Small, glowing creatures skimmed low along the river, and the Hinra looked as beautiful as the rumors said—like a trail of light stitched into the night. One light grazed her wrist—cool as dew, gone in a blink.

Elira’s eyes lit in wonder. In all her life, she’d never known a place this lovely existed in her own birthplace. She kept gasping softly, reaching for the tiny lamps of air. For a few breaths, she forgot every knot in her head.

She didn’t notice Raka until footsteps rustled behind her.

“Why did you never tell me there was a place like this?” she complained as soon as she caught his shape.

“I did,” he said. “You told me it was better to read another herb book than go look at a river.”

Elira frowned, searching for a memory she was certain didn’t exist.

“Here.” Raka offered a small basket—where had he even gotten it? “I picked the ones you can eat.”

He had gathered berries. A full basket. Elira didn’t even remember the berries; she only remembered their promise to see the Hinra on festival night. She accepted the basket with a wide smile. He must honestly think she was a girl who was always hungry.

Raka said nothing. He shrugged off his outer coat, spread it over the grass, and patted the cloth to tell her to sit. Up close, his voice was steady but thinned at the edges, and his right hand flexed once, as if shaking off a small tremor.

Elira sat, flustered, and began to eat. After everything that had happened lately, she finally admitted what had been obvious: Raka truly paid attention to her.

“I’m curious,” she asked around a mouthful of fruit. “Are you like this with everyone?”

Raka gave her a flat look, as if she’d asked something that didn’t deserve an answer. “Have you ever seen me talk to any girl—other than to ask if she’s seen you?”

Elira paused, trying to think. He really didn’t speak to other girls. She shook her head.

Raka chuckled, especially when he saw the mess she was making. He reached out and gently wiped the corner of her mouth

Warmth spread where his fingers touched, thawing skin numbed by the night breeze. Elira caught his hand, remembering he’d been burning with fever that morning.

“You’re still sick,” she said softly, worried. “We should go home.”

He drew his hand back, not letting her check his temperature.

“I’ll grab herbs from Elder Samara’s,” she said, already tidying the berries. “You have to rest.”

Before she could stand, Raka caught her wrist, asking her to sit back down.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

Elira shook her head hard. “Fine how? You’re still warm.”

“I took the herbs before the festival.”

She framed his face with both hands; her eyes went round at the heat in his skin. But before she could speak, he did.

“You know, I just had a crazy idea.”

Her brows knit. “What is it?”

“Run away with me.”

Elira jerked back, hands dropping. “What?”

He laughed again, softer. “I warned you. It’s crazy.”

“You’re serious?”

He drew a breath and met her eyes. The set of his shoulders looked tired. “If I am—would you come?”

“Hey! Be serious.”

Raka caught her fist before it could thump his shoulder. This time his gaze steadied, earnest. “We could leave Ashira and Kamura both. Anywhere, so long as you’re there, I don’t care.”

Elira choked. The fruit she’d just swallowed felt like it had gone into her lungs.

“Forget the village problems. We could start over,” he said.

Her wrist softened in his hold. He threaded his fingers with hers.

“Raka. I—”

“I know.” He smiled a little. “It’s impossible. I’m sorry. I was just talking.”

Just talking? He was out of his mind. Elira knew there was truth in his voice. She also knew he said it because he was tired—frustrated. The boy who always seemed strong and untouchable looked small tonight.

“Raka, it’s not that I don’t want to,” she said. “I mean—I don’t actually want to run. But Ashira is our home. So many people I love are there. I can’t choose between you and Ashira. I can’t.”

He stroked her fingers, attention fixed on her small hand.

“After this, we’ll find a way,” Elira went on. “I won’t stand still.”

“What will you do?” he asked quietly.

“Anything! I don’t know yet—but I’ll do whatever it takes to save Ashira, Kamura, and you.”

Raka’s smile returned, small and helpless. He knew her words were reckless, a promise with no plan. And yet, somehow, Elira’s promises always calmed him.

“So I’m last on the list,” he teased.

“Hey!” She pulled her hand back and glared. “Why are you talking about order? That’s not the point. The point is I’ll save you from whatever both villages try to do to you. Don’t you see my courage and determination?”

He answered with a thin, fond smile. “You’re growing up, Elira. It worries me. I’m afraid you won’t need me anymore.”

Her protest caught when she saw the seriousness in his eyes. “What do you mean? Did you forget? Once a guard, always a guard.”

He laughed—really laughed. Elira wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him laugh like that. Nothing she’d said was that funny.

Raka ruffled her hair, then smoothed it. “Now I really want to steal you away.”

A soft thrill moved through her chest, worse for the way he said it, smiling sweetly. Sena had been right: Raka was dangerously handsome.

“I think we should go back,” Elira said, before she lost her senses and agreed to his madness. “The entire village is watching our drama. I don’t want to make Sena and the others worry.”

“Okay.” He stood and offered his hand. “Whatever you want.”

Elira took it, looking anywhere but at his face. Better to watch the grass than see how the Hinra’s glow made him look even more unreal.

“You really don’t want to run away?” he asked as they headed back toward the square.

“Raka. Don’t joke.”

He lifted his shoulders. “You might change your mind.”

“I won’t. Don’t ask again.”

He turned his head and gave her a mischievous smile. “I’ll feed you every hour. You won’t have to worry.”

“Really? You think the only thing in my head is food?”

“Berries?”

Elira sped up with a huff, leaving him to pout.

“At least I’m the archery champion,” he called lightly. “I doubt Henoch hunts better than I do.”

“I didn’t know you liked to brag. Since when do you talk this much?”

He caught up. “Brag? The necklace at your throat is proof enough.”

Elira snorted. “Ra—”

Something sharp threaded the night air—pine resin and smoke on a thin wind. The drums in the distance stuttered half a beat, then pushed on. Heat brushed her cheek, faint as a breath.

Her words broke at the rising shouts—closer now, urgent. Villagers tore away from the festival and surged in one direction.

Elira’s hand flew to her ribs where the dagger Kael had given her pressed cool against her side. Together, she and Raka ran with the crowd, searching for the source of the panic.

They stopped before a building nearly swallowed by flame. Black smoke boiled into the sky; timber screamed and split.

Ashira’s nightmare began that night.