring the edges of her vision. The cold, damp air in the small shed made her shiver, and the scent of sweat, alcohol and moist dirt filled her nose. Blinking through the haze of pain, she quickly realized her predicament-her arms were yanked behind her, her wrists and ankles bound tightly to the chair she sat on. The ropes dug into her skin painfully, cutting off her circulation. She instinctively tugged against them, but it was no use. The bindings were too tight.

Five men loomed around her, their rough faces cast in shadow by the dim light. They circled her slowly, like wolves toying with their prey, their eyes gleaming with malice and twisted amusement. Each of them wore a smug, predatory expression, as if they had already won whatever sick game they were playing.

One of them was lean with bony fingers that flexed and twitched as if eager to grab hold of her, his thin lips curling into a smirk. Another stood broad-shouldered and scruffy, his unkempt beard flecked with droplets of ale and his large hands hanging menacingly at his sides. A tall man with a hunched back lingered near the edge of the circle, his looming figure casting an uneven shadow across the walls, his gait unsteady from drinking but his grin sharp and unsettling. The youngest of the group, though no less dangerous, had a weathered face that hinted at a hard life, his eyes darting between her and the others with an unnerving mixture of hesitance and cruel curiosity. The last, a man with a knife on his belt, rested a hand casually on the hilt as if itching to draw it, his breath reeking of wine as he chuckled darkly. Their flushed faces glistened in the dim light, the stench of their intoxication filling the small shed as they closed in on her.

Thalia’s breath came in quick, shallow gasps. Her heart raced, but she fought to remain calm, forcing herself to think through the haze of pain and fear. She glanced around the small shed—bare walls with a single window, its glass fogged and dirty, letting in only a sliver of moonlight. A single lantern hung from a rusted hook in the corner, its weak flame flickering and casting unsteady shadows that danced across the room, making the oppressive space feel even smaller. A small wooden door, latched shut and locked. Above her, a roof latch was slightly ajar, allowing a faint draft and some light to filter through. Her mind raced to Therion. She couldn’t see him, couldn’t hear him. Where was he? Was he still alive?

The man with the hunched back stepped forward, leaning down to meet her at eye level. "Hello there darling." His voice was low and mocking, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "Are you a spy? Or just a thief trying to steal from us?" He reached out and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back roughly. "You're going to tell us why you're here... or we'll make you."

Thalia's jaw tightened. She wanted to scream, to fight back, but with her magic cut off from the bindings and her body restrained, all she had left was her will to resist.

“What were you doing in our town, knife-ear?” The bearded man sneered, leaning in close, his face inches from hers. The stench of alcohol clung to his breath, making Thalia’s stomach turn.

She glared at the two of them, her heart pounding in her chest, but she bit back any retort, keeping her mouth shut. She wouldn’t give them anything. The words they wanted from her stayed trapped behind her teeth, locked in defiance.

Her silence seemed to provoke them further. The hunched man seized her chin roughly, forcing her to look up into his cold, cruel eyes. “You better start talking, honey,” he growled, his grip tight as his fingers dug into her skin. His voice dripped with threat, each word heavy with malice.

Thalia clenched her jaw, her muscles aching from the tension, but she refused to break under his grip. She would never betray her people—no matter what they did to her.

The hunched man let out a frustrated growl, releasing her chin before backhanding her across the face. The force of the blow snapped her head to the side, pain exploding across her cheek. Thalia gasped, tasting the sharp tang of blood in her mouth as it welled up from a cut that formed inside her lip. Her vision blurred momentarily, the room spinning around her.

But even through the throbbing pain and the ringing in her ear, she refused to speak. Her resolve hardened as she gritted her teeth, holding back the instinct to cry out. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction. No matter how much they hurt her, they wouldn't break her.

The two men stepped back, irritation flashing across their faces as they cursed under their breath. The man with the knife, lean and composed, stepped forward with an unsettling calm. Slowly, he drew the blade from his belt, its edge catching the flicker of the lantern’s light. He crouched down to meet her gaze, his expression devoid of warmth. “Let’s try this again,” he said, his voice quiet but dripping with menace. “Why are you sneaking around our village? And who was the other elf with you?”

Thalia’s brows drew together in a fierce glare at the mention of Therion, defiance igniting in her chest like a flame. The taste of blood filled her mouth from the blow she’d taken earlier, metallic and bitter. She inhaled sharply, letting the heat of her fury guide her, and spat directly at the man’s face. The mixture of blood and spit struck his cheek, a vivid streak marring his skin.

The room fell still. The man froze, his eyes widening as if he couldn’t believe what she’d done. Slowly, his shock gave way to a dark, simmering rage. His lips pressed into a tight line as he wiped the blood from his face, smearing it across his shirt with an air of chilling calm. Without a word, he raised the knife, the blade catching the lantern’s glow.

He stepped forward with deliberate menace, his hand reaching out to seize her hair. He yanked her head back sharply, forcing her face upward as she winced but held her glare. The cold steel of the blade pressed against the corner of her lip, the pressure sending a chill through her skin. With terrifying precision, he dragged the blade along her face, cutting a line from her lip to her ear.

The searing pain erupted instantly, sharp and relentless as blood trickled down her skin. Thalia clenched her teeth, her breath hissing through them as the heat of the wound burned into her. Tears welled up in her eyes from the pain, but she wouldn't give them the satisfaction. She wouldn't give any of them what they wanted.

“Still nothing?” the man taunted, wiping her blood from the blade with a slow swipe into his sleeve. His lips curled into a smirk. “She’s a tough one.”

“Maybe too tough,” the bearded man muttered, circling behind Thalia. “Think there’s a Dalish camp nearby? Could be more of ‘em.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” the lean man chimed in, his voice thick with disdain. “Sneaky little bastards, always hiding in the shadows. She’s got that look, don’t she? Probably scouting for something.”

The hunched man, leaning against the wall, let his eyes roam over Thalia’s form, his smile shifting into something cruel. “Forget the camp,” he sneered. “Look at her. All lean and fit. They make ‘em pretty, don’t they?”

“Too pretty,” the bearded man added, stepping closer, his gaze lingering on her face. “Shame about that cut, though. Bet she’d look better without all that blood.”

A chorus of dark chuckles followed, their eyes raking over her with unsettling interest.

They stood all around her like predators, their cruel eyes appraising her as if she were nothing more than prey. "How old you think she is?" The young one asked with a smirk, though the answer didn't really seem to matter.

"Old enough," the man with the knife replied, nodding toward the markings on her face. "She's got the markings on her face, so she's a woman now according to their standards."

"Wonder what it'd be like," the lean one mused aloud, his eyes roaming over her, "to fuck an elf. Bet it's different from a human."

Two of them exchanged a glance and chuckled. "Oh, it is very different. We shared a city elf once," the hunched one said with a lecherous grin. "Best night of our lives. They’re smaller and the pussy is tighter... she was a real treat." The bearded man nodded in agreement, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Yeah, I'd love to get another chance at fucking an elf."

Thalia's heart raced, her breathing growing more ragged as their vile words washed over her. She tried to keep her fear in check, but her eyes widened with terror. She tugged at her bonds, but they held firm, biting into her wrists as the men continued to talk over her, completely indifferent to the panic she was barely able to hide.

The bearded man had circled behind her, the sound of his footsteps sending a fresh wave of dread through her. Suddenly, his rough hand grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back painfully. She gasped, her body going rigid. The lean man leaned in close, inhaling her hair and scalp deeply. "She smells good," he murmured with sickening satisfaction. "She’s smaller, too. Bet her pussy will feel even tighter than the last girl." His voice dripped with vile anticipation as he bent down again, his breath hot against her skin. Without warning, he licked her ear, causing her to flinch in disgust, but there was nowhere to escape.

The hunched man leaned close to her face, his lips curling into a sickening grin. "What do you say, little lady? Want to have some fun with us?" His breath reeked of alcohol, and the mocking tone in his voice sent a shiver down Thalia's spine.

Thalia glared at him, her eyes furrowed in a mixture of anger and fear, but she kept her mouth shut. There was nothing she could say to stop this, nothing she could do while bound to the chair. Her silence was her last defense, even as her heart pounded in her chest.

The hunched man grin widened. "I’ll take that as a yes," he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. Without hesitation, he grabbed her hair from the lean man, yanking her head forward to him. He leaned in, inhaling deeply, the same sick pleasure flashing across his face as he agreed with the other man. "You're right. She does smell good."

The hunched man gave a twisted grin as he turned to the others. “Let’s cut the ropes,” he ordered, his voice calm but laced with malice. “Get her onto the ground.”

Without hesitation, they all moved in, their rough hands quickly slicing through the ropes that bound Thalia to the chair. Before she could react, they grabbed at her, yanking her from the chair and forcing her to the dirt floor. She squirmed and fought them, her heart racing as panic consumed her, but they were larger and much stronger. Her small frame and strength was nothing compared to their overwhelming force. They pinned her down effortlessly, pressing her arms and legs into the cold earth, rendering her completely immobile.

She struggled in silence, her mind racing for a way out, but her body remained trapped beneath their hands. The air around her felt thick with dread, the smell of dirt and sweat clinging to her as the hunched man loomed over her.

“Feisty little thing, aren’t you?” he said with a chuckle, his eyes dark and predatory. He crouched down beside her, his grin widening as he looked her over. “I like it when they fight back. Makes it all the more fun.” His voice was low, dripping with the same sick pleasure that seemed to radiate from every man in the room.

Her breath caught in her throat as his hands started untying the straps of her shirt, exposing her torso to him. His gaze lingered on her bare skin, intense and filled with vile desire, sending shivers down her spine. Then his hands roughly pulled at her breast band, tugging it down to her waist, exposing her fully to the room. Drawing a low whistle and hushed hums from the others, their twisted amusement only heightening the oppressive weight of the moment.

Tear started to well up in her eyes.

The hunched mans eyes lingering over her form with twisted satisfaction. “Oh you’re a pretty one,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous purr. His gaze traced the markings that adorned her chest, a cruel smile curling at the edges of his lips. “Those markings… must mean something special to you.”

His fingers brushed against her skin, and Thalia shuddered, her stomach twisting in revulsion. He traced the markings slowly, almost mockingly, as if savouring the patterns carved into her flesh. “Such pretty designs,” he murmured, his tone dripping with cruelty. “Too bad they don’t mean a damn thing when you’re just another pathetic knife-ear bleeding in the dirt.” He leaned in closer, his breath reeking of alcohol and heat against her face. “Though I’ll admit, they add a certain charm. A nice touch, really.”

His hands moved to her breasts. His rough calloused fingers brushing over the tender skin as if savoring the moment, taking his time. Firmly squeezing her young form. There was a hunger in his touch. He hummed to the others "She is very firm." His voice was dripping with predatory tone, filled with twisted desire, a statement that made her blood go cold.

He pulled away, standing up, his eyes lingering on her with a sick smile for a moment longer before stepping aside. The space he left was filled quickly. The young one and the man with the knife had been holding her arms down, now moved forward. Still holding her arms down with one hand and with the other as they touched her, a touch that felt abhorrent, some light, teasing touches, others firm, rough and pinching her nipple, causing her to whimper. They explored her skin with hunger, the air thick.

The hunched man stepped back, his eyes sweeping over her body. He turned toward the others that held her legs, a silent command in his eyes as he looked towards them. His voice deep and hungry that carried across the room, "Pull down the trousers."

Without hesitation, their hands moved, their movements rough and deliberate. The lean man placed his hands at her hips, his fingers roughly hooking into the waistband of her trousers, while the bearded man had his hands on her thighs, holding her kicking legs still.

The two men worked in tandem, quickly pulling the fabric of her trousers and small clothes down, exposing her inch by inch. Her bare skin shivered in the cool air. They were deliberate, drawing out the moment as long as possible. As if there was a surprise waiting for them underneath.

As her trousers and small clothes slid past her knees and down to her ankles, her pelvis and legs now fully exposed to the room, the discarded garments lay crumpled off to the side, forgotten and mocking in their presence. Thalia’s body was fully bare now, vulnerable under their leering gazes, the cold, gritty dirt from the floor pressing into her skin, adding to her humiliation.

The hunched man, still standing, looked down at her with a hungry look. His eyes dark with intention. His fingers went to the waistband of his own trousers, his motions slow, deliberate, making sure everyone was aware of what he was about to do.

Thalia could feel her pulse quickening as she watched him, her whimpering increasing with every inch of skin he revealed. “No,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “No… please, no… stop…” The words came faster, her panic mounting as his gaze remained fixed on her, cold and unyielding, studying her like a predator sizing up its prey. The room felt smaller, the atmosphere taut as a bowstring, ready to snap at any moment. “Stop… please…” she pleaded, her voice cracking, the desperation in her tone hanging heavy in the air.

The hunched man chuckled darkly at her pleas, his grin widening as he pulled his shirt up. “Oh, now you’ve got something to say?” he mocked, his voice dripping with venomous amusement. “Should’ve used that mouth earlier. Maybe we’d have let you off easy.” He leaned over. “But it’s too late now, honey. You had your chance, and now we’re doing this. Whether you like it or not.”

As his trousers fell to his knees, exposing himself fully, his cock hard from the sight of her vulnerability and the crude fondling of her breasts, a twisted grin spread across his face. The lean man and the bearded man forced her legs apart with unrelenting strength despite her frantic struggles. Thalia’s breath came in shallow, panicked bursts, fear consuming her entirely. She fought with every ounce of strength she had, but their grip was unyielding, their combined power overwhelmed her.

The hunched man knelt down between her legs, his breath quick and shallow as his hands slid beneath her thighs, yanking her roughly onto his lap. Her hips were forced up, her back grinding against the dirt as she trashed against him, her struggles futile against his unyielding grip. “No! Stop!” Thalia cried out, her voice breaking with desperation. “Please, no, no, no!” Her pleas fell on deaf ears, her panic rising as she felt the heat of his cock pressing dangerously close to her core, a searing wave of terror burning through her body.

His eyes zeroed in on her, and a twisted grin spread across his face as he noticed that she was untouched and unmarked, ripe for their taking. “Never been split open before, I see,” he sneered, his tone dripping with predatory satisfaction. “Lucky us that we get to break you in.” The other men chuckled harshly, their voices a cacophony of vile anticipation. But beneath their laughter, there was an air of awe and excitement, a sickening sense of triumph at the prospect of claiming their part in destroying her innocence.

"She's been hiding this sweet little cunt for too long," the lean man spat, his words thick with depraved hunger. The bearded man sneered, his tone cold and mocking, “She’ll learn what it means to be broken right.” The man with the knife let out a low, sinister chuckle, his words sharp and cruel. Their taunts mingled with their laughter, echoing like poison in the suffocating room, their words cutting through her resolve like jagged blades.

One of the hunched mans hands moved to her core roughly, his thumb forcing its way between her folds without care, prodding and pressing as if staking his claim. The brutal motion sent a jolt through her, and his mocking laughter only grew louder as he relished her helplessness. Thalia froze, her breath hitching painfully as a wave of panic and revulsion surged through her. She squirmed harder, her body twisting desperately to escape, but their grip was iron, holding her in place as if she were nothing more than a trophy. "You'll scream for us soon enough," he growled, his voice thick with cruel anticipation. "We'll make sure you'll be broken properly."

The hunched man gripped her hips with a firm hold, his fingers digging cruelly into her flesh to keep her pinned in place. Thalia’s voice broke as she pleaded, her desperation spilling out in trembling gasps. “No, please, no—no, no, no,” she begged, her cries frantic and raw, her head shaking side to side as she tried to twist away from their grasp. Her breath hitched, each word thick with fear and disbelief. “Don’t do this—please, NO!—”

As she begged, he thrust his hardened cock into her, the motion brutal and unyielding. The sharp, violent intrusion tore a ragged gasp from her lips, forcing her sobs and pleads to break into gasping cries as her body jolted uncontrollably against the hard ground.

The searing pain hit her instantly, overwhelming and unbearable. It felt as though her body was being split apart, her flesh tearing under the unbearable stretch. The agony radiated from her core, raw and relentless, spreading like wildfire through her hips and stomach. Her vision blurred and darkened as tears streamed down her face, her trembling fingers clawing desperately at the dirt beneath her, grasping for any escape from the torment consuming her.

The hunched man groaned as he pushed into her, a cruel grin spreading across his face. "Fuck, you're tighter than I thought," he growled, his voice dripping with vile satisfaction. He looked down at her, his breath hot and foul against her. "Bet you've never felt anything like this before, huh honey? Feels good to be broken in, doesn't it?" His mocking laughter echoed cruelly as he thrust further into her, his movements slow and deliberate, relishing her helplessness. “Struggle all you want,” he sneered, his voice dripping with venomous amusement. “Soon enough, you’ll be crying for me to keep going.”

Thalia's body jolted violently with each thrust, her breath coming in ragged, broken gasps as the pain only worsened with every brutal movement. Her muscles clenched instinctively, trying to resist the intrusion, but it only seemed to spur him on, his grip tightening as he forced himself deeper.

The two men who had been holding her hands down continued to grope her, their rough fingers kneading the soft curves of her breasts with a mix of firmness and hunger. Their touch was hurried and deliberate, their hands exploring her skin with a vile eagerness that made her stomach churn.

The man with the knife leaned down into the crook of her neck, breathing her in before dragging his tongue slowly along her skin, leaving a wet, disgusting trail. The young one lowered his head further, his lips latching onto her nipple with a hungry desperation. He licked and sucked at her sensitive flesh with a feral intensity, his teeth grazing her skin as though he couldn't hold back his own depravity.

The hunched mans thrusts grew harder and faster, each slap of his body meeting hers echoing through the quiet shed, mingling with the guttural groans spilling from his lips. His breathing was ragged, his voice low and mocking as he sneered down at her trembling body. "Maker, you're so fucking tight," he groaned, his words dripping with both cruel satisfaction and depraved pleasure. "Didn't think you’d feel this good, but fuck, you're perfect."

He let out a loud, guttural moan, his hands gripping her tighter as he drove into her relentlessly. “You like it, don’t you?” he spat, his voice a sickening mixture of mockery and lust. “I can feel you squeezing me—don’t bother pretending you’re not enjoying this. So tight.” His words oozed with cruel satisfaction, each one cutting like a blade.

As if to emphasize his control, he pulled back slightly, leaning down and spitting onto her folds. The slickness allowed his thrusts to become wetter, deeper, and more punishing. He groaned in satisfaction at the change, his sneer widening. “There we go,” he jeered, his thrusts resuming with relentless force. “So much better—can’t have you all dry when you feel this good.”

Thalia’s fear finally erupted in a blood-curdling scream, loud and piercing, carrying beyond the walls of the shed as the overwhelming sensations of fear and pain consumed her. The man with the knife reacted swiftly, his hand shooting up from her breast to her face, gripping her cheeks with brutal force. His fingers dug into the cut on her cheek, sending a fresh jolt of pain through her as his palm muffled her cries. He tilted her head to the side, forcing her to meet his gaze, his eyes blazing with a cruel, fiery intensity.

The sting of his fingers pressing into her wound was sharp and agonising, but it was nothing compared to the unbearable pain radiating from her core, a torment that consumed her completely, leaving her trembling and powerless beneath them.

The hunched man never slowed, his pace remaining brutal and demanding, his body driving into hers relentlessly. Thalia's now muffled screams were now trapped under the weight of another’s palm, each thrust sending waves of pain coursing through her.

The hunched man groaned loudly, his moans filling the shed as he thrust harder and faster, his movements growing more frantic with each passing moment. "Maker, she’s unbelievable," he growled, his voice thick with depraved pleasure. "So tight, so perfect-I could do this all night."

He threw his head back briefly before glancing at the bearded man, a wicked grin twisting his face. "Feels so much better than that other elf we fucked," he sneered, his tone mocking and cruel. "This one's a fucking treasure."

"Let me at her!" The bearded man demanded, his tone sharp with impatience and dark hunger as he moved closer, practically shoving the hunched man aside.

The hunched man growled low in his throat, his hands gripping her hips even tighter as he thrust into her a few more times with desperate, violent force. His movements were erratic, driven by his unwillingness to stop, each brutal thrust dragging a guttural moan from his lips. "Fuck, I don't want to stop," he snarled, his voice raw with frustration and twisted pleasure. "She's too fucking good." His relentless thrusting caused fresh waves of agony to radiate through her, and the unmistakable warmth of blood mixing with the slickness between her legs. The sight of it only seemed to drive him further, his hips slamming into her with feral intensity as though he were trying to carve his claim into her.

“Come on!” the bearded man snapped, his tone sharp with impatience and desperate frustration. He shoved the hunched man hard on the shoulder, forcing him to pause mid-thrust. “Stop hogging her already,” he growled, his voice cracking slightly, a mix of anger and eagerness bleeding into his words. “It’s my turn!”

With a groan of begrudging defeat, the hunched man finally pulled himself out of her, his cock glistening, smeared with a mix of her blood, her slick and his spit. "Fine," he muttered, his voice laced with reluctant satisfaction as he moved back. “But don’t go wearing her out completely—I’m not done with her yet.” He took the bearded man’s place by her leg, his gaze lingering on the blood smeared across her core and thighs, his wicked grin deepening. "Looks like I broke her in just right," he sneered, gripping her leg with one hand while his other stroked himself lazily, spreading her fluids and blood along his shaft as he watched her with predatory satisfaction.

The bearded man took his place above her, his face flushed a deep red from drink and exertion, the stench of alcohol wafting off his sweat-soaked skin. His movements were erratic, driven by a frenzied hunger, his predatory gaze fixed on her folds like a starving beast. His breaths came in ragged, heavy pants, his intoxicated state amplifying the unhinged intensity in his eyes as he loomed over her, savouring her helplessness.

He fumbled with his belt, the sharp clinking echoing in the confined space, his breath heavy and uneven as he muttered under his breath. "Fucking hell, I can't wait to feel her," he growled, his voice filled with desperation. As his trousers dropped to his knees, his cock jutted forward, fully hardened and throbbing from the sight of her.

“Maker, watching him rip you open almost made me lose it,” he snarled, his tone dripping with vile anticipation. He knelt between her legs, gripping her thighs with bruising force as he yanked her roughly onto his lap. Leaning in close, his breath hot and foul against her face, he slurred, “I’m going to split you so wide, you’ll never forget what it feels like to be fucked.”

He straightened back up, his hands trembling slightly as he positioned himself, dragging the head of his cock against her raw folds as though savoring the contact.
"You smell so fucking good," he hissed through gritted teeth, his tone filled with animalistic need. His hands gripped her hips tighter as he pressed against her entrance, his voice growing darker. “You’re mine now, girl,” he growled, his voice low and cruel. “No one’s going to save you.”

With a desperate, frantic motion, he slammed into her without hesitation, forcing himself fully inside her with brutal urgency. Her muffled screams barely tore through the air as she was silenced, her body convulsing violently against the intrusion. The sharp, searing pain ripped through her as he stretched her beyond what her body could handle, tearing her further with his reckless, hungry thrusts. His groan was guttural, almost animalistic, as he buried himself deep, completely consumed by his own depraved need.

His hands dug into her, bruising and gripping her with a frantic intensity, his desperation spilling out in every erratic motion. "Fuck, this is the tightest little cunt I've ever had," he snarled, panting heavily as he looked down at where their bodies met, ignoring her muffled cries. “Thought you were safe, huh? Now look at you, getting fucked." His voice dripped with venom and cruel satisfaction, every word like a dagger.

The bearded man glanced up briefly at the hunched man, his breath hitching as he groaned. "She's so much better than you said," he muttered through gritted teeth, his tone almost envious. "So fucking tight, like she's squeezing me on purpose." A wicked grin spread across his face as he thrust harder, slamming into her with enough force to jolt her body.

His muttering grew more erratic as he moved faster, his breath coming in ragged pants. "Fuck, this cunt is so good," he groaned to himself, his tone thick with desperation. "I needed a slut like you to break in." His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming even more erratic and violent as he lost himself in the moment. His cruel laughter echoed through the shed, mingling with the sound of his frenzied movements and her muffled cries.

The men who held down her arms let their other hands roam roughly over her body, groping and squeezing with vile intent as they matched the frantic, punishing rhythm of the thrusts from the man between her legs. Their mouths were relentless, biting, sucking, and leaving bruising marks on her breasts and neck, their spit trailing down her skin like a disgusting claim of ownership. The stench of their alcohol-soaked breath clung to her, making her stomach turn as it mixed with the sickening heat of their faces pressed against her body.

The young man let his hand slid down her quivering body, fingers forcing their way between her folds, finding the sensitive spot hidden within. Without hesitation, he rubbed it aggressively, the coarse movement cruel and deliberate, sending a sick wave of heat rising through her against her will. Thalia screamed into the hand clamped over her mouth, her cries muffled and meaningless, her body betraying her in ways she couldn't control.

"Fuck, she’s so tight," the bearded man slurred, his voice ragged with desperation as he snapped his hips harder, slamming into her mercilessly. His grip tightened on her hips, his nails digging into her skin as his thrusts became more erratic, driven by his depraved hunger. "You feel that, honey?" he growled, leaning down slightly as his eyes fixated on her body. "Don't pretend you don't love it."

The young man chuckled darkly, his fingers moving faster. Taking a deep breath from licking and biting her breast. "She's dripping all over you," he jeered, his tone mocking and cruel. "She's fucking loving it. Aren't you, sweetheart? Go ahead, show us how much you want it."

The bearded man leaned over her more, his weight pressing heavily down on her as his hands moved from her thighs to brace himself on the ground either side of her waist. His thrusts became frenzied and punishing, each brutal slam forcing the air from her lungs and sending stars into her vision. His breath was hot and ragged, his voice laced with malice and dripping with depraved cruelty. "Fuck, you're squeezing me so good," he snarled, his tone thick with vile satisfaction. "Your tight little cunt was made for this cock. You're perfect, you've been waiting your whole life for this." His hands slid up off the ground to her waist, his fingers digging deep into her sides as he yanked her harder against him, forcing her body to match his violent rhythm.

Thalia's body betrayed her in the worst way, a sickening heat rising in her core that she didn't want, couldn't stop. The young man rubbing her sensitive spot never let up, his rough, calloused fingers moving faster, rubbing circles with brutal precision. "You feel that?" he jeered, his voice filled with mockery. "You love this. Just give in, sweetheart."

Each thrust from the bearded man, combined with the relentless assault on her core, driving her closer to the edge despite her desperate attempts to resist. Her muffled cries of despair only fueled their cruelty, the bearded man growling, "Fucking hell, you are going to come whether you want to or not."

The bearded man increased his pace, his thrusts turning savage as he felt her muscles clench against him, a sick grin spreading across his face. Each brutal movement was driven by his twisted need to force her body to respond, to make her writhe beneath him despite her muffled cries. His hands gripped her with bruising force, yanking her closer with every thrust, his fingers digging into her flesh as though he could brand her as his. His breath was hot and ragged, coming in sharp, guttural gasps as he growled, "You're gonna fucking give it to me, little lady. I'll make you come."

Looking down at her, he drooled as he whispered, his voice rough and dripping with cruelty. "I want to feel this tight little cunt squeeze me. Don't pretend you're not close-I can feel it. Fucking take it, you slut." His words dripped with venom as he thrust harder, his cock slamming into her deeper with every movement, hitting her cervix with bruising force. Her vision blurred from the relentless assault, her body arching involuntarily as his pace grew more frenzied. "You'll come for me like the filthy little whore you are." he snarled, his voice raw with depraved hunger.

Her body betrayed her completely, her breath coming in ragged gasps through her nose as she fought against the unwanted rise building inside her. Her fingers clenched tightly under the hands pinning her down, her muscles trembling as she felt herself losing the battle, his vile words, the relentless thrusts and the groping forcing her closer to the edge she desperately wanted to avoid.

There was no stopping it, no escape from their relentless assault. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her body trembling as he thrust deeper and harder, each brutal movement driving her closer to the breaking point. The young man never let up, his rough fingers circling her with cruel precision, his voice low and mocking as he coaxed her closer to the edge. "That's it, sweetheart,” he sneered, his tone dripping with vile satisfaction. "You're gonna come for us. Just give in, and let us have it. You know you want to." His fingers pressed harder, moving faster, taunting her with every touch.

The man with the knife clamped his hand down tighter, muffling her screams further as his fingers dug cruelly into the cut on her cheek. The sharp sting of pain mingled with the unwanted sensations coursing through her body, making her sob helplessly against his palm. "Stop squirming," he hissed, his lips curling into a wicked grin. His fingers pressed deeper into the wound, twisting slightly, eliciting another muffled cry that only made him laugh harder. "That's right, scream all you want-it only makes it sweeter."

Thalia's back arched sharply as the tension that had been coiling tighter and tighter inside her finally snapped. The overwhelming rush of release hit her all at once, her body convulsing as the wave of unwanted, painful pleasure tore through her. Her muscles clenched and quivered uncontrollably, her breath hitching in broken sobs as her body surrendered completely, consumed by the sensation she had fought so hard to deny. The bearded man groaned loudly, feeling her muscles convulsing and tighten around him. The young man man chuckled darkly, his fingers still working her, pushing her through the unwanted climax.

She gasped for air through her nose, her breaths shallow and ragged as she struggled to draw in enough to keep from suffocating, her mouth sealed by the crushing hand clamped over it. Her breath hitched violently as the unwanted climax tore through her, her body betraying her completely, pulsing in sync with the brutal rhythm the bearded man had forced upon her. Tears spilled freely from her eyes, streaking down her cheeks, mixing with the blood from the cut as her sobs choked in her throat, muffled and trapped beneath the unyielding grip. Her body convulsed uncontrollably, every shudder a mockery of her resistance, as the room filled with the vile sounds of their satisfaction.

The bearded man let out a guttural groan, his hips slamming into her with relentless force, his grip on her waist so tight his nails dug deep into her flesh, leaving angry red marks. He felt her muscles clench involuntarily around him, her unwanted climax sending a jolt of pleasure through him. "Fuck, that's it," he slurred, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. "Good little slut." His breath hitched as he laughed darkly, his eyes locked on her trembling body, writhing and shaking as her climax overtook her.

But he didn't stop. His pace quickened, his thrusts growing frantic and savage, slamming into her harder and deeper as he chased his own release. "I’m not done yet," he growled, his tone raw and animalistic. "I’m going to fill you up, little lady. You're gonna take all of me." His grip on her waist tightened even further, pulling her roughly against him with every thrust. "Fuck, I’m going to ruin this tight little cunt of yours," he spat, his voice laced with vile intensity as his breath came in ragged gasps. His movements became erratic, desperate, each brutal thrust driving her deeper into despair as his twisted satisfaction built to its peak.

The men holding her legs down tightened their grip, their fingers digging into her sore muscles to keep her firmly in place as they saw what was coming. The hunched man, still stroking himself with slow, deliberate motions, let out a low chuckle as he held her down. The bruising force of their grip only added to the ache in her body, every inch of her skin burning from their touch. The bearded man picked up his pace, his breath now coming in ragged pants, each thrust more erratic and frenzied than the last.

His fingers gripped her waist harder, pulling her body into him as his rhythm began to falter. She could feel his body tensing, the way his movements became more desperate, more uncontrolled. His dark, hungry eyes stayed fixed on her folds, watching the way her body betrayed her as he drove into her relentlessly. "Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, his voice thick with desperation. "So fucking good.
Maker, I can't-" He let out a strangled moan, his hips slamming against hers with brutal force. "I'm gonna fill you up, you slut," he growled, his breath hitching as his pace became frantic.

"Fuck, l'm coming!" he groaned, his voice breaking with desperation and vile excitement as his hips snapped into her one last, brutal time. His fingers dug into her waist hard enough to bruise, his grip unyielding as his entire body tensed and convulsed. "Take it, you slut," he snarled, panting heavily as his cock twitched violently inside her. "You feel that? Fucking take it all." His voice was frantic, raw with lust, as he lost himself completely in the overwhelming sensation.

Thalia screamed as loud as she could, the sound muffled against the hand clamped over her mouth, her body thrashing beneath him in a futile attempt to escape. Her muscles tensed and twisted, writhing uncontrollably, but the men holding her arms and legs only tightened their grip, keeping her pinned in place as they laughed cruelly.

She could feel the heat of his release as it surged into her, thick and endless, each pulse filling her deeper and deeper with his seed. The sickening warmth spread inside her, an inescapable reminder of her violation. His hips jerked erratically as he spilled into her, his breath hitching with each wave of release. "So fucking good," he muttered, his voice cracking with a mixture of triumph and depravity. "Taking it all like a good little whore."

The bearded man slowed his pace but didn't stop, his cock still buried deep inside her as he rode out the waves of his release. "Fuck," he groaned, his voice crude and dripping with vile satisfaction. “Gonna make sure every drop stays in you where it belongs.” His thrusts turned slow and deliberate, each movement forcing his seed deeper into her, his gaze fixed on her trembling, broken body with a sickening sense of pride.

Thalia’s vision blurred, the edges fading into darkness as her mind teetered on the edge of unconsciousness. Her body, battered and broken, had given up, shaking uncontrollably with the lingering fear and pain coursing through her. Every ounce of strength had drained from her, leaving her limp and powerless beneath them, her will to resist crushed under the weight of her torment.

No one would come to save her from this nightmare. The sounds of their voices, their laughter, their jeers, echoed endlessly in her ears, a cruel reminder of her isolation.

She was alone.

The bearded man pulled out of her with a grunt, the obscene sound of a slick pop echoing ass he pulled out from her. His breath came in ragged gasps as he sat back, his eyes lingering on her broken form with a twisted sense of satisfaction. He clumsily stood up, adjusting himself with a satisfied smirk. "She's all yours," he muttered to the lean man, his tone dripping with cruel amusement. "Tight as hell, and takes it like she was made for it." He turned toward the wall, pulling up his trousers and leaning back against it, crossing his arms lazily. "Don’t think we need to hold her down anymore," he added with a dark chuckle. "She's too fucked out to fight us now."

The lean man's eyes lit up with vile anticipation, a grin spreading across his face as he eagerly stepped forward. "Finally," he muttered, his tone thick with excitement.
He tossed his coat aside carelessly and gripped her thighs, his fingers pressing hard into her flesh. With a sharp tug at his belt, the clinking sound filled the shed as he loosened his trousers, pulling them down just enough to reveal his throbbing cock.
"I’ve never fucked an elf before," he growled, his gaze fixed on her trembling form. His eyes lingered on the seed and blood spilling out from her, and he let out a low, depraved chuckle. "You really did a number on her."

The bearded man, leaning casually against the wall, let out a dark laugh. "She's a good little thing." His grin widened as he crossed his arms over his chest, watching with twisted satisfaction.

Thalia didn't fight back-she couldn't anymore. Every ounce of strength had been drained from her, leaving her body limp and unresponsive. The men’s hands, still gripping her arms and legs tightly, began to loosen, though they didn’t release her completely. Their fingers hovered just above her skin, tense and ready to clamp down again at the slightest hint of resistance. Her body ached, her mind clouded, and all she could do was lie there, numb and defeated. She had nothing left to give, no more energy to struggle against the inevitable. Even though her instincts screamed at her to fight, her body refused to obey. The sheer weight of the terror she was enduring had crushed her spirit, leaving her paralyzed beneath them.

The lean man knelt between her legs, his form looming over her, his movements deliberate and precise as he took his place. His bony fingers slid beneath her thighs, their sharp edges pressing into her flesh as he dragged her pelvis roughly toward his crotch. His touch was cold and invasive, the skeletal feel of his hands only adding to the discomfort as he adjusted her limp body to suit his desires.

His breath came in slow, uneven huffs, his excitement barely contained as his sharp grip tightened, holding her firmly in place. "Look at you," he muttered darkly, his tone laced with cruel anticipation. "So small." His thin, wiry frame trembled slightly as he leaned closer, his bony hands running over her trembling skin, positioning her with a precision that made his actions all the more unsettling.

When he pushed his cock inside her, he did so with a guttural groan, his bony fingers digging cruelly into her hips as he pulled her flush against him. His cock sank into her slowly, stretching her with every deliberate inch, and his lean frame trembled as he adjusted to the overwhelming sensation. "Fuck," he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice thick with vile satisfaction. "Tighter than I ever fucking imagined." His breath hitched, and his hands tightened their grip, the sharp points of his fingers bruising her skin.

Each thrust was slow and deliberate at first, his wiry frame rocking against her as he savored the way her body reacted, her folds gripping him tightly. His head fell back briefly, a low moan escaping his lips as he gasped, "Fuck, she is perfect. You're perfect." He leaned forward, his eyes locked on the obscene sight of their bodies colliding. The way her folds stretched and pulled around him made his breath hitch with every thrust. "Look at you," he growled, his voice filled with cruel delight. "Fitting so well around me, like you were fucking made for it."

His pace grew frantic, his hips slamming into her harder as his need overtook him.
"Fuck, you're squeezing me," he muttered under his breath, his tone desperate and raw. "Maker, you feel so good-better than I ever fucking thought." His movements now more erratic now, the slap of flesh meeting flesh echoing through the room. His ragged breathing turned into growls of pleasure, his hands gripping her tighter as he chased his own release. His thin frame trembled as he lost himself in the rhythm, his movements driven by nothing but his own depraved hunger.

"I'm never fucking a human again," he groaned, his tone dripping with vile pleasure as his hips slammed against her with brutal force. His bony fingers clawed into her skin, leaving angry red marks as he dragged her limp body tighter against him. "This elf cunt is better than anything l've ever had," he snarled, his breath ragged, saliva pooling at the corner of his mouth as he stared down at the depraved act beneath him.

His eyes were glued to the sight of her folds stretched around him, the obscene way her body clung to him with every thrust. A string of drool fell from his lips as he leaned forward, his breathing turning into guttural grunts with each relentless slam of his hips. "Fuck, look at her," he growled, saliva dripping onto her bruised skin.

His pace grew erratic, his lean frame trembling as he lost control, consumed by the sight and sensation of taking her. "No human could ever feel this good-Maker, I'll never stop thinking about this tight little hole." His drooling mouth open as he groaned, consumed by his own vile pleasure, his sharp eyes locked on the collision of their bodies.

The man with the knife rose to his knees, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps as he looked over her. His eyes darted over her body, drinking in every curve, every inch, his need written across his face. "I can't wait anymore," he muttered, his voice trembling with barely restrained hunger.

He fumbled clumsily with the buttons of his trousers, his hands shaking as he shoved them down, exposing himself. His cock stood rigid, twitching with his pulse, and his gaze burned with an almost pathetic need. He reached for her hand with his, his grip rough but trembling.

"Fuck," he rasped, his voice cracking under the weight of his desperation. "I can't wait- I’m gonna use her hand." He guided her hand toward him, his fingers curling around hers, pressing her palm to his cock. His breath hitched, and a whimper escaped him as their hands moved together.

His hips bucked forward slightly, chasing the sensation. "Oh Fuck," he gasped, his voice shaky, breaking between breaths. "So soft-so fucking good."

The lean man's rhythm continued, the slap of bodies echoing through the room, but he seemed oblivious, lost entirely in his own frenzied need.

"Don't stop-don't fucking stop," the man with the knife begged, his voice high-pitched and raw with desperation. His hand trembled as he forced hers to move faster, his chest heaving with shallow, erratic breaths.

"Maker," he groaned, his head tilting back, a whine slipping past his lips. "I've never needed anything so bad... So fucking good!" His body shook with every stroke, his voice trembling as he teetered on the edge of control, his need consuming him entirely.

The lean man increased his pace, each movement becoming more frantic and desperate as he lost all semblance of control, his lean body trembling with the effort of holding back just enough to drag out his sick enjoyment. His bony fingers dug cruelly into her waist, his grip tightening as if to anchor himself to her as his breathing turned ragged and shallow. "Fuck... fuck..." he groaned over and over, his voice barely above a whisper, each word laced with twisted pleasure as he drove himself deeper with each thrust.

His hips snapped harder against her, his movements erratic, his thin frame shaking from the intensity coursing through him. "Maker, this is too fucking good," he hissed through gritted teeth, his breath hitching with every brutal collision of their bodies.
His eyes remained fixed on watching himself sink into her over and over again, completely consumed by the sight and sensation. "You're squeezing me so fucking tight," he muttered under his breath, his tone raw and desperate, his shudders betraying just how close he was to losing himself completely. "I can't...
Maker, I'm gonna fucking lose it," he panted, his body trembling with depraved anticipation.

The bearded man stood off to the side, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, watching with a twisted grin plastered across his face. His voice was low, almost a mutter, as if speaking to himself, but it dripped with vile satisfaction. "Fuck, look at her... all energy spent and still so tight."

His eyes roamed over Thalia's broken form, her body trembling slightly from the torment she endured. Straightening, he turned to the others with a predatory smirk, his voice louder now, filled with cruel amusement. "What do you think, boys?" he sneered, gesturing lazily toward her. "Should we keep her here? Make this our little fuck hole? Come back whenever we want, spread her legs, and fill her up again and again?" His tone grew more vile, the words laced with venomous glee. "She's so fucking tight, would be worth every second."

The lean man groaned loudly, his head tilting back as his hips drove harder against her body. "Yes," he growled, his voice thick with vile ecstasy. "Fuck, she's too good to pass up. Tight, warm, and perfect. We'd be idiots to let her go." His bony fingers dug into her waist, bruising her battered skin as he quickened his pace, his breath coming in ragged pants.

The others laughed darkly, their twisted amusement echoing in the shed. The bearded man still leaning against the wall, his arms crossed as a smirk spread across his face. "We could make this place even better," he said, his tone dripping with cruel delight. "Add a meat hook right here," he gestured toward a beam in the ceiling. "Hang her up by her wrists when we're done. Keep her ready for the next round."

The young man chuckled, his voice thick with mockery. "Oh yeah, hang her up, spread her out—let her know this is her new home. Maybe we'll bring in some ropes too, keep her nice and secure in here." His gaze lingered on her limp, broken form as he spat, "She'll learn to love it soon enough."

The hunched man snorted, his grin widening as he was still stroking himself, waiting to get another turn. "Why stop there? We could add a mattress, some whips. Hell, a few tools to make her more obedient-maybe a gag to make sure she doesn’t get too loud." His voice dripped with vile satisfaction as he added, "We'll keep her hanging right there, dripping and ready for whenever we feel like having some fun."

Their sick fantasies fed off one another, their laughter growing louder and harsher as they painted an even more depraved picture of the shed's future. The lean man groaned again, his body shuddering as his thrusts became erratic. "She's ours now," he snarled, his voice filled with finality. "And she'll know it. Every fucking day." Their jeers and mocking laughter filled the air, their twisted delight suffocating, as they continued to revel in their plans.

The atmosphere in the shed thickened with their vile agreement, a sick, oppressive heat suffocating the air as the men’s depraved grins widened. Their twisted fantasies of returning to use her again and again fed off one another, their eyes gleaming with sadistic anticipation. The room echoed with their cruel laughter and mocking taunts, mingling with the lewd, rhythmic sounds of flesh meeting flesh and the silent cries of their victim, who lay trembling and broken beneath them.

The bearded man, his breath heavy and uneven, straightened more, adjusting his trousers with a vile sneer. “I’ll be back,” he growled, his voice dripping with crude satisfaction. “I’m going to grab a meat hook from the other shed—give her something to hang from while she waits for us.” His twisted grin deepened as he continued, “as well get some rope and a gag too—can’t have her escaping or screaming. Wouldn’t want the fun to end too soon.”

He strode to the door with a dark chuckle, unhooking the latch and pulling it open. A gust of cool night air filtered in, momentarily relieving the stifling heat of the room. Glancing back at the others, he added with a smirk, “Don’t wear her out too much before I get back.” With that, he stepped outside, closing the door behind him. The sound of the lock clicking into place.

The lean man's words cut through the noise as he thrust harder, his body trembling with desperation. "Fuck, I'm so close," he snarled, his voice rough and dripping with lust. His bony fingers dragging her hips against him with each brutal thrust. "Gonna fill this filthy little cunt of yours," he spat, his breath hitching with every erratic movement. "Tight fucking elf-she'll be drip for hours after I'm done."

At her side, the man with the knife, neared his own release groaned deeply, his movements becoming frenzied as his hips bucked against her limp hand. His breath came in ragged gasps, his voice thick with cruel hunger. "Oh, fuck, she's gonna make me cum," he growled, his grip around his cock and her hand tightened painfully. "This little slut doesn't even need to try." He thrust harder against into her gentle hand, his body twitching as he hunched over, muttering vilely. "Fucking perfect." His laughter was dark and mocking, feeding off the cruelty of the moment as the other men jeered in approval. The sick tension in the room only grew heavier as they pushed themselves closer to their peaks, their vile satisfaction thick in the air.

The tension in the shed reached its sickening peak, the oppressive heat and depraved sounds suffocating as the moment hit its breaking point. The lean man slammed into her one final time, burying himself as deep as he could go, his body shaking violently as he finally lost control. "Fuck, yes," he groaned loudly, his voice raw and guttural as his seed spilled inside her. "Take it all, you fucking slut," he snarled, his fingers digging deep into her thighs and ass, bruising her skin as he clung to her like she was nothing more than his to ruin. "Fuck-"

At her side, the man with the knife let out a sharp grunt, his breath hitching as his hips bucked uncontrollably. His grip tightened cruelly around her limp hand, pulling her roughly as his release spilled out in hot, sticky streams across her chest and fingers. "Fuck," he growled, his voice trembling with vile satisfaction. "Fuck, that's it-you filthy little whore." He sneered, watching the mess he made on her body, his hand twitching as his climax shook through him.

Both men trembled violently as they reached their peaks, their groans and guttural noises filling the small shed. Their breaths came in heavy, ragged pants as they reveled in the depravity of the moment, their bodies shuddering in sync with their vile satisfaction.

The lean man leaned back slightly, pulling out of her with a guttural groan, the slick sound of withdrawal filling the air. His fingers dragged down her thighs as he steadied himself, his gaze locked on the obscene sight beneath him. He reached out with one hand, poking and stroking at her swollen, abused folds, watching with twisted satisfaction as his thick seed mixed with the bearded man’s release and the blood from the tears they had inflicted. “Look at that mess,” he sneered, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. “You’re nothing but a filthy little hole now, aren’t you?” He dragged his fingers lazily across her slick, trembling skin.

At her side, the man with the knife laughed darkly, his breath still ragged as he wiped his hand clean on her trembling body. His fingers smeared his release across her shoulder and arm carelessly, his touch rough and mocking. "Fucking perfect little toy," he sneered, his voice dripping with vile satisfaction.

The lean man took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he stood up and adjusted his trousers, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “Fuck, that was worth it,” he muttered, glancing at the others with a twisted grin. The man with the knife followed suit, pulling up his own trousers with a languid ease. “She’s a keeper,” he sneered, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. “Bet she thought all that screaming would make us stop.” They shared a low, vile chuckle, their satisfaction palpable as they exchanged glances, revelling in the aftermath of their depravity.

Meanwhile, the hunched man, who had been lingering near the edge, stoking himself with mounting impatience, stepped forward again with a twisted hunger in his eyes. “You two just had to go and ruin her, didn’t you?” he growled, his tone laced with irritation and desperation. “Couldn’t leave a little fight in her for me, could you?”

The moment the lean man moved away from her trembling body, the hunched man seized the opportunity, his breaths ragged as he positioned himself. Gripping her thighs with bruising force, he sneered down at her, his lips curling into a wicked grin. “Don’t think I’m letting this go, sweetheart,” he sneered, his voice crude and dripping with malice. “I’m going to fill you up just like they did.” His words were vile as he moved with cruel determination, his twisted need for release driving him to take what he felt he was owed.

The young man released her hand, no longer needing to keep her pinned, and sat up with a languid ease. He leaned back slightly, his posture casual but his gaze intent and predatory. He didn’t move, instead chose to watch, his eyes flickering with dark amusement as he waited, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation for his turn.

The hunched man positioned himself with a frenzied urgency, his cock driving into her as he braced himself on either side of her waist. His hips moved with desperate, erratic thrusts, his breath coming in ragged growls and guttural moans. “Fuck,” he groaned, his voice low and strained, “still so damn tight.” A twisted grin spread across his face as he thrust harder, his movements rough and frantic. “Thought we’d have loosened you up by now,” he sneered, the surprise in his tone laced with cruel amusement. His guttural moans deepened as he sought his release, savouring every vile moment of his dominance.

He continued his relentless thrusts, his movements growing increasingly erratic as he leaned down, his mouth latching onto her breast with cruel intent. “So firm,” he muttered, his voice low and depraved, before biting down hard enough to make her flinch slightly. His tongue flicked over the marks he left, licking with a twisted satisfaction. Each rough movement was accompanied by hot, ragged breaths against her skin, his grunts mingling with the oppressive silence of the shed. Her quiet whimpers barely registered as he lost himself in his pursuit, his thrusts frantic as his desperation peaked.

It didn’t take long for him to find his release, his body writhing above hers as he drove himself to the hilt one final time. “Fuck,” he groaned, his voice guttural and raw as his climax consumed him. He pressed against her with bruising force, ensuring his release mixed with the others that had already defiled her. His breathing was heavy and laboured as he lingered for a moment, a twisted grin spreading across his face as he savoured his depraved victory.

He pulled his cock out of her with a grunt, his breath still ragged as he leaned back and brushed a hand through his greasy, sweat-drenched hair. Sitting up, he cast his gaze down at the broken girl beneath him, her trembling form lying motionless on the dirt floor. A twisted grin spread across his face as he feigned pity, his voice dripping with mockery as he turned to the others. “Poor thing,” he sneered, his tone full of cruel amusement. “Look at her now—barely holding together. Think she’s learned her place yet?”

The others chuckled darkly at his words, their vile amusement filling the air. The man with the knife, leaning casually against the wall, sneered, “Oh, she knows now. She’s ours. Not like she’s got anywhere to fucking go.” The lean man joined in with a twisted grin, his voice thick with crude satisfaction. “Yeah, we’ll string her up nice and tight. She’ll just dangle there, dripping and ready for us to use whenever we damn well please.”

Their laughter grew louder, the sound echoing off the shed’s walls as they fed off each other’s depravity. “She’ll learn to love it,” the hunched man added, his tone thick with mockery. “She’s got the rest of her life to figure it out.” Their taunts hung in the air, a suffocating weight of cruelty and dominance that left no doubt about their intentions.

The door creaked open again, the bearded man strode in, a twisted grin plastered across his face. In one hand, he carried a rusted meat hook, its metal glinting faintly in the dim light, while thin rope was hooked around his elbow and a dirty, tattered cloth dangled from his other hand. “I’m back,” he announced, his voice filled with vile anticipation. “Let’s get her strung up and ready for the next round.”

The lean man turned to the young man, a smirk spreading across his face. “You want a go at her while we get this ready?” he asked, nodding toward the trembling figure on the floor.

The young man paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing as a cruel grin slowly spread across his face. “Why not?” he said, his tone dripping with malice. “Might as well take my turn before she’s dangling up there.”

The others busied themselves in the corner, working on securing the hook to one of the sturdy beams that went across the ceiling. Their hands moved with practised ease, tying knots and testing the strength of the rope, their voices low as they exchanged dark chuckles. Meanwhile, the young man moved over to her, his breathing uneven as he pulled his trousers down just enough to expose himself, taut and throbbing, aroused by the sight of what the others had already done to her.

He knelt between her legs, however, unlike the others, he didn’t bother pulling her onto his lap. Instead, he lifted her legs, draping them over his shoulders as he positioned himself. His hands gripped her waist tightly, his fingers digging into her bruised flesh as he pressed forward. A trembling whimper escaped his lips as he pushed his cock inside her, the slickness of the seed left by the others making the motion disturbingly easy. The sensation made him shudder, his hips beginning to move with an uneven rhythm as he sought his own release.

The others glanced over from their work, watching for a moment before laughing darkly. “How’s she feel, eh?” one of them jeered, a twisted grin on his face as he tied another knot to secure the hook. The young man ignored them, his movements growing steadier as he thrust into her, his grunts filling the room, mixing with the faint creak of the beam as they prepared the hook.

The bearded man approached her with the rope, his expression one of cruel focus as he knelt beside her. Grabbing her limp hands, he pulled them above her head and began tying them tightly together, the rough fibres biting into her bruised wrists. He worked quickly, leaving a secure loop in the bindings for the hook to slide through. The young man didn’t stop, oblivious to anything but his own pleasure.

The young man breathed heavily, his grunts and moans filling the oppressive air of the shed. His brows furrowed as he lost himself in the sensation. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and ragged. He leaned over her, her knees pressing against her chest, her legs still draped over his shoulders. His hands pressed down on either side of her, holding himself up as he slammed his pelvis into her relentlessly. Each brutal thrust drove him deeper, the tip of his cock reaching further inside her with every motion. The lewd sound of their bodies colliding echoed off the walls, mingling with the young man’s ragged breaths and guttural groans as he chased his release.

The others had finished securing the hook to the beam, tugging on the rope to ensure it was tight. With their task done, they stepped back and turned their attention to the young man, smirking as they watched him work.

“Looks like he’s trying to fold her in half,” the lean man remarked with a crude chuckle. “Bet it feels tighter that way. You getting your fill over there, kid?”

The bearded man snorted, leaning against the wall with a twisted grin. “He’s slow as shit. Probably doesn’t even know what to do with her.” He tilted his head, gesturing lazily toward the young man. “Hurry it up, will you? Some of us want another turn soon.”

The hunched man wiped his brow, his voice gruff as he interjected, “Let him finish. Can’t blame him for taking his time. She’s a good fuck.” He smirked, his tone turning casual. “But speaking of getting a fill, we need more drinks. I’m parched.”

“Agreed,” the man with the knife chimed in, his voice sharp and low. He idly played with the blade in his hands, watching the scene with a cruel glint in his eyes. “Might as well grab food too. Should we check the storeroom, or are we stuck with scraps again?”

The lean man shrugged, his expression bored. “Scraps, most likely. Honestly, why bother though? The tavern’s not far and still open. We can grab drinks and a hot meal there instead of choking down stale bread.”

The hunched man grunted, his brow furrowing. “The tavern? You think they’ll serve us like this? We’re filthy, reek of drink, and… well…” He jerked his chin toward the young man still grunting over her. “We’ve been busy.”

The bearded man waved off the concern, his voice gruff. “They don’t care. As long as we’ve got coin, they’ll serve us. And we could use a proper drink, not the piss we’ve been hoarding.” He glanced toward the others. “We’ll grab some food and drink there, take a break, and come back for another round.”

The lean man smirked, nodding slowly. “Yeah, a full belly and more ale sounds better than scraps. Let the kid finish up. We’ll head out after.”

Their conversation drifted into idle chatter, their tones light and practical, as if nothing grotesque was happening in front of them. The sound of their voices mingled with the young man’s grunts and moans, creating a sickening contrast between their casual planning and the depravity unfolding right before their eyes.

The young man felt a rise within him, his thrusts becoming frantic, each slam of his hips more desperate and erratic. Groaning loudly, his breaths came in broken, uneven gasps, his voice rising with the intensity of his movements. Finally, with the last thrust, his release spilled into her, a guttural moan escaping his lips as he writhed against her. His entire frame shook, his high-pitched, broken gasps filling the air as he almost collapsed over her for a moment, overwhelmed by the sensation.

The others stood around, laughing with cruel amusement. The hunched man let out a mocking laugh. “There we go!” he jeered, clapping his hands as the young man dropped his head, panting heavily, trying to catch his breath. He stared down at her, his gaze filled with awe, muttering breathlessly, “Fuck… she’s the best fuck I’ve ever had. I don’t think I could fuck anyone else after this.”

The hunched man barked out a laugh, smirking as he nudged the man with the knife. “Don’t you have a girlfriend? You just gonna toss her aside?”

The young man didn’t even flinch, his voice defiant as he shook his head. “Don’t care. She’s nothing compared to this. This elf is worth it. Worth every fucking second.” His words drew another round of laughter from the others, their vile comments overlapping as they mocked him, but he didn’t care. In his twisted mind, nothing mattered except the girl beneath him.

The young man finally pulled out of her, his release mixing with the others that had already defiled her. Thalia’s body lay limp and broken on the dirt floor, her once-pristine skin smeared with grime. Warm streaks of seed clung to her chest and arms, a grotesque reminder of their cruelty, mingling with the dirt and sweat that coated her battered form. Her core and thighs were slick with blood, a painful testament to the tearing they had inflicted, breaking her open in their cruel depravity. The release and seed of four men who had defiled her clung to her abused skin, smeared across her core and dripping down her thighs, mingling with the crimson streaks of her wounds. Her face was a mess of fresh blood, streaked with tears and dirt, her expression vacant as she stared at nothing.

The young man stood up, taking a deep, shuddering breath as he fastened his trousers. He ran a hand through his damp, dishevelled hair before wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Glancing down at her trembling form, his lips curled into a faint, twisted smirk as he muttered something under his breath, almost to himself. Satisfied, he turned to the others, his posture slouched with exhaustion but his expression still darkly satisfied.

The bearded man stepped forward, his grin widening as he approached her once again. Grabbing her under her armpits, he lifted her like a ragdoll over his shoulder. She hung limp in his grasp, her body offering no resistance, her spirit shattered. The hunched man moved to assist, gripping her bound wrists as they worked together to secure the loop of her bindings onto the rusted hook.

“Let’s get her up already,” the bearded man muttered with a grunt, his tone sharp with impatience. “I’m starving, and I need a drink.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m working on it,” the hunched man replied with a sneer, tightening the loop on the hook.

With coordinated effort, they hoisted her up, tightening the loop securely onto the hook. Once satisfied, they stepped back, letting her go. Her body sagged against the restraints, her toes brushing the ground, offering only the slightest relief from the pull of her weight.

The slick mixture of their shared releases, streaked with blood, began to drip from her abused core, trailing down her thighs and pooling on the dirt floor beneath her. Her head hung forward, hair matted and tangled over her bloodied face, her expression vacant and lifeless, as though she was no longer present in the room. The men stood back to admire their handiwork, their laughter low and cruel as they watched her dangle, utterly broken and defiled.

The bearded man stepped forward, pulling the dirty cloth from his belt with a smirk. He worked quickly, tying a large knot in the centre of it, his rough hands moving with practiced ease. “Can’t have her screaming or calling for help now, can we?” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. He grabbed her chin roughly, forcing her head up, and shoved the knot into her mouth without hesitation. Her lips parted weakly under the pressure, but her vacant gaze didn’t flicker. He tied the cloth tightly behind her head, the fabric digging into her skin, silencing her completely. Stepping back, he admired his work with a cruel grin. “There we go,” he said to the others, chuckling.

The young man grabbed the lantern, its dim light casting long shadows on the shed’s filthy walls as they prepared to leave. Their voices were casual, filled with laughter and idle chatter, as if nothing grotesque had happened.

“Come on, let’s get that drink,” the bearded man said, holding the door open. “I’m starving.”

The hunched man chuckled, nudging the young man with his elbow. “What about you, kid? Think you’ll have enough energy for another go after we eat? Seemed like you couldn’t get enough of her.”

The young man smirked faintly, pulling his trousers up tighter. “I’m not done with her yet,” he muttered, his voice low, earning a round of crude laughter from the others.

“Don’t get greedy,” the man with the knife said, twirling the blade in his hand before sheathing it. “We all plan on having another round when we’re done eating.”

The lean man glanced back at her limp form hanging from the hook, smirking. “She’s not going anywhere. She’ll still be waiting when we get back. Right, sweetheart?” He sneered, his voice dripping with mockery, earning another round of crude laughter from the others.

They stepped out into the cool night air, their words fading into the distance as they walked away, still laughing and teasing each other. The bearded man paused to lock the door behind them, the heavy click echoing in the oppressive silence of the shed.

Thalia was left alone, strung up like a piece of game freshly hunted, her body limp and trembling. The faint glow of the moon through the dirty window was the only light illuminating the room now, highlighting her bruised and battered form. A gag was tied tightly around her mouth, biting into the corners of her lips and muffling her shallow, ragged breaths. Her chest barely rose as she clung to the thin thread of consciousness, the pressure of the gag making it even harder to breathe.

Help.

Chapter Text

3.1 blood and tears

Therion’s first conscious thought was a sharp, cold ache stabbing into his side as he stirred awake, his body stiff and bruised from the force of the earlier attack. The damp, earthy smell of the ground filled his nostrils, clinging to him as he struggled to shift even slightly. His muscles screamed in protest, and he let out a faint groan, his lips cracked and dry. The faint rustle of leaves overhead blended with the ringing in his ears, disorienting him further as he tried to recall where he was.

The pounding in his head was relentless, the pain radiating from a wound just above his temple where he had struck the shed wall. On the other side of his skull, a deep, throbbing ache pulsed where he had been hit, leaving the world spinning whenever he tried to focus. He brought a trembling hand to his head, his fingertips grazing sticky, drying blood, and winced at the contact. His stomach churned, and for a moment, he was forced to remain still, waiting for the nausea to subside.

The metallic tang of blood coated his tongue, the taste sharp and bitter as he licked his dry lips. His vision swam, blurred shapes gradually sharpening into the faint outlines of the forest surrounding him. Gnarled roots jutted out of the damp earth like skeletal fingers, their twisted forms illuminated by the faint light of stars struggling to pierce through the thick canopy above. Every detail felt surreal, almost dreamlike, as he fought to ground himself in the present.

Slowly, his senses returned, each one bringing a fresh wave of discomfort and confusion. His breathing steadied as he tried to push himself upright, his arms trembling beneath him. A faint chill brushed against his skin, reminding him of how exposed he was, lying prone in the forest. His mind raced as fragmented memories surfaced, flashes of violence and fear flooding back. Something was wrong—terribly wrong—and he had to move.

His hand instinctively went to his ribs as he sat up, wincing as his fingers brushed against a deep bruise. The dull ache blossomed under his touch, a stark realisation of how he’d been tossed aside like discarded prey. The memory of Thalia’s voice, calling out to him in desperation, clawed at his mind, sharp and relentless. It drove a spike of fear through his chest, the thought of her in danger igniting a fire of urgency despite his pain.

With immense effort, Therion pulled himself to his feet, swaying as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He grimaced, his body protesting every movement, but he forced himself to take a shaky step forward. His gaze shifted, taking in his surroundings, and he realised he had been thrown into a dried-out ditch, far enough from the village that anyone finding him would assume he was dead. The isolation struck him like a cold slap, but he clenched his jaw, determination overriding his agony.

Therion glanced around the ditch, his eyes slowly adjusting to the oppressive darkness. The faint starlight filtering through the canopy revealed the full extent of his predicament. His bow lay nearby, the wood splintered and useless, its string frayed and snapped. His quiver was buckled, its leather warped, and the arrows inside were broken into jagged pieces. His jaw tightened, anger rising in his chest as he stared at the wreckage of his tools. They weren’t just weapons—they were his lifeline, the extensions of his skill and survival. Now, they were nothing but ruined fragments.

As his gaze swept over the tangled roots jutting out of the ditch walls, something caught his eye. Half-buried among the twisted roots was a staff, its surface carved with intricate designs. A leather string was tied near its top, adorned with owl feathers that swayed faintly in the breeze. Recognition struck him like a blow to the chest. It was Thalia’s staff. His heart sank, the anger in his chest giving way to cold dread. She didn’t have her staff. Whatever had happened to her, she’d been taken without it, and that realisation only deepened the fear clawing at his mind.

Therion leaned down, gripping the staff tightly as he pulled it free from the roots. The familiar weight of it in his hands brought him no comfort—it was a stark reminder that Thalia was unarmed, defenceless. He used the staff to steady himself, planting its end firmly into the dirt as he pushed himself upright. His legs wobbled beneath him, and the throbbing pain in his temple flared as he moved, making him wince. He reached up to assess the injury, his fingers brushing the tender, blood-matted wound just above his temple. A sharp pang shot through his skull, forcing a hiss from between his teeth.

But there was no time to dwell on his injuries. Gritting his teeth, he straightened as much as his aching body would allow, gripping the staff tightly for balance. The thought of Thalia gripped his mind, stronger than the pain coursing through him. She was in danger—he could feel it deep in his gut, a primal instinct screaming at him to act. He couldn’t afford to waste another second. Taking a shaky breath, he steadied himself and began moving, determination burning in his chest despite the agony in every step.

Climbing out of the ditch was slow and agonising, each movement sending sharp jolts of pain through Therion’s battered body. His fingers clawed at the tangled roots and loose dirt for leverage, his legs trembling as he hauled himself upward. Every inch felt like a battle, but he forced himself to keep going, gritting his teeth against the waves of dizziness that threatened to pull him back down. His breaths came in shallow gasps, but he didn’t stop.

His mind raced as he recalled the way back to the village, his thoughts zeroing in on the shed where they had been ambushed. The image of Thalia flashed in his mind, her voice calling out to him, desperate and terrified. The memory spurred him on, his determination burning brighter than the pain. Each step toward the top felt heavier than the last, his muscles screaming in protest, but he pushed through. He couldn’t stop—not now, not when she needed him.

Therion left the broken bow and quiver behind in the ditch, the sight of them filling him with a pang of loss. They were useless now, shattered remnants of the tools that had once been his lifeline. He turned away, gripping Thalia’s staff tightly, and began to move. The forest around him was unnervingly silent, the usual chorus of nocturnal sounds absent. No rustling leaves, no chirping insects—only the faint crunch of his boots against the earth. It was as if the trees themselves were holding their breath, waiting.

Therion moved swiftly but silently, years of training as a hunter guiding his every step. His instincts took over, helping him weave through the underbrush with a precision that belied the pain radiating through his body. He kept his ears sharp, listening for any sound that could indicate where Thalia might be—or where their attackers had gone. The oppressive quiet pressed against him like a weight, each step forward filled with a growing urgency. She was close. She had to be.

Therion weaved through the trees as quickly as his battered body would allow, each step a careful balance between urgency and endurance. On occasion, he pushed himself too hard, the burning in his ribs forcing him to stop. He leaned heavily on Thalia’s staff, his breaths coming in shallow, ragged gasps as he steadied himself. The dull ache in his temple throbbed with each beat of his heart, but he refused to slow down for long. Gritting his teeth, he pressed on, his resolve unshaken despite the mounting fatigue.

When he finally reached the edge of the settlement, he crouched low, pressing his body against the trunk of a tree for cover. His sharp eyes scanned the area, his hunter’s instincts sharpening as his gaze locked onto the row of sheds in the distance. His heart hammered in his chest, each beat loud in the oppressive silence. From his vantage point, he caught sight of a faint glow spilling through the grimy window of one of the sheds. The dim light flickered with the movements of a lantern inside, and his ears picked up muffled voices—a blend of cruel laughter and idle chatter. His stomach churned as dread clawed at him. He gripped the staff tightly, forcing his breathing to steady.

He didn’t need to hear the words to know they were taunting her. The cruel laughter and muffled jeers were enough to ignite a fire of rage deep in his chest, his blood boiling with every second he hesitated. Gritting his teeth, Therion darted from the cover of the trees, weaving silently through the shadows as he approached the row of sheds. The faint light spilling from the occupied shed acted as a beacon, pulling him closer.

Therion crouched beneath the grimy window, his heart pounding in his ears so loudly he could barely hear anything else. His hands trembled as he steadied himself on the staff, forcing his breath to slow despite the adrenaline coursing through him. He swallowed hard, every fibre of his being screaming to act, but he knew he had to be careful. Slowly, he rose just high enough to peer inside, his sharp eyes scanning the interior.

Therion’s eyes locked on a bearded man leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed in a display of cruel confidence. The man’s face was illuminated by the dim lantern light, his expression one of sick satisfaction as his gaze remained fixed on something just out of Therion’s sight. The flickering light cast grotesque shadows on the shed’s walls, the shifting darkness amplifying the sinister atmosphere within.

From his position, Therion couldn’t see what held the man’s attention, but the twisted glint in the man’s eyes and the slight, hungry smirk on his lips made Therion’s stomach churn. He felt the heat of rage rising in his chest, his grip on the staff tightening as his breaths came quicker. For a brief moment, doubt flickered in his mind—fear of what he might see—but it was quickly drowned out by the need to know.

He hesitated only for a heartbeat before slowly rising further, careful to remain unseen. His sharp eyes darted past the bearded man, the weight of his dread growing heavier with each inch. His pulse pounded in his ears, steeling himself for the scene that would meet his gaze.

The moment Therion’s eyes took in the rest of the room, his breath left his lungs as though he’d been struck in the chest. His entire body froze, his heart pounding so violently he thought it might burst. Thalia was on the dirt-covered floor, her body pinned beneath several men. A young man crouched over her, groping her chest with one hand while his mouth latched hungrily onto her exposed skin. Nearby, a hunched man had her ankle in a vice grip, his other hand stroking himself as he leered at her with twisted anticipation.

To the side, a man with a knife knelt beside her forcing her trembling hand around himself, guiding her unwilling movements as his head tilted back in depraved pleasure. His guttural moans and the sight of her limp, shaking arm made Therion’s stomach churn violently.

But it was a lean man that made Therion’s vision go red. He was pressed between Thalia’s legs, his hips moving relentlessly, thrusting into her as though she were nothing more than a tool for his satisfaction. His hands gripped her hips tightly, holding her in place as she barely flinched beneath him. Her tear-streaked face turned slightly, revealing a fresh, deep and large cut across her cheek, streaking her pale skin with red. Her expression—vacant, afraid, and utterly broken—was the final blow to Therion’s self-control. His grip on the staff tightened until his knuckles whitened, rage surging through him like fire, pushing everything else from his mind.

Anger surged through Therion, so violent and primal it left his entire body trembling. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, his heart pounding like a war drum in his ears. His grip on the staff tightened until his knuckles turned white, the wood creaking faintly under the pressure of his hold. For a moment, he could only stand there, frozen, his mind caught in the horror of what he was seeing.

The image of Thalia, broken and defiled, burned itself into his soul, igniting a fire that threatened to consume him. The need to protect her clashed with the shock and fury coursing through him, creating a storm that left him paralysed. He wanted to scream, to burst through the door and rip them apart with his bare hands, to make them pay for every second they had stolen from her. His jaw clenched as tears of rage filled his eyes, his nails digging into the windowsill as he fought to keep his emotions under control.

Therion clenched his teeth, his body trembling as his mind screamed for him to act. But he couldn’t charge in recklessly—he knew it would only endanger Thalia further. He was unarmed, his bow broken and useless, and he couldn’t wield her staff with any real skill. What could he do? The answer tore at him, clawing at his resolve like a feral beast. He had to save her. But he couldn’t—not like this. Not while he was hurt and defenceless.

His thoughts raced, desperate and frantic, as he tried to find a solution. Every instinct urged him to burst through the door, to take them down with his bare hands if he had to, but reason kept pulling him back. He thought of the odds, the men inside, the pain in his side and the throbbing in his head. He couldn’t win. Not like this. His knuckles tightened around the staff as his stomach churned with the weight of his helplessness.

Therion took a shaky breath and forced himself to think clearly. He had no choice—he would have to return to camp and get help. It was the only way, but the thought of leaving her there, suffering for even one more second, was almost unbearable. The pain of it tore at him, his chest tightening as guilt and rage mingled into a storm of emotions. Yet he knew he couldn’t let his anger guide him, not now. Thalia needed him, and running headlong into his own death wouldn’t save her.

Therion’s eyes brimmed with tears as his gaze lingered on Thalia’s face, so broken and vacant it hardly seemed like her. The sight ripped through him, each second etching the memory deeper into his mind. His jaw tightened as he gritted his teeth, his entire body trembling with suppressed rage and helplessness.

Forcing himself to move, he backed away from the shed, each step feeling like a betrayal. His heart pounded, the thought of leaving her tearing him apart, but he knew the more time he spent there thinking, the more time these monsters had to torment her further. He turned and slipped back into the shadows of the forest, his feet moving quickly and silently despite the pain wracking his body. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back, but he pushed forward, knowing he couldn’t fail her now.

Therion stumbled through the forest, his feet dragging as exhaustion and pain threatened to overwhelm him. Every step felt like an eternity, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him as he hated himself for not moving faster. The uneven ground snagged at his boots, and twice he nearly fell, catching himself on the staff he clutched tightly in his trembling hands. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his vision swimming from the throbbing pain in his temple, but he forced himself to keep going.

The dark canopy above offered little light, making the forest seem endless and oppressive. Every rustle of leaves or snap of a branch set his nerves on edge, his instincts sharpened by the desperation driving him forward. Thalia’s face lingered in his mind, broken and vacant, spurring him on despite the fire in his lungs and the ache in his limbs. He clenched his jaw, pushing through the agony. He had to reach the camp. He had to save her.

-

Therion saw the camp ahead, faint glow of lanterns barely cutting through the shadows of the forest. The night clung stubbornly to the land, though the faintest streaks of dawn began to paint the horizon with the promise of morning. His heart pounded as he stumbled forward, exhaustion weighing down his every step. His body threatened to give out, but he forced himself onward, his voice breaking as he began to cry out desperately.

“Help! Deshanna! Theralas!” he yelled, his voice raw and hoarse. His legs gave way beneath him, and he fell to his knees, using Thalia’s staff to drag himself upright as blood from his temple mixed with sweat and tears, streaking down his face. “Maelis! Talrin! Please, someone!” His cries grew louder, filled with desperation and anguish as he stumbled closer to the camp’s edge, almost crawling now, his fingers digging into the dirt to propel himself forward.

The night scouts were the first to reach him, their eyes wide with alarm as they rushed toward his trembling, broken figure. “Therion, what happened? Are you hurt?” one of them asked, crouching beside him, trying to steady him as he nearly collapsed again.

Therion shook his head violently, his voice trembling with urgency. “No… Thalia… they’ve got her,” he choked out, gasping for breath. He gripped the scout’s arm tightly, his eyes wild and filled with tears. “Fetch Deshanna! Theralas! Talrin! Anyone! Now!” he commanded, his tone desperate and firm. “Talrin!” he cried again, his voice cracking as his chest heaved with exhaustion. The scouts exchanged a quick glance before one of them nodded and sprinted off toward the camp while the other stayed by Therion’s side, trying to keep him upright. “Please…” Therion whispered, his voice barely audible now, “They’re hurting her…”

Talrin was the first to reach him, still dressed in her nightclothes, her face pale with fear as she heard Therion’s desperate cries echo through the camp. She dropped to her knees in front of him without hesitation, her hands instinctively reaching out to steady him. Before she could speak, Therion collapsed into her, clutching desperately at the back of her shirt with trembling fingers. His body convulsed with ragged sobs as he buried his face into her shoulder, his anguish pouring out in broken, choked cries.

Her eyes darted over his battered form, taking in the blood smeared across his temple, the dirt streaked on his skin, and the exhaustion that seemed to weigh him down completely. “Therion,” she whispered, her voice breaking with concern, but he didn’t let her finish.

“They’ve taken her,” he choked out, his words barely coherent through his sobs. “Thalia… I saw them. They’re hurting her.” His voice rose, desperate and pleading as he gripped her tighter, as if holding onto her would somehow stop the storm inside him. “I… I couldn’t stop them. They… they were on her.” He broke into another sob, shaking so violently she had to steady him in her arms. “I saw them. I left her. I left her there!” The words tore from him like a wound reopening, each one heavier than the last.

His body crumpled further into hers, his weight pressing against her as he clung to her like a lifeline. “We have to save her!” he cried, his voice cracking with desperation. “They’re going to kill her! We have to go. We have to go now!” His nails dug into her shirt, his sobs breaking into gasps as he pleaded, his mind spiralling in guilt and panic. “Please, don’t let me fail her…”

Talrin’s own tears began to spill as she held him tightly, her heart breaking at the sound of his shattered voice. “Therion,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she stroked his hair in an attempt to soothe him. “You need to breathe, you need to rest.”

Around them, the camp stirred, people emerging from their tents and stopping in their tracks as they took in the scene. No one had ever seen Therion like this—so utterly broken, his composure shattered beyond recognition. A stunned silence hung over the camp as everyone watched, their own fear and dread mounting as Therion’s raw grief filled the air.

Theralas arrived next, his face lined with worry, his bow slung over his shoulder and a hunting knife at his side. He knelt down beside Talrin and Therion, his voice calm but urgent. “What happened?” he asked, his eyes darting between Therion’s battered form and Talrin’s tearful expression.

Talrin, still holding Therion as he sobbed into her shoulder, looked up at Theralas and quickly relayed what Therion had just told her. “It’s Thalia,” she said, her voice trembling. “She’s been taken. They’re… hurting her… he couldn’t fight them, not like this.” Her voice cracked as she glanced back down at Therion, who clung to her desperately.

Deshanna arrived moments later, her robes flowing behind her as she pushed through the growing crowd. Her sharp eyes immediately fell on the staff lying next to Therion, its carved surface dirtied but still recognisable. Her expression darkened as she bent down to pick it up, her fingers curling tightly around the wood. She listened intently as Talrin explained, her face a mask of grim determination.

As Talrin finished speaking, Deshanna crouched down beside Therion, placing a steadying hand on his trembling back. “Therion,” she said softly, her voice filled with concern. “We’ll get her back. But you need to breathe, lethallan. You’re hurt.” Her touch was grounding, her calm presence a stark contrast to the rising tension in the camp.

Maelis emerged from the crowd then, her eyes widening in shock as she saw Therion’s condition. “Maelis!” Talrin called out urgently, her voice breaking. “Fetch your healing supplies. He’s bleeding, and he’s exhausted.” Maelis nodded quickly and disappeared back into the camp, her movements hurried as the gravity of the situation set in. Meanwhile, the crowd murmured in subdued tones, their fear and unease spreading as they absorbed the implications of what had just been revealed.

Silas pushed through the crowd, his usually calm demeanour cracking as he took in the scene before him. Therion was collapsed in Talrin’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably, his battered form trembling as Talrin held him tightly. Beside them, Theralas knelt, his face hard with grim determination, his hand resting on his hunting knife. His entire posture spoke of a man prepared to burn the world to ashes if it meant saving his kin. Deshanna crouched at Therion’s side, her hand moving gently over his back, offering what comfort she could as her sharp eyes took in every detail.

Silas’s gaze shifted, and he saw Thalia’s staff in Deshanna’s hand. His heart plummeted. The sight of her abandoned staff sent a jolt of fear through him, the worst possibilities flooding his mind. Was Thalia gone? Had they lost her? His stomach twisted, dread tightening in his chest as he turned to the nearest figure in the crowd, his voice urgent. “What happened?” he asked, his normally steady tone laced with panic.

The elf hesitated for a moment, their expression pained, but they finally spoke. “She’s been taken. Therion said that… they’re hurting her.”

Relief coursed through Silas like a wave, momentarily easing the tight grip of fear. She was alive. But that relief was short-lived as the words sank in further. They’re hurting her. The dread returned, clawing at his chest, imagining what Thalia must be enduring. His fists clenched at his sides, and he glanced back at the others—at Therion’s anguish, Deshanna’s grim resolve, and Theralas’s readiness to act. Silas squared his shoulders. Whatever it took, they had to bring her back. And they had to do it now.

Maelis returned, a woven basket cradled in her arms, filled with bandages, salves, and herbs she had hurriedly gathered. Her eyes softened as she knelt beside Talrin, placing the basket down and immediately beginning to sort through its contents. Talrin leaned close to Therion, her voice soft and coaxing. “Therion,” she whispered, brushing his sweat-dampened hair back gently. “Sit back for me. Let go, just for a moment, so Maelis and I can tend to you. Please. Tell me—does anything else hurt?”

Therion hesitated, his hands trembling as he slowly released his grip on her shirt. He let out a shaky breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “My ribs… they hurt,” he said, wincing as he moved slightly. “And I’m so… so tired.” His words trailed off, exhaustion weighing down every syllable.

Talrin and Maelis exchanged a quick glance before setting to work. Maelis carefully cleaned the blood from his temple, her touch firm but gentle, while Talrin began unfastening his tunic to check the bruising along his ribs. Silas, who had been standing nearby, stepped forward. “Let me help,” he offered, his voice steady but filled with urgency.

They both nodded, grateful for the assistance. Silas knelt beside them, closing his eyes and placing a hand over Therion’s ribs, the faint green glow of healing magic emanating from his fingers. Talrin and Maelis worked in tandem with him, applying salves and bandages to his wounds, carefully tending to every injury.

Though their combined efforts eased his pain and stopped the bleeding, Therion’s exhaustion was beyond what they could fully mend. Once they finished, Talrin placed a hand on his cheek, her expression soft but firm. “You’re in better shape now, but you need to rest.” Therion shook his head weakly, his eyes still filled with guilt and anguish. “You’ll save her, Therion,” she reassured him gently. “But you can’t help her if you collapse.”

Therion tried to protest, his voice hoarse but insistent as he struggled to push himself up. “I need to get to her now!” he rasped, his arms shaking under the effort of standing. But his body betrayed him, and he collapsed back down, his legs unable to support him. He gritted his teeth in frustration, his anguish spilling into his words.

Theralas, his tone sharp and commanding, stepped in. “Stop, Therion,” he said firmly, his piercing gaze locking onto his younger kin. “We cannot go now. By the time we reach the settlement, it will be broad daylight. Marching into a human village as elves in broad daylight would be a death sentence—for us and for Thalia.”

Therion shook his head weakly, his voice filled with desperation. “We can’t leave her there. We can’t let them…” His voice cracked, his tears making his protests falter. “They’ll keep hurting her…”

Theralas knelt closer to him, his face grim but resolute. “How many of them are there?” he asked, his voice steady.

“Five,” Therion answered, his jaw tightening. “Five men.”

Theralas nodded, his expression darkening. “Five men, Therion. If we go now, we’ll be outnumbered by the entire village and exposed. We’ll die, and Thalia will still be in their hands.” His voice rose, not in anger but in forceful reason. “We must wait until nightfall. Then we’ll move when the cover of darkness is on our side.”

Therion clenched his fists, his entire body trembling with the urge to act. “We need to go now,” he argued, his voice cracking with emotion.

Theralas didn’t waver. “We will go, Therion. But not until we have a plan, and not until we have strength. Your recklessness will not save her.”

Turning to the growing crowd, Theralas raised his voice. “I need three volunteers to go with us. We leave as soon as night falls.” Silas immediately stepped forward, his voice clear and unwavering. “I’ll go.”

From the crowd, Lirassan, one of Thalia’s closest friends, pushed forward. “I’ll go too,” he said, his voice laced with determination. One of the hunters, Malvion, nodded and stepped beside him. “I’m in.”

Theralas nodded at each of them in turn. “Good. Meet me at the Keeper’s tent. We’ll prepare the plan together.” Then he turned his sharp gaze back to Therion. “You,” he said, his tone commanding, “will sleep. You’ll need your strength for tonight. If you collapse in that village, it’s over for all of us. Rest now.”

Therion opened his mouth to protest again, but the stern look in Theralas’s eyes silenced him. His shoulders sagged in defeat, and he leaned back into Talrin’s arms, his exhaustion finally overtaking him as the others began to move into action.

Deshanna stepped forward, her expression softening as she held out Thalia’s staff to Therion. He took it with trembling hands, his grip weak but determined. She placed a firm hand on his shoulder, her eyes meeting his as she spoke. “We will do everything in our power to bring her home,” she said, her voice steady but tinged with guilt. “I’m sorry, Therion. I never should have sent you guys on this mission.” She gave him a resolute nod before stepping back, turning toward Theralas and the others. She would accompany them to help plan the operation, leaving no detail overlooked.

Talrin remained by Therion’s side, her concern etched deeply into her features. She called out to a few others in the camp, asking for help to get him to their tent. Two hunters stepped forward, each taking one of Therion’s arms and draping them over their shoulders. His legs wobbled as he struggled to keep his feet beneath him, but they steadied him, guiding him carefully through the camp. Talrin stayed close, her hand resting on his back as they walked.

When they reached their tent, the hunters gently lowered Therion onto the cot, his body trembling with the effort of moving. He grunted in pain, the soreness in his ribs flaring as he shifted to lie down. Talrin knelt beside him, brushing his hair back from his sweat-dampened forehead as the others stepped out, leaving them alone.

The tent grew quiet, save for Therion’s laboured breaths. Talrin’s voice was soft as she spoke, her worry evident. “You need to rest now,” she murmured, her hand lingering on his arm. “I’ll stay right here.”

Therion lay on the cot, his body battered and exhausted, but his mind was far from still. Talrin sat beside him, her voice soft as she asked, “Can you tell me what happened?”

His eyes filled with tears as the weight of it all came crashing down again. He swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he began to speak. “It was my fault,” he whispered. “I… I wanted to get closer to the settlement. I thought we’d be safe if we were careful.” He paused, his fists clenching at his sides. “We got ambushed. They were waiting for us. I couldn’t protect her. I—” His voice broke as his jaw tightened, struggling to continue.

“They knocked me out,” he said finally, his hand instinctively going to the wound on his temple. “When I woke up, I was in a ditch… my bow, my arrows, everything broken. I couldn’t find her. I couldn’t hear her.” His breaths grew shallow as fury began to simmer beneath his sorrow. “When I went back… I saw the shed. I saw…” His voice faltered, his entire body trembling as the memory seared itself into his mind. “They were forcing themselves on her,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “All five of them. Taking turns like she was… like she wasn’t even a person.”

Therion’s fists clenched, his knuckles white as fresh tears streamed down his face. “She looked so broken, Talrin,” he choked out, his voice filled with anguish. “Her face… it was like she wasn’t even there anymore. Her eyes were vacant, empty, like she had nothing left. And I just… I had to leave her there.” His voice broke entirely, and his shoulders shook as the guilt and helplessness consumed him. “Gods, I left her there. I couldn’t save her. I failed her.” He buried his face in his hands, overcome by the raw pain of the memory.

Talrin’s own tears spilled over as she listened, her breath catching in her throat. She placed her hands gently on his trembling arms, her voice filled with both sorrow and determination. “Therion,” she said softly, leaning closer to him, “you’re going to bring her home. Do you hear me? You’ll save her.” She cupped his face gently, her thumbs brushing away his tears as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You’ll get her back, no matter what it takes.”

Therion looked at her, his expression filled with anguish. “Can you… will you hold me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his vulnerability cutting through her.

Without hesitation, Talrin nodded. “Of course,” she murmured, climbing into the cot beside him. She wrapped her arms around him, cradling him against her chest as his body shook with quiet sobs. He buried his face into her chest, clinging to her as exhaustion began to take over.

“It’s going to be okay,” Talrin whispered, her voice steady despite her own tears. She stroked her fingers through his messy hair, pressing gentle kisses to his forehead. As his sobs gradually quieted and his breathing evened out, Talrin began to hum softly, a tune from their childhood, her touch soothing him into a restless but needed sleep. She stayed with him, holding him close, her resolve strengthening with every tear she shed. They would bring Thalia home. They had to.

-

In the Keeper’s tent, the tension was palpable. Deshanna, Theralas, Silas, Lirassan, and Malvion stood around the central table, its surface littered with maps, makeshift diagrams, and scattered notes as they assessed their options. The dim light of candles flickered, casting long shadows across their strained faces. Each person carried the weight of the situation differently, but the gravity of Thalia’s plight bound them all in shared determination.

“She was in a shed when Therion saw her,” Theralas began, his voice measured yet heavy. “But what if they’ve moved her? She could be anywhere in that settlement by now.”

Lirassan nodded, his brows furrowed. “If they’ve moved her, we’ll have to scout first, which will take time—and time is something she doesn’t have.” He hesitated, his voice dropping. “And if there are more than five men… Therion may not have seen them all.”

Malvion tapped the hilt of his knife anxiously. “We’ll deal with them,” he said firmly. “Whether it’s five or fifty. But we need to be prepared for the worst.”

A grim silence fell over the room as the worst possibility lingered unspoken. Deshanna broke the silence, her voice strained as she forced the words out. “What if she’s already dead?” The question hung in the air, shaking everyone in the room to their core.

“If she is…” Theralas began, his voice steady but tight, “we still bring her home. We owe her that.”

Deshanna’s hands gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white as frustration and anger warred within her. “This is my fault,” she muttered, her voice cracking. “I should never have sent them on this mission. Gods, what was I thinking?” She slammed her fist onto the table, the sound reverberating through the small tent.

Theralas moved to her side, his hand gently resting on her shoulder. “You couldn’t have known,” he said quietly.

Deshanna shook her head, tears threatening to spill as she looked at Silas. “I sent her because of her defiance,” she admitted bitterly. “Because I thought enforcing the bonding between you and her would bring stability to the clan. But it was wrong. And when she rebelled, I… I thought sending her with Therion on this mission would show her I respected her abilities. Instead, I sent her to this.”

Silas, standing apart from the group, was tense—more tense than any of them had ever seen him. His jaw was clenched, his hands gripping the back of a chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Don’t apologise to me,” he said sharply, his voice low and controlled. “Apologise to her when we bring her back.”

The Keeper flinched at his tone, but Silas didn’t soften. His usually calm and composed demeanour was gone, replaced with a seething anger that burned in his dark eyes. “She’s out there,” he continued, his voice hard. “Alive. And I don’t care how many of those bastards we have to go through—we’re getting her back.”

The room fell silent again, but this time it wasn’t despair that lingered—it was resolve. Deshanna straightened, forcing herself to meet Silas’s gaze. “We’ll bring her back,” she said quietly.

Theralas nodded in agreement, glancing at the others. “We plan for every possibility. We scout the settlement, find her, and deal with the men—whether it’s five or more. And if she’s…” He paused, his voice faltering before hardening again. “If she’s gone, we still bring her home.”

Each of them nodded in turn, the weight of their task settling over them like a heavy mantle. Lirassan and Malvion exchanged grim looks, their resolve unwavering despite the odds. Deshanna moved to the maps, gesturing to the group. “Then let’s prepare.”

Deshanna and Theralas worked seamlessly, speaking in turns to the others as they laid out their plan with precision and care. Their instructions were clear, each detail accounted for as they prepared for the mission ahead. “Ensure your weapons are in the best condition possible,” Theralas commanded, his voice steady but firm. “Sharpen blades, reinforce bowstrings, and check your gear. We can’t afford failures.”

Deshanna turned to Silas, her expression stern yet understanding as the weight of her words settled into the room. “You’ll need to reserve your energy,” she told him, her tone firm but measured. “You’ll be the only mage with them, and you’ll need your magic at its full strength when the time comes. Conserve it—for the fight, and for healing, if necessary.”

She paused for a moment, letting the words sink in, before continuing, her gaze sweeping across the group. “Thalia may not be able to use her own magic when you find her. We don’t know what state she’ll be in—how weakened or hurt she might be.” Her voice softened slightly, but there was no mistaking the resolve beneath it. “You’ll have to rely on Silas to ensure you all make it out.”

Silas expression hardening with focus as the weight of the responsibility settled on his shoulders. He gave a sharp nod, his jaw tight. “I’ll be ready,” he said quietly, his voice steady.

“I’ll speak with Maelis,” Deshanna said, turning to the group. “Tell her to prepare her tent and ensure her healing supplies are stocked. If she’s running low on anything, assist her in gathering what she needs. Talrin will stay with her as an assistant to ensure everything is ready for Thalia’s return.”

Deshanna paused for a moment, her gaze falling on Theralas and then back to the group. “Therion and Theralas will lead the mission,” she continued, her tone resolute. “As her family—her brother and guardian—and as lead hunters, they’ll guide us. Follow their lead without question.”

The group nodded solemnly, their resolve growing as the preparations began. Theralas and Deshanna moved to the maps, examining the path to the village and the layout of the settlement itself. They pointed out vantage points, potential hiding spots, and routes that could provide cover. “We’ll need to stay out of sight until nightfall,” Theralas said, tracing a finger along a shaded path that curved around the outskirts of the village. “Here’s where we’ll set up positions. Silas and Lirassan will cover us from the tree line, while the rest of us move in to get Thalia out of there.”

Deshanna nodded, adding, “You’ll need a way to signal if something goes wrong. Remember the whistles and signals.” She hesitated for a moment, her voice softening. “And remember… if you find her gone, you still bring her home.”

The group dispersed to carry out their tasks, each member moving with quiet determination. The flickering candle light in the Keeper’s tent reflected their shared resolve as they prepared for the mission.

The group moved with purpose. Lirassan and Theralas prepared swords, sharpening their edges until they gleamed. The hunters gathered bows and arrows, ensuring their quivers were stocked and their weapons in top condition. Theralas personally oversaw the preparation of a new bow, quiver, and arrows for Therion, ensuring they would be ready for him when he woke up.

Deshanna made her way to Therion’s tent, her steps heavy with worry as she pushed through the lingering tension in the camp. When she entered, she found Talrin still cradling him on the cot, her arms wrapped protectively around him. Therion’s breathing was steady now, exhaustion having pulled him into a restless sleep, though his face was still etched with faint lines of pain and anguish. Talrin’s eyes met Deshanna’s as she continued to hum softly, her voice barely above a whisper, trying to comfort him even in his sleep.

“How is he?” Deshanna asked gently, her voice quiet so as not to wake him.

Talrin stroked a hand through Therion’s messy hair, her touch tender. “He’s… sleeping,” she replied, though her own exhaustion was evident in her voice. “But it’s not a peaceful rest. He keeps mumbling things—her name, apologising, begging for help.” Talrin’s voice caught, and she tightened her hold on him slightly. “He blames himself for what happened.”

Deshanna stepped closer, her expression softening as she placed a hand lightly on Talrin’s shoulder. “Did he… tell you anything more? About what happened?” she asked hesitantly.

Talrin hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line as she glanced down at Therion’s sleeping form. “He told me… more than I think he could bear to say. He said there were five of them. That they were…” She swallowed hard, her voice trembling. “They were forcing themselves on her. He said she looked… broken. Vacant. Like she wasn’t there anymore.” Her tears welled up, but she blinked them away, her grip on Therion tightening. “He’s haunted by it, Deshanna. The guilt is eating at him.”

Deshanna’s jaw tightened, her guilt mirrored in her expression. “Talrin,” she said softly, her voice heavy with emotion, “I’m so sorry. This is my fault. I should never have sent them on this mission. I should have known the risks—”

Talrin cut her off gently, her tone firm despite her tears. “This isn’t about blame, Deshanna. It’s about getting her back. That’s what we need to focus on now.” She looked up, her eyes meeting Deshanna’s with unwavering resolve. “We’ll bring her home. For Therion.”

Deshanna nodded, her hand squeezing Talrin’s shoulder before she let go as she murmured, “Keep him safe. He’ll need his strength for tonight.” With one last glance at Therion’s sleeping form, Deshanna turned and left the tent, her mind heavy with the weight of what lay ahead.

-

Silas sat on a log by the central fire, his shoulders hunched as though the weight of his thoughts was physically bearing down on him. His brows furrowed deeply, and his leg tapped uncontrollably against the dirt, the nervous rhythm betraying his restless energy. His hands clamped together tightly, his knuckles white as his mind raced in endless loops. Thalia is in danger. The thought repeated like a drumbeat, driving him to the edge of his composure. He needed to act, to do something—anything—but Deshanna’s words restrained him. He had to conserve his energy, had to be ready to fight when the time came. But sitting still felt unbearable.

With a sharp exhale, Silas pushed himself to his feet, pacing restlessly around the camp. His boots crunched against the dirt, his movements quick and aimless as fear bubbled up inside him. He scanned the camp, desperate for something to focus on, to channel his tension into, but nothing seemed to quiet the storm in his chest.

His steps took him to the hunters’ tent, where Lirassan, Malvion, and Theralas were focused on their tasks. Lirassan was carefully fletching arrows, his hands precise as he secured feathers to shafts. Malvion sat nearby, sharpening blades with practiced ease, while Theralas inspected a batch of arrows, ensuring each one was straight and flight-ready. Silas lingered in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room. He opened his mouth to offer his help but shook his head, realising they didn’t need it. They were handling everything with methodical precision, their focus unwavering. Feeling out of place, he turned and walked away.

His eyes drifted toward Therion’s tent, perhaps Therion was still awake. Maybe talking to him would help. Silas approached quietly and peeked inside. The sight before him made him pause. Therion lay restless on the cot, his face twisted with pain even in sleep. Talrin cradled him protectively, her arms wrapped around him, her soft humming barely audible. Silas swallowed hard, his heart heavy as he stepped back. He didn’t want to disturb them. Therion needed rest.

Turning away, Silas spotted Maelis near her tent, moving frantically as she prepared. Her usual calm demeanour was replaced with a frantic urgency, her hands trembling slightly as she organised supplies and scribbled notes. Silas approached her quickly, his voice steady but concerned. “Maelis, do you need any help?”

She looked up, startled, her eyes wide with barely concealed panic. “Yes,” she said quickly, almost breathlessly. “I’m missing so much—Deshanna and the others are out gathering, but I need to be ready when they get back. Here.” She handed him a small mortar and pestle, along with a bundle of dried herbs. “Grind these for me, please. I need them for a salve. The moment they bring more supplies, I’ll need to mix them.”

Silas nodded and got to work without hesitation, his hands moving swiftly as he ground the herbs into a fine powder. The rhythmic motion of the pestle provided some relief to his restless energy, giving him a task to focus on as the tension in his chest ebbed slightly. Around him, the camp remained a hive of activity, everyone moving with urgency and purpose, all their efforts focused on the same goal.

-

The day dragged on with an agonising slowness, each hour stretching endlessly as the camp buzzed with tension. Everyone was on edge, the weight of Thalia’s absence pressing heavily on them all. Some tried to keep themselves busy with their daily tasks, tending to chores and repairs with shaky hands and distracted minds. Others dedicated their time entirely to preparing for the mission, sharpening weapons, securing supplies, and coordinating plans.

The hunters checked and rechecked their bows, ensuring each string was taut, each arrow straight and ready to fly. Lirassan moved with quiet precision, his focus unshakable as he prepared quivers for the team. Malvion worked with steady hands, honing blades with a single-minded determination that matched the grim silence of those around him.

Deshanna divided her time between the camp and the forest, gathering what she could while making sure every detail of the plan was accounted for. Silas remained close, alternating between helping Maelis with salves and preparing himself mentally for the fight to come.

The air in the camp was heavy, filled with the unspoken fear that Thalia might not be found in time. Conversations were brief and laced with tension, and every movement felt purposeful, as if no one dared waste a single moment. As the sun climbed high overhead, the oppressive anticipation grew stronger, and even the most mundane tasks felt like acts of defiance against the waiting.

Therion slept, but his rest was anything but peaceful. His mind replayed the ambush in vivid, unrelenting detail—the moment the men emerged from the darkness, the panic in Thalia’s voice as she called out to him, and the sickening impact of a fist colliding with his head. He remembered the sharp, splitting pain as his body hit the shed wall and everything went black. The memories blurred, twisting into the moment he found her again: Thalia, so broken and vacant, lying on the dirt floor as the men surrounded her. The sight burned into his mind, searing him with guilt and fury.

But then his mind turned darker, crueler. Thalia’s broken form moved, her empty gaze locking onto his as her lips began to move. “You left me,” the illusion hissed, her voice hollow and filled with pain. “You abandoned me. You ran.”

“No!” Therion cried in his dream, his voice shaking. “I didn’t run! I tried—I couldn’t—” His words were frantic, desperate, as he tried to reach her, but she remained still, her face cold and unforgiving. “Please, Thalia, I didn’t leave you! I didn’t abandon you!” His voice cracked, pleading for her to understand, but the accusation echoed over and over in his mind. You left me. You left me.

The pressure built until it felt unbearable, and suddenly, he screamed, the sound ripping through him like a wounded animal. His body jolted violently, and his eyes flew open as he startled awake. Sweat clung to his brow, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath, his mind still caught between the dream and reality.

“It’s okay,” Talrin said softly, her voice soothing as she tightened her hold around him. She had been with him the entire time, cradling him against her chest and brushing her fingers gently through his hair. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

As Talrin cradled him, Therion wrapped his arms tightly around her, his face pressing against her chest as tears slipped down his cheeks. Her presence was his anchor, her steady breath and gentle touch grounding him as the storm of emotions inside him began to subside. He stayed there for a moment, clinging to her as if she was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

“How long was I asleep?” he asked quietly, his voice hoarse from both crying and exhaustion.

Talrin stroked his hair softly, her voice calm but tinged with concern. “It’s the afternoon now,” she said. “You slept for a while, but you needed it.” She paused, her fingers brushing against his temple as she examined him closely. “The others have been preparing all day. Everything’s almost ready.”

Therion’s brow furrowed as he tried to sit up, but Talrin held him gently, her arms still around him. “You’ll need to have your bandages replaced before you leave,” she said firmly. “Maelis will want to make sure your wound is clean, and Deshanna will need to heal your ribs so they don’t slow you down. And you’ll also need to eat something. You can’t go into this fight like this.”

Therion nodded reluctantly, though his mind was already racing ahead. He wanted to act, to move, but he knew she was right. “And the plan?” he asked, his voice low. “Have they decided?”

Talrin nodded, brushing a strand of hair back from his face. “They have. You’ll be briefed soon I think. Theralas and Deshanna have been working with the others to finalise everything. But you need to take care of yourself first. You can’t help her if you’re not at your best.”

He sighed heavily, the weight of her words sinking in, though his chest still burned with the need to save Thalia. “Okay,” he whispered, his grip on her loosening slightly. “I’ll do what I have to. But we have to leave soon.”

Talrin pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, her voice soft but resolute. “You will. Just hold on a little longer. You’re going to bring her home.”

Therion lifted his head slightly, his tear-filled eyes meeting Talrin’s. Without a word, he leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips, his touch light but filled with gratitude. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice raw but sincere. “For everything. For staying with me.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “Can you help me get to Maelis?”

Talrin nodded immediately, her expression soft but determined. “Of course,” she said, shifting to help him sit up. She kept one arm around his shoulders, steadying him as he moved. Therion reached for Thalia’s staff, gripping it tightly and using it to help himself stand. He winced as pain shot through his ribs, his face tightening in discomfort.

Talrin noticed, her brow furrowing with concern. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice laced with worry.

Therion nodded quickly, brushing off the pain. “I’m fine,” he said, though his voice was strained. “Let’s keep going. We can’t waste time.”

Talrin stayed close, her arm hovering around his waist as he steadied himself. Together, they stepped out of the tent, Therion leaning on the staff for support. His determination burned beneath the weariness in his body, pushing him forward despite the lingering ache. He couldn’t let anything hold him back.

Once they stepped out of the tent, they made their way toward Maelis’s tent. The camp was alive with quiet activity, but as the two passed, the hum of work seemed to pause. Clanmates stopped what they were doing, their gazes lingering on Therion as he clung tightly to the staff and leaned on Talrin for support. Their eyes spoke volumes—a silent acknowledgment of the pain he was carrying and the horror Thalia was enduring. Some looked away, others nodded subtly, offering unspoken apologies and shared sorrow for the burdens he bore.

Therion didn’t meet their gazes, focusing instead on putting one foot in front of the other. His jaw clenched, his determination warring with the exhaustion that tugged at him. Talrin stayed close, her steadying hand on his waist, keeping him upright as they reached Maelis’s tent.

Inside, Maelis was busy grinding herbs into a mortar, her brow furrowed in concentration as Silas stood beside her, stirring a salve in a small bowl. She looked up when they entered, her sharp gaze softening as she saw Therion. Without hesitation, she set her tools down and moved toward him, already gathering fresh bandages and a cloth. “Sit down,” she said briskly, motioning to a low stool. “Let’s take a look at you.”

Therion obeyed, lowering himself onto the stool with a wince. “I’m sorry, Maelis,” he murmured, his voice thick with weariness. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” she cut him off, her tone firm but kind as she knelt beside him and began unwrapping the old bandages around his temple. “You’ve been through enough. Now let me do my job.”

Moments later, Deshanna entered the tent, her presence filling the small space as she stepped inside. Her eyes immediately found Therion, her expression one of quiet concern. “How are you feeling, lethallan?” she asked, moving closer.

Therion glanced up at her, his exhaustion evident. “I’m fine,” he said softly, though the strain in his voice betrayed him. “I just… I need to be ready.”

Deshanna’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she crouched down, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been through more than anyone should,” she said gently. “But you need to focus on yourself right now. You can’t help Thalia if you collapse out there.”

Therion nodded reluctantly, his fingers tightening around the staff. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” he said, his voice low but resolute.

Deshanna gave him a small, approving nod before standing. She moved to stand behind him, murmuring softly as she placed her hands on his back and began to cast a healing spell. A faint green glow surrounded her hands as she hovered them over his ribs, the magic seeping into his skin and soothing the ache that had been plaguing him. “This should help,” she said quietly, her voice steady. “You’ll still need to be careful, but the pain won’t slow you down as much anymore.”

Talrin stayed by his side, her fingers brushing lightly against his hand in silent reassurance. Therion glanced up at Deshanna, his brow furrowed and his exhaustion evident. “What’s the plan?” he asked, his voice low but steady, cutting through the quiet tension in the tent.

Deshanna met his gaze, her expression calm but firm. “Meet me in my tent with the others when Maelis is done,” she replied. “We’ll go over everything together.” Her tone left no room for argument, though her concern for him was clear in her eyes. “For now, let her finish.”

Therion gave a faint nod, his grip tightening slightly on Thalia’s staff as Maelis worked carefully on the wound at his temple. She dipped a cloth into a bowl of clean water, gently wiping away the dried blood as her brow creased in thought. “You’ve taken quite a hit,” she murmured, half to herself, as her fingers brushed lightly over the injury. “The swelling’s not too bad, but this must have hurt like the Void. What happened?” Her tone was soft, but her curiosity was evident.

Therion’s jaw tightened, and his voice came out blunt and curt. “I was hit,” he said simply, the memory flashing painfully in his mind. “Fist to the head. Then a wall.” He didn’t elaborate, and his tone left little room for further questioning. He looked past her, his thoughts already turning to what lay ahead.

Maelis didn’t press him, sensing his reluctance to speak more. She continued her work in silence, carefully cleaning the wound and murmuring under her breath about keeping it from reopening.

Maelis finished tying the bandage around Therion’s head and stepped back, wiping her hands on a cloth. She crossed her arms and regarded him with a mix of sternness and relief. “You’re lucky it wasn’t deeper,” she said. “It could’ve been a lot worse. Don’t make it worse by pushing yourself too hard.”

Therion tested his footing, gripping Thalia’s staff tightly as he stood. The pain in his ribs was gone, replaced by a faint pressure that barely registered. He nodded toward Maelis, his voice steady but quiet. “Thank you,” he said, sincerity laced in his tone.

Maelis gave him a sharp nod before turning to Talrin. “I’ll need you to stay and help me prepare more salves,” she said, gesturing to the herbs and supplies she’d been working with earlier. “There’s still a lot to do, and I’ll need everything ready.”

Talrin nodded, though her focus lingered on Therion. She stepped closer to him, her hand brushing his arm before she leaned in to give him a gentle kiss. “Be careful,” she murmured, her voice soft but filled with determination.

Therion gave her a faint smile, the weight of her words settling over him. He turned without another word, steadying himself on Thalia’s staff as he made his way out of the tent. Silas followed closely behind, his expression tight with focus as they walked together through the camp.

Silas broke the heavy silence, his voice tight. “How are you holding up, Therion?”

Therion’s grip on Thalia’s staff tightened, his jaw clenching before he answered. “I’m fine,” he said tersely, though his voice wavered slightly. “Better than I was this morning.”

Silas nodded but didn’t seem satisfied. He hesitated for a moment before his next question came out, sharper than he intended. “Why did you leave her?”

The words hit Therion like a blow, stopping him in his tracks. He turned to Silas, his expression darkening as anger and guilt twisted together in his chest. “What did you just say?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“You heard me,” Silas said, his tone growing harsher. “Why did you leave her? You said you saw what they were doing. You saw her. How could you just walk away?”

Therion’s teeth clenched, his fists tightening around the staff as his entire body tensed. “You think I wanted to leave her? I had no choice!” Therion spat, his voice trembling with fury and anguish. “I was unarmed, injured—what was I supposed to do? Charge in there and get myself killed? Then she’d be alone. Completely alone. They would’ve killed her, Silas! Do you understand that? She’d be gone, and both of us would be lying there, useless in the dirt. I couldn’t save her then, but I can now.”

Silas took a step closer, his anger flaring. “You should’ve done something,” he said, his voice cutting. “You’re her brother! You love her! And yet you left her there, with those monsters.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Therion snapped, his voice breaking with emotion. “You think I don’t replay that moment in my head every damn second? That I don’t hate myself for it? Gods, Silas, no one hates me more than I do.”

“Then why—” Silas began, but Therion cut him off, his voice trembling with rage and pain.

“You don’t get to lecture me about Thalia!” Therion shouted, his chest heaving. “You weren’t there! You didn’t see what I saw. You don’t know what it’s like to feel that helpless, to watch her being violated and broken and not be able to do a damn thing. You weren’t there! I was!” He jabbed his finger into his own chest, his knuckles white as he gripped the staff. “And don’t you dare act like you love her more than I do. She’s my sister. I’ve known her her whole life. I would die for her.”

Silas’s face twisted, his own anger boiling over as he stepped closer, his voice shaking. “And yet you left her! You left her to those monsters!” His words were venomous, his hands trembling at his sides. “You were there, Therion, and you still left!”

“Do you think I had a choice?” Therion bellowed, his voice hoarse, his face contorted with fury and grief. “Do you think I wanted to leave her? I was unconscious—thrown into a ditch, wounded and with no weapons! What would you have done, Silas? Tell me! Would you have walked in there, fists swinging, and saved her all on your own? Because I couldn’t!” His voice cracked, tears brimming in his red-rimmed eyes. “I couldn’t save her, Silas. And it’s killing me inside.”

Silas shook his head, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. “You could have tried harder,” he shot back, his voice laced with bitterness. “I would have—”

“You weren’t there!” Therion roared, cutting him off again, his voice echoing through the quiet camp. “You didn’t feel their hands dragging you away. You didn’t wake up alone, in the dark, covered in blood, knowing that she was still there. Do you think I don’t see her face every time I close my eyes? Do you think I don’t hear her screaming for me over and over again? Gods, Silas, I left her because I had to, and I will hate myself for the rest of my life for it!”

The raw confession hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Therion’s chest heaved, his eyes wild and glassy with tears. “You think I don’t love her enough,” he choked out, his voice softer but no less intense. “But no one hates me more than I hate myself. For every second I left her in that shed.”

Silas faltered, his rage tempered by the sheer devastation in Therion’s voice. His anger burned less brightly now, smothered by the truth in Therion’s words. He stared at him, his own breathing unsteady, his hands trembling at his sides.

They hadn’t realised the camp had fallen silent, their argument echoing through the air like thunder. Clanmates had stopped their tasks, their eyes fixed on the confrontation, their expressions a mix of unease and concern. Deshanna and Theralas had emerged from the Keeper’s tent, both looking tense and ready to step in, their movements quick as though bracing to separate the two if fists began to fly.

Therion, oblivious to the stares and uncaring of the growing audience, turned sharply, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. His grip on Thalia’s staff was iron-tight as he strode toward Deshanna’s tent. He pushed past the Keeper and Theralas without hesitation, his shoulder brushing Theralas hard enough to turn the older hunter slightly. Deshanna opened her mouth as if to say something, but Therion’s jaw was set, his gaze fixed forward. He didn’t slow, didn’t look back—his steps heavy with frustration and pain as he disappeared into the tent.

Silas stood there, rooted in place, his anger dissipating into a hollow silence. The weight of the camp’s collective gaze bore down on him, making him painfully aware of the scene he had caused. He glanced up at Deshanna and Theralas, and his stomach twisted when he caught the look in their eyes. It wasn’t anger—it was disappointment. A deep, silent disappointment for questioning Therion’s actions, for doubting his love for Thalia. The disapproval in their gazes stung, and Silas’s heart sank further as Therion’s words echoed in his mind: “No one hates me more than I hate myself.”

He swallowed hard, shame settling heavily on his shoulders. Without another word, Silas looked down, his face pale with regret, and walked toward the tent. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though the weight of his guilt and frustration had sunk into his very bones. The silence of the camp stretched around him like a shroud, and though the murmurs of resumed activity began to pick up again, the tension lingered.

As Silas reached the tent, he hesitated for a moment, his mind still racing. He thought of Therion’s face, his voice raw with grief and fury, and it cut deeper than he cared to admit. Silas took a shaky breath, squared his shoulders, and entered the tent, his anger replaced by a gnawing sense of shame and understanding.

Therion was hunched over the table, his hands gripping the edges so tightly his knuckles had turned white. Maps and hastily scrawled notes were spread out before him, the faint candle light casting deep shadows across his face, highlighting the anger and determination etched into his features. His gaze scanned the papers intently, his chest still rising and falling unevenly as the lingering emotions from his argument with Silas simmered just beneath the surface.

Silas entered the tent, hesitating for a moment before clearing his throat. “Therion,” he began, his voice quieter now, tinged with guilt. “I… I’m sorry. What I said earlier—”

“Don’t,” Therion cut him off curtly, his posture rigid and unmoving. His eyes didn’t lift from the maps. “I don’t care.”

The silence that followed was thick, but Silas didn’t argue. He looked down, swallowing his pride and stepping back to give Therion space. The tent flap rustled as Deshanna and Theralas walked back in, their sharp eyes scanning the space. There was a weight to their movements, a gravity that settled into the air as they took their places.

Moments later, Malvion and Lirassan entered as well, both of them carrying their weapons and supplies, their expressions grim but focused. The tension in the tent grew, the unspoken urgency pressing down on all of them.

Therion finally looked up, his eyes locking on Theralas. “What’s the plan?” he demanded, his voice low but steady, his desperation to act barely concealed.

Theralas let out a heavy sigh, the kind that seemed to gather all his focus and resolve. He stepped toward the table, his broad hands smoothing over the edges of the map as he prepared to speak. “Alright, listen closely,” he started, his voice steady but laced with the weight of what was about to happen.

“Therion and I will be leading the team,” he continued, his eyes scanning the group. “Once we reach the tree line that borders the village, we’ll split up. Silas and Lirassan, you’ll take up scouting positions along the perimeter, keeping a wide vantage point from the trees. You’re our eyes—if anything shifts, you need to spot it first.”

Lirassan gave a sharp nod, his face calm and focused, while Silas remained silent, his expression grim as he listened intently.

“Malvion, Therion, and I will head directly for the shed,” Theralas continued. “We’ll move carefully and look for any way inside. If we find an opening and it’s clear, Malvion will stand guard at the entrance while Therion and I go in to get Thalia out. That’s the plan if there’s no one there.” His voice hardened slightly as he straightened, his gaze moving to Therion.

“If any of them are still there,” Theralas said darkly, “we’ll take them down—quietly and quickly. We’ll do whatever we have to in order to get her back. If Silas and Lirassan hear a signal for help— you’ll abandon your scouting posts and come to assist us immediately. But,” he added firmly, “your primary focus remains the same: keeping Thalia safe and getting her home.”

The tent was silent for a moment as the weight of the plan settled over them. Each of them understood what was at stake, and there was no room for error.

Malvion broke the silence, his voice cautious but steady. “What if they’ve moved her? If the shed’s empty, we’ll need to figure out where they’ve taken her. Do we have a plan for that?”

Theralas nodded, his expression calm but resolute. “If they’ve moved her, we regroup and reevaluate immediately. We won’t leave that village without finding her.”

He turned to Lirassan and Silas, his tone firm. “Keep your eyes sharp. Any movement, any unusual activity—it could be our lead. Stay alert, and be ready to signal us if you see anything.”

Therion, still hunched over the map, clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. “She’ll be there,” he muttered, his voice low but determined. “They wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of moving her unless they thought someone was coming. They think she’s alone since they think I’m dead.”

Theralas glanced at him, a flicker of sympathy in his eyes. “We’ll start with the shed,” he said firmly. “And if she’s not there, we’ll tear that village apart to find her.” His words hung heavily in the air, a promise that resonated with everyone in the room.

Theralas shifted his attention to Therion, his expression softening just slightly. “We’ve prepared everything we can for this,” he said. “We got you a new bow and quiver.” He gestured to a nearby bundle resting against the tent wall, the craftsmanship solid and well-made.

Therion’s eyes flicked to the bow, and he gave a small nod of acknowledgment. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice rough with tension. His expression remained taut, his focus razor-sharp. There was no room for gratitude or relief.

Theralas placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, a silent gesture of support. “We’ll bring her back, Therion.”

Therion said nothing, but he nodded again, his grip tightening on the table. The fire burning in his chest was the only thing keeping him steady now.

Chapter Text

The forest was quiet but alive, the crunch of fallen leaves and the soft snap of twigs underfoot blending with the faint rustle of the wind in the trees. Therion, Theralas, Silas, Malvion, and Lirassan moved with careful precision, their steps deliberate and their breaths hushed. The chill of late autumn clung to the air, biting at their exposed skin and making their breath faintly visible in soft white puffs that lingered momentarily before dissipating into the darkness.

Above them, stars dotted the night sky, the faint glow of the moon spilling pale silver light through the branches. It illuminated just enough for them to see the faint outlines of the path ahead, guiding their movements as they closed in on the settlement. The air was sharp, and the cold seemed to seep into their bones, but none of them faltered. Determination and purpose drove them forward.

Therion moved at the front of the group, his steps swift and silent as he led the way. His heart pounded fiercely in his chest, each beat a reminder of the stakes and the urgency of their mission. His breath was steady but shallow, his grip on his new bow firm in his hand. Every step closer to the settlement sharpened his focus, the memories of what he had seen in the shed fueling the fire that burned within him.

As the group neared the settlement, the outline of the houses came into view, dim and shadowed against the faint glow of scattered lanterns around the village. The faint ruckus from nearby taverns carried through the still night air—laughter, raised voices, and the occasional clatter of mugs striking tables. A few villagers lingered in the dimly lit streets, finishing their daily tasks, carrying tools, or shuffling home with hunched shoulders against the autumn chill.

Therion’s ears caught the sound of men haggling loudly outside a nearby tavern, their tones a mix of frustration and drunken amusement. Guards stood firmly at the doors, their expressions stoic as they refused entry to the rowdy group. The men, undeterred, turned their attention to the girls who worked in the brothel service within the tavern. Dressed in provocative clothing, the women moved around the entrance, some laughing flirtatiously with paying customers while others cast wary glances at the drunkards loitering nearby.

The men whistled and jeered, their slurred voices dripping with lewd confidence. “Hey sweetheart, what’s your price tonight?” one called, his grin wide and suggestive. Another stumbled closer, his breath reeking of ale as he barked, “You’re wasting time in there—come warm my bed!”

The guards exchanged tired, knowing looks, their hands resting on their weapons but refraining from intervening. The girls, accustomed to the harassment, either ignored the crude remarks or responded with biting humour, their expressions masked by years of practiced indifference. As the drunkards continued their antics, some cursed under their breath and stumbled away when their taunts went unanswered, leaving the tavern’s entrance to return to the dim, chaotic streets of the village.

The low hum of activity gave the village a sense of uneasy life, and Therion’s focus sharpened. He motioned for the group to crouch lower, their movements blending into the shadows as they navigated the edge of the settlement. The noise and light from the taverns acted as a distraction, but it also reminded them of the potential for danger—there were watchful eyes and guards present, and any misstep could draw unwanted attention.

The group moved carefully through the tree line, their movements silent as they weaved through the dense underbrush and ducked behind trees for cover. The faint glow of lanterns from the village illuminated their path in scattered patches, but the shadows of the forest kept them hidden. Therion’s eyes were locked on the row of sheds as they came into view, his chest tightening as his gaze fixed on the one where he had found Thalia the night before. His heart pounded, each beat a reminder of what was at stake.

They stopped close to the sheds, crouching low behind the thick tree trunks as they scanned the area. Therion strained his ears, trying to separate the sounds of the village from the pounding in his chest. The faint laughter and muffled voices from the taverns carried on the cool night air, mixed with the occasional clatter of footsteps on wooden planks. His nerves buzzed with urgency, but he knew they couldn’t rush in—not yet.

Lirassan and Silas quickly took their positions, climbing into the trees with practiced ease. From their elevated vantage points, they had a clear view of the area surrounding the sheds. Lirassan motioned silently to Silas, both of them scanning for any sign of movement. Their sharp eyes flicked between the village activity and the sheds, ensuring no one was lingering nearby.

There was still too much movement in the village. The hum of voices, the shuffle of feet, and the occasional raised laughter from drunken men kept the group on edge. A pair of villagers walked past the sheds, their conversation low but audible. Therion clenched his jaw, his patience wearing thin, but he forced himself to wait. They had to remain hidden until the buzz of the village began to die down, until the streets grew quieter and the risk of being spotted diminished.

Theralas crouched beside him, his eyes fixed on the sheds as well. “Not yet,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “We’ll wait for the right moment. Stay sharp.”

Therion nodded stiffly, his focus unwavering as his eyes darted between the sheds and the faint figures moving in the distance. Every passing moment felt like an eternity, the weight of his determination pressing heavily on his chest. All they could do now was wait for the night to work in their favour.

As they crouched in the shadows, Theralas broke the tense silence with a quiet, commanding whisper. “Go through your equipment,” he said, his tone steady but firm. “Make sure everything’s ready.”

The group nodded silently, each of them carefully checking their gear. Therion’s hands trembled slightly as he double-checked his new bow and the quiver of arrows they had prepared for him earlier. Malvion unsheathed his sword, running a finger along the edge of the blade to ensure it was sharp. Lirassan adjusted the straps of his armour in the tree above, his eyes never leaving the sheds as his tightened the grip on his bow. Silas quietly murmured to himself, likely running through incantations in his mind, his hands resting on his staff.

Theralas reached into his pack, pulling out a neatly folded blanket. He held it for a moment, his expression unreadable in the dim light. It was simple, made of thick wool, and one of the few things they had brought specifically for Thalia. They had agreed that it would be used to wrap her when they carried her back to camp.

As the group was finishing their checks, a faint bird whistle cut through the stillness, barely audible over the night sounds. They all froze, their heads snapping upward toward Lirassan. He signaled sharply, his movements precise, pointing toward the shed they’d been watching.

Therion followed his line of sight, his heart pounding. A man was approaching the shed, holding a lantern in one hand, its dim glow casting long shadows across the ground. His movements were casual, almost too casual, as if he were trying not to draw attention. The man was tall, with a hunched back, his figure illuminated by the faint lantern light.

Therion’s breath caught as the man reached into his pocket, pulling out a key. His hand trembled around the bow as he watched the man unlock the shed and step inside, closing the door quietly behind him. The flicker of the lantern inside illuminated the grimy window, casting distorted shadows on the walls.

A surge of anger and urgency burned through Therion’s chest, and his muscles tensed. His grip on the bow tightened as he shifted his weight, ready to dart forward. He didn’t care if the others weren’t ready. He couldn’t let this man have another moment alone with Thalia. His blood boiled, the memory of her broken form flashing in his mind, and his vision blurred with rage.

But before he could move, Theralas’s hand clamped down on his shoulder, holding him firmly in place. “No,” Theralas hissed, his voice low and commanding. “Not yet.”

Therion glared at him, his body trembling with barely-contained fury. “He’s in there with her,” he growled through clenched teeth. “We can’t just—”

“I know,” Theralas cut him off, his tone sharp but calm. “But look around.” He gestured subtly toward the faint movement still visible in the village—villagers finishing their tasks, men loitering near taverns, guards patrolling the streets. “The town is still too alive. If we move now, we’ll be seen, and then it’s over.”

Therion’s jaw tightened, his breaths ragged as he stared at the shed, the glow of the lantern inside making his stomach churn. “And what happens while we wait?” he spat, his voice barely a whisper. “What happens to her?” He clenched his fists, his voice trembling with suppressed rage as he answered himself, “They’ll keep hurting her. They’ll keep breaking her. Every second we stand here, they take more from her.” His eyes burned with fury and anguish as he continued, his voice growing harsher. “What if they kill her? What if we’re too late?” He gritted his teeth, shaking his head as he forced the thoughts from his mind, but the words still hung heavy in the air.

Theralas’s expression darkened, and for a moment, his hand tightened on Therion’s shoulder. “We wait,” he said firmly, though his voice carried the weight of his own pain. “As much as it kills us to let this happen, we wait for the right moment. We can’t help her if we all end up dead.”

The words stung, but they were true. Therion looked back at the shed, his nails digging into the wood of the bow as he forced himself to stay rooted in place. His entire body burned with the need to act, but he knew Theralas was right. They couldn’t risk it.

The group remained in tense silence, their eyes locked on the shed as they waited for the night to grow quieter, for the village to finally fall into stillness. Every passing second felt like an eternity, each breath a battle to contain their fury and grief.

-

Though only minutes passed, the wait felt like an eternity as the settlement’s activity finally began to die down. The muffled noises from the taverns softened, the streets grew quieter, and the once-roaming villagers now retreated to their homes. It was time.

Theralas made a bird whistled, giving a signal to Lirassan and Silas in the trees. The two scouts immediately shifted their positions, their keen eyes tracking every movement in the area. Lirassan whistled back, pointing toward the roof of the shed. A faint silhouette of light from a latch was visible against the dim light—a potential point of entry, undetectable from the ground. He gestured to confirm his discovery, and Theralas nodded in acknowledgment, turning back to Therion and Malvion.

The plan was in motion.

Therion’s heart thundered in his chest as the three of them darted from the cover of the trees. The small empty space between the forest and the settlement felt impossibly vast, every step amplifying the sound of his breath in his ears. His pulse was deafening, the adrenaline coursing through his veins propelling him forward with deadly focus. They moved quickly but quietly, their figures blending into the shadows as they crossed the space.

Upon reaching the shed, the trio pressed themselves against its wooden wall, their backs flat against the rough planks. The smell of damp wood and earth filled their noses as they steadied their breathing. Therion could feel his blood pumping, his grip tightening around the blow as his gaze flicked around the corner toward the grimy window. The faint flicker of the lantern inside sent a fresh wave of fury coursing through him, but he forced himself to stay silent, to wait for the next signal.

Theralas peeked around the corner cautiously, ensuring no one was nearby before glancing up toward the roof. He pointed to the roof, then to Malvion and Therion, motioning for them to be ready.

Malvion crouched low, intertwining his fingers to create a sturdy step, his face set in grim determination. He gestured for Therion to move quickly. Therion took a few step back, his heart hammering in his chest as he prepared himself.

With a sharp intake of breath, Therion sprinted forward, his boots muffled against the damp earth. He stepped onto Malvion’s hands, and with a powerful heave, Malvion hoisted him upward with ease. Therion landed on the roof, his feet silent on the aged wood, his movements deliberate and controlled. The wood barely creaked beneath his weight as he crouched low, scanning the roof for the latch Lirassan had signalled earlier.

There it was—just a few feet ahead. Therion crept toward it, each step measured as his breath grew shallow. The latch was ajar, and he paused, his heart sinking as faint sounds drifted from the opening below.

The noises made his stomach churn. Grunts and moans from a man echoed softly through the latch, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of wet skin slapping against skin. The sickening rhythm was enough to make Therion’s blood boil, his hands trembling with barely contained rage as his nails dug into the wooden roof. He forced himself to breathe, to focus, though the fury burned hot in his chest.

Therion leaned forward, his fingers gripping the edge of the open latch as he peered inside. His breath hitched, and the blood in his veins turned to fire at the sight before him. The hunched man was in front of Thalia, his back to the door. She hung limply from a hook, her wrists bound and suspended above her head. Her body was bruised, bloodied, and streaked with fresh cuts across her arms, legs, and torso. She looked barely conscious, her head tilted to the side, her matted hair obscuring her face.

The man’s hands gripped her rear, his arms holding her legs draped over them as he used her body with sickening brutality, his movements steady and rhythmic. The grunts and the sound of his skin colliding with hers filled the air, mingling with the sounds of his sickening pleasure.

Therion’s vision turned red, the world narrowing to the scene below. Rage coursed through him like a wildfire, hot and unrelenting. Without a second thought, he reached back, grabbing an arrow and nocking it against the string of his bow. His hands trembled, but not from fear, his every instinct screaming to end him where he stood.

He reached forward, slowly pushing the latch open wider, the creak of the hinges barely audible over the sounds inside. He crouched low, his movements controlled as he prepared to drop in. His breath was shallow, his entire body taut with fury.

As Therion swung his legs over the edge, ready to drop into the shed, Theralas reached the roof and saw him. His eyes widened, and he hissed sharply, “Therion, stop!” His whisper was urgent, but it was too late.

Therion was already lowering himself down, his determination unshakable. His focus was singular, his rage blinding him to everything but the need to save Thalia. Theralas reached for him, but the younger elf had already disappeared through the latch, his boots landing silently on the dirt floor below.

Therion stood tall, his body rigid with fury as he pulled the bowstring back to its full draw. His aim was steady, his focus sharp despite the storm raging within him. He released the arrow with a sharp twang, and it found its mark with deadly precision. The hunched man gasped, his body jerking as the arrow plunged deep into his back. He staggered, releasing Thalia as his hands clawed at his back in a futile attempt to pull the arrow free.

He spun around, his bloodshot eyes locking onto Therion, and the rage on the elf’s face was the last thing he saw before another arrow was released. It struck the man square in the chest, the force of the impact making him stumble backward. His mouth opened in a soundless gasp as he clutched at the arrow lodged in his chest, his knees giving out as he collapsed to the ground in a heap.

Therion didn’t hesitate. He dropped the bow, his hands shaking with raw fury as he closed the distance between them. The man was still struggling to breathe, his movements sluggish, when Therion’s boot connected with his side. The force of the kick sent him rolling onto his back, breaking the arrow, and Therion didn’t stop. He stomped and kicked, his boots slamming into the man’s ribs, chest, and face with a savage rhythm. Each impact was fuelled by his blinding rage, his need to make this monster pay for what he was doing to Thalia.

Blood spattered across the dirt floor as Therion’s relentless assault continued. The hunched man’s body grew limp under the onslaught, but Therion didn’t notice—he couldn’t stop. His vision was red, his breaths ragged and uneven as he poured every ounce of his fury into each brutal kick.

“Therion!” Theralas’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding through the roof latch. “Stop!”

The sound of his name jolted Therion from his rage. He froze mid-motion, his chest heaving as he stared down at the bloodied, motionless body beneath him. His hands trembled, and he stumbled back a step, his mind catching up to what he had done. The silence in the shed was deafening now, broken only by the faint flicker of the lantern and the sound of his laboured breathing.

Therion turned to Thalia, his rage melting into pure anguish as he took in her broken form. Without a second thought, he rushed to her side, grabbing her face gently in his trembling hands. His tears streamed down his cheeks as he whispered her name over and over, his voice cracking with emotion. “Thalia… Lia… I’m here. I’ve got you.”

As he held her face, his breath hitched at the sight of the deep cut on her cheek. The blood had dried, mixed with dirt, and was streaked with tears. The sight of it made his stomach twist painfully, and his hands shook as he stroked her face, trying to offer comfort. Her head lolled slightly in his hands, her body limp as it hung from the hook.

A dirty cloth was tied tightly around her mouth, silencing her completely. Therion’s hands fumbled with the knot, his desperation making him clumsy. “Hold on, Lia,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Just hold on.”

Finally, the gag came loose, and he pulled it away. A ragged, shallow breath escaped her lips, the sound tearing at Therion’s heart. Her eyes fluttered open, but they didn’t meet his—they stared past him, unfocused and distant. It was as if she was looking through him, her mind barely holding on to consciousness.

“Thalia,” he said again, his voice soft and pleading as he gently brushed her matted hair from her face. “Look at me. Please… I’m here.”

Her lips moved faintly, as though she were trying to form words, but no sound came out. Therion’s chest tightened, his tears falling freely now as he held her face in his hands. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I should have gotten to you sooner. I won’t let anything else happen to you. I swear it.”

As Therion gently cradled Thalia’s face, his whispers grew more desperate, his tears falling onto his cheeks. The sound of Theralas’s sharp warning ripped him from his focus. “Therion! Behind you!”

Therion spun around just in time to dodge a blade of a knife aimed at his back. A second man stepped out from the shadows, his expression twisted with fury and malice. He had been inside the shed the entire time, sleeping on a chair in the corner, unnoticed in the chaos. Now awake and fuelled by rage, he seized the opportunity to strike. His grip on the knife was tight, his knuckles white as he snarled, “You killed him! You ruined our fun, you bastard!”

Therion’s fury ignited, his vision blurring with red as the man’s words pierced through him. Without hesitation, he drew his own knife, meeting the attacker head-on. Their blades clashed with a sharp metallic sound, and they swung at each other with equal ferocity. The man’s strikes were wild and heavy, forcing Therion to dodge and parry with precision, his movements fuelled by a mix of rage and desperation.

Therion managed to land a deep slash along the man’s arm, drawing blood, but the attacker retaliated with a brutal strike to Therion’s shoulder. Both men bore the marks of the fight as their blades tore into flesh, their breaths coming in short, ragged bursts. The attacker growled through clenched teeth, “I’ll kill you first and then I’ll make her scream!”

The vile threat made Therion seethe with rage. “Don’t you dare touch her,” he spat, his voice trembling with fury. He lunged at the man, slamming into him and dragging them both to the ground. Their knives were knocked from their hands as they grappled, their bodies slamming against the dirt floor with force.

Fists flew wildly, each landing brutal punches to the other’s face and body. The man snarled and managed to roll on top of Therion, pinning him down. His hand reached out, fumbling for his fallen knife, and Therion struggled beneath him, gritting his teeth as he fought against the man’s weight.

With a triumphant sneer, the attacker seized his knife and drove it deep into Therion’s side. A strangled gasp tore from Therion’s lips as searing pain shot through his body. Without hesitation, the man withdrew the blade only to plunge it into Therion’s side again, and then again, each vicious stab tearing through flesh. Therion’s body jerked with every strike, blood soaking his clothes as his cries of pain filled the shed.

The man’s face twisted with savage glee as he buried the knife one final time, twisting it cruelly before dragging it to the side, widening the jagged wound. Blood poured freely, pooling beneath Therion as he choked on a gasp, his vision blurring from the sheer agony. “Stay down, knife-ear!” the man growled, his voice a venomous snarl, reveling in the brutality of his attack.

But before he could strike again, the sharp whistle of an arrow cut through the air. The man’s eyes widened in shock as Theralas’s arrow buried itself deep into his skull. His grip on the knife slackened, and his body slumped forward, collapsing lifelessly onto Therion.

Therion groaned, the pain in his side sharp and unrelenting, his strength faltering as he struggled to push the man off him. Before he could muster the effort, Theralas dropped down into the shed, his boots hitting the dirt floor with a soft thud. His eyes locked onto the gruesome scene, and without hesitation, he rushed forward.

With a grunt, Theralas grabbed the man by his shoulders and shoved him off Therion, sending the lifeless body sprawling across the dirt floor. Blood seeped from the deep, jagged wound in Therion’s side, staining his tunic and pooling beneath him.

Theralas immediately ran to the door, his hands fumbling with the latch as urgency gripped him. He threw the door open, stepping out into the night, and froze for a moment as the scene before him unfolded.

Malvion stood just outside the shed, his sword buried deep into the chest of a lean man who had been engaged in a fierce fight with him. The man gasped, blood bubbling at his lips as Malvion yanked the blade free with a swift motion. The lean man crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Malvion’s chest heaved, his face twisted with a mix of exhaustion and fury as he glanced up at Theralas.

“He was coming for the shed,” Malvion said, his voice steady but tinged with the adrenaline of the fight. “I couldn’t let him get inside. Took care of him before he could cause any trouble.”

Theralas gave a quick nod of acknowledgment. “Good work,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “But we have to move.” Without missing a beat, he turned toward the trees and raised his hand, whistling a signal to Lirassan and Silas. His gestures were precise, indicating for them to abandon their scouting positions and join them immediately.

The signal was unmistakable, and within moments, Lirassan and Silas emerged from the shadows, their weapons ready as they closed in on the shed. Theralas’s eyes scanned the area briefly, ensuring no other threats were approaching before turning to Silas.

“Silas, keep watch outside,” Theralas ordered firmly. “We need to get them out of here, and we can’t afford any more surprises.”

Silas nodded, gripping his staff tightly as he moved to take up a guard position near the shed’s entrance. Meanwhile, Theralas stepped back inside, his focus shifting immediately to the injured Therion and Thalia’s fragile, hanging form. The plan had shifted into urgency, and every second counted now.

Theralas barked out orders with quiet urgency, his voice cutting through the tension in the shed. “Lirassan, Malvion—help Therion up. Silas, get ready to heal him.”

Lirassan and Malvion immediately moved to Therion, each taking one of his arms to steady him. Therion, however, shook his head firmly, his jaw clenched. “No,” he said hoarsely, his voice filled with both pain and determination. “Heal her. Use everything you have on her. She needs it more than I do.”

Theralas exchanged a brief, somber glance with Silas. He didn’t argue with Therion’s command but raised a hand to halt Silas from acting immediately. “We’ll do it,” Theralas said softly, his voice tinged with sorrow. “But not here. We need to get out of this place first. The forest will give us cover.”

Silas nodded, understanding the urgency of the situation, and remained at the shed’s entrance, keeping a vigilant watch outside.

Meanwhile, Therion’s bloodied hands clenched into fists as he turned his gaze to Theralas, his voice rising in a mix of anger and pain. “Why didn’t you take the shot sooner?” he demanded, his words sharp and laced with frustration. “You just stood there while he—” His voice cracked, his emotions boiling over as Malvion pressed a hand to his bleeding side.

Theralas’s face remained calm, though there was a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “They were moving too quickly,” he said evenly, his tone steady but firm. “If I’d shot sooner, I could have hit you—or Thalia. I wasn’t going to take that risk.”

Therion’s chest heaved as he glared at Theralas, his anger clashing with the truth of the words. After a tense pause, he gritted his teeth, his voice lowering but still seething with frustration. “We couldn’t afford mistakes, Theralas. She can’t afford mistakes.”

“I know,” Theralas replied, his voice softening but still resolute. “But we have her now, and I won’t let anything else happen to either of you. We’re getting you both out of here. Alive.” His gaze lingered on Therion for a moment before he turned back to Thalia’s unconscious form, his expression hardening with determination.

Theralas turned to Thalia, his expression softening as he reached into his pack and pulled out the blanket they had brought. Wrapping it carefully around her bare, battered body, his hands trembled slightly, sorrow flickering in his eyes. As her guardian, he felt the weight of failure pressing heavily on his shoulders. He had vowed to protect her, and now here she was, bruised, bloodied, and barely clinging to life.

Taking a knife from his belt, Theralas cut through the bindings on her wrists with a clean slice. The moment the ropes snapped free, Thalia’s limp body slumped forward, her weight collapsing into his arms. He caught her effortlessly, holding her close as she fell from the hook.

With the blanket wrapped tightly around her, he adjusted his grip, one arm supporting her back while the other slid under her knees. Her head lolled against his chest, her face pale and unresponsive. Theralas’s expression hardened, his sorrow giving way to determination. “Let’s go,” he murmured to everyone as he held her close.

Meanwhile, Malvion and Lirassan steadied Therion, each supporting him under an arm as they helped him to his feet. Therion winced but pushed through the pain, his focus entirely on Thalia. He glanced at her motionless form in Theralas’s arms, his jaw tightening with a mix of guilt and resolve.

Without another word, the group moved swiftly, exiting the shed as quietly as they could. The night was still, and their footsteps were muffled by the soft earth as they slipped into the shadows. Their breaths were quiet, their movements precise as they disappeared from the village, making their way back toward the safety of the forest. Each of them carried the weight of the moment, their shared determination to bring Thalia home burning fiercely in their hearts.

Once they reached the tree line and were safely out of sight, the sound of shouting erupted from the direction of the village. Voices rose in alarm, panic rippling through the stillness of the night. Screams and frantic calls carried on the cold air, and the words became unmistakable: “Murder! There’s been a murder!”

Therion froze for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. His breath hitched as he processed the commotion. Another voice shouted, louder and clearer, “Three dead! Someone has killed them!”

The group exchanged tense glances, their breathing quickening. Theralas whispered sharply, “Keep moving. We don’t stop now.”

They all nodded, gripping Therions arms tighter as they pushed forward into the forest. Each step carried a mixture of relief that they had escaped and dread for what lay ahead. The screams and chaos from the village slowly faded into the distance, but the weight of what they had done lingered heavily.

-

The group finally came to a stop deep within the forest, far enough from the settlement to feel relatively safe. Their breaths were heavy, their movements hurried but deliberate as they prepared to tend to the injured siblings. Theralas knelt and gently laid Thalia on the ground, her fragile body still wrapped in the blanket. He turned sharply and called for Silas.

Silas stepped forward immediately, his face grim with determination. He crouched by Thalia’s side, his hands hovering over her body as he summoned every ounce of energy he had left. The faint glow of healing magic began to envelop her, his brow furrowed with concentration as he worked. Her wounds were severe, and Silas poured his focus into stabilising her, his mana draining rapidly with each passing second.

Theralas quickly rummaged through his pack, pulling out bandages they had prepared. “Silas,” he said firmly, glancing over his shoulder, “I need you to spare some energy for Therion. He’s not in good shape either.”

Silas gave a terse nod, sweat already beading on his brow as he concentrated on Thalia. “I’ll do what I can,” he murmured, his voice tight with exertion.

Meanwhile, Malvion and Lirassan carefully lowered Therion against the trunk of a tree. His face was pale, and his breaths were shallow, but his eyes were fixed on Thalia, his worry for her eclipsing his own pain. Theralas moved to his side, inspecting the knife still lodged in his ribs.

“We’re leaving it in,” Theralas said decisively, grabbing the bandages from his pack. “Pulling it out here will make things worse. This will have to hold until we get you back to camp.” He worked quickly, wrapping Therion’s side with steady hands, his own face grim as he tried to stem the bleeding.

When Silas had done as much as he could for Thalia, her breathing steadied slightly but remained shallow. He shifted over to Therion, his mana nearly depleted, and hovered his hands over the wound. He gritted his teeth, pushing out what little magic he could muster. The glow of his healing spell flickered faintly as it closed some of the smaller veins and stopped the worst of the bleeding, but it wasn’t enough. Therion needed more than what Silas could give.

“I’m sorry,” Silas said, his voice heavy with frustration. “I’ve done what I can, but it’s not enough. We need to get him back to Maelis, Talrin, and Deshanna.”

Therion’s head snapped up, his voice rasping with urgency. “What about Thalia? How is she?” His bloodied fingers trembling as he searched Silas’s face for an answer. “Is she going to make it?”

Silas hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line before he met Therion’s gaze. “Her breathing is better, but she’s still barely holding on. I’ve stabilised her for now, but… she needs proper care. Deshanna and Maelis will have to take over.”

Therion’s jaw tightened, his gaze falling to Thalia’s pale, bruised face. His voice trembled as he whispered fiercely, “She has to make it. I can’t have failed her… not like this. I should’ve been there, I should’ve protected her.” His words broke, raw with guilt and desperation. “If we lose her… it’ll be my fault.”

Theralas placed a hand on Therion’s shoulder, his voice steady but filled with quiet resolve. “You haven’t failed her, Therion. We’re getting her back, and we’re bringing both of you home. But we have to keep moving.” He glanced at Silas, his expression grim. “Save whatever energy you can. We’re not out of this yet.”

Silas nodded, his face set in determination. “We move quickly.” Theralas called out to the group and turned to Lirassan. “Scout ahead. Lead us back to camp. We need to make it as fast as possible.”

Lirassan nodded sharply, slipping into the shadows of the trees to find the safest and quickest path back. Theralas then turned back to Silas. “Take Lirassan’s place at Therion’s side. Help him move, and whenever you’ve recovered enough mana, do whatever you can to keep him stable.”

Silas nodded again, moving to Therion’s side to help him up. Therion winced but allowed the support, his focus still on Thalia. “She’s going to make it,” Silas said quietly, almost as much to reassure himself as Therion.

Theralas gently lifted Thalia back into his arms, careful to keep her wrapped securely in the blanket. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice firm. “We’re not losing either of them.”

The group set off into the forest, their pace urgent but cautious, every second bringing them closer to safety and the desperate care both siblings needed.

Chapter Text

Lirassan was the first to reach the camp, moving swiftly through the forest with urgency in his every step. He was further ahead of the others, who struggled to carry the wounded siblings through the dense undergrowth. As the first pale light of morning crept over the horizon, casting the forest in a soft, silvery glow, Lirassan cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, his voice echoing through the trees.

“We’re back!” Lirassan shouted, his voice cutting through the stillness of the morning. “We’re back! Maelis! Talrin! Deshanna!”

His voice carried through the quiet camp, breaking the stillness of the early dawn. Almost immediately, the faint sound of rustling tents and hurried footsteps responded to his call. The camp stirred to life, members of the clan emerging, their faces etched with worry as they processed the urgency in Lirassan’s voice. Maelis was the first to appear, her expression tense and determined. Talrin came right behind her, her eyes wide with fear as she rushed toward Lirassan.

“What happened?” Maelis demanded as she approached him, stopping him in his tracks. Her gaze darted past Lirassan toward the forest, searching desperately for the others. “Where are they?”

“They’re on their way,” Lirassan replied, his breaths coming fast and shallow. “Theralas has Thalia. Malvion and Silas are helping Therion. They’re both badly hurt. You need to move quickly.”

Without pausing, he motioned urgently toward the healing tent. “Get to the tent and prepare for them now. They’ll need everything—bandages, salves, clean water, anything. Both of them are in critical condition. Talrin, help Maelis with whatever she needs.” His tone was sharp but filled with urgency, his eyes pleading with them to act swiftly.

As Maelis and Talrin nodded and hurried off to the tent, Lirassan turned back toward the forest, his expression tense. “I’ll go get Deshanna,” he called over his shoulder. “We’re going to need her for healing.” Without waiting for a response, he sprinted off, heading toward the Keeper’s tent to fetch her, every second feeling like an eternity.

As Lirassan reached the Keeper’s tent, Deshanna was already outside, her robes wrapped tightly around her, a look of grim determination on her face. He skidded to a stop, barely catching his breath as he rushed to speak.

“Thalia and Therion,” he panted, his voice hoarse. “They’re both in bad shape—critical. They’ll need your magic to help with the healing.” Deshanna’s sharp eyes narrowed, and she gave a single, firm nod.

“Then we waste no time,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

They hurried toward the healer’s tent, where Maelis and Talrin were scrambling to prepare. The table was already scattered with salves, bandages, and herbs, while Talrin wrestled with setting up an extra cot, her hands trembling from urgency. Maelis’s voice cut through the tense air as she spotted Deshanna entering.

“We’ll need water from the river,” Maelis said quickly, her hands moving deftly to sort through supplies.

Deshanna didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the pot that was over the fire inside the tent and turned back toward the camp. “I’ll be back,” she said curtly, already moving.

Lirassan glanced around, his breath still heavy, before deciding to head back into the woods. “I’ll find the others and help them the rest of the way,” he said as he bolted from the tent, disappearing into the trees once more with his heart pounding in his chest.

Lirassan sprinted through the camp, his heart racing as he called out for two scouts to join him. His voice echoed through the trees, urgency carrying in every word. It didn’t take long for the scouts to respond, emerging from the shadows with concerned expressions, ready to assist. Without wasting another moment, the three of them ran deeper into the forest, guided by Lirassan’s knowledge of where the others would be.

After a few minutes of running, they found them. Theralas was struggling to keep his hold on Thalia, exhaustion etched deeply into his face after hours of carrying her through the forest. Thalia remained unconscious, her face unnaturally pale and her breathing shallow. Behind them, Silas and Malvion were carrying Therion, his arms slung over their shoulders. Therion’s face was just as pale, his body limp as he drifted in and out of consciousness. His feet barely cooperated anymore, dragging against the forest floor as the two carried his weight.

Lirassan skidded to a stop in front of them, breathless. “They’re ready for you,” he said, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. “They got everything set up to help. Keep pushing—you’re almost there.”

The scouts quickly moved in, expressions a mix of relief and worry. One called out encouragingly, “You did it. You brought her back.” Another scout’s face darkened as he took in the battered state of both siblings. “They… they’re really injured. Let’s get them moving.”

One of them stepped forward, motioning to take Thalia from Theralas, but Theralas shook his head firmly, his grip tightening around her. “No,” he said sharply but with strain. “I’ll carry her to camp.”

The scout hesitated but nodded, respecting his resolve. And he moved to relieve Malvion of his burden, gently taking Therion’s arm. Silas, his energy clearly spent, allowed the second scout to take his place. Both of them let out audible sighs of relief, their bodies sagging as the weight of Therion was finally off their shoulders.

With the scouts now helping to carry Therion, and Theralas still holding Thalia tightly in his arms, the group pressed on. The forest grew quieter as the camp came into view, and the faint light of dawn began to break over the horizon. As they approached the edge of the camp, a small crowd had gathered, their faces a mixture of hope and dread. Whispers spread among them as they caught sight of Thalia and Therion’s condition, but no one stepped forward, giving the group space to pass through.

All eyes were on Theralas as he carried Thalia, her frail body wrapped tightly in the blanket, and on the scouts carefully supporting Therion. The weight of their mission’s success was palpable, but so was the heavy realisation of the damage it had cost.

As they passed through the camp, Lirassan and Malvion decided to split off and rest. They had given everything they had during the mission and could barely keep their eyes open. Silas, however, remained with the group, his determination keeping him on his feet despite his drained mana and faltering strength. He wanted desperately to help with the healing, though he knew he could do little in his current state. His magic had been stretched too thin over the course of the night, leaving him powerless and frustrated.

When they reached the healer’s tent, Deshanna was already back, the water she had fetched earlier now heating over the fire. Maelis and Talrin were busy washing their hands in the warm water, preparing salves, cloths, and tools in a hurried but precise manner. Their voices were quick and firm as they called for the injured siblings to be placed on the cots.

The scouts, still supporting Therion, obeyed immediately. They hurried to lay him on one of the cots, his pale face drenched in sweat. Therion was awake but too weak to speak, his chest rising and falling shallowly. Theralas, careful and deliberate, gently laid Thalia on the cot next to Therion. Her limp body looked fragile, almost lifeless, wrapped in the blanket tightly.

Deshanna moved quickly to Thalia’s side, her worried eyes scanning her body. She glanced up at Theralas, silently questioning if he was hurt as well. Theralas shook his head, his voice low and steady. “I’m fine.” He moved to a stool by the entrance of the tent, sitting heavily as he watched them work, the weight of his emotions evident on his face.

The scouts quietly left the tent, giving space for the healers to work and ensuring they wouldn’t be in the way. Silas, however, lingered near the entrance, his hands fidgeting at his sides, his eyes darting between the injured siblings and the healers. His expression was torn, frustration and guilt etched into every line of his face.

“I can help,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet but insistent. “There has to be something I can do. I can—”

Deshanna cut him off with a firm but gentle tone. “Silas, you’ve already given everything you have tonight. Your mana is depleted, and if you push yourself any further, you’ll collapse—and we can’t afford to take care of you too if that happens. Rest now, so you’ll be ready if we need you later.”

Silas opened his mouth to argue, but the weight of her words—and the unwavering authority in her gaze—made him stop. He looked down at his trembling hands, his frustration evident, but he finally nodded, his shoulders slumping. “Alright,” he muttered reluctantly. “But… let me know if anything changes.”

“We will,” Deshanna assured him, her voice softening slightly. “Go. Get some sleep. We’ll take care of them.”

With one last glance at Therion and Thalia, Silas stepped out of the tent, the tension in his posture clear as he walked away. The healers exchanged a brief glance before returning their focus to the siblings, knowing every second counted.

Maelis moved to Therion’s cot first, unwrapping the blood-soaked bandages Theralas had hastily applied earlier that night. She carefully unbuttoned his tunic, her hands steady despite the grim severity of his injuries. The sight before her was worse than she’d anticipated. The knife was still lodged deep in his side, its hilt sticky with blood. She noted three deep stab wounds, including the one housing the blade, a deep gash that ran from his side to his abdomen, and an additional slash on his shoulder. Her frown deepened as she quickly called out to Deshanna.

“Deshanna, I’m going to need your magic,” Maelis said, her voice tight with urgency. “We have to remove this knife.”

Deshanna moved and knelt beside her, her hands already beginning to glow faintly as she prepared to heal the worst of the damage. “Let me know when,” she said, her gaze flicking from Maelis to Therion.

Maelis placed a steady hand on Therion’s shoulder and leaned down, her voice soft but firm. “Therion, I have to remove the knife. It’s going to hurt, badly. I’ll need you to stay as still as possible.”

Therion’s head lolled to the side, his pale face contorted with pain. His voice was faint but laced with defiance. “Do it,” he rasped, his breath shallow.

Taking a deep breath, Maelis adjusted her grip on the hilt of the knife. “On three,” she said, glancing at Deshanna, who nodded, her hands hovering just above the wound. “One… two…” Then Maelis pulled the blade free in one swift motion.

Therion let out a guttural scream, his back arching as the searing pain overtook him. Blood poured from the wound, soaking the cot beneath him. Deshanna moved quickly, her glowing hands pressing against his side as she poured her magic into him, slowing the bleeding and knitting the torn flesh. Her expression was tense, her brow furrowed in concentration as she worked to stabilise him.

“It’s going to be okay,” Deshanna murmured to him, though her voice betrayed her concern. The green light flickered as her energy waned, and she finally pulled back, breathing heavily. “That’s all I can do for now.” Maelis nodded grimly, as she reached for a salve to apply to the wound.

Meanwhile, Talrin focused on Thalia. She gently cleaned her sister-in-law’s dirtied, bloodied face with a damp cloth, her hands trembling as she worked. The wound on Thalia’s cheek was deep, running from the corner of her lip to her ear. Talrin inspected it carefully, her expression pained but determined. She grabbed a needle, holding it over the flame of a nearby candle to sterilise it before threading it with precision.

Taking a steadying breath, Talrin began stitching the gash. Her voice trembled as she murmured to her, “You’re going to be okay, Thalia.” Each stitch was slow and deliberate, her hands steady despite the emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

Therion managed to whisper through his haze, his voice weak and barely audible. “Is… Thalia… alright?” His half-lidded eyes struggled to stay fixed on his sister’s pale form. “Focus on Lia…”

Maelis and Deshanna exchanged a glance before Deshanna leaned closer to him, her voice calm and soothing. “She’s being taken care of, Therion. Talrin’s with her.”

Hearing this, Therion’s gaze shifted slightly, and he murmured, “Talrin…” His lips trembled as he forced the words out. “Thank you… I… love you.”

Talrin, focused on stitching the gash on Thalia’s face, froze at his words. Her eyes welled with tears as she glanced over at him, her voice soft but filled with emotion. “I love you too, Therion.” She quickly returned her focus to her delicate work, her hands trembling slightly as she stitched.

Maelis grabbed another jar of salve and a needle, her face set with grim determination. She knelt by Therion, giving him a quiet warning. “Therion… What I’m about to do will hurt,” she said. “I have to apply this salve to the open wound—it’ll help with the healing.”

Therion didn’t respond. His head was lolled to the side, his half-open eyes still fixed on Thalia. Maelis let out a small sigh, bracing herself, dipping her fingers into the salve and gently began to apply it to the open wound. His reaction was immediate. Therion screamed in agony, the sound raw and piercing, filling the tent. His body tensed, his hands gripping weakly at the cot beneath him.

“I’m sorry,” Maelis said quickly, her voice steady but filled with regret. “But I have to do this.”

Talrin’s heart ached at the sound of his screams. Her hands trembled as she continued her stitching, her vision blurred with unshed tears. Therion fell unconscious from the pain, Talrin looked up at Deshanna, her voice shaking. “Deshanna… can you help me? Can you use your magic to inspect Thalia’s condition?”

Deshanna nodded solemnly and moved to Thalia’s side. She hovered her hands over her body, channeling her regained energy into a diagnostic spell. Her magic flickered faintly, glowing over Thalia as it revealed to her the extent of her injuries. Deshanna’s face grew pale as she realised how much damage had been done to her. “Talrin,” she said softly, “stop stitching for bit. I need to remove the blanket.”

Talrin hesitated for a moment before stepping back, and Deshanna carefully removed the blanket from Thalia’s body. Both women froze, their breaths catching in their throats. The sight was horrific. Thalia’s body was bare, riddled with cuts, some shallow, others deep, crisscrossing her arms, legs, and torso. Bruises mottled her skin, dark and angry, covering her wrists, waist, thighs, hips, and ankles. But it was the sight of her pelvis and core that made their hearts shatter—they knew instantly what had been done to her.

Deshanna turned her head, fighting back the bile rising in her throat. “Maelis,” she called, her voice strained. “You need to see this.”

Maelis, having just finished applying the salve to Therion’s wounds, looked up and hurried over. She stopped short, her breath catching as she took in the extent of Thalia’s injuries. Her face hardened, though sorrow flickered in her eyes. “We need to move quickly,” she said firmly, forcing herself into action. “Deshanna, start applying these salves for the bruises.” She gestured to the table, pointing at a small jar with a deep green paste inside. “That one—it’s for the bruising. And the smaller jar next to it, with the yellow ointment—that’ll help with the inflammation. Use both of them.”

As Deshanna moved to gather the salves, Maelis glanced over at Theralas, her tone firm but respectful. “Theralas, I think it’s best if you step out now. This… has become a more delicate matter. We’ll need privacy to handle everything properly.”

Theralas hesitated, his jaw tightening as his gaze flicked between Thalia and Maelis. “I—” he began softly, though his voice was filled with pain.

“She’s in good hands,” Maelis interrupted gently but firmly, meeting his eyes. “I promise we’ll do everything we can. But right now, she needs privacy.”

Theralas let out a heavy sigh, nodding reluctantly. He rose from his seat, his movements slow and deliberate, and glanced one last time at Thalia’s battered form. Without another word, he turned and stepped out of the tent, pausing to close the flap behind him to give them the privacy they needed.

Once outside, Theralas ran a hand through his hair, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him. He knew Maelis was right, but leaving Thalia in such a state was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Deciding he needed to clear his head and rest, he made his way to the Keeper’s tent, where he could sit and gather his thoughts, the exhaustion of the night catching up with him.

Maelis softened her tone slightly as she turned to Talrin, though urgency still pressed in her voice. “Talrin, finish stitching her cheek. Once that’s done, you’ll need to use the embrium salve. It’ll help soothe her skin. After that, for her...” Maelis paused, steadying herself. “The small blue vial. Use it sparingly, just enough to clean the area. And the jar of thick white cream next to it—that will help reduce swelling and ease the pain.”

The tent was heavy with the scent of blood, salves, and herbs as the three women worked tirelessly to stabilise the injured siblings. The soft crackling of the fire heating the water provided the only sound beyond the occasional murmur of instruction or reassurance. Talrin’s hands trembled slightly as she knelt beside Thalia, but her determination never wavered. She focused on finishing the stitching on the cut along Thalia’s cheek. Her fingers shook as she threaded the needle once more, each stitch precise but slow, her breath steady as she whispered softly, “It’s okay, Thalia.”

She paused only briefly to clean the area with a damp cloth, her heart breaking at the sight of the bloodied gash marring Thalia’s delicate features. Once the stitches were secured, Talrin wiped the needle clean and set it aside, taking another moment to ensure the wound was neat and sealed. Satisfied with her work, she leaned back and reached for a grey round jar of salve, dipping her fingers into the smooth paste.

Talrin began applying it gently to Thalia’s cheek, her touch as light as a feather. The salve would help reduce inflammation and begin the healing process. “You’re going to be okay,” she whispered softly, her voice shaking as she worked. “I’ll make sure of it.” Her tears threatened to spill, but she blinked them away, focusing on her task.

She moved to help Deshanna with the bruised arms and legs, applying the deep green paste that she had picked up. The bruises were dark and angry, a painful reminder of the violence Thalia had endured. Talrin’s hands lingered on her wrists, the sight of the raw skin from the bindings making her heart ache. She dabbed at the abrasions carefully, the cool salve coating the inflamed skin as her fingers worked with delicate precision. She whispered soothing words under her breath, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

Her hands moved to Thalia’s elbows and forearms, where jagged cuts crisscrossed her pale skin. She cleaned each wound meticulously with a damp cloth, her heart clenching as more of the battered skin was revealed. Talrin applied the salve to each gash, her movements slow and deliberate, ensuring she didn’t miss a single mark. Every injury she treated felt like a small step toward bringing Thalia back to them, even as the sight of her broken body made Talrin’s chest ache with grief.

Deshanna hovered nearby, occasionally handing Talrin clean cloths or extra salves. Her gaze was sharp and focused, though sorrow lingered in her expression. She watched Talrin’s careful work, nodding in approval before speaking gently. “You’re doing well, Talrin,” she said quietly, her words of encouragement cutting through the tense silence.

Talrin nodded, her determination unwavering as she moved to Thalia’s bruised legs, gently smoothing the salve over the dark marks marring her thighs and knees. Her fingers hesitated over a particularly deep cut along Thalia’s calf, and she sucked in a shaky breath before cleaning the wound and applying the salve. She could feel the burn of tears in her eyes, but she blinked them away, her resolve hardening. “You’re safe now,” she whispered again, as much for herself as for Thalia.

Talrin moved to the most delicate part of her work. Her hands hesitated as she reached for the small blue vial. She uncorked it, the stinging scent of medicine filling the air. Talrin poured a small amount onto a clean cloth, her breath catching as she prepared to address the trauma to Thalia’s core. Her hands trembled as she gently dabbed the cloth against Thalia’s bruised and swollen skin, the liquid cleaning the area. She bit her lip to keep her tears at bay, murmuring, “I’m so sorry, Thalia.”

Deshanna placed a comforting hand on Talrin’s shoulder before moving to assist Maelis with Therion. The keeper’s energy was waning, but she pushed through. Maelis was bent over Therion, her hands steady as she worked on the deep wound in his side, focusing on stopping the bleeding.

“Deshanna, I need you,” Maelis said sharply, her voice cutting through the quiet. Deshanna immediately moved to Therion’s side, channeling her magic to seal the smaller veins and slow the bleeding again. The green glow flickered faintly, but it was enough for Maelis to continue. She cleaned the wound carefully, adding salves into the wound again, her movements quick but precise, before threading her needle. The stitching was methodical, each loop tightening the torn skin back together.

Talrin glanced over at Therion briefly, her heart aching at the sight of him so pale and still. She turned back to Thalia, reaching for the thick white cream Maelis had pointed out earlier. She scooped some onto her fingers and applied it gently to Thalia’s core, her hands shaking but determined. The cream would help reduce the swelling and provide some relief, though it felt like a small consolation for the horrors Thalia had endured.

Maelis finished stitching Therion’s wound and began applying salves to the surrounding area, her movements methodical from years of practice. She wrapped his torso tightly with clean bandages, securing them firmly to prevent further bleeding. Her brow furrowed as she worked, her hands steady but her mind racing. “He’s lost so much blood,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with exhaustion and worry. “More than I’m comfortable with. We’ve stopped the bleeding, but it’s not enough. He’s going to need time and care—if his body doesn’t respond, we could lose him.”

Talrin glanced up from her place beside Thalia, her heart tightening at Maelis’ words. “He’ll make it,” she said, more to herself than anyone else, though her voice wavered. “He has to.”

Deshanna placed a comforting hand on Maelis’ shoulder, her expression equally grim. “We’ve done what we can for now. All we can do is hope his strength pulls him through,” she murmured. Her words carried a weight of reassurance, but even she couldn’t hide the lingering concern in her tone.

Maelis nodded, though her worry didn’t fade as she stepped back from Therion, her eyes scanning his pale face and shallow breathing. “We’ll need to monitor him closely. Every hour, if we can spare the people for it.”

Deshannas scanned their battered forms before she moved to Thalia. She placed her hands over her body, her magic flowing softly as she searched again for any internal injuries that they might have missed. “She’s stable,” Deshanna murmured after a moment. “Barely. But stable.”

The three women exchanged a glance, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on them. They had done everything they could, pouring their skills and energy into saving the siblings. Now, all they could do was wait.

Talrin sat back on her heels, her hands stained with salves and blood, her body trembling with exhaustion. She reached for Thalia’s hand, holding it gently as tears finally spilled down her cheeks. “Please,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Please come back to us.”

Maelis slumped into a nearby stool, wiping her hands on a cloth as she let out a shaky breath. “We’ve done everything we can,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “Now it’s up to them.”

Deshanna nodded, her gaze lingering on the siblings, her expression a mix of sorrow and determination. She carefully picked up the blanket that had been set aside, her hands steady as she draped it over Thalia’s fragile form again, covering her battered body. The sight of Thalia’s injuries had been almost too much to bear, and the act of covering her felt like a small way to restore her dignity. Deshanna gently tucked the edges of the blanket around her, ensuring that Thalia was fully shielded from the cold air and the weight of their collective sorrow.

She straightened and looked at Talrin and Maelis with firm resolve. “From this moment on,” she said, her voice steady but low, “there will always be someone in this tent. If either of them wakes up, they shouldn’t be alone—not for a second.”

Talrin glanced at Deshanna and nodded, her face pale but determined. “I’ll stay for now,” she said softly, brushing a strand of Thalia’s hair away from her face. “I’m not leaving their side.”

Maelis stood and wiped her hands on a clean cloth, exhaustion lining her face. “I’ll take the next shift,” she offered. “Once I’ve gathered more supplies and prepared for what comes next. I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

Deshanna gave them both an approving nod before turning back to look at the siblings one more time. The tent fell into a heavy silence once again, the three of them silently praying that Thalia and Therion would pull through, their breaths shallow as the weight of the day lingered in the air.

The three women washed their hands in the warm water in the pot, their bloodied hands staining the water a murky red. The sight was a stark reminder of the battle they were fighting, and the silence between them was heavy with unspoken fears. Deshanna finally broke it, her voice steady but low. “I’ll take care of this and bring back fresh water,” she said, lifting the pot carefully. Without waiting for a reply, she stepped outside the tent.

The cool air hit her face as she stepped into the camp, where a small group of clan members had gathered near the tent. Their faces were etched with worry, some glancing toward the tent’s flap as if hoping to glimpse inside. Murmurs rippled through the group, and a few stepped forward to ask questions. “How are they, Keeper?” one voice asked anxiously. “We heard Therion scream earlier, and then it just stopped—is he still alive?” another chimed in, their tone desperate.

Deshanna raised a hand, silencing the concerned chatter. “They’ve been tended to the best of our ability,” she said evenly, her voice calm but firm. She avoided delving into the severity of their injuries, knowing the truth would only cause panic. “They’re resting now, but they’ll need time and further care to heal. For now, they need peace. Go back to your tasks.” Her commanding tone left no room for argument, and the crowd slowly dispersed, though their worried glances lingered.

Deshanna carried the pot to the small stream that wound through the camp. As she poured the red-stained water into the clear stream, her heart sank. The stark contrast between the bright crimson and the pure water mirrored the weight she carried in her chest. She crouched for a moment, watching the water swirl and carry the blood away, before shaking herself out of her thoughts. Scooping fresh, clean water into the pot, she stood and made her way back to the tent.

Inside, Maelis was already busy setting aside the bloodied cloths and arranging their supplies for the next round of tending. Her movements were brisk but efficient, a sign of her focus and experience. Talrin had moved to sit beside Therion’s cot, her hand clasped around his as he lay unconscious. Her gaze lingered on his pale face, worry etched into her features as she murmured softly to him, her thumb brushing over his knuckles.

Deshanna set the pot over the fire, nodding to Maelis as she placed the dirty cloths into it for cleaning. “I’ll check on the others and ensure the camp remains calm,” Deshanna said softly, her eyes briefly resting on Talrin and Therion. “Keep me updated if there’s any change.”

Maelis nodded, sparing her a glance before returning to her task. Deshanna lingered for a moment, her eyes scanning the room, before stepping outside once more, her presence still a quiet pillar of strength amidst the chaos.

-

The day dragged on in a heavy haze of exhaustion and worry as both Thalia and Therion remained unconscious. Maelis and Talrin worked tirelessly throughout the day, switching out the bloodied bandages on Therion’s side, shoulder, and temple. Each movement was precise, their hands steady despite the emotional toll. Salves were reapplied carefully to ease his pain and prevent infection, the warm water used to clean his wounds soothing his battered body. Despite their efforts, Therion showed no signs of waking, his face pale and gaunt, his breaths shallow but steady.

Talrin lingered beside him, her fingers wrapped gently around his hand as though her touch alone could pull him back from the brink. Her eyes scanned his face, searching for any flicker of movement, any sign that he was waking. She leaned over him, her forehead briefly touching his, and placed a soft kiss on his brow, her lips trembling against his clammy skin.

“Wake up, Vhenan,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “We need you… I need you.” Her tears threatened to spill over, but she held them back, focusing instead on the hope that he would hear her, that her voice would reach him in the dark. She brushed her thumb over his knuckles, her silent plea echoing in the quiet space around them.

Maelis glanced over from her position tending to Thalia, her expression softening at the sight. She said nothing, letting Talrin have this moment, her quiet whispers the only sound breaking the silence of the tent.

Thalia’s injuries were tended to with the same care. Maelis and Talrin carefully switched the bandages on the cuts that littered her body, cleaning the stitched wounds with warm water. Talrin’s hands trembled slightly as she worked, but her determination never wavered. The bruises, the abrasions on her wrists and ankles, and the deep cuts on her arms and legs made Talrin’s heart ache. She applied salves with delicate care, murmuring quiet reassurances under her breath, though she wasn’t sure if Thalia could hear her.

When Talrin finished tending to the worst of the wounds, she reached for a brush, her fingers brushing lightly against Thalia’s matted hair. It was tangled and stiff with blood, dirt, and grime. Talrin worked the brush through the knots as gently as she could, wincing each time she tugged on a stubborn tangle. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

The process was slow, but eventually, the worst of the tangles were gone, and her hair began to resemble its natural texture again. Talrin then bundled Thalia’s hair carefully, tying it loosely so it wouldn’t pull on her scalp. She reached for a basin of warm water that Maelis had prepared earlier and lowered Thalia’s hair into it, using her hands to rinse away the dirt and blood. The water turned murky as she worked, and she changed it twice before it finally ran clear.

Her hands trembled as she massaged Thalia’s scalp, her touch light and deliberate. “You’ll feel better soon,” she whispered, even though she knew Thalia couldn’t respond. Once the hair was clean, Talrin gently patted it dry with a soft cloth, smoothing it back from her face with trembling fingers. The simple act of care felt like a small comfort in the wake of everything Thalia had endured.

Occasionally, Maelis would pause to check on both siblings, her sharp eyes scanning their injuries for any signs of improvement. She didn’t say much, her focus entirely on the task at hand, but her worry was evident in the tension in her shoulders and the furrow of her brow. The air in the tent was thick with the scent of blood, herbs, and salves, a constant reminder of the severity of their injuries.

As the cool embrace of night settled over the camp, Theralas and Silas entered the tent. Their presence brought a quiet shift in the atmosphere, a sense of reassurance despite the weight of the situation. Theralas immediately took stock of the room, his sharp gaze moving from Therion to Thalia, then to Maelis and Talrin, both of whom were visibly exhausted.

Theralas cleared his throat, his tone firm but gentle. “We’re here to take the night watch,” he announced, stepping further into the tent. “You’ve both done more than enough for today. Go rest. We’ll keep watch and handle anything that comes up.”

Maelis straightened from where she had been tending to the supplies, rolling her stiff shoulders as she nodded. “Good timing,” she said, her tone calm but heavy with fatigue. “They’re stable for now, but they’ll need constant monitoring.”

Talrin hesitated, her hands hovering over the table where salves, clean cloths, and bandages were carefully arranged. Her eyes lingered on Therion’s pale face, then flicked to Thalia’s fragile form. “Are you sure?” she asked quietly, her voice trembling with uncertainty. “What if something happens? What if—”

Theralas stepped forward, cutting her off gently. “Talrin,” he said, his voice steady, “we’ve got this. You’ve done more than anyone could have asked of you today. You need to rest.”

Talrin’s hands tightened into fists at her sides, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I just… I feel like I should do more,” she whispered. “They’re my family too.”

Theralas softened, placing a hand on her shoulder. “And that’s exactly why you need to rest. They need you strong and focused, not running on empty. Trust us to take care of them.”

Silas, who had been hovering near the entrance, stepped closer. “We’ll keep a close eye on them,” he added, his tone earnest. “I promise, Talrin. They’ll be okay.”

Talrin exhaled shakily, her gaze shifting between Theralas and Silas. Finally, she gave a reluctant nod. “Alright,” she murmured. “But come get me if anything changes. Anything.”

“We will,” Theralas assured her. “Now, go.”

Maelis stepped closer, placing a hand on Talrin’s back to guide her toward the tents entrance. “They’ll be in good hands,” she said softly. “Come on. We need to rest.”

Talrin hesitated one last time, her eyes flicking to Therion and Thalia before she finally allowed herself to be led out of the tent. Maelis paused at the entrance, turning back to Theralas and Silas. Her gaze was sharp but kind as she gave them their instructions.

“Keep an eye on their breathing and check their bandages periodically,” she said. “If the fire dies down, stoke it and keep the water warm. And if anything changes—fever, difficulty breathing, anything—you come and get me immediately.”

Theralas nodded. “Understood.”

Maelis lingered for a moment longer, her eyes softening as she looked at the siblings. Then she stepped out, the tent flap closing behind her.

Silas moved to sit beside Thalia’s cot, his expression pensive as he absently adjusted the blanket around her. “She looks so small like this,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I’ve never seen her like this before.”

Theralas sank onto a stool beside Therion’s cot, his brow furrowed as he watched his laboured breathing. He let out a soft sigh. “I have,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with memory. “The night their parents died in that ambush. Therion was only thirteen, and Thalia… she was just nine. Both of them looked so small. So scared.”

Silas glanced at him, his brows knitting in concern, but Theralas continued, his gaze distant as he spoke. “That was the hardest night of my life. Suddenly, we had lost half of the clan and I had two kids to raise, two kids who’d just lost everything. And it wasn’t easy. The first two years, they grew distant… especially Therion. He pushed her away, wouldn’t let her close. And when he did talk to her, it was to say things I don’t think he even meant—hurtful words meant to lash out at the world.”

Theralas’s hand tightened briefly on his knee, his voice softening with sorrow. “And Thalia… she didn’t understand why he was angry with her. She tried so hard to make him smile, to bridge the gap, but it only seemed to make things worse.”

He trailed off for a moment, his eyes fixed on Therion’s pale face. “One day…” he said softly, the memory weighing heavy on his voice. “They had a fight. A bad one. Therion was so angry, so lost in his pain. He said things… things I know he didn’t mean. He told her he wished she was dead and blamed her for their parents’ deaths.”

Silas’s breath caught, but he remained silent, letting Theralas continue.

“Thalia didn’t say a word,” Theralas went on, his brow furrowing. “She just stood there, tears running down her face, and Therion stormed off into the forest, too angry to think straight. I couldn’t let him go like that, not after what he’d said, so I went after him. I found him in the forest, hitting a tree, and he looked so… broken.”

Theralas paused, his hands resting on his knees as he relived the moment. “I hugged him, and for a long while, neither of us said anything. Then he spoke, and his voice was shaking. He told me he didn’t mean it. Any of it. He said he was just so angry—angry at the world, at the humans who attacked us, at himself for not being able to save them. And he took it all out on her.”

Silas’s gaze softened, and he nodded slowly, understanding the depth of what Theralas was saying.

“That night, I told him that his anger was normal, but he couldn’t let it consume him,” Theralas continued. “I reminded him that Thalia was hurting too, that she needed him just as much as he needed her. And something clicked in him. He broke down, crying like I’d never seen before. He said he’d apologise to her, that he’d make it right.”

Theralas’s expression softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “When we got back to camp, he went straight to her. She was still upset, curled up by the fire. He sat down next to her and told her he was sorry. That he didn’t mean a word of it. And then he promised her. He promised that he’d protect her, no matter what.”

He glanced at Silas, his voice firm yet filled with emotion. “From that day on, he kept that promise. Every step he took, every decision he made—it was all for her. He became her shield, her protector. And now, even lying there, as battered as he is, I know he’d do it all over again for her.”

Silas sat quietly for a moment, processing the story Theralas had shared. He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “I didn’t know about that,” he admitted, his voice laced with a mix of surprise and understanding. “That explains a lot, though. Why Therion is so protective of her. It’s like he’s got this fire in him that won’t let him back down when it comes to her.”

Theralas nodded, leaning back slightly as a faint smile crossed his face. “That fire runs in their family and it’s also from a lot of guilt and love. After that fight, he realised how much she meant to him, and from that moment on, it didn’t matter what happened—he was going to keep her safe.”

Silas looked at Thalia’s fragile form, his expression softening. “It’s admirable,” he murmured. “I get it. If I were in his place… I’d do the same.” His voice trailed off, and for a moment, his gaze lingered on her.

Theralas noticed the way Silas’s eyes softened as they rested on Thalia, and he let out a low chuckle of his own, breaking the silence. “You’re not exactly subtle, you know,” Theralas said, a teasing edge to his voice. “Your feelings for her… they’re not a secret.”

Silas’s eyes widened slightly, his head snapping toward Theralas. “What? I—” he began, stumbling over his words, but Theralas raised a hand to cut him off.

“Relax, lad,” Theralas said with a smirk. “I’m not judging. I think everyone can see it, except for her. Thalia’s not exactly the best at noticing when someone has feelings for her. But…” His expression darkened slightly, the humour fading from his tone. “There’s something you should know. Something you’ll need to be careful about if you’re planning to pursue anything with her.”

Silas’s brow furrowed, concern creeping into his expression. “What is it?” he asked, his voice low.

Theralas hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping to the ground before he looked back at Silas. “When we brought her back… Maelis asked me to leave the tent while they tended to her. I didn’t see what they saw, but I got the impression that the cuts and bruises aren’t the only wounds she’s carrying.” His voice grew quieter, heavier. “The men who took her… they did more to her than what’s visible.”

Silas’s face paled, and his fists clenched at his sides. He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his composure. “You mean they…” he began, his voice trembling slightly.

Theralas nodded grimly. “I can’t say for certain, but the way Maelis and Deshanna acted, the way Talrin looked at her when she was stitching her up… it’s likely. She’s not just hurt, Silas. Her spirit is broken. If you care about her—really care about her—you’ll need to be patient. Don’t push her.”

Silas nodded slowly, his throat tight as he glanced back at Thalia. “I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I’d never want to hurt her.”

Theralas studied him for a moment. “Good. Because when she wakes up, she’s going to need all the support she can get. From all of us.” His tone softened slightly. “And if you’re serious about her… you’ll need to be ready to wait. She’s been through hell, and it’s going to take time for her to heal.”

Silas nodded again, his gaze fixed on Thalia as a wave of determination washed over him. “I’ll wait as long as it takes,” he said quietly. “She deserves that much.”

The night passed slowly, the tent filled with a quiet tension as Theralas and Silas kept their watch over the siblings. Twice during the night, Theralas and Silas carefully changed their bandages. Silas, though not fully rested, had regained enough mana and used it sparingly to ease the swelling in Therion’s wounds. Thalia’s breaths grew steadier as the hours passed, the sound less laboured, as if she were simply sleeping now. Therion, however, still struggled; his breaths remained shallow, and the rise and fall of his chest was faint.

Morning swept gently over the camp, the first rays of sunlight casting a pale glow through the tent’s canvas walls. Theralas and Silas both looked tired but resolute as they sat near the cots, keeping vigil. The flap of the tent rustled, and Maelis and Talrin entered, their expressions a mix of hope and trepidation. Talrin’s gaze immediately sought out Therion, while Maelis assessed the room with a practised eye.

“How are they?” Maelis asked, stepping further into the tent.

Theralas straightened in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thalia’s breathing has improved,” he said, his voice low but steady. “It’s still a long road, but it’s better than last night. Therion… his condition hasn’t changed much. His breaths are still shallow.”

Talrin approached Therion’s cot, brushing a hand gently over his forehead. She glanced back at Silas, who nodded to confirm Theralas’s words. “He’ll pull through,” she whispered, though it sounded like she was reassuring herself as much as anyone else.

Deshanna entered the tent moments later, the weight of her worry visible in the lines on her face. She joined the small group, her eyes immediately moving to the siblings. “What’s their condition?” she asked, her tone calm but filled with concern.

Theralas repeated his earlier assessment, his voice tinged with weariness. “We’ve done what we can for now. Thalia’s stable, but Therion…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “We just have to keep watching him.”

Deshanna frowned, moving closer to the cots. She placed a hand lightly on Thalia’s arm, closing her eyes for a moment as if in silent prayer. “They’re both strong,” she said quietly. “We’ll give them the time they need. But we need to stay vigilant. The next day or so will be critical.”

Maelis nodded, already moving to unpack fresh supplies. “Let’s recheck their wounds,” she said briskly, her voice cutting through the quiet. “If there’s even the smallest sign of infection, we need to act immediately.”

Talrin stepped forward, her expression a mix of focus and worry as she grabbed clean cloths and warm water. She moved to Thalia’s cot, gently peeling back the bandages covering the stitched cut on her cheek and the salve-covered wounds on her arms and legs. Maelis turned her attention to Therion, carefully unwrapping the bloodied cloth around his side and inspecting the stitched stab wounds. Both women worked in tandem, their movements efficient yet tender, ensuring every injury was treated with care.

The others stood off to the side, giving them space to work. Theralas leaned against the tent pole, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as his eyes remained fixed on the siblings. Silas stood nearby, shifting his weight nervously, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. Deshanna hovered between the cots, occasionally handing over fresh cloths or salves, her presence grounding the tense atmosphere.

As Talrin dipped a cloth into the warm water and began gently wiping Thalia’s face, her brow furrowed faintly. The small movement caught Talrin’s attention, and her breath hitched as she leaned closer. “Thalia?” she whispered softly, her voice trembling.

Everyone froze, the air in the tent growing thick with anticipation. Talrin’s hands paused mid-motion as Thalia stirred again, a faint groan escaping her lips. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first but gradually sharpening. Talrin’s tears welled up immediately, her voice shaking as she called her name again. “Thalia… can you hear me?”

The others moved closer, their breaths held as Thalia’s tired gaze flickered around the tent, confused and hazy. Deshanna knelt beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right, da’len,” she said softly, her voice filled with relief and warmth. “You’re safe. We’ve got you.”

Thalia’s lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came out. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and her body trembled slightly. Talrin squeezed her hand gently, brushing her thumb over Thalia’s knuckles. “Don’t try to talk,” she murmured, her own tears spilling freely. “You’re home. We’ll take care of you.”

The tension in the tent eased slightly, but the room remained quiet, everyone watching her intently. Even Theralas, usually composed, let out a shaky exhale as a faint smile tugged at his lips. “Welcome back, kid,” he muttered under his breath, his voice cracking with emotion.

Maelis paused her work on Therion, her hands stilling as she watched Thalia stir awake. Her eyes widened as she watched the her begin to stir, her eyelids fluttering weakly. Everyone’s attention fixated on Thalia. Then, from the cot beneath her, Therion stirred as well, his laboured breathing audible as his body fought through the pain and exhaustion.

Everyone in the tent stepped closer, their movements cautious. Their eyes darted between the two cots, and the two siblings. Talrin clutched her hands to her chest, her expression a mixture of hope and heartbreak as she watched them both begin to wake.

Therion’s pale face twisted into a grimace as his eyes opened fully. He blinked a few times, disoriented, before his gaze settled on Thalia. His voice, raspy and raw, broke the tense silence. “Thalia…” he croaked, barely above a whisper.

Thalia’s head turned slowly toward the sound of her brother’s voice, her eyes unfocused but flickering with recognition. Tears welled in her eyes as she tried to speak, but no sound came out. Instead, her trembling fingers twitched, reaching weakly toward him.

Therion, summoning all the strength he had left, reached out as well. His hand found hers, their fingers entwining despite their weakness. They clung to each other as tightly as they could manage, their shared pain and relief evident in the way they held on.

“You’re safe,” Therion whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he gazed at her, his pale face etched with guilt and relief. “Lia… thank the Creators, you’re awake. I thought I’d lost you.” His grip tightened slightly, as though reassuring himself she was truly there.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked, his voice trembling. “I should have been faster. I should have stopped them. I should have protected you.”

Tears streamed down Thalia’s cheeks, her lips trembling as she shook her head faintly, as if to tell him he wasn’t to blame. Her weak grip on his hand tightened slightly, a silent reassurance that she understood.

Therion’s tears spilled freely now, but he found the strength to lift his other hand. Slowly, carefully, he reached out and cupped Thalia’s face. His thumb stroked her cheek gently, brushing away the tear tracks mixed with the dirt and blood that still lingered on her skin. “I won’t let anything else happen to you,” he whispered fiercely, his voice cracking.

The siblings locked eyes, their shared pain, love, and relief overwhelming them both. The sight of them clinging to each other, despite their broken bodies and battered spirits, brought tears to the eyes of those around them. Talrin bit her lip to stifle a sob, while Deshanna wiped at her own damp cheeks, her expression a mixture of sorrow and determination.

Maelis, who had been silently watching next to Therion, cleared her throat gently and stepped forward. “Let them have this moment,” she said, her voice steady despite the tightness in her chest. “but we’ll need to tend to them again soon.”

The others hesitated but nodded, moving toward the table where the supplies were laid out. They stood silently, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and worry as they figured out the next steps for their recovery now that they were awake.

Therion, still holding Thalia’s trembling hand, leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching hers. His breath was shallow, and his words came as barely a whisper, each syllable steeped in determination and heartbreak. “You’re going to be alright, Lia,” he murmured, his voice faltering under the weight of emotion. “I swear it… no one will ever hurt you again.”

With what little strength he had left, with the hand that gently cupped her face, his thumb brushing against her tear-streaked cheek in an achingly tender motion. The strength in his movements was nearly gone, each motion a testament to his fierce love for his sister. Summoning what little he had left, he pulled her closer, his fingers trembling against her skin. He pressed a light kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering as if trying to will his strength into her, to shield her from every pain she had endured.

“I promise,” he whispered against her skin, his voice cracking as his own tears spilled freely. “I’ll always protect you, no matter what happens.”

Thalia’s breath hitched as her resolve broke. Through the fog of pain and exhaustion, her voice emerged, raw and trembling but stubbornly strong. “You’re going to be alright too, Therion.” Her fingers tightened around his hand, desperately trying to keep him tethered to her. “You’ll stay with me...”

Therion managed the faintest smile, though it faltered under the weight of his fading strength. “I’ll stay,” he replied, his voice so soft it was almost lost amidst the sound of their shallow breaths. “I’ll stay, Lia. I love you.”

“I love you,” Thalia whispered, her words barely audible over the lump in her throat. She held his hand tighter, as if her grip alone could keep him with her. But then she felt it—a subtle shift, a loosening of his fingers. Her heart clenched in panic as her wide, tear-filled eyes met his. “Therion…?” Her voice cracked, laced with desperate fear. “Therion, please—stay with me!”

Therion’s eyes fluttered, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion, his breath shallow and uneven. “I’m here, Lia,” he murmured faintly, the words a fragile thread of comfort. “I’m… here…”

And then, his body stilled. The tension left his form as his grip on her hand slackened, and the faint rise and fall of his chest ceased. For one harrowing moment, the world around Thalia seemed to go silent, her mind unable to accept what she was seeing.

“No… no, Therion, please…” she choked out, her voice raw and breaking as she shook his hand, as if the motion could bring him back. “Don’t leave me! Please! Wake up!” Her cries turned to wretched sobs, each one a plea that echoed through the tent and pierced the hearts of everyone around her. “Stay with me! You promised!”

The others turned sharply at her anguished cry, their expressions shifting to dread as they rushed toward the siblings. Maelis was the first to reach them, her hands trembling as she leaned over Therion. With desperate precision, she pressed her fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse. Her lips moved silently, a silent prayer, a desperate denial. But her face fell as her hands slowly withdrew, shaking, from his still form. Her wide eyes filled with sorrow as she looked at the others, the silence from her louder than any scream.

“No!” Thalia wailed, her voice cracking under the weight of her despair. Her trembling fingers clutched his lifeless hand, holding it tightly as if her grip alone could anchor him to the world. “Therion, no! Don’t leave me! Please stay!”

Her other hand, weak and shaking, lifted with great effort to his face. Her fingertips brushed against his cheek, stroking it gently, as though her touch might stir him awake. Her tears spilled freely, trailing down her cheeks and onto the cot. “Please… wake up,” she whispered, her voice raw and broken, each word a desperate plea. “Don’t leave me… don’t leave me alone…” Her sobs broke the quiet, trembling with anguish as she kept stroking his face, refusing to let him go.

Maelis slowly moved her hands off Therion, her fingers trembling as she sat back on her heels. Her gaze fell to her lap and her bloodied hands, her expression one of sorrow and defeat. She couldn’t look at the siblings any longer, the weight of failure and what had just happened pressing heavily on her chest.

Thalia’s cries filled the air, raw and unrelenting, her voice cracking with every plea. “You said you’d stay! Why did you leave me?” Her hands trembled as she clutched him tighter, as if holding him would keep him from slipping further away. The warmth of his hand and face was fading, and with it, the last tether to the brother who had always been her protector, her strength.

Talrin collapsed to the ground, her knees hitting the floor with a dull thud as her wails tore through the heavy silence. “No, no, no,” she choked out, her voice breaking with every word. Her hands covered her face, but they couldn’t hold back the torrent of sobs that wracked her entire body. Each cry was louder, more desperate than the last, her grief spilling out in waves as she rocked slightly, unable to do anything but repeat her denial through her tears.

Deshanna sat down beside Maelis, reached out with trembling hands, placing one gently over Therion’s still chest. Her tears fell freely, trailing down her lined face as she closed her eyes, whispering a broken prayer that faltered with every word. Her voice was soft but cracked, each syllable a plea to a god who wasn’t answering. Her hand remained over his unmoving heart, her fingers brushing gently against his chest as though she could summon life back into him through sheer will. “Ir abelas,” she whispered, her lips trembling, her tears mingling with the faint prayer she could barely finish.

Silas stood motionless near the edge of the tent, his legs rooted to the ground as if bound by the weight of what he’d just witnessed. His wide eyes were fixed on the siblings, his face pale and streaked with tears he didn’t notice falling. His breath came shallow, uneven, his mind reeling as it struggled to piece together a reality where Therion was gone. He reached out a shaking hand toward the table to steady himself, but it faltered halfway, his strength abandoning him. All he could do was stand there, helpless, as grief clawed at his chest.

Theralas lowered himself onto a stool with a heavy, defeated thud. His hands dragged over his face before gripping at his hair, his fingers tightening as though trying to physically hold himself together. He didn’t make a sound, but his body screamed with anguish. His shoulders hunched forward, shaking slightly as he stared down at the ground, his head bowed under the unbearable weight of the loss. The quiet around him made his silent grief even more deafening, a stark contrast to Thalia’s and Talrin’s cries and Deshanna’s whispered prayers.

The tent was heavy with sorrow, the only sounds the broken cries from Talrin and Thalia. Thalia’s rough voice, pleading over and over for her brother to wake up, was like a dagger to everyone’s heart. “Please,” she whispered again and again, her voice barely audible now, her tears soaking his lifeless hand. “You can’t leave me. You can’t…”