The road narrowed as the forest thickened, the trees pressing closer together as though listening. Their branches tangled overhead, filtering the light into thin, shifting bands that slid across the ground like watchful eyes. Alden slowed their pace instinctively. Roads like this were perfect for ambushes—and he had survived enough of them to know when the air felt wrong.
Elysia walked beside him now, refusing Lyra's arm despite the stiffness still lingering in her steps. She said nothing, but Alden noticed how her fingers kept drifting toward the compass at her wrist, brushing it as if seeking reassurance. Since leaving the ruins, the artifact had grown warmer, its faint inner glow pulsing more frequently, like a heartbeat that refused to settle.
"Does it always do that?" Alden asked quietly.
Elysia glanced down. "No. It's… louder today. Not in sound. Just—" She searched for the words. "Like it's pulling harder."
Lyra's gaze sharpened. "Artifacts don't grow restless without reason. Especially ones tied to pre-Shattering Lumen craft."
That alone was enough to put Alden on edge.
They rounded a bend—and the compass flared.
Elysia gasped, clutching her wrist as pain lanced through her arm. The glass face of the compass cracked, thin red lines spreading across it like veins. Alden reached for her instinctively, but she staggered back, eyes wide.
"It hurts," she whispered. "Something's wrong."
The forest answered.
An arrow slammed into the dirt inches from Alden's boot.
"Down!" he shouted.
Steel sang as Alden drew his sword, shoving Elysia behind him as more arrows tore through the air. Lyra raised her staff, arcane sigils blooming around her hands as she deflected a shot mid-flight, the shaft burning to ash before it could strike.
Figures emerged from the trees—five, then seven—clad in mismatched armor. Not Eastern soldiers this time. These moved differently. Faster. Smarter.
Scavengers. Fragment-hunters.
One charged, blade raised. Alden met him head-on, steel crashing against steel. The man fought with desperation, eyes flicking constantly toward Elysia rather than Alden's sword. That told Alden everything he needed to know.
They weren't here to kill her.
They were here to take her.
Alden disarmed the man with a sharp twist and drove his pommel into the scavenger's temple, dropping him cold. Another rushed him from the side—but a sudden wave of force blasted the attacker backward, slamming him into a tree hard enough to crack bark.
Elysia stood frozen, hands glowing faintly, her breath ragged.
"I didn't mean to—" she began.
"No time," Lyra snapped. "Again, if you have to."
The remaining scavengers hesitated, fear flickering across their faces. One of them spat on the ground. "It's true," he muttered. "She bleeds light."
That was when Alden noticed the blood.
Elysia's wrist was bleeding—thin crimson lines running from where the compass had cracked, dripping onto the metal casing. The moment her blood touched it, the compass screamed.
Not audibly—but the world lurched.
The trees bowed inward. The ground trembled. A pulse of raw Lumen exploded outward, knocking everyone—friend and foe alike—off their feet.
When Alden forced himself upright, the scavengers were gone. Vanished into the forest, fleeing in blind terror.
Elysia collapsed to her knees, clutching her arm. Lyra rushed to her side, muttering spells under her breath as she examined the compass.
"This is bad," Lyra said grimly. "Very bad."
"What did I do?" Elysia asked, tears streaking through the ash on her face.
Lyra didn't answer immediately. She looked at Alden instead.
"Her blood awakened it," Lyra said quietly. "That compass isn't just guiding her. It's bound to her."
Alden's jaw tightened. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," Lyra said, "that wherever she goes now… the world will know."
Elysia stared down at the blood-streaked compass, its needle spinning wildly once more before locking firmly to the east.
Toward the City of Dawn.
And toward far greater danger than any of them had imagined.