The starched formality of the palace fell away behind us, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. I was glad to be free of it, standing on a wind-scoured hill that overlooked Glens Crossing. Down below, the walled city was a scatter of warm, golden lights against the dark earth. A single string of lamps marked the main gate. A few windows still shone, and lazy wisps of smoke coiled from stone chimneys into the night.

Overhead, a crescent moon hung like a shard of bone in the star-dusted velvet of the sky. The breeze was gentle, surprisingly warm for the hour. I glanced at Cassius. The darkness ate the details of his face, rendering him a silhouette edged in faint moonlight.

Please let this be the place, I thought, the plea a silent hope. Let us find answers here.

The moment the thought formed, the world changed.

The warm breeze died. The air, once light, grew heavy and still, pressing in on all sides. An unnatural cold seeped from the ground itself, a predatory chill that had nothing to do with the weather. It slithered up my spine, and the fine hairs on my arms stood erect. Something was wrong. The back of my neck prickled with a primal sense of being watched.

I spun around. Cassius had already turned, his posture perfectly still, but his very presence had sharpened to a razor’s edge.

A creature of pure, solid shadow tore itself from the earth, a soundless violation of the world. Then ten more rose with it, silent and fluid. They were monstrosities of living darkness, things that seemed to absorb the starlight around them. They paid us no mind as they materialized, their eyeless heads fixed on the distant lights of the city—all but one. It dissolved into a puddle of blackness and instantly reformed inches from my back.

“They’re after the city!” I cried. “We have to stop them!”

Cassius didn’t answer with words. His mana exploded from him in a blinding torrent of white and gold. The light moved with his silent will, coiling around the nearest Shadowveil like a celestial serpent. It constricted, tightening with relentless pressure until the creature imploded, vanishing in a harmless, silent puff of black smoke.

I braced for a psychic shriek, my own energy coiling to form a defensive shield, but there was nothing. The creatures were utterly silent, their focus absolute. Five more clawed their way from the soil, joining the unholy procession and bypassing us completely. The chilling realization dawned on me: they weren’t acting on their own. They were puppets. Something, or someone, was pointing them like arrows at a target in Glens Crossing.

My heart hammered against my ribs. We have to draw their fire. My gaze locked onto the largest one, a towering sentinel that seemed to direct the others. I coalesced my mana, shaping it into a piercing spear of amethyst light, and launched it. The spear tore a gaping hole through the creature’s shadowy torso, but the sentinel didn’t so much as flinch. It made no sound. Its soulless attention remained fixed on the city as even more of its kind began their inexorable march.

“Now, Cassius!” I yelled.

He was already moving. A silent inferno of white-gold fire surged from him, engulfing the creatures advancing on the city. It wasn’t a wild blaze, but a contained, controlled storm of annihilation. Turning to face the threat at our backs, I followed his lead. A wave of violet fire roared from my hands, and I focused its full, devouring power on the sentinel until not even a wisp of it remained.

A handful of smaller ones flickered into existence around us. I willed my mana into the shape of a sword and threw up a shimmering amethyst barrier around us, trapping the last of the creatures inside. Cassius mirrored the action, his own blade of light flaring to life. We sprang forward, splitting to flank them. My sword sliced through the first one with ease, cleaving it cleanly in half.

As another tried to sink into the earth to escape, an idea struck me. I focused my will downward, projecting a shield of solid energy just beneath the surface of the grass. The creature slammed into the unseen barrier with a dull thud, its escape cut off. It worked. I charged, unleashing a concussive blast of pure mana that annihilated it on the spot. Across our makeshift arena, Cassius dispatched the last one with a spinning, upward arc of his blade that was as beautiful as it was deadly.

His light faded. I let my shields fall. The oppressive silence crashed back in, but this time it was natural—the quiet darkness of a country night. The warm breeze picked up again, rustling the grass at our feet as if nothing had happened.

Cassius came to stand beside me, his voice low and tight. “They were different. No aggression, no self-preservation. They were just… an instrument.”

My thoughts raced to Blair, and then, with a familiar lurch of dread, to Kaelen. Amelia was sure he was in the south, but the thought of facing him again sent an involuntary shiver through me. I scanned the darkness, but the night was empty.

“Do you think more will come?” he asked.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. My voice was steadier than I felt. “They wouldn’t expect anyone to be out here, let alone anyone who could stop it.”

“How much time do we have?” Cassius moved closer, his presence a solid comfort in the dark.

I stared toward the city lights, the weight of our reality settling like lead in my gut. “Until the real attacks begin on towns like that? Two months. Maybe less.” The horrifying speed of it all was sinking in. My hands clenched the fabric of my pants, twisting the material. “We have to find information on the elves. Here. Now. We can’t afford to fail.” I forced my hands to unclench, balling them into fists at my sides. “We have to find them.”

Cassius rested a hand on my shoulder, a steady, grounding weight. “We will,” he said. His voice was calm, but I could hear the strain beneath it. “Let’s head into town. Find an inn.”

I gave a slow nod, my throat tight. “Okay.”

As we started toward the gates, I glanced back one last time at the now-empty, untroubled patch of ground. The city is safe, I thought, a sliver of relief cutting through the bone-deep exhaustion. For tonight. My gaze shifted to Cassius walking beside me. Beneath his cloak, his posture had straightened, his stride now filled with a grim purpose.

The walk was short. Soon, we stood before the entrance to Glens Crossing. A lone guard was slumped against the stone wall, one leg propped up, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were closed. They fluttered open as our footsteps crunched on the gravel, heavy-lidded and weary in the flickering torchlight.

“Passing through or staying?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep and boredom.

“Staying the night,” I replied.

“Inn’s just inside to your right. Ought to have rooms,” he said, his eyes already drifting shut again.

“Thank you,” I said. He gave a slight, dismissive nod. We started to walk past, but I paused, the image of the silent, marching shadows searing my mind. “You should be more alert on your watch.”

The guard merely grunted, waving a hand in our general direction without opening his eyes. A flash of hot irritation went through me, but I swallowed it down and turned to follow Cassius through the gate. He has no idea to how close the creatures came.

The town felt ancient. Its cobblestones were cracked and uneven, worn smooth by generations of footfalls and iron-shod wheels. Lamplight peeked from behind the curtains of some homes, while others were dark and silent. Despite its age, the town radiated a warmth that Coral Bluffs had lacked, the kind of place that would be bustling with life come morning. People here might be willing to talk, I thought, but we need to be careful. My gaze fell to Cassius, a conspicuous figure in his dark, hooded cloak. I hoped the locals were the type to mind their own business.

We found the inn easily, a small wooden sign with the word “Inn” painted in faded black hanging over the door. Cassius held it open, and a small bell chimed. “After you,” he murmured.

I stepped inside, the comforting scent of a hearth fire, beeswax, and old wood washing over me. From a worn armchair near the crackling fireplace, an elderly woman rose slowly, her back hunched with age, her walk hampered by a slight limp.

“Hello, dears. Welcome,” she said, her voice raspy but kind. “Looking for a room for the night?”

“Yes, please,” I answered.

She shuffled behind a worn wooden counter. “And how many rooms will that be?” she asked, placing a small lockbox on the counter and looking from me to Cassius and back again.

I hesitated. Cassius stepped forward smoothly. “Just one will be fine,” he said, his voice a warm, reassuring counterpoint to his intimidating appearance.

The innkeeper’s lips crinkled into a smile, entirely unfazed. “Very well. Two silver for the night.” She retrieved a heavy iron key from the box. I paid her, and she passed it to me. “If you have time tomorrow, I suggest the market. You can find almost anything there, if you know who to ask.”

Her knowing tone caught my attention. “Thank you, we will.”

“Your room is the second door on the left at the top of the stairs,” she nodded. I started for the staircase but paused and turned back.

“One more question. What’s the best place in town to hear things? Rumors, stories from travelers?”

The old woman tapped a thoughtful finger against her lips, though her eyes held a twinkle that told me she already knew the answer. “Oh, that would be the market for certain, dear. More whispers and tales pass through there in a day than books in a library.”

“Thank you again. Goodnight,” I said, finally turning for the stairs.