By morning, Maelis was already preparing to leave. His wound was deep, but not fatal. A few herbs and a tight bandage would hold him for now.
"We need to move fast," Maelis said, gathering his things. "The Wraithborn won't be the last to come for you."
Aric looked down at the Emberblade, which still felt strange in his hand, as if it didn't belong. "What are they? Why did they want the sword?"
"The Wraithborn are servants of the Shadow Veil. They've been hunting for the Emberblades ever since the war," Maelis explained. "They feed on magic your power, the sword's power. And they'll stop at nothing to claim it."
Aric clenched his jaw. "What's the Shadow Veil?"
Maelis' eyes darkened. "A force older than any kingdom, older than magic itself. It was there at the fall of the Emberblades. And it's growing again."
Aric didn't know what to think. The world he knew was small, simple. But now, it seemed everything he'd believed was a lie.
Maelis stood, pulling Aric's attention back. "Pack your things. We leave before nightfall."
"I'm not running," Aric said, though he couldn't shake the unease in his chest. "I want answers. I want to know who did this to my people."
Maelis met his eyes. For the first time, Aric saw something darker there. "We're not running, Aric. We're surviving. And we're getting ready for the war that's coming."
Aric didn't reply. He turned and began packing his things, the weight of the sword heavy on his back.
The wind was picking up again, howling across the ridges. The storm wasn't just in the skies. It was closing in on them.
As the last of the village disappeared behind them, Aric felt something stir in the distance a shadow, creeping on the wind. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it.
It was coming. And it was hungry.