James woke, his whole body aching in protest. Every movement sent dull, throbbing pain through his limbs, and his muscles were leaden with exhaustion. His eyes refused to fully adjust to the dim light, the embers of a dying fire casting faint, flickering shadows against the walls.

  The ground beneath him was hard but dry. His clothes—dry too. The air smelled of damp earth and stone.

  A cave. Or at least the mouth of one.

  Beyond the entrance, the rain poured like a waterfall, a never-ending curtain of silver against the dark. Wind howled through the trees beyond, but it was warm and safe inside. James pushed himself into a seated position, leaning back against the rough cave wall.

  Across from him, Ser Edwin sat, leaning against the rough stone wall. If James reached over the embers, he could touch him. But he didn't.

  The older man's chest rose and fell with a steady, deep rhythm. He was fast asleep. James stayed quiet. He didn't want to wake him. Not yet. The fight replayed in his mind, each blow, each near miss.

  I did that. I killed Scar.

  The thought didn't quite settle. It felt foreign, unreal, rattling around his mind like a loose stone.

  "We did that, little-seed." The voice curled through his thoughts, warm and rich, stronger than before. Almost audible. "It would be easier if you let me in fully."

  Something brushed against his cheek, soft and featherlight. A whisper of a touch. James' stomach twisted, unease settling like a stone in his gut. He closed his eyes, and she was there.

  A gown spun of starlight draped over her lithe form, its shimmer moving like liquid silver. Her hair, long as a river, flowed with a light of its own, brighter than the moon. And her eyes were deep, endless, filled with stars like the night sky before dawn. She smiled, a loving smile. Tossing her hair over her shoulder.

  "You're growing so fast, little seed." Her voice was a lullaby, gentle and sweet. She walked closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "But is it fast enough?"

  His eyes snapped open, the cave returning with its dim glow. His heart pounded in his ears. His hand slipped, and he lost his balance. With a loud bang, he and Bow-Breaker crashed into the cave's floor.

  Ser Edwin jolted awake, his grip flying to the War-Maul, eyes alight, ready for another attack. Slowly, they relaxed when he met James' gaze.

  "Finally." The older man ran a hand down his face, voice rough with sleep. "I was starting to worry. Thought I might need to march back and get Miss Silvia to shake you awake."

  Something landed against James' chest with a hard thump. The scent of dried meat hit his nose, his stomach cramped with hunger.

  "How long was I out?" James ripped off a piece with his teeth, the salty-sweet taste melting against his tongue.

  "Hard to tell with all this damned rain, but at least a day." Edwin tore into his own rations.

  "A day?" James' hand froze halfway to his mouth. He scrambled to his feet. We have to go. Trying to roll up his blanket and shove it into the pack.

  "Hold your horses, boy." Edwin held up a hand, tone firm but weary. "We've been moving. I carried you here from the hut. Nearly ten miles by my guess."

  James blinked. He looked around. Only his pack was in the cave.

  "Where's your stuff?" Edwin shrugged, rolling his sore shoulder.

  "Left it behind. Was either you or the pack." His mouth curled into a wry grin, and something danced across the older man's face. "And you're heavier than the last time I carried you to safety. "

  James swallowed, glancing toward the cave mouth. Rain ran in long streams over the entrance, like a small waterfall they were hiding behind.

  "But that was yesterday," Edwin continued. "I feel like I marched another day's worth before finding this place. If I'm right, we're only a few days from the old fort."

  "Then we should go." James shoved the last of the dried meat into his mouth, swallowing quickly, the power stirring inside his chest.

  "We will. But first, I need to tell you something." Edwin sighed, rubbing his face again. There was something in his voice. Something tired. Something that sounded long overdue.

  James hesitated.

  Then he met Edwin's eyes and felt the tugging in his chest pulling him forward. The power was nudging him forward. His legs buzzed with the energy to move.

  "You can tell me when Max is safe," James said, rolling his bedroll and attaching it to the bag. "Come on."

  Edwin stared at him for a long moment. Doubt weighed down the older man's features, darkening them.

  "James." That single word carried urgency. It made James paused, waiting, but when he met Edwin's gaze, the urgency inside him wouldn't let him stop.

  "We don't have time," he said in a steady voice. Shoveing the last of the blanket into the pack.

  Edwin studied him. Whatever he saw made something flicker across his face, something fleeting, something resigned. With a sigh, he got to his feet.

  "…Okay then." James turned back to his pack. He didn't see how Edwin's shoulders sagged slightly, the exhaustion creeping into his frame.

  The older man stomped out the fire with the heel of his boot, dusted the cave's dirt from his hands, and hauled Bow-Breaker over his shoulder.

  They stepped out into the storm.

  The rain had finally let up. It wasn't gone; it just became a steady hammering now instead of an endless downpour. Mist curled between the trees, clinging to the rocks and broken roots. The path turned rougher, climbing upward into the uneven slopes, the mud giving way to damp stone and patches of stubborn mountain grass.

  James' boots slipped more than once. His breath came heavier now, legs burning from the relentless climb. Every step forward felt like dragging a weight behind him. He tried to steady his nerves.

  I can do this. Max is just ahead.

  He could feel it. That same pull in his chest. Stronger now. Leading him higher. Deeper into the mountains, into the storm.

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  I'm coming, Max.

  "Almost there," Ser Edwin muttered, adjusting Bow-Breaker against his shoulder.

  James glanced at him. The old man was moving slower than usual, his steps heavy, thudding against the stone. Breathing came in thick, gasping heaves. His face was red and unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood.

  The trees thinned this far north, and the mountain's base quickly steepened. The look back revealed glimpses of the valley stretching behind them. Oakwood was a dark smudge in the distance, nearly swallowed by the storm. The road ahead wound higher, the jagged hills rising on either side.

  A bridge waited ahead. Suspended between two ridges of stone, stretching over a gorge that fell into mist and darkness below. The roar of the river could be heard, echoing up the walls. James stopped short, leaning on a tree to catch his breath.

  The bridge looked intact, with thick, sturdy ropes and heavy wooden planks built to withstand storms and all kinds of weather. Several of the boards seemed to be new, as though replaced before the storm. But there was something else off about it. James squinted through the gloom, heart picking up speed as he realized he could hear nothing but the river below and the relentless rain. No birdsong, no rustle of life.

  Ser Edwin slammed into James' back against the tree.

  Thunk.

  A crossbow bolt struck beside him, embedding itself in the tree's rough bark. James dove for cover.

  Thunk, thunk, thunk.

  Three more bolts slammed into the spot where he and Edwin had been standing—thick shafts nearly as large as his arm.

  "Four of 'em. Two Satyrs, two Centaurs, by my count!" Edwin shouted, shielding his eyes as the rain mingled with sweat running down his face.

  James could hear the clomp of hooves pounding forward as the enemy surged into view with weapons drawn.

  The Centaurs came first, their massive curved two-handed swords slicing through the air. James ducked just in time, narrowly missing a blow that would've taken his head clean off. They galloped past, circling back to encircle the two men. The Satyrs followed, one taller, one shorter, with matching black beards and curled horns. They brandished daggers in slow, deliberate arcs. James recognized these two from Oakwood.

  "Come all this way, have ya," Taller spat, tugging on his beard. "Can't say we thought you were dumb enough to follow us here."

  "Maybe he came for the others," Shorter teased, smiling wide to reveal sharp, pointed teeth.

  "No chance you'll come willingly, is there?" Taller sneered, tossing his blade from hand to hand.

  "Depends," James replied wearily, eyes darting between the four attackers as he played for time. "What's in it for us?"

  "No, us, just you. We don't need the old blacksmith," Shorter barked, then dashed forward, aiming a dagger to skewer Ser Edwin in the gut.

  Edwin reacted with a strong swing that arced through the air and collided with the Shorter, sending him flying into a nearby tree with a dull thunk.

  "I guess the answer is no, then," James muttered, reaching for the power he knew lay dormant within him. But it stayed frustratingly out of reach.

  "Sorry, little seed," the voice whispered in his mind, its tone laced with regret. "I need more time before I can touch you again. Unless..."

  The voice was cut off as James slammed his fist into the Taller's jaw, spittle flying. "I can't open it more. I-I don't trust you!" he yelled at the voice inside his head, his frustration and fear intermingling.

  In a blur of motion, James swung his sword just in time to parry the heavy, sweeping blow of a charging Centaur. The impact knocked his blade aside, the sharp edge slicing the air mere inches above his head. A few stray hairs caught in its wake fell, tickling his nose.

  "Shit, shit, shit—that was close," he muttered under his breath.

  James danced away, light on the balls of his feet, his speed nothing compared to the charging Centaur. The second one barreled forward, sword raised high; James rolled, slicing deep cuts into the creature's exposed legs as it raced past him. Warm blood and thick ichor splattered across his face. He heard a centaur's scream, followed by the sickening crunch of breaking bone and the shattering impact as it collided with a tree.

  James heard a shout of agony, a scream that made his heart nearly stop.

  "Boy!" Edwin roared. Before James could recover, the other Centaur's sword landed a vicious, long gash down Edwin's back, and blood flowed freely from the wound. Edwin's voice cut through the chaos as the two Satyrs began to circle. "Help!"

  James roared. Panic surged like a tidal wave, and in that moment of frenzied desperation, he leaped high, higher than he thought possible, sword held pointed downward, driving his blade deep into the Centaur's back. He felt it hit bone, pausing briefly before sliding through to sever the creature's spine. James slid with the collapsing beast, wrenching his sword free as it came to a stop. James rolled with his momentum, rising up beside Ser Edwin, their backs pressed against the bridge.

  Taller and Shorter moved in perfect sync. A relentless, twisting rhythm of steel and shadow. One struck low, the other high. A blur of flashing daggers, a whirlwind of sharp edges. James couldn't keep up. A point here, a cut there. They were small and shallow, but they burned, and they bled. His coat was slick with it, warmth spreading beneath the sodden fabric. He knew each one would heal, but he was getting increasingly tired with each blow that landed.

  Ser Edwin was faring worse. Every strike that slipped past his guard seemed to drain him more. His wound wouldn't heal; crimson blood stained his shirt and pants. His breaths grew ragged, his steps heavier, his boots dragging over the slick wooden planks. The color had leached from his face, his grip on Bow-Breaker faltering.

  The bridge creaked beneath them.

  James stole a glance down. The river surged below, a churning, frothing void waiting to swallow them whole. The wind howled through the gorge, whipping the rain into a frenzy. The planks trembled beneath their weight.

  Then Edwin dropped. One knee slammed into the bridge, his free hand catching on the ropes, but his grip was weak. James moved without thinking, lunging forward, his body screaming in protest. His free arm locked under Edwin's shoulder, pulling and dragging him to his feet. James bated away blow after blow with his sword; his movements slowed.

  I got to get him back on his feet.

  "Get up!" James' voice was raw, desperation cracking through it. "Get up, old man!"

  Edwin gritted his teeth, Bow-Breaker shaking in his hand. He pushed up, forcing himself upright.

  Shhk.

  A dagger slipped between Ser Edwin's ribs.

  James heard the sound before he saw it, a horrible, wet exhale, like air escaping from a punctured wineskin.

  Bow-Breaker slipped from Ser Edwin's grasp, the massive weapon striking the planks with a dull, final thud. Slipping over the edge and down into the hungry river below.

  Edwin sagged backward against James; his weight always seemed so strong, so solid, but now was unbearably heavy. His head lolled, breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

  "No—no, no, NO!" The scream ripped from his chest, a sound raw with grief and fury. His mind locked in disbelief.

  Taller and Shorter stepped back, daggers twirling lazily over knuckles. They weren't pressing the attack anymore. They were savoring the kill. Their smiles were slow, cruel, and relishing in the moment.

  "Run." The word was so soft and so weak that James almost didn't hear it over the storm or the river below.

  A hand, cold and shaking, pried at James' fingers. Ser Edwin's fingers were insistent, peeled James' grip from the sword hilt.

  "Run, my son." The words shattered something deep inside him. James stumbled back a step, head shaking, eyes burning. He couldn't—he wouldn't—

  A memory, unbidden, crashed into him. Oakwood's lights flickering in the evening. The scent of cider and baking bread. Ser Edwin's low and rough voice telling him the story of the girl in the rain.

  "She hesitated. Just for a moment."

  James' breath hitched.

  "I told her to run."

  Ser Edwin's voice had been distant that night, his eyes far away.

  James could see it now. The rain, the bridge, the satyrs laughing, blood pooling between the wood planks. And Ser Edwin standing between someone and death, just like before. James' fists clenched. His legs locked.

  No.

  Ser Edwin pushed him.

  It wasn't hard. It wasn't violent. Just a weak, final insistence.

  James ran.

  With every ounce of strength he had left, he turned and sprinted, pain lancing through his body with every staggering step. The wind howled in his ears. His boots pounded against the planks. Then he heard it.

  A single, sharp slice.

  James skidded to a halt just as the last of the bridge's rope supports were severed. He spun, gasping for air.

  Ser Edwin stood at the center of the bridge, shoulders squared, head lifted. James' sword, steady in his grip. The blade had carved cleanly through the thick ropes. The planks beneath him dropped. Edwin's body plummeted like a marionette with its strings cut.

  James dove, his fingers sinking into mud, clawing to pull himself away from the falling bridge. He scrambled to his feet to watch as Taller and Shorter screamed, their hands grasping at the empty air as they fell with him, swallowed whole by the black churning water below.

  James staggered forward, nearly slipping over the edge. His hands clutched the splintered wooden post.

  Below was nothing but darkness and water. The last glimpse of Ser Edwin's body limp, his eyes unreadable, had vanished beneath the raging current.

  James' world stopped, his knees buckled, the strength in his legs vanishing. He hit the dirt hard, but he barely felt it. The river surged below, wild and uncaring. It had already carried everything away.

  He was gone.

  A choked shout left James ragged and uneven. His hands curled into the mud, oozing between his fingers. But there was nothing to hold onto. Nothing to ground him. Warm tears burned down his cheeks, mixing with the rain as he lifted his head to the storm and screamed.