Mist coiled through the trees as the ridge gave way to a descent of broken shale and moss. The Warden's weight cracked the stones beneath its paws, sending small avalanches of gravel whispering into the ravine. Elara followed close behind, one hand pressed to the creature's flank for balance, the other gripping a root slick with dew. Kael swayed weakly on the beast's back, his head lolling with each careful step.
The air grew warmer as they dropped toward the valley. A veil of silver fog drifted above the slow, gleaming ribbon of the river. Beyond it, the shapes of Lorimar emerged: rooftops of slate and timber, a ring-wall of grey stone, smoke curling from chimneys. Bells tolled faintly, a sound both homely and mournful.
Each toll made the Stone hum beneath Elara's soles. Not the deep, ancient thrum of the wild, but a new rhythm—human craft, mortar, iron. Civilization. She hadn't heard such sounds since the fall of the citadel. The familiarity stung her chest.
"Almost there," she whispered, though Kael could not hear her.
The Warden paused halfway down the slope, lifting its head. The fur along its spine bristled. Elara froze. Through the haze she sensed the same pulse—a cold flicker brushing her thoughts. Valerius again, faint but insistent, like a hand feeling along invisible threads. She clenched her jaw and drew a steadying breath.
"Keep moving," she murmured to the beast. "We're ghosts in the fog. He can't see us if we don't stop."
The Warden obeyed, stepping forward. Stones skittered away into the mist. They reached the foot of the hill as the sun broke weakly through the clouds. A narrow path wound along the riverbank, bordered by reeds and twisted willows. Across the water, the walls of Lorimar loomed higher, their reflection fractured by the current.
A bridge spanned the river—a long, graceful arch of translucent material that shimmered like frozen light. Not glass exactly, but some alchemical stone that caught every color of the sky. Carved runes glowed faintly along its edges.
Elara stopped, awe and wariness warring within her. "The Bridge of Glass Shadows," she breathed. "I thought it was legend."
Kael stirred at the sound of her voice. "Where…?" His words slurred.
"Safe ground," she said, though doubt coiled in her gut. "Hold fast, Kael. We're almost safe."
The Warden stepped onto the bridge. The surface rang softly under its paws, a pure note that rippled outward like water disturbed by a stone. Beneath them, the river moved sluggishly, its depths dark as ink. The bridge's shimmer painted their faces with shifting light—blue, then violet, then the red of dawn bleeding through cloud.
Halfway across, Elara felt it—the pulse again, stronger. Valerius's reach brushed her mind like ice. She gasped, staggering. The Warden halted, rumbling low.
He was closer. Much closer than he should have been.
The fog thickened around the far end of the bridge, folding in upon itself. Within it, a shape began to form—a tall figure draped in tattered robes, light bending oddly around him. Valerius's projection, not his body, but powerful enough to kill.
"Run!" Elara shouted.
The Warden bounded forward, claws striking sparks from the glassy span. Arcs of pale light flared with each stride. The air crackled behind them as the specter raised a hand; a lance of dark energy seared through the mist, striking the bridge where they had stood moments before. The shockwave shattered a panel of the crystal walkway. Shards flew outward, singing as they fell into the river below.
Kael groaned weakly, clutching the Warden's mane. Elara kept pace beside them, lungs burning. The far gate of Lorimar loomed ahead—ironbound, guarded by two watchmen who gaped at the apparition on the bridge.
"Open it!" she cried. "For the love of the Stone, open!"
The guards hesitated only a moment before throwing their weight against the mechanism. The gate creaked, then swung inward. The Warden leapt through, landing heavily on cobbled ground as another blast split the bridge behind them. The structure groaned, light dimming along its length. Valerius's image hissed—a sound of fury and loss—before dissolving with the collapsing mist.
The gates slammed shut. The sound echoed through the narrow streets beyond.
Elara sagged against the Warden's side, chest heaving. Her legs trembled with exhaustion and adrenaline. Kael hung limply, unconscious again.
The guards stared, eyes wide. "What in the Saints' names was that?" one demanded, voice cracking.
"Death," Elara said hoarsely. "And he's still coming."
The older guard, his beard shot with grey, stepped closer, wary but not unkind. "You'd better come to the infirmary. Whatever trouble you bring, the lad there won't last long without help."
Elara nodded mutely. The Warden lowered itself, allowing Kael to be lifted onto a rough stretcher. The men flinched at the beast but did not interfere. Its amber eyes followed every motion, protective but calm.
Lorimar smelled of wood smoke, river mud, and iron. The streets were narrow, the houses close together, their upper floors leaning inward like conspirators. People peered from doorways and shuttered windows as the strange procession passed: a woman in torn leathers, an unconscious man, and a creature of myth padding beside them.
They reached a square dominated by a low stone building marked with the sigil of a crescent and flame. Inside, lamplight flickered over rows of cots. A woman in a soot-stained apron looked up from grinding herbs. "By the Depths," she murmured, wiping her hands. "What happened to him?"
"Elara," the guard said quickly. "Found them outside. Wounded. Some sorcery on the bridge."
The healer—Matron Ilen, as a small plaque read gestured briskly. "Lay him there. You, girl, help me with these bandages."
Elara moved automatically, stripping the linen from Kael's leg. The wound looked less inflamed, the Deep Folk salve still glistening. The matron's eyes widened. "Where did you get this paste?"
"Friends," Elara said. "Forest friends."
"Keep using it," the woman said simply. "It's doing more good than anything I've brewed." She worked swiftly, cleaning, binding, muttering under her breath prayers to the river saints.
The Warden waited outside, too large for the room, its bulk a shadow through the open doorway. Occasionally it rumbled, restless.
When Kael was settled, Ilen straightened and wiped her hands. "He'll live, if the fever breaks. You should rest too. You look half-dead."
Elara managed a faint smile. "Half would be generous."
The matron nodded toward a bench near the hearth. "Sleep there. No one will bother you tonight."
Elara sank down, exhaustion crashing over her. Yet as her eyes drifted shut, the Stone stirred faintly in her chest, a warning vibration. Valerius's energy lingered, not fading entirely. He could not cross the river physically;the bridge was shattered,but his will probed still, seeking cracks.
She dreamed of water and glass and voices whispering beneath the current.
When she woke, sunlight streamed through the window slats. Kael still slept, his face pale but peaceful. The matron dozed in a chair. Outside, the city sounded alive;wagons creaking, children shouting, the clang of a blacksmith's hammer. For the first time in weeks, ordinary life surrounded her.
The Warden lay in the square beyond the door, head on its paws, drawing curious onlookers who dared to approach only so close. When it saw her, it thumped its tail once, slow and heavy.
Elara stepped outside, stretching stiff limbs. The air smelled of bread and river silt. For a heartbeat she allowed herself to breathe.
Then she saw the shimmer.
High above the city, just beyond the morning mist, threads of light were weaving together subtle, almost invisible unless one knew how to see. A net. Valerius's search spell, reforming on the far bank. The bridge might be broken, but the river was no barrier to spirit.
Elara's hand went to the pendant beneath her collar: a sliver of the Stone she carried since the ruin. It pulsed once, faintly.
Not yet, she thought fiercely. You won't find us yet.
The Warden rose, sensing her tension. It glanced toward the north gate, ears pricking. Somewhere beyond the walls, another call echoed faintly low, distant, a Warden's cry answering its own. Reinforcements, or warning.
Matron Ilen stepped into the doorway, shading her eyes. "You've stirred the winds, girl. The river priests are talking about omens. If you've enemies, keep your head down. Lorimar doesn't like storms at its gates."
Elara nodded, gaze fixed on the rising shimmer across the river. "Then I'll bring the storm somewhere else."
She turned back toward the infirmary, where Kael still slept. The Warden rumbled softly, as if approving her resolve.
The day would not hold peace for long, but for now, within Lorimar's walls, they had a breath;a fragile, luminous pause between hunts.
And in that pause, plans could be made, wounds could heal, and the bridge behind them shattered though it was still glowed faintly in the morning sun, a reminder that even broken glass can hold the light.