The sky had barely begun to lighten when Aric rose. Mist hung low over the ground, curling between the broken stones of Sundermere like pale smoke. He tightened the straps on his pack, checked the Emberblade once more, and stepped away from the chapel ruins without a word. Maelis followed soon after, quiet and grim.
They didn't speak as they walked, the crunch of their boots on the frosted earth the only sound between them. The road ahead bent east, where the forests thickened into the unknown. There were no signs, no map—only a direction, drawn by instinct and the faint pull of something Aric couldn't name. It was like the sword itself knew where to go.
They passed through what remained of the outer fields. Once, people had lived here—tilled these lands, raised families. Now it was all abandoned. A blackened scarecrow leaned in the wind, its arms broken. Beyond it, a single crow watched from a fencepost, head tilted as if listening to something Aric couldn't hear.
"How far are we going?" Maelis asked after a while.
"As far as the fire takes us," Aric said.
Maelis grunted. "That's not ominous at all."
Aric didn't smile. There was a weight in him now that hadn't been there before Sundermere. A pressure behind the eyes. He didn't feel tired, exactly, but he didn't feel rested either. Just sharp—like a drawn blade, waiting to strike.
They made it into the trees by midday. The forest was older here, thick with moss and silence. No birds. No wind. Just the creak of branches above them and the distant snap of twigs underfoot. The deeper they went, the more the world seemed to narrow. Shadows grew longer. Roots twisted up from the earth like bony fingers.
At some point, the path vanished entirely.
"We're being watched," Maelis said quietly.
"I know," Aric replied. "Since we crossed the first ridge."
They didn't stop. Didn't draw steel. Whatever followed them kept its distance. A whisper behind the leaves. A glint between trunks. It was more patient than the creature in Sundermere. More cautious. That alone made it more dangerous.
By late afternoon, they reached a clearing. A flat, open space where the trees gave way to stone ruins—shattered pillars, broken steps, and a dried-up fountain at the center. Ivy had claimed most of it. Time had done the rest.
"We camp here," Aric said.
Maelis didn't argue. He dropped his pack beside the fountain and checked the perimeter.
Aric stood at the center, eyes scanning the ruined archways. Something about the place felt familiar. Not memory—deeper. As if the fire inside the Emberblade had once burned here long ago.
He laid the sword on the stone edge of the fountain. For a second, it pulsed. A low heat spread through the rock, barely visible, like the blade was waking something that slept beneath.
Maelis returned with a scowl. "No sign of whoever's tracking us. That worries me more."
Aric nodded. "They're waiting."
"For what?"
"I don't know. But they won't wait forever."
Night crept in quickly. They lit no fire. The Emberblade gave off a faint, warm glow, enough to see by, but not enough to signal their presence from afar.
Maelis eventually fell asleep against a broken column. Aric remained awake, fingers brushing the blade's hilt. He stared into the trees.
And the trees stared back.