From the edge of the Whitewood forests, he could hear the trumpets of Caelvorn—solemn, distant—summoning the Morning Vale. His breath came ragged, uneven, a wheeze torn through bruised lungs; every inhale was an agony, each exhale a small surrender. He was beaten like a rag and worn thin by the night.
His vision swam in and out of shape, the world tilting at the corners. For most of the long road back to Caelvorn, his horse had led the way. He hung limply over its neck, clutching at the reins with a half-dead grip, holding on for dear life.
Across his lap lay the dead mage, her weight pulling him sideways with every step the horse took. She had been light once—graceful as a whisper—but in death, she was all weight and silence.
They came up the narrow bush path and halted before the city wall. Elarion tried to dismount, but the strength had long since left his bones. The weight of the mage's body dragged him down, and together they crumpled. The thud startled the horse; it reared and galloped in circles, snorting at the sight of the motionless pair.
Perhaps it was a minute, perhaps less, before a guard atop the wall caught the sound and looked down.
"It's the Lord Commander!" he cried, voice cutting through the dawn haze.
Hope surged faintly in Elarion's veins—small, flickering like the last ember in a dying fire. He tried to rise, but his body betrayed him, heavy as stone, sinking toward darkness.
"Open the gates!" he heard a guard yell from behind wall. It came out thin, distant, fading into the wind.
It was the last sound he heard before the world went quiet and the black took him whole.
***
It was dawn, and Elyndra was tending to Kaelith in the elven keep. He had been moved there to be better observed by the mages. The Archmage administered a different medicine, and the spell he used lessened Kaelith's pain. He assured Elyndra that Kaelith would wake, and his slumber was not of the wound but of the mind—his warrior's spirit had been crushed, and he was beating himself.
That was stupid, she told herself, and she was going to scold him when he woke. He was the strongest person she knew, and defeat was inevitable; regardless, it did not make him weak.
But when the trumpets blasted that morning and she heard the uproar outside, she went—not expecting bad news. Yet when she counted two members short of what had left from the Morning Vale, fear struck her like lightning. Her legs carried her quick.
"We need to ride back out there with our full force," Lucen was saying when she entered the hall.
"If this creature is as you say—formidable—and Elarion fell by its hand, what is stopping all of you from falling?" the Archmage Corvell argued. The other lords murmured, seeing reason to his point. Sending the entire Morning Vale out and leaving Caelvorn defenseless was not wise.
"He did not fall," Maeryn said, trying to keep his voice respectful.
Elder Tharion hissed, "Which is it?"
An uproar broke again—voices colliding, chairs scraping, oaths spilling in frustration—before Elder Myrathen Ae'lin stepped in. The soft song of his voice smothered the heat.
"This council shall have the full weight of this matter," he said. His eyes darted to Lucen.
Lucen bowed and began, his voice steadier now. "It was in the plains before Moria. I kept watch for the goblins. Lord Elarion asked how long it would take to get what we needed for the wards' renewal. I sensed the urgency in his voice. It was then that a presence appeared before us."
His voice trailed off. He looked at Myrathen Ae'lin, who gave him a reassuring nod, then turned to Elyndra, who waited with red eyes.
"This creature took a man's form—tall, and with a darkness I have never felt. He attacked Lord Elarion without warning and…" His voice faltered again as he recalled the mage's death—the gruesome end of it.
"I should have fought beside him, not fled at his order," Lucen murmured. His hands shook against his armor—a sight unbefitting of a knight like himself.
"You did well, soldier," Lord Daenor said. "Lord Elarion must have known this creature to be formidable, even for the Morning Vale."
"What are we to do?" Lord Marcell asked the council.
Silence followed.
"I can't believe this is even a matter to deliberate on," came Elyndra's voice. Her eyes, rimmed with fear, sharpened into fury as she stood before the council. "My brother fights for his life out there, and you all sit here debating what to do?"
"You speak out of turn, Lady Elyndra," Lord Marcell snapped, though his tone wavered, betraying unease.
"Lady Marcell is right, my lords," Maeryn said quickly, his voice cutting through the tension. "The Morning Vale should ride out. With our strength, we can tip the scales in our favor." He bowed his head in a pleading gesture, hope trembling in his words.
"And leave the city defenseless?" Elder Tharion's voice came cold, slicing through the chamber like frost. "How are we to be sure you don't ride into certain death?" His doubt carried more than caution—it carried the cruel implication that the Lord Commander might already be lost.
"Are you saying my brother is dead?" Elyndra's voice thundered, and her eyes blazed gold, catching the torchlight like a rising storm.
"No, Lady Elyndra," Archmage Corvell said, raising a calming hand. His tone was careful, deliberate. "But circumstances such as these must be met with caution. This creature—one said to move like the wind—is not to be taken lightly."
"There's caution," Elyndra said, her voice trembling with restrained wrath, "and then there's cowardice." The embers in her eyes flared brighter, alive with the heat of defiance.
"Watch your tone, child," Lord Daenor said as he rose from his seat. His robes rustled like the whisper of steel. "The safety of Caelvorn prevails over all. Lord Elarion knows this. Were he here, he would choose the safety of the people first—and that is the call this council stands by."
"The Morning Vale will fortify the city's defenses and make ready in case of siege," Lord Tharion declared, striking his staff once against the marble floor. He turned to the Archmage. "The urgency of renewing the wards grows graver by the hour."
"I will see to it," Archmage Corvell replied, bowing slightly, his face unreadable beneath the shadows of his hood.
Elyndra turned from them, disbelief hardening into something fiercer. Her brother was out there—their commander, their symbol of hope—and these men dared speak as though he were expendable? The air in her lungs burned as she swallowed her outrage.
She spun on her heel and marched out, the sound of her boots echoing through the hall. Maeryn, already guessing what she intended, hurried after her, his voice calling out, desperate to stop her before she did something that could not be undone.
She burst through her quarters and drew a large chest from beneath her bed. In it was a silver armor and a sword—relics that had belonged to her mother. She put them on, and by the time Maeryn entered, she was sheathing her blade.
"Elyndra, you can't," Maeryn said, voice tense. She pushed past him.
"The good thing is—you can't stop me, even if you wanted to, Maeryn."
She wasn't bluffing, and Maeryn knew it. Her magic was more powerful, her spells more refined, and her swordplay nearly on par with Lucen's. Regardless, Maeryn pressed. "Then I ride with you." It was the defiance all three of them carried—her, Maeryn, and Kaelith.
She strode into the courtyard where her white steed was ready. Lucen had guessed she would do something reckless.
"I can take the blame for this and not get into trouble. The two of you could be punished," she warned.
"There's no way I'll let you ride out there alone," Lucen said, mounting his horse. "Lord Elarion would have my head for letting you ride—even with us."
Behind them, the council poured out of the great hall.
"I forbid you from riding out of these walls!" Elder Tharion yelled.
Elyndra mounted her horse, Maeryn readying a spell—when one of the tower guards shouted a word that froze them all.
"It's the Lord Commander!"
Silence. Then they heard it too—the sound of his horse.
"Open the gates!" Lucen yelled, riding for them. The Archmage stepped forward, fingers forming the ancient signs. He whispered the words, and the gates opened.
Elyndra rode out too, and before them, Elarion collapsed on the floor.
***
His vision was blurry when his eyes opened again. The world around him swayed in and out of focus; nothing made sense—nothing but the sharp, burning pain in his side. Then, in an instant, memory struck: the face of Vax flashed through his mind like a blade through fog. He sat up in bed, almost jolting upright.
"Calm, young lord," came the low voice of Myrathen Ae'lin. He stood at the foot of the bed, hands clasped neatly behind his back, his tone both steady and commanding.
Elarion tried to steady his breathing, though each breath caught in his chest. He swung his legs from the bed, but his feet betrayed him—the ground tilted beneath him, and he barely caught the edge of the bed before he could fall.
"Your body will need time to heal," Myrathen said, stepping closer. "You've slept for two nights now, my lord." He moved to the bedside table, poured a thick green liquid into a cup, and offered it to him with a quiet nod. "For the pain."
Elarion took it without a word and swallowed it in a single gulp. The taste was bitter as ash, but the warmth that followed was almost a mercy.
"You caused quite a tear between the council and your men," Myrathen said with a small laugh, settling into a chair beside the bed.
"What happened?" Elarion asked.
"Your men wanted to ride out and find you."
Elarion frowned "If they speak like that, then I've taught them nothing all these years,"
"Mmmh." Myrathen chuckled. "Daenor was of that opinion too. But tell me—would you truly leave a man behind for the safety of the kingdom?"
Elarion didn't answer. Yet his silence said enough.
"Your mother's look, yet your father's heart," Myrathen murmured, amusement softening into melancholy. He leaned forward. "What happened out there?"
At that question, the memory of Vax—the red gleam in his eyes, the whisper of his voice—flared through Elarion's mind. His jaw tightened. "He called himself the Blood Whim," Elarion said. Nothing more.
Myrathen studied him quietly, then nodded. "Then the songs will have a new name to fear." He stood. "Perhaps when you're stronger, we'll speak of it again. For now, rest. The Morning Vale will rest too—no scout missions beyond the wall."
"But the enclaves—" Elarion began.
"They'll survive. Caelvorn needs you first." Myrathen's voice softened. "When you return, take your sister with you. She put on her armor to ride out after you."
Elarion looked up, surprised. The door opened then, and Elyndra bolted through. Seeing her brother awake, she rushed into his arms. Myrathen withdrew with a knowing smile.
When they were alone, Elarion said, "What were you thinking?"
"I was the only one thinking. They would dispose of you so easily," she said.
"I knew that when I made an oath to offer Aethrion my blade."
She scoffed. "And how do you plan on doing that as a dead man?"
"I have the Vale," he said.
"No, you don't. And I shouldn't be saying this, but if you think the Vale follows you, then you're out of your mind. They follow the council."
Those words hit hard. He turned away.
"I'm sorry," she said, softer now. "I was terrified. Kaelith is already hurt, and I don't know when he'll wake. I couldn't bear to imagine—" He crossed the distance and embraced her.
"I'm joining the Morning Vale," she said suddenly.
Myrathen he muttered under his breath.
"No, you're not," he said aloud. "It's too dangerous."
"This isn't up for debate. You promised—if I completed my training. I have. And you're going to keep your promise."
"Elyndra," he said, his hand tightening around her arm—it hurt him to even hold her. "I know how strong you are. But I can't fight anymore if I lose you." His eyes softened. "You're the reason I fight, and I can't have this world take that from me—not again. Not after what I've seen."
She nodded faintly.
"One mission," he said when her expression faltered. She smiled faintly.
"Now run along before I change my mind," he said, and when she hissed, he laughed gently.
When she left, the room fell quiet. He sighed, closing his eyes briefly.
"Arya. I know you're there," Elarion said without looking. From the balcony, a woman climbed in. Twigs were tangled in her hair, and she brushed off small spiders from her cloak. Elarion smiled at the sight.
Arya stepped before him, her face twisted in a frown. "She's the only reason you fight? Really?" she scoffed.
"You want to add to those reasons?" he asked, pulling her by the waist into his arms and kissing her lips softly.
When she pulled away for air, she rolled her eyes. "Are my eyes not enough?" she whispered, her voice small and wet.
"Maybe," he whispered against her neck, kissing it softly. Her body shuddered, heat rising under his touch.
"Are you leaving?" he asked, sensing her hesitation.
She shook her head. "I'm yours till the moon rises," she whispered, and kissed him again.