They used the darkest hours of the night to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the city. By the time their absence was noticed, they would have already crossed the borders and changed course along paths no one patrolled.

Sven had never crossed the Black Forest on foot. He had always seen it from above—a dark stain stretching beneath Lumi’s flight. Walking among the trees was different: the shadows felt denser, the silence heavier. Even so, he welcomed the stillness. He needed space to gather his thoughts. Nébula slept nestled within the folds of his cloak.

“So… are you going to tell me where we’re heading?” Dyro asked suddenly, without slowing his pace.

“Home.”

Dyro stopped short. Sven passed him without looking back.

“And what exactly are we supposed to do in a place that’s in ruins?”

“There’s no way to explain it,” Sven replied. “I just know I have to return. Even if it makes no sense. The kingdom needs me.”

Dyro watched him as he spoke. He recognized that determination—it was the same one he had seen in him when nothing and no one could make him change his mind. Even so, the plan seemed madness.

“It’s a long journey. There are dangers. And they say shadow creatures still linger among what remains of Delphen,” he added, his tone hardening. “If you didn’t want to marry that king, you could have just said so.”

Sven shot him a hurt look—almost a pout.

“You did tell him, didn’t you?”

“I left him a letter.”

Dyro clicked his tongue.

“I’d give anything to see his face when he reads it.”

They said nothing more. The forest closed in around them once again.

They walked on until they reached the first village since leaving Diodain behind.

t was inhabited, but neglected. When the first rays of dawn touched the ground, the place stirred awake with a weary murmur: chickens released from rusted coops, cows driven along with crooked sticks, thin dogs fighting over scraps by the fences.

In the dirt alleys, some of those who had slept out in the open struggled to their feet at the sound of the morning bustle.

“We need horses,” Dyro said, scanning the surroundings. “But I doubt we’ll find any that won’t drop dead halfway through the journey.”

Sven barely heard him. He had been watching a barefoot girl carrying a bucket far too large for her arms. The contrast with Diodain tightened something in his chest.

“Hey,” Dyro insisted, “we need to keep moving. Otherwise, your heartbroken king will catch up to us and hang us from the first beam he finds.”

They walked through the village searching for someone who might have horses, but the few animals they found were either too old or too frail for a long journey.

“Then at least let’s get some provisions,” Dyro said, nodding toward a cracked wooden tavern. “And I think you could use a moment to sit.”

He turned to look at Sven and found him pale, his lips pressed tight. They had been walking for hours without stopping, and the lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll.

Sven didn’t argue—it was clear he needed the rest.

They stepped into the tavern, nearly empty at that early hour.

The wooden floor, worn and stained from years of spills, creaked beneath their boots. A broad-shouldered woman dried still-damp mugs behind the counter. Two men at the bar soaked bread in a steaming concoction, eating in silence.

They chose the most secluded table. Even with their cloaks hiding their origins, their refined features betrayed them—they looked far too clean for a place like this.

Dyro gave a brief gesture. The woman understood and brought them two bowls of soup along with two mugs of a local drink—cloudy and lukewarm.

Nébula stirred at the scent of the coarse food. Sven handed her an apple he had tucked into his cloak pocket.

“What are two from Delphen doing so far from their cradle?” a voice shot from the bar.

Sven looked up. Several gazes fixed on them.

“We’re looking for someone,” Sven replied calmly.

The woman behind the counter shrugged. The murmur slowly returned, though the distrust did not fully fade.

“They don’t want us here,” Dyro muttered, tasting the soup. “We shouldn’t stay long.”

Sven nodded and lifted the bowl to his lips. It wasn’t refined, but it was warm—and for now, that was enough.

The tavern door opened.

A slender figure crossed the threshold, a satchel of clinking vials slung over his shoulder.

“I thought you wouldn’t come today,” the tavern keeper said.

The dark-haired young man set several potions down on the counter.

“I hurried to finish them at dawn.”

Sven went still in his seat.

He recognized that posture. That way of moving with caution, as if expecting a blow that never came.

“You’re a good boy, Nox,” the woman said.

“I hope this last dose finally gets your husband back on his feet.”

“Yes, yes…” The tavern keeper took a violet-colored vial and reached for a coin in her apron.

“No. I don’t need payment now.”

She slipped the coin back.

“I won’t argue with you twice. The thefts have been constant.”

“Next time, he shouldn’t face a bandit alone.”

The woman scoffed.

“And who else will, if not him? No one here cares about us.”

Sven tightened his fingers around the warm bowl.

It had been years since he had seen a knight on those roads.

Nox left the tavern in a hurry. Sven suppressed the urge to call out to him.

When they finished eating, they paid with one of their gleaming coins. The tavern keeper’s eyes lit up at the sight of it.

“Who around here has horses for sale?”

“No one here, my lord,” she replied, her voice suddenly softened. “But a few minutes north on foot, there’s a farm.”

Dyro nodded, left another coin on the table, and they stepped outside.

“We won’t find anything here but hostile stares,” he muttered. “Let’s head north.”

Sven walked in a daze, still shaken by the reality they had just witnessed. Nébula floated beside him in silence.

Suddenly, his body was shoved against a wall.

Dyro stepped in front of him in a single motion.

“What—?”

“Quiet,” Dyro whispered, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword, half-drawn.

He moved forward and dragged a slight figure out from the shadows of the alley. He slammed him to the ground with ease and planted a foot against his chest. Several vials rolled across the stones.

The young man let out a strangled gasp, breathless.

“Who are you, and why are you following us?”

“Dyro, stop!” Sven shouted. “I know him!”

“He’s our friend!” Nébula whimpered, circling the scene.

Dyro did not ease the pressure.

“He’s a sorcerer,” he said coldly. “He works with shadows.”

“Just let him speak!” Sven pleaded.

Dyro did not remove his foot from Nox’s chest, but he lessened the pressure slightly.

“Speak,” he said. “And choose your words carefully.”

Nox drew in a shaky breath, struggling to recover.

“I wasn’t going to attack,” he murmured. “I saw you in the tavern. No… I felt you.”

Dyro did not take his hand off the hilt.

“And you decided to follow us?”

“I wanted to know what two children of the moon, carrying themselves like nobles, were doing in a place this forgotten.”

His eyes lifted toward Sven. They narrowed slightly as recognition finally settled.

“But you…? You should be in the cathedral right now.”

Sven went still.

“How do you know about that?”

“News travels quickly when something disrupts the order of the kingdoms,” Nox replied. “Even to places like this.”

Dyro frowned.

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Perhaps it is,” Nox countered, an ancient weariness in his voice. “Because no one abandons a royal wedding to lose themselves in the Black Forest without a reason that burns from within.”

Sven stepped forward.

“Everything I saw in my visions was real,” he said. “I wasn’t dreaming. I was called. And I came because I couldn’t ignore it.”

Dyro turned sharply toward him.

“What visions?” he demanded. “Since when have you been speaking to sorcerers behind my back?”

“I didn’t hide it out of distrust,” Sven replied, hurt. “I did it because I didn’t know if it was real. I doubted myself.”

“Of course,” Dyro spat. “And now we’re supposed to ally ourselves with sorcerers who work with the same shadows that destroyed us.”

“Not all sorcerers serve the shadows,” Nox said, his calm edged with tension. “Some of us simply survive among them.”

Dyro said nothing. His eyes remained fixed on Sven.

“Really?” he said at last. “You want us to trust him?”

Sven held his gaze.

“Don’t you trust me?”

Dyro went still. For a moment, the anger drained from his face.

“I do,” he said at last, quietly. “I trust you.”

He removed his foot from Nox’s chest, though he did not stop watching him.

“But not him.”

Nox rose slowly, picking up one of the vials that had rolled across the ground.

“You don’t have to trust me,” he said. “It’s enough that he does.”

Sven looked at him, a flicker of sorrow in his eyes.

“Let me come with you,” Nox added. “I know these paths. And what lurks within them.”

“You’re going to need all the help you can get.”

Dyro scoffed.

“Great. A dark sorcerer, a fugitive prince, and me. Nothing could possibly go wrong.”

Sven gave the faintest, tired smile.

“Let’s go get the horses.”

Together, they continued north, unaware that this encounter had just sealed something far greater than a simple journey.