The storm rolled in without warning.

  One moment the sky was clear, dust-yellow with streaks of sunlight. The next, it cracked open—lightning tearing across black clouds, wind bending the trees into arcs. Saezu tightened his cloak around his shoulders, teeth gritted against the sudden cold.

  Brannor spat. “We need shelter. Fast.”

  They scrambled for cover beneath an outcropping of rock near a ravine. The wind howled like something alive, and the rain came sideways, sharp and freezing. Brannor threw down his pack, built a windbreak from his cloak and a bent sapling, and lit a fire in a hollowed stone with hands that barely trembled.

  Yvanna crouched on the other side, watching the flames with an expression somewhere between curiosity and boredom. The fire danced in her green-gold eyes, casting strange shadows across her face.

  Saezu sat between them, wet, cold, and quiet.

  He wasn’t used to traveling with others. But here they were: the Iron Bull, the Flame Witch, and the Exiled Prince. A strange trio, drawn together by survival and a sword none of them fully understood.

  They didn’t speak for a long time. The storm was too loud, the fire too precious to waste words. But eventually, Brannor broke the silence.

  “What’s the plan?”

  Saezu looked up.

  “We head east. The hermit said the Hollow Spire lies beyond the Red Valley. If the sword is there, we need to find it before anything else does.”

  Brannor grunted. “Assuming the old man wasn’t mad.”

  “He was,” Yvanna said, smirking. “But even madmen speak truth sometimes.”

  Saezu’s voice was steady. “It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

  Brannor stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “Fine. I’ve followed worse plans.”

  Yvanna leaned closer to the fire. “I don’t follow plans. I follow people. So far, you haven’t disappointed.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Saezu looked at her, uncertain. “Why did you really come with us?”

  She tilted her head. “Because the wind changed when I met you. Because I’m bored. Because I want to see if you become something terrible.”

  Brannor grunted again. “Remind me not to sleep near her.”

  “I don’t snore,” Yvanna said sweetly.

  Saezu couldn’t help it—he smiled, just a little.

  The storm passed by morning.

  They climbed out of the ravine and found the world washed clean. The forest shimmered with dew, and the ground steamed in places where heat lingered beneath the soil.

  By midday, they reached a narrow pass cut through a line of jagged hills. Brannor paused, sniffed the air.

  “Something’s watching.”

  Yvanna didn’t speak. She just raised a hand, and a tiny swirl of wind circled her fingers.

  Saezu gripped his sword.

  Then they saw it.

  A pack of three beasts stepped out of the undergrowth—doglike in shape but wrong in every other way. Their skin was cracked stone, their eyes glowing faint blue. Their mouths stretched wide and toothless, but they growled like thunder.

  Brannor drew his axe. “Farland hounds.”

  “They hunt in silence,” Yvanna said. “They like to circle.”

  As if on cue, a fourth beast leapt from behind.

  Saezu spun and blocked with his sword, but the weight of the creature knocked him back. He rolled, came up swinging, and caught the thing’s flank. It yelped, but didn’t slow.

  Brannor barreled into one, shoulder-first, then crushed its skull with a single blow. Yvanna whispered something sharp, and a gust of wind slammed the second hound into a rock wall.

  Saezu took a shallow cut across the ribs as the last one pounced again—but this time, he drove his blade straight into its open mouth. The thing spasmed, then collapsed.

  Silence returned.

  Their breathing slowed.

  Brannor wiped blood from his knuckles. “Not bad.”

  Saezu nodded, panting. “Thanks for the warning.”

  Yvanna crouched beside one of the bodies, poking at it. “They were being driven. Not wild.”

  Brannor frowned. “By who?”

  “Or what,” Saezu said.

  They stood quietly, each one thinking the same thing: this place wasn’t just dangerous. It was changing. Watching. Preparing.

  That night, around the fire, the mood was different.

  They’d bled together. That made a difference.

  Brannor passed Saezu a flask of something bitter and strong. Yvanna handed him a roll of bandages for his ribs. They still bickered—Brannor’s bluntness against Yvanna’s games—but now it was almost… familiar.

  Saezu spoke quietly. “I wasn’t sure either of you would stay.”

  Brannor shrugged. “You’ve got good instincts. You fight like a cornered wolf. I’ve followed worse men into worse places.”

  Yvanna smiled faintly. “And you didn’t burn. That’s rare.”

  Saezu looked at them both. “I don’t know where this ends. But I know I can’t do it alone.”

  Brannor raised his flask. “Then let’s not die stupid.”

  Yvanna added, “Or bored.”

  They clinked flasks against a dull sword and drank under a sky full of strange stars.

  And for the first time, Saezu didn’t feel alone in the Farlands.

  He had allies now.

  Not by oath.

  By fire.