I whisper the words. They come out broken. "I didn't know."
"No time for regrets." Thorne straightens—or tries to. His injuries won't let him get far. "New plan. You go northwest like we said. I'll head east. Lay a false trail."
"Absolutely not." The words come faster than I mean them to. "I'm not leaving you."
"This isn't a debate." Something hardens in his voice, something final. "I'll recover. Meet you in Ravenwatch."
"You'll die." I say it flat, no room for argument. "You need treatment within thirty-six hours. After that the corruption spreads too far."
He blinks. Surprised. "How do you—"
"Observe ability. It showed me." I grip his good arm, maybe too hard. "We stay together. Find higher ground first, try to spot landmarks. Maybe there's—maybe there's something closer than Ravenwatch."
The howling grows louder. More frenzied.
Thorne hesitates. I can see him weighing it, hating it. Then he nods. "There's a ridge. About a mile north. If we can reach it before they pick up our trail again…"
We move as fast as Thorne's condition allows. Which isn't fast at all. The howling continues—fading sometimes, then surging closer, like the creatures are quartering the forest in patterns, methodical and patient.
By midday we reach the base of a steep incline. Rocky. Crumbling in places. Above us looms the ridge Thorne mentioned, maybe two hundred feet of climbing that looks worse up close.
"You go first," Thorne says. He's leaning against a tree trunk, leaning hard. "I'll follow."
I eye the rocks. They don't look stable. "Together. I can help support you."
He shakes his head. Won't look at me. "Too dangerous. Go. I'll be right behind you."
Before I can argue—before I can say anything—a crashing sound erupts from the undergrowth behind us. Something large. Something moving fast in our direction.
I start climbing. I keep turning back to check Thorne's progress, can't help it. He follows slower, using only one arm, his face locked in this mask of determination and pain that makes my chest hurt.
Halfway up, everything goes wrong.
A handhold crumbles under my grip. Just disintegrates. I'm sliding down the incline, several feet, my fingers scrabbling for purchase. I catch myself—barely—but not before I dislodge a shower of rocks that cascade straight toward Thorne.
He tries to dodge. Too slow. A large stone strikes his injured arm and he loses his grip, crying out.
I lunge downward. Don't think about it, just move. Somehow I catch his wrist before he falls completely. For one terrible moment we hang there, my muscles screaming, both our weights suspended by my grip alone and I can feel my fingers slipping—
"Let go," he gasps. "Save yourself."
"Not happening." The words come through gritted teeth. I pull. Don't know where the strength comes from but I pull him upward until he can grasp another handhold, his fingers white-knuckled and shaking.
We keep climbing. More carefully now. The sounds of pursuit grow louder below us, closer, hungry.
Finally we haul ourselves over the edge. Onto the ridge. The view would be spectacular under other circumstances—forest stretching for miles in every direction, broken by glittering streams and meadows that look impossibly green from up here.
"There." Thorne points weakly to the northwest. A thin plume of smoke rises in the distance. "That might be a settlement. Closer than Ravenwatch."
Hope flares in my chest. Then dies just as fast when I gauge the distance. "That's still at least a day's journey."
"Better than two." He slumps against a boulder. His strength is visibly fading, draining out of him like water through a cracked cup. The sigils tattooed on his chest are almost black now, the skin around them red and inflamed and wrong.
I peer over the edge of the ridge. Below, dark shapes move through the trees. Not quite wolf, not quite humanoid—something in between, something that shouldn't exist. The Veil Stalkers have found our trail.
"They're climbing," I warn. My voice sounds thin. "We need to move."
Thorne tries to stand. Falls back with a groan. "I can't. Not right now. Need… rest."
For a moment his expression shifts. Not just pain. Something else. Like he's weighing something, measuring me against some invisible scale.
"What?" I press. "What aren't you telling me?"
He exhales sharply. "Later." His tone makes it clear—he's already said too much, regrets even that.
"If we live that long."
I scan our surroundings, desperate now. The ridge extends in both directions, relatively flat along its top. To the east, maybe half a mile away—there. A cave entrance in the rock face.
"There." I point. "If we can reach that cave we can defend it. Make a stand."
Thorne nods. Grim. "Go. I'll follow."
"We've had this argument already. I'm not leaving you."
"Then help me up."
I pull him to his feet, support as much of his weight as I can. We move painfully, slowly along the ridge top. Behind us the first of the Veil Stalkers crests the edge.
In full daylight they're worse. So much worse than the glimpses I caught in the Veil Lands. Roughly humanoid in overall shape but with too many joints in their limbs, skin like tarnished silver stretched too tight over protruding bones. Their faces are smooth. Featureless expanses except for wide mouths filled with needle-like teeth that seem to go back forever into darkness.
"Don't look back," Thorne warns. "Just keep moving."
We're still at least a quarter mile from the cave when Thorne's legs give out. Just collapse completely. He goes down, pulling me with him.
"Go," he insists. "I'll hold them off."
"With what?" The words come out sharper than I mean them to. "You can barely stand."
He fumbles at his belt. Produces a small leather pouch. "Last resort. Moonsilver dust mixed with black salt. Creates a barrier they can't cross." He presses it into my hand. His fingers are cold. "Enough for maybe ten minutes. Get to the cave. Use the Blood Memory. Find out what your mother was trying to tell you."
The Veil Stalkers are closing rapidly. Moving with that strange jerking gait that covers ground faster than seems possible, faster than anything that moves like that should be able to.
"I won't leave you to die," I say. Fierce. Mean it.
"Then we both die and your father wins." His eyes lock with mine. "Your mother sacrificed everything to keep you from him. Don't waste that."
The lead Stalker is less than fifty yards away now. I clutch the pendant, feel the power pulsing within it, irregular like a second heartbeat. There has to be another option. Has to be.
"The pendant," I say suddenly. "Maybe it can help. The Veil Cloak—"
"Won't work against beings already tracking you." Thorne finishes the thought before I can. "And even if it did, it would only conceal you. Not me."
The creature closes in. Mouth gaping open. Behind it at least five more scramble along the ridge toward us, their movements coordinated in a way that makes my skin crawl.
In desperation I squeeze the pendant tight, focus on the power I feel within it. "Please," I whisper. Don't know if I'm talking to the pendant or my mother or something else. "I need more than a cloak. I need a weapon."
The gem flares blue again. But nothing else happens. Not ready, I realize with a sick lurch in my stomach. My attunement isn't strong enough yet.
"The pouch," Thorne urges. "Use it now."
With shaking hands I open the leather pouch. Inside is a fine powder that seems to shimmer between silver and black, can't quite decide which. Following Thorne's gasped instructions I draw a circle around us with the powder. My hand shakes. The line wavers.
The lead Stalker reaches the edge of the circle—
And stops.
It paces along the boundary, hissing in frustration. The others join it, surrounding us completely. I count six. Seven. Eight.
"It worked," I breathe. Can't quite believe it.
"Temporarily." Thorne's warning cuts through my relief. "The barrier fades quickly. You need to go. Now."
I shake my head. Stubborn. "Not without you."
He sighs. Then suddenly grips my wrist with surprising strength, pulls me close. "Aria, listen. There's something I haven't told you. About your mother. About why Azrael wants you so badly."
His voice drops to a whisper. I have to lean closer to hear.
"Your mother wasn't just any mage. She was Moonshadow, yes, but more than that. She was the last living descendant of Nyssara the Worldwalker."
The name means nothing to me. I almost say so but Thorne continues, urgent now.
"Nyssara created the first stable passages between realms. Your bloodline carries that legacy—the ability to open gates between worlds without ritual or sacrifice. That's what Azrael wants. Not just you as his daughter but your power. Your power to create a permanent gateway for his kind."
The Veil Stalkers continue their restless pacing around the barrier. I can see it already growing thinner, the shimmer less pronounced.
"But I don't know how to do any of that," I protest. Feel stupid saying it.
"It's dormant. Instinctive. But with training…" He breaks off, coughing violently. When he speaks again his voice is weaker, thinner. "Your pendant. Use the Blood Memory ability. Your mother must have left instructions."
The barrier flickers. Growing more transparent. One of the Stalkers tests it with a twisted limb and jerks back with a hiss when the contact creates a shower of silver sparks.
"It's failing," Thorne observes. His voice is flat, resigned. "Maybe five minutes left."
I stare at the pendant. Then at the cave still so far away. A plan forms in my mind—desperate, probably stupid.
"Thorne, what if I try to open a gate? Right now? Could I create one to the cave?"
He looks alarmed. Actually alarmed, which is worse than anything he's shown so far. "Absolutely not. Untrained gate creation is wildly dangerous. You could tear a hole into any realm—including the Eighth Circle."
"So could running out of time with these things surrounding us." I'm not sure when I decided, but the decision is made. "At least this gives us a chance."
"It's what he wants. For you to start experimenting with your powers."
"I don't see another option." The barrier flickers again, and one of the Stalkers manages to push a limb partially through before withdrawing it with a shriek that makes my teeth ache.
Thorne is silent for a moment. His face drawn with pain and indecision, warring with each other. Finally he sighs. "If you're determined to try—don't aim for the cave. Too far. Too unknown. Aim for somewhere you know well. Somewhere with a strong emotional connection."
I think quickly. "The hollow tree? Your home?"
He shakes his head. "Too close to the Veil Lands boundary. And Azrael will have corrupted those grounds by now."
I search my memories, desperate. "The village market? Where I worked?"
"Better. Familiar. Recent memories." He almost says something else, stops himself.
The barrier sputters. More dramatically this time. Two of the Stalkers manage to push partially through before the power repels them, and when they pull back I can see scorch marks on their silver skin.
"One minute," Thorne warns. "Maybe less."
I clutch the pendant tightly, focus on my memories of the village market. The familiar stalls. The smells of baking bread and flowers, old leather and fresh vegetables. The sounds of haggling and children playing, the way the cobblestones felt under my feet after a rain.
"What do I do?" I ask. Panic rising in my throat like bile.
"Focus on the location. Feel the connection between where you are and where you want to be. Then…" He hesitates. Doesn't want to say it. "Your blood. Use it to draw a doorway. Anywhere—on the ground, in the air. Make the shape and will it to open."
My mind races. This is nothing like the carefully controlled abilities the System has shown me so far. This is wild magic. Unpredictable. Dangerous.
But the barrier is nearly gone now. The Stalkers are pressing against it, their featureless faces somehow conveying hunger and anticipation in a way that shouldn't be possible.
I take Thorne's knife again and draw it quickly across my already scarred palm. The pain is sharp, immediate. Blood wells up, bright against my skin. Guided by instinct more than knowledge—by something that feels older than thought—I reach out, use my bleeding hand to draw a vertical line in the air before me.
The blood doesn't fall.
It hangs suspended. Glowing with an inner light.
I draw another line, parallel to the first. Then connect them at top and bottom. A rectangle of blood hangs in the air between us and the creatures, pulsing faintly with my heartbeat.
"Now," Thorne whispers. "Will it open. Think of your destination. Bind it with your intent."
I focus all my concentration on the market square. The familiar well at its center. The worn cobblestones. Pour my desperation into the visualization, feel something within me respond—a power I've never accessed before, deep and ancient and mine.
The rectangle of blood begins to shimmer. Its center darkens, then swirls with indistinct colors and shapes that make my eyes hurt.
"It's working," Thorne breathes.
The barrier around us fails completely. Just—gone. The Stalkers surge forward—
The blood rectangle expands with a sound like tearing cloth. Through it I can see not the market square but a swirling vortex of colors and fractured images, landscapes bleeding into each other, wrong—
"That's not right," Thorne says. Urgent now, almost shouting. "Close it. That's not a stable gateway."
The vortex within my makeshift doorway churns violently. Fragments of different landscapes flash within—none of them the market I'd focused on. A desert of black sand. A city of crystalline towers. A forest where the trees are made of bones. The blood frame pulses, expanding and contracting like it's struggling to breathe.
The lead Stalker lunges for us just as the gateway flares blindingly bright. I throw myself over Thorne, trying to shield him. Don't think, just react. The creature's claws graze my back, tearing through fabric and skin. Pain lances down my spine, white-hot.
[DAMAGE SUSTAINED: 18 HP]
Light wound. Blood loss minimal.
"Aria!" Thorne shouts over the howling wind now pouring from the gateway. "You've opened a fracture, not a door. Multiple realms bleeding together."
I turn to see the Stalkers being pulled toward the portal. They dig their twisted limbs into the ground, fighting the suction, but one loses its grip and hurtles into the vortex with a shriek that cuts off abruptly, cleanly, like someone closed a door.
The pull intensifies. Rocks and debris lift from the ridge surface. Thorne and I slide several inches closer despite clinging to each other, our combined weight not enough.
"How do I close it?" I scream over the roaring.
"Your blood. Take it back."
I reach out instinctively, feel for the connection between the doorway and myself. It's there—a tether of power stretched between us, feeding on my energy like a leech. With desperate concentration I visualize pulling that energy back, reclaiming what is mine.
The gateway frame shudders. The vortex within shrinks slightly. But as I pull something pushes back—a foreign presence, dark and ancient and hungry. The sensation is terrifyingly familiar.
"He's using the connection." I gasp, understanding flooding through me cold. "My father—he's trying to force it wider from the other side."
Thorne's face goes ashen. "Break the connection completely. Now."
Two more Stalkers lose their battle against the suction and vanish into the vortex. The rest scuttle away along the ridge, abandoning their hunt—actually fleeing—in the face of greater danger.
I concentrate again. But this time instead of pulling the power back I imagine severing the cord between us entirely, cutting it like a rope. The pendant grows scalding hot against my skin, seems to respond to my intent.
The gateway frame cracks. Like ice breaking. Fractures spread through the suspended blood, spiderwebbing outward. The vortex within shrieks—an almost living sound of rage and frustration that I feel in my bones. For a split second I see a figure within the chaos—
Tall. Elegant. With burning crimson eyes fixed directly on mine.
My father. Reaching out. His expression a mixture of fury and—and fear?
"This isn't over, daughter." His voice resonates in my mind, cold and precise. "What's born of my blood will return to me. The gates will open fully, with or without your cooperation."
With a sound like thunder the gateway collapses inward. Implodes into nothingness. The sudden silence is deafening, makes my ears ring. The air where the portal stood shimmers briefly then settles back to normal, like nothing happened at all.
I slump against Thorne. Utterly drained.