Beltin Marsh dwindled behind the company in a long sigh of mud and mist. By noon the ground began to rise slowly, almost reluctantly, and the first trees of the Wolhaven Forlaith leaned above the path like listeners. Their trunks were pale as bone, their bark smooth and light-struck, and their leaves gave off a faint scent of smoke and sap. Every step seemed to hush the world a little more.

Boaz paused at the edge where reed gave way to root. He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked back once, half expecting the causeway to have vanished. Behind them, only fog remained, rolling in slow folds that swallowed the horizon. The air here felt different: thinner, cooler, heavy with something that remembered fire.

Thorne trotted ahead, tail low, ears twitching. The lynx’s paws made no sound on the loam. Boaz felt the Sigil against his chest, not warm as it had been in the marsh, but still present, like a heartbeat that wasn’t his. The forest seemed to draw its rhythm from it, each breath of wind moving with deliberate caution.

Kiera came up beside him, her hood drawn. “It smells of rain and smoke,” she murmured. “Like a hearth gone cold.”

Aldryn snorted softly behind them. “Or a hearth waiting to be lit again,” he said, leaning on his staff. “Old wood remembers its last fire.”

Theo trudged past, adjusting the strap of his crossbow. “Lovely thought. Just what I needed: sentient timber.”

Lyra’s laugh was thin but genuine. “Better than sentient mud.”

“Don’t give it ideas,” Theo muttered, kicking a root. It gave a hollow thump like struck bone. He grimaced. “Perfect. It’s listening already.”

Even Jaxson’s smirk looked tired. “If it starts talking, I’m turning around.”

“You’ll just walk in circles,” Aldryn said. “I think the Forlaith has a sense of humor about that.”

They moved on, single file along a narrow ridge where moss silvered the roots and sunlight filtered through like sifted dust. Even Kestel’s wings were silent; the hawk glided overhead, then settled on a branch that looked half-petrified. No birdsong followed, only the slow rasp of their boots and the whisper of leaves rubbing together.

Boaz tried to name what felt wrong and couldn’t. It wasn’t danger, not yet. More like the sense of walking into a place that didn’t want to be remembered. He thought of the prophecy’s line, “blooded wood,” and wondered if these trees had been the ones.

The path bent around a shallow pool no wider than a cartwheel. Smoke wavered on its surface though no fire burned nearby. When he crouched to look, he saw not his face but a dull shimmer, like heat above a forge. He blinked and it was gone.

“Did you see…” he began, but Kiera shook her head. “Best not to chase every ghost, Boaz.”

Lyra peered over his shoulder. “If it’s my reflection, it owes me sleep,” she said. “And better manners.”

The small laughter broke the spell for a heartbeat. Their steps fell into rhythm, boots scuffing bark, familiars padding quietly among them: Thorne in front, Mika stalking off-trail, Tink climbing and rummaging through Theo’s pack before being shooed. Eira circled high, calling once, low and wary.

“Even the air’s thick,” Jaxson muttered. “Like breathing through syrup.”

“Or memory,” Aldryn replied. “Old places do that. They don’t quite believe you’re real yet.”

Theo raised a brow. “And if they decide we are?”

“Then we see what they remember us for.”

The road narrowed again, curving through roots that rose like the ribs of some buried beast. Resin gleamed in the cracks, amber veins catching what little light filtered down. Shaye brushed a hand against one and frowned when it came away sticky. “Still fresh,” she murmured. “Something bleeds here.”

“That’s reassuring,” Lyra said.

Boaz halted. “No tracks?”

“None,” Telen answered, crouched near the ridge. “No beasts. No claw. No print. Just us.”

Boaz nodded, uneasy. The quiet pressed heavier now, as if the trees leaned closer to hear what they’d say next. He felt the Sigil pulse again, soft, questioning. He whispered under his breath, “Not yet,” and it cooled.

By the time twilight gathered, they had covered less ground than they thought. The forest folded on itself, trails doubling, distances bending. Kiera frowned at the map Theo had etched that morning, with the help of Aldryn. The road turned this way and that.

“It makes no sense,” she said. “We should be farther by now.”

Aldryn took it from her, squinting. “Sense is a negotiable concept here.” He smiled faintly. “Best to stop before the forest decides for us.”

They found a shallow dell strewn with white bark and amber resin. The trunks around it were so pale they glowed faintly in the dusk. Aldryn raised a hand for rest. “We make camp here. The Forlaith watches travelers who press too far on their first day.”

Jaxson dropped his pack with a grunt. “You make it sound polite about it.”

“Oh, it is,” Aldryn said dryly. “Polite in the way storms are polite: they always announce themselves.”

Lyra chuckled. “Remind me to thank it in the morning.”

Boaz knelt by a fallen trunk, running his palm across its surface. The grain was warm beneath his touch, faintly pulsing as if remembering a flame. He drew back, unsettled.

Theo had already begun clearing a small circle for fire. Tink helped by stealing the same twigs he tried to stack. “Traitor,” he muttered. “You’re supposed to be the engineer’s assistant.”

Tink squeaked and vanished into Lyra’s cloak. “At least she has taste,” Lyra said.

Kiera unrolled blankets, humming softly, a habit she had picked up since Cirol, half-song, half-prayer. The sound lightened something in the air, enough that even Thorne’s tail flicked with approval. Boaz listened to her hum fade into the forest’s pulse and felt the edge of exhaustion catch up to him.

Aldryn struck flint to tinder. “Sleep may not come kindly tonight,” he said. “This wood keeps its own hours.”

Boaz met his eyes across the growing firelight. “Then we’ll keep ours,” he said quietly.

The flame caught, bright and clean, and for a moment the pale trunks reflected it a hundredfold, like a circle of witnesses. The company settled close, their shadows flickering long and slow, and though none spoke it aloud, each felt the same unease: that somewhere deeper in the forest, something had already marked their arrival.

Night deepened slowly in the Forlaith, as if the forest begrudged the idea of letting go of its color. The air thickened until the flames of their campfire burned dull and low, their smoke hanging like threadbare veils among the pale trunks. Even the crackle of wood sounded distant: muted, as though smothered in moss.

Boaz sat with his back against a fallen log, eyes half-open, too tired to speak yet unable to sleep. The Sigil’s faint warmth at his chest pulsed in a rhythm that was not his own. Every time his thoughts began to drift, a whisper stirred at the edge of hearing: soft, intimate, almost kind.

Boaz…

He blinked awake. The voice had been familiar, his father’s, perhaps? Or merely a trick of exhaustion. Across the fire, Kiera stirred, her lips moving soundlessly, fingers twitching over the small pendant she wore. Aldryn slept, or pretended to, his staff resting across his knees. Lyra’s eyes gleamed faintly through the dim; she hadn’t closed them in hours.

“Did you hear that?” Boaz murmured.

Theo grunted from his bedroll. “If it’s the trees again, tell them I’m busy not dying.”

“Not the trees,” Boaz said. “A voice.”

Lyra turned her head. “Which one this time?”

He frowned. “It sounded like my father.”

“That’s new,” she whispered. “Mine prefers sarcasm.”

From somewhere beyond the ring of firelight, Mika gave a low growl. The sound echoed strangely — once, twice — as though mirrored by something unseen. Then came the faintest rustle, like cloth brushing bark.

Eira swooped low through the clearing, wings whispering. She alighted near Kiera’s shoulder, feathers fluffed. “Something’s walking circles around us,” Kiera said softly.

“Or we’re walking circles around it,” Aldryn murmured without opening his eyes. “Try not to blink too long. The Forlaith likes to rearrange itself when no one’s watching.”

Theo sat, rubbing his face. “That’s a comfort.”

Jaxson stretched, grimacing. “We should take shifts. I can’t tell if it’s dawn or midnight.”

“It’s neither,” Aldryn said. “Not in here.”

The whisper came again: this time clearer, weaving through the branches above them. It wasn’t one voice but many, blending, half-familiar: the tone of loved ones, the cadence of long-lost friends. They overlapped like water flowing backward.

Stay awake…
Come closer…
You’re almost there…

Thorne rose to his feet, fur bristling, a silent snarl on his lips. Tink chittered nervously and vanished into Theo’s coat. The fire guttered.

“Light,” Boaz said quickly. “Theo…”

“I know.” Theo snapped his fingers, tracing a quick glyph in the dirt. Sparks flared in a tight circle, burning blue for an instant before fading to amber. The air brightened enough to reveal shifting shapes between the trees: vague, human silhouettes moving without sound. When the light dimmed again, they were gone.

Lyra rubbed her temples. “I’m seeing things, right?”

“No,” said Kiera. “But that doesn’t mean they’re real.”

Jaxson drew his short swords, the metal whispering. “I’d prefer real.”

Aldryn rose, steadying himself with the staff. “They won’t come closer. Not yet.” His voice sounded distant, almost amused. “The Forlaith tests endurance before it tests courage.”

Boaz looked to him sharply. “Endurance?”

“Stay awake long enough, and you’ll see truth from lies.” The old sorcerer smiled faintly. “Or you’ll see everything as lies. Either result keeps you moving.”

Wind sighed through the high branches, carrying a scent of burnt pine. The sound grew until it almost resembled breathing. Every time one of them closed their eyes, even for a heartbeat, the whispers returned, sometimes coaxing, sometimes cruel. Lyra muttered names under her breath; Theo counted under his; Kiera prayed quietly, the melody trembling.

Hours dragged without measure. Firewood dwindled. Shadows lengthened though no moonlight shone. Boaz felt his thoughts fray at the edges. Faces formed and dissolved in the smoke. At one point he thought he saw the marsh again, water rippling over the roots, but when he blinked, the image was gone.

Thorne pressed close, rumbling low. Boaz laid a hand on the lynx’s shoulder, feeling the tension beneath fur. “I’m awake,” he whispered, unsure if to himself or the beast.

Lyra shifted beside him. “You ever notice,” she said quietly, “how nightmares always think they’re original?”

Theo gave a hoarse laugh. “You’re welcome to file a complaint.”

“I will, once we find someone who takes them,” she said. Her voice cracked on the last word. “Assuming we’re still ourselves by morning.”

Boaz turned toward her. “You will be.”

“Easy for you to say,” she murmured. “You’ve got a magic emblem whispering bedtime stories.”

He almost smiled, then stopped. “It whispers too.”

That silenced her. Around them, the forest seemed to listen.

Aldryn paced to the edge of the firelight, murmuring a word that shimmered faintly across the ground. The sound dampened, like water over stone. “That will muffle the echoes for a while,” he said. “Not banish them. Nothing truly dies here.”

“Comforting,” Jaxson muttered, sheathing one sword but not the other.

Boaz stood and walked a few paces beyond the circle, just enough to see between the trunks. Mist pooled low, shifting as if stirred by breath. He thought he saw a figure standing there: tall, still, wrapped in shadow. The same sense he’d felt in the marsh pressed at his chest.

“Boaz?” Kiera’s voice reached him. “Don’t go far.”

He stepped back into the firelight. “Just looking.”

“Best not,” Aldryn said. “The forest remembers every footstep. Walk twice in the same place, and it may think you’ve come to stay.”

Theo blew out a shaky breath. “Can’t imagine the rent.”

Kiera smiled faintly, though her eyes were ringed with dark circles. “We’ll keep each other awake,” she said. “Just until morning.”

Lyra stretched her cloak tighter. “And if morning forgets to arrive?”

Boaz looked toward the faint shimmer of the Sigil beneath his tunic. “Then we remind it.”

For a long while none of them spoke. The whispers faded to a low hum, as though disappointed. Still the forest watched, patient as stone. Around the dying fire, seven souls and their familiars sat in fragile defiance of sleep.

The fire had burned to red veins in the ash. Every log seemed to bleed light rather than give it, and the air had gone strangely cold. Mist crawled along the ground in threads that coiled around boots and packs like living roots.

Boaz rubbed his face, feeling grit under his eyes. He’d lost count of how many times he’d started awake. The forest never grew silent; even when no sound came, it listened.

Somewhere in that thick dark, Mika growled. It was a low, guttural sound, too deep for the small hyena’s size. Everyone froze. Then came a faint scuff, the whisper of something moving just beyond sight.

Lyra sat up sharply. “Mika?”

The familiar’s growl rose into a snarl. Her eyes glowed faintly, picking out a shape between the trees, something tall and wrong in its stillness. Mika lunged.

“Wait…!” Lyra’s warning came too late. The hyena leapt into the shadows and vanished. A yelp echoed, not of pain but confusion, followed by the sound of claws skidding against wood.

Jaxson was already on his feet, bow drawn, eyes searching the gloom. “Where’d she go?”

“Two paces beyond the firelight,” Kiera whispered. “But,” she frowned. “It looks like she’s chasing her own shadow.”

Theo squinted into the dark. “No, there is something. Look at the trees. The light’s wrong. It bends…”

Before he could finish, Eira swept overhead, wings cutting a sharp arc. The owl called once, a harsh bark of alarm. The sound broke whatever trance held them. Mika stumbled into view, hackles raised, teeth bared at nothing. Her reflection, if it was that, still lingered half a heartbeat behind her, then melted into the mist.

Lyra knelt beside the hyena, hands trembling. “Easy, easy, what was it?” Her voice cracked, more from fear than fatigue. Mika’s breathing slowed, though her ears flicked constantly.

Theo exhaled. “Add hallucinating shadows to our list of hobbies.”

Kiera tried to smile. “Better that than biting them.”

Lyra shot her a look, then sighed. “Haunted and muddy. That’s us.”

The line broke the tension for a moment. Even Jaxson chuckled, though it came out like a bark. “Haunted and muddy,” he repeated. “I’ll tell the next bard who wants a title.”

“Make sure he writes it in the past tense,” Theo said. “Assuming we ever have a past.”

Boaz crouched near the fire, feeding it another stick of resinous wood. “Don’t joke too loudly. This place likes to echo.”

Aldryn sat nearby, staff across his knees, eyes unfocused. “I wish I could tell you what that was,” he said quietly. “The Forlaith’s magic is old, older than any name I know. It shifts shape depending on who enters it. Sometimes it feeds on fear. Sometimes on curiosity.”

“Wonderful,” Jaxson muttered. “It’s got a varied diet.”

Aldryn’s mouth twitched in a half-smile. “And particular tastes. Best we give it nothing new to chew on.”

“Do you know how to stop it?” Boaz asked.

The old sorcerer hesitated, then shook his head. “No. Only how to endure it. Which is less impressive, but more honest.”

That, oddly, steadied them more than any certainty could have. Boaz nodded. “Then we endure.”

The mist thickened again, curling up from the earth like breath from a thousand unseen mouths. Eira took to the air once more, circling, hooting sharply when she saw motion. Lyra followed her gaze, and froze.

A figure stood at the edge of the firelight. Not close enough to see clearly, but tall and human-shaped. Its outline wavered like heat above stone. For an instant, it leaned forward, as though peering in.

Thorne growled low, ears flat, fur standing like quills. The fire popped, and the figure was gone.

“Tell me someone else saw that,” Theo said.

“We all did,” Kiera whispered.

Aldryn rose slowly, gripping his staff. “It’s no trick of the light this time. But I can’t tell if it was flesh or memory.”

“Flesh doesn’t vanish,” Jaxson said.

Aldryn looked at him wearily. “Nor do some memories.”

Boaz’s hand drifted to his chest, feeling the faint heat of the Sigil beneath his tunic. It pulsed once: soft, warning.

At last Kiera moved, gently touching Boaz’s arm. “We should rest, even if sleep won’t come. We can’t fight what isn’t here.”

Boaz nodded, though he kept his eyes on the trees. “Keep a watch.”

“We already are,” Lyra said softly. “We just don’t know who for.”

The line hung in the air like fog. Mika rested her head on Lyra’s knee, eyes half-lidded but alert. Eira returned to her branch, wings mantled. Thorne lay beside Boaz, tail twitching. None of them slept, though each pretended for the others’ sake.

Boaz stared into the dying fire until his vision blurred. The shapes within the coals seemed to move: shadows writhing, faces flickering, faint light tracing the outline of a crown before crumbling to ash.

He blinked hard, and the image was gone. Only embers remained.

The night stretched thin as thread. Even the mist seemed exhausted, lying in faint bands across the clearing like tattered cloth. No one had slept, though several had tried. Every few minutes one of them would startle awake from half-dreams, eyes darting toward shapes that weren’t there.

Aldryn knelt near the firepit, muttering softly. He arranged a ring of quartz pebbles and thin lines of salt around the edge, tracing runes in the ash with the tip of his staff. The symbols glimmered faintly, like coals remembering they’d once been flame.

Theo watched blearily. “Is that… protection, or decoration?”

“Both,” Aldryn said. “It deters spirits, echoes, and…” He squinted at the pouch. “Possibly slugs. I can’t remember which legend that came from.”

Lyra gave a weary laugh. “Slugs are welcome. They’d be the least terrifying thing we’ve met.”

“Don’t mock the classics,” Aldryn said, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. His hands trembled slightly as he placed the last crystal. When he sat back, the faint ring of light pulsed once, then steadied.

Kiera leaned closer. “Will it hold?”

He hesitated. “It should.” Then, more quietly: “I think.”

Theo threw up a hand. “Oh good, we’ve moved on to probable magic. My favorite kind.”

Aldryn’s brow furrowed. “The Forlaith resists certainty. Even truth behaves differently here. The ward is less a wall than a… reminder. It tells the forest we remember ourselves.”

“That’s all it takes?” Jaxson muttered, rubbing his temples. “Because I’m starting to forget what my own voice sounds like.”

“Speak, then,” Kiera said gently. “Even nonsense helps.”

He looked up, half-smiling. “That I can do.”

Lyra stifled a yawn. “If nonsense helps, we should be invincible by now.”

Boaz managed a small grin, but it faded quickly. The air inside the circle felt no safer than before, just thinner, quieter, as if something were waiting for permission to return. He sat beside Thorne, who was alert but calm, watching the forest with unblinking eyes.

Aldryn settled himself against a log. “We’ll hold this ring till dawn. Try to rest, even if rest doesn’t come.”

No one answered. One by one, they leaned back, eyes closing in shallow surrender. The fire whispered; the salt ring glimmered faintly.

Boaz meant to stay awake. He’d done it before on watch, through storms, through battles, but now the forest seemed to breathe through him. His thoughts scattered like sparks on wind. The world thinned to a hush.

Then came the dream.

He stood in the same clearing, only the trees were burning, not with flame, but with light, white and soundless. The Sigil blazed on his chest, red-hot, cracking down the center. From within it poured molten fire that ran like blood through the soil. The company’s faces wavered at the edge of vision: fearful, distant, unreachable. He tried to call out, but no sound came.

When he looked down, the Sigil wasn’t bound to him anymore. It floated before him, a hollow ring glowing from within, trembling under its own heat. Cracks spidered outward across the ground, forming symbols he almost recognized: binding marks, the kind Aldryn used when sealing his wards.

But instead of closing, they split wider. Fire spilled upward, and within it he saw figures. Men and women were bound in chains of smoke, faces twisted, reaching toward him. The forest made a sound like roots tearing free from stone.

A voice spoke, not from without, but from within the Sigil itself.
What is bound must burn…
What burns must bind again.

Boaz reached for it. The metal was hot, but he grasped it anyway. The fire consumed his hand, racing up his arm. He couldn’t let go. He felt himself falling inward, not down, through light and memory. For a heartbeat, he saw the walls of Cirol aflame, the crown of its kings melted and blackened on an empty throne.

He shouted, and woke.

Thorne’s growl filled the clearing. Boaz jerked upright, gasping. The fire had sunk to embers, the salt ring flickering as if something had stepped through. Cold sweat covered him. The Sigil against his chest was hot, throbbing faintly. He pulled it free, staring at the dull red glow. Cracks laced the metal like veins of magma, then they sealed, leaving it unmarked once more.

Kiera stirred beside him. “Boaz? Are you…?”

“I’m fine.” His voice came out rough. “Just a dream. Maybe a vision.”

Aldryn opened one eye. “A telling one?”

Boaz hesitated. “I don’t know. The Sigil.” He stopped. “It burned.”

“Does it still?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Then perhaps it was a warning, not a wound.” Aldryn leaned forward, squinting at the faint shimmer still around the ward. “Dreams in the Forlaith have teeth. They bite, but they don’t always draw blood.”

“That’s encouraging,” Theo mumbled.

Boaz stared into the ash, trying to shake the vision: the cracking, the voice, the crown. “If it’s warning us, I wish it would speak plainly.”

“Power rarely does,” Aldryn said. “Even when it means well.”

For a moment, silence reclaimed the clearing. The others had begun to stir again, restless but too tired to rise. Lyra pulled her cloak tighter, muttering something about haunted trees and terrible hours. Jaxson had already taken up pacing, blades in hand. The ward’s faint glow flickered like breath.

Boaz pressed his palm against the Sigil one last time. It was cool now, inert. But he could still feel the echo of its voice. It was low and patient, like coals under ash.

What burns must bind again…

He drew in a slow breath, forcing calm. “Dawn’s not far,” he said aloud, though the sky still showed no hint of it.

Aldryn’s gaze softened. “In some places,” he said quietly, “dawn comes when we’ve earned it.”

Boaz looked toward the pale trunks gleaming faintly in the gloom, each one seeming to hold its own light. “Then let’s hope we’ve done enough to deserve it.”

The forest made no reply — only the faint whispering of leaves brushing against each other, like whispered applause for those who dared stay awake.

The fire had sunk to its final glow, a slow pulse in the ash that lit faces from below. Pale roots showed through the soil like ribs. No one spoke for a long time. The night air hung still, heavy with unshed words.

Boaz sat a little apart, the Sigil warm against his chest. He’d turned the dream over and over in his mind until it blurred, until only one image remained: the blackened crown melting on an empty throne. The forest was quieter now, but not peaceful; it waited.

Thorne’s head rested against his knee. The lynx’s slow, steady breathing was the only sound until Theo spoke softly from the other side of the circle.
“Anyone else feel like we’ve been awake for a week?”

Jaxson gave a dry laugh. “If we have, I want my pay.”

Kiera’s voice followed, gentle but tired. “I don’t think time behaves properly here.”

“Then we’re in good company,” Lyra murmured. “We haven’t behaved properly since Beltin. Come to think of it, Beltin didn’t either.”

Even Aldryn chuckled at that. The sound felt like a crack in stone. He fed the fire a last handful of resin, and it flared a little, painting everyone in soft gold. “Laughter reminds the dark that we still belong to the living,” he said. “It’s good medicine.”

Boaz looked at the faces around the circle. They were exhausted, pale, streaked with mud and smoke; something inside him eased, then tightened. They had followed him this far without knowing the whole truth. That felt wrong. Dangerous, even. The Sigil had chosen him, but they had chosen to stay.

He took a slow breath. “There’s something I haven’t told you.”

The words startled even him. The others turned, the hush immediate.

Lyra’s eyes narrowed. “That’s rarely a comforting start.”

“It isn’t meant to be.” He stared into the coals. “Back in Cirol, before we left, the council asked to meet with me privately.”

Theo shifted. “Ah. The same council that nearly fainted when they heard how the Sigil had redeemed the Aguan Fallen in the battle?”

“The same,” Boaz said. “The council spoke of lineage, of records that survived the old wars. They said my mother’s line carried royal blood. That the last kings of Huma were my kin.”

Jaxson snorted. “Of course they did.”

“Cayden told me the same thing.” Boaz looked up at Jaxson. “They wanted to restore the throne.”

That silenced even Jaxson. Only the fire crackled.

“They called it a chance to heal what’s broken,” Boaz went on. “A banner to rally the people. A symbol of unity. I didn’t know what to say at first.”

Lyra leaned forward. “So what did you say?”

“I said no.”

Kiera’s head tilted. “Why?”

Boaz hesitated, searching for words that didn’t sound rehearsed. “Because I don’t know if a throne can heal the land right now. The world doesn’t need another ruler. It needs people who remember each other. What we fight for isn’t crowns or cities, it’s what they’ve forgotten to protect.”

Silence again, but softer this time. The forest listened, not as a predator but as witness.

Jaxson poked at the ashes with a stick. “Still… that’s a lot to walk away from. Most men would at least try the seat on for size.”

“I thought about it,” Boaz admitted. “For one heartbeat. But I saw the way they looked at me: not like a man, but a tool. A prophecy made flesh. They don’t want a king; they want a banner to wave.”

Lyra’s voice was quiet, almost gentle. “And you’d rather be what?”

He met her gaze. “Someone who earns their faith instead of inheriting it.”

Aldryn exhaled, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Wise for someone so young. And dangerous for the same reason.”

“What do you mean?” Kiera asked.

“Power,” Aldryn said, “is a tide. Once it rises, it doesn’t care who built the shore. Even refusing it shapes the world around you.” He looked at Boaz. “But you were right to refuse. Power and purpose aren’t the same thing. The former demands obedience; the latter asks for sacrifice.”

Jaxson threw the stick into the fire. “Still feels like we’re following a man who turned down a kingdom.”

Theo rubbed his eyes. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. I’d trust a man who said no to a crown before one who polished it.”

Kiera’s smile was faint but bright. “A true ruler serves. Whether he sits on a throne or walks beside the weary.”

Boaz shook his head, half in gratitude, half in disbelief. “You all make me sound better than I am.”

Lyra gave a short laugh. “Don’t worry. We’ll correct that when we’re rested.”

A few chuckles followed — fragile, but real. The tension thinned like mist under the sun.

Aldryn stretched his legs, groaning softly. “Well then,” he said. “If any of you decide to sleep after all this noble revelation, I recommend doing so inside the ward. Kingship or not, the Forlaith still bites.”

Theo pointed at the faint salt circle. “And here I thought slugs were the threat.”

“Never underestimate slugs,” Aldryn said gravely, then smiled. “They endure.”

Even Boaz laughed quietly at that. The sound felt strange in his throat, like remembering something he hadn’t realized he’d lost.

When the laughter faded, Kiera reached out, touching his wrist. “You carry enough weight already, Boaz. Don’t bear it alone.”

He nodded. “I won’t.”

The first hint of light seeped through the canopy then. It was a thin grey wash that barely touched the ground, but promised morning. The forest exhaled. Mist drifted apart. Birds stirred somewhere in the distance, faint and hesitant, as if testing whether it was safe to sing.

Boaz rose, stretching stiff limbs. “We should move before the forest changes its mind about dawn.”

Theo stood, yawning. “I was beginning to think it had gone on strike.”

Lyra slung her cloak over one shoulder. “Haunted and muddy, still alive. I’ll take it.”

“Add ‘kingless’ to the list,” Jaxson said.

Kiera smiled. “Then we’re exactly what the world needs.”

Aldryn stamped out the last of the embers. “Perhaps. Let’s find out.”

They packed in silence, the easy kind born of understanding. When Boaz fastened the Sigil beneath his tunic, its metal felt cool again, as though it was quiet, resting, and satisfied. He glanced once at the pale expanse of trees ahead, their trunks catching the first light like pillars of dawn.

Behind him, the company fell into motion. Ahead, the true depth of the Forlaith waited.

Boaz took the first step.

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