The first thing I felt was the cold. It was a deep, predatory dampness that had crept through my bedroll, sinking into my bones and coiling around the thrumming ache in my arm. Above, the morning was breaking in an intricate chorus of wrens and finches, a sound punctuated by the dry skittering of unseen things in the forest undergrowth in the distance.

I tested the arm, a cautious, tentative movement. A white-hot spike of agony shot from my wrist to my shoulder, and a strangled gasp escaped my lips. My jaw clenched. I can do this. The pain was almost unbearable, but I would not let it rule me. Gritting my teeth against the fire, I forced myself into a sitting position.

Across the clearing, the flames of our small fire danced and writhed, casting a flickering glow on Cassius. He was already tending to a bubbling pot, and the air was thick with the fragrant, almost medicinal scent of simmering herbs. He looked up, his gaze sharp and analytical. “How is the arm?”

“It’s fine,” I managed, my voice a rough rasp.

“I’m glad you slept.” He didn’t question my lie, instead stirring the pot once more before setting the ladle aside. His eyes, the color of the ocean and old magic, fixed on me. “Lift it for me, Thalia.”

A knot of defiance tightened in my stomach. I hesitated, then obeyed. The world narrowed to a tunnel of searing agony as I raised my arm, every fiber screaming in protest. I held it fully extended for a heartbeat, a silent testament to my willpower, before letting it drop uselessly to my side. My breath hitched, my jaw locked against a whimper.

A look of sympathetic resolve settled on his elven features. “I’m sorry, Thalia. We are not leaving today.”

“I can push through it,” I insisted, the words cracking with a desperation I couldn’t hide. We have to move. We have to. “I won’t slow us down.”

“Pushing through this will only invite ruin,” he said, his voice gentle but unyielding as steel. He held my gaze, his own unwavering. “Right now, you are a liability. You know you are not ready.”

He was right. The words landed like stones in my gut, and the fight drained out of me, replaced by a bitter wave of acceptance. I let out a slow, shuddering breath and gave him a reluctant nod. “Tomorrow, then. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

A small, encouraging smile touched his lips. “Good. First, this.” He ladled a steaming, dark liquid into a wooden bowl. The herbal scent was potent. He handed it to me, and I drank it down in one long, bitter swallow. The warmth spread through my chest, a welcome truce with the pain.

“What’s the plan for today?” I asked, handing back the empty bowl and trying to inject some strength into my voice.

“Simple,” he said, his eyes already scanning the surrounding foliage. “I will gather more herbs. You will rest. I’m hoping to find some Calendula—it looks like a sun-colored daisy. It coaxes the flesh to knit and wards off the rot.”

“You know so much about them,” I observed, shifting against my bedroll.

He paused, a thoughtful expression softening his face as he gazed at the forest. “Life is a language, Thalia. The trees, the flowers, the beasts… they all speak. The more you learn to listen, the more you understand your place within it. It is the elven way.” He fell silent, his gaze turning distant. “…or it was.”

A shiver, cold and sharp, traced its way down my spine at the unbidden thought of Kaelen.

Cassius’s eyes flickered to me, his focus instantly returning. “A shadow crossed your face.”

I hesitated. “I was just thinking… not all elves listen to that language anymore.”

He nodded slowly, a deep sadness in his eyes. “No. Some, like Kaelen, hear only the echoes of their own bitterness. They become deaf to the song of the forest. I do not know what twisted his heart, but once that path is taken…” He sighed, a sound like rustling leaves. “It is nearly impossible to return. They lose the part of themselves that knows how to heal.”

“But you didn’t,” I said softly. “After everything that happened… the betrayal…”

“There were days I came close,” he admitted, a flicker of old pain in his gaze. “But the hope of returning to my people, of seeing the light of Aelindoria again, was a stronger anchor than any darkness.” He offered a small, genuine smile. “I am glad of it. Without that hope, I would not have been here for you.”

Just then, my stomach rumbled, a loud, embarrassing growl in the quiet clearing. A faint smile returned to his lips. “And on that note, sustenance is required. I will not be far. Call if you need me.”

He moved with a quiet grace, melting into the dense line of trees until he was swallowed by the shadows. The clearing suddenly felt larger, emptier. There has to be something I can do—something other than waiting for the pain to pass. I mumbled to myself. Restlessness warred with the dull ache in my shoulder.

Slowly, carefully, I pushed myself to my feet. A pleasant tingle, where the agony had been, suggested Cassius’s medicine was working its magic. I took a few steps, truly seeing the clearing for the first time. It was a tapestry of quiet life, dotted with wildflowers of every hue. I wonder…

I closed my eyes, reaching for that familiar, internal current of energy. When I opened them, the world was veiled in a luminous web of life. A soft, green glow emanated from every plant, a silent hum of vitality. All except one. A few feet away, a single wildflower’s aura was a murky, sickly brown. Its petals were torn, its stem bent and wilting. Drawn to it, I knelt, extending my good hand. I hesitated, then gently poured a sliver of my own energy into the dying bloom, a silent offering.

I was so absorbed that I didn’t hear Cassius return until he was already kneeling to tend the fire. His hands were full of the bright, sun-colored Calendula he’d been seeking. As if on cue, the respite from my pain ended. A familiar throb began to radiate from my shoulder, sharpening with each passing moment.

“The pain is returning,” I admitted, watching him ladle more of the steaming tea into my bowl.

“Which is why we rest,” he said simply, handing it to me. “Drink.”

I downed the bitter liquid. He took the empty bowl, his expression turning apologetic. “My hunt was unsuccessful,” he said, holding up the leather pouch Amelia had given me. “It will have to be dried meat and nuts.”

“Food is food,” I said, taking the portion he offered. The nuts were a chalky memory of flavor, and the dried meat was as tough as boiled leather. The bland fare of the palace suddenly seemed a king’s feast.

My chewing was cut short by a sound that sliced through the forest’s tranquility.

It wasn’t the cry of any beast I knew. It was a series of piercing, metallic screeches that scraped the nerves raw. From the distant tree line, entire flocks of birds erupted from the canopy, a black cloud of panic against the sky.

I froze, the tough meat tasteless in my mouth. Across the fire, my eyes met Cassius’s. A silent, stark understanding passed between us.

“It seems we’re packing after all,” he said, his voice low and grave. He was already on his feet. “I will handle it. You just be ready to run.”

He moved with a fluid economy of motion, our bedmats rolled and our few supplies vanishing into the dimensional pouch in moments. Our camp ceased to exist. He handed the pouch to me, and I fumbled with the tie on my belt, my fingers clumsy.

Another screech, closer this time, ripped through the air, seeming to shake the very ground.

“We need to find the entrance to Aelindoria,” Cassius said, his eyes scanning the dense woods not for herbs, but for a path—any path. “Now.”