Lirael folded her arms tightly over her chest. “She was kind,” she murmured. “A little strange, but warm. She made it feel like home.”

Ezryn didn’t speak at first. His gaze was fixed on Liz, watching her shoulders shake though no sound left her lips. For her, Martha had been more than a host. She’d been the first thread tying her to something in this world of fragmented memory. The only person who moved freely in the world Liz couldn’t name, and the one who—without question—loved her.

Ezryn hesitated, then reached out and gently took her hand.

Liz flinched—not out of rejection, but emotion. The gesture was too kind, too safe, and it made the ache break open. Her fingers closed around his, and then the sobs came—quiet, broken, uncontrollable.

Ezryn didn’t say anything. He simply stood there, steady, letting her cry.

Kael turned away slightly, jaw tight. He crouched and gathered loose dirt in his fist, letting it slip through. Lirael stood beside him in silence, their shadows long in the late afternoon light.

Time passed like that, suspended.

Then, almost without realizing, Liz whispered words beneath her breath. The earth trembled faintly. A gentle golden light began to spread from her feet like water across the forest floor.

Vines rose and blossomed. Bark smoothed. Flowers unfurled. The wounds on her companions began to close, aches lifted. Even the birdsong became brighter. The very air seemed to bloom.

Ezryn gasped softly as warmth flooded his chest, clearing the dull pain in his side.

Kael stood suddenly. “Liz—”

But Liz swayed. Her breath hitched, and her knees buckled.

Ezryn moved to catch her—but Kael reached her first.

He swept her into his arms with speed and force that startled even him. Liz’s head rested against his shoulder, her breath shallow, her skin flushed with exhaustion.

Kael didn’t speak. He simply held her—too tightly. He looked down the winding path, then back at his friends.

“She’s burned out everything,” he said, voice low. “We need to find a village. Before night falls.”

Lirael nodded, her voice quiet. “You’re right. We’re still not safe.”

Ezryn lingered a moment, then fell into step beside them. He stole glances at Liz in Kael’s arms, brow furrowed—not with jealousy, but something heavier. Regret, perhaps. Wonder. Fear.

The sanctuary was gone.

The forest was no longer still.

As the four moved forward—Kael carrying Liz with protective force—the woods around them pulsed with wild energy. Sunlight pierced the dense canopy in slanted shafts, and life buzzed in every corner. But not all life was kind.

From within the undergrowth, eyes blinked open. Shapes shifted behind the trees. Claws dragged across bark.

Lirael, taking the rear, narrowed her eyes. “Something’s following us,” she said flatly, wind curling subtly around her fingertips.

Ezryn moved closer, drawing a line of protective sigils midair. “We don’t have time for this.”

A low growl echoed from the thicket.

Then came the rustle of many feet—scraping claws, grinding bone, the stench of decay curling into the wind.

“On your guard,” Lirael whispered, already summoning blades of air in each hand.

Ezryn turned to Kael. “Give her to me. I’ll shield her with spells. You’re close combat—this is reckless.”

But Kael didn’t stop. His grip around Liz only tightened. His eyes, hard and cold as forged iron, glinted beneath shadowed brows.

“Don’t waste breath,” he growled. “She needs rest. And these pests—” he looked into the forest, at the rising horde of twisted beasts slithering and stomping toward them, “—they’re nothing.”

Kael didn’t wait.

With Liz still cradled in his arms, he surged forward—shoulder lowered, fire igniting beneath his feet. His aura burst to life: raw, untamed flame, shaped into the silvery curve of a crescent moon. It spun behind him like a burning scythe.

He didn’t draw his sword. He didn’t need to.

Instead, the fire itself became his weapon.

Every monster that leapt from the thickets was met with an explosion of searing flame. He cut them down with swift, precise arcs—each movement calculated, each step pushing forward. Liz, unconscious in his arms, never jolted. His power burned with the singular intent of shielding her.

Behind him, Ezryn and Lirael flanked the surge.

Lirael leapt through the trees, windblades spinning. “Don’t let any reach them!”

Ezryn planted his palm to the earth. “Aegis of thunder,” he chanted, sending arcs of lightning forward that exploded across the enemy line.

But Kael—Kael never looked back.

The flame burned through his sleeves, revealing gashes across his arm, deep and bleeding—but he didn’t slow. His boots thudded against the earth with force, his jaw clenched. Each drop of blood that hit the ground evaporated in fire.

For him, there was only one path.

Only one purpose.

Protect her.

Only when the last of the beasts crumbled into ash did Kael finally stop.

His breath was ragged. His arms were shaking. But Liz remained untouched.

Ezryn and Lirael caught up moments later, both winded.

They stepped into a clearing—no longer tangled with monsters, no longer cloaked in dread. And in the distance, like a miracle, they heard it:

Laughter.

Voices.

The clatter of carts and boots on wooden planks.

A village.

Sunlight bathed its stone roofs in golden hue. The scent of baked bread drifted through the air. Children ran across the street, chasing a bouncing ball, their laughter slicing through the tension like a healing balm.

They had reached it. Safety.

Kael stood there, eyes still fierce—but a flicker of something else began to stir in them.

Relief.

Lirael exhaled and let the wind fall still. “We made it,” she whispered.

Ezryn nodded slowly, but his gaze never left Kael and Liz. The fire around them had dimmed—but something else burned now in silence.

Kael looked down at the girl in his arms, her features soft in sleep, one hand clutching his shirt.

He adjusted his grip gently—then stepped toward the village.

“Let’s find her a place to rest,” he said quietly.

No one argued.

They followed.