After leaving Eirenhald Selaithe didn't look back. I did.
The ember hall still glowed faintly behind us, a quiet heartbeat in the dark stone belly of the mountain. Smoke drifted like memory above its chimneys, slow and bitter. Somewhere down below, Kaedra Vohlundr would be cooling the forge, folding her arms, and pretending she wasn't worried about anything.
But I could still feel the fire.
Ashriven hung on my back now—lighter than it had any right to be, like it wanted to move again. Or be moved.
It wasn't Calden's anymore.
It was mine.
Turns out, the blade had been soul-bound all along. Not just a masterwork—something deeper. A tether. A decision made by steel, not man.
Forged with foreign magic. Steel that glimmers even in pitch black. Tempered not just in heat but in silence and refusal.
Calden carried it. But Ashriven waited.
And now it waited on me.
My soul was bound. Not metaphor. Not legend.
Real. Felt. Heavy in the blood, light in the hand.
I hadn't drawn it yet. Not since Kaedra reshaped it and placed it in my arms. I was scared of what it might do—what it might remember—if I tried.
So I walked. And tried not to listen to it breathing.
⟡
Selaithe interrupted the noise in my head the way only she could: blunt and casual, like it was her thoughts I'd been listening to.
"We're heading north," she said, pushing through the underbrush ahead of me. "To the Lunareth Dovhal. That river that cuts Velmire in half."
I blinked, pulled out of my own haze. "We're crossing it?"
"Mhm." She didn't even turn around. Just kept walking like her feet knew the map better than her eyes did. "Should be there in about a week. Assuming no hollow monsters, starving bandits, or Church paladins come sniffing."
I stopped walking.
She did too, a few steps ahead, then turned back with her usual unreadable grin.
"Where are we going, Selaithe?" I asked. The edge in my voice surprised even me.
She tapped the folded parchment on her hip—the one the Sylrienn elf woman had slipped us when we left. The one with more warnings than roads.
"To the nearest human city first," she said. "Make some coin, get food that isn't roots and squirrel. Change our clothes. You smell like forge-smoke and regret."
"Charming."
"I'm serious, Kaelen. We need coin. Fast. Then we vanish for a while. No more following trails, just ghosts through the cracks. We can't let the Grand Church get close. Or our ginger friend."
I looked at her sideways. "Veyr?"
"Who else do you know that smiles like he's already buried you?"
She kicked a rock off the trail, hands behind her head now, relaxed again. Her voice dipped lower, quieter.
"Then, when we're ready... we go to Demon Maw."
My breath caught. Not because I didn't expect it. But because she said it so easily. Like it was just the next step on a road. Not a place you didn't come back from.
"Why?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
She didn't look at me. Just walked forward, sunlight catching in her blue hair like riverlight.
"Don't you want to know who you really are, Kaelen?"
She didn't say it like a question. More like a dare.
I clenched my fists. My heartbeat echoed in my wrists.
Ashriven felt heavier. Or maybe I was just ready to feel it.
"Damn right I want."
⟡
That night, we camped beneath the boughs of a pale ash tree bent like a question mark. Moonlight filtered through the leaves, shimmering faintly off the sword beside me.
I still hadn't drawn it.
I lay there, staring up through the canopy, listening to Selaithe's soft breathing nearby.
I wondered if the sword would recognize me when I did.
Or if it would try to correct me.
⟡
We got snapped out of our sleep in the middle of the night.
Not by wolves.
Not by monsters.
Not even by the strange hum in the trees that sometimes whispers when it thinks you aren't listening.
Bandits.
When I opened my eyes, I was already tied to a tree.
Rough hemp rope bit into my wrists and ankles, binding me upright. My back was pressed hard against a crooked birch, damp with dew. The fire had been kicked out. Our bags torn open and spilled. Ashriven was gone.
And Selaithe…
She wasn't there.
"Let me go, fuckers!" I spat, twisting against the bindings until my shoulders burned. "Who are you?! Where's Selaithe?!"
A shadow moved in front of me. A tall man crouched down—close enough I could smell the staleness on his breath. He had an oily beard, slicked down with sweat and rot, and eyes that looked like they hadn't closed in days.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk." He clicked his tongue, smug. "Boys, we struck gold. Some noble rat running loose in the woods."
Another voice behind him—young, wiry, with too much laughter in it—joined in. "He's got that look. Fancy boots. Cloak's not even patched. Voice all proper. You sure this ain't some lost little lordling?"
"Or one of them fledglings from the Academy," the bearded one mused. "Think the Grand Church'd pay for a student back? Or just a head in a sack?"
Someone else muttered, low and dry, "Depends how valuable he is."
I stared at them, forcing myself to breathe evenly.
Four in the firelight. Maybe more behind the trees.
Dirty cloaks. Rusted blades. One with a halberd far too heavy for his build—must've stolen it off some dead guardsman. Their armor didn't match. Scavengers. Fools playing at warband.
But they were smart enough to strike when we slept.
Smart enough to separate us.
Smart enough to be dangerous.
"Where's the girl?" I asked, voice flat.
The bearded man turned his head slightly. Smiled. "The elf?"
His grin widened. "She'll fetch extra. Elven girls always do."
Something twisted inside my chest. I didn't think. I couldn't think.
Ashriven pulsed somewhere in the dark. It didn't call to me—it judged.
I bared my teeth and growled through them.
"Touch her, and you'll die. I'll rip your limbs off."
The one with the halberd chuckled darkly. "Heh. Brave little rat. You gonna curse us with noble blood?"
I didn't answer. My hands burned against the rope. Ashriven was somewhere nearby—I could feel it. Like a distant heartbeat, muffled but pulsing in time with mine. Watching. Waiting.
And then—
It changed.
The air turned.
The firelight flickered.
The trees, which had stood quiet and dumb, suddenly leaned in.
And from the dark between trunks, a voice rang out—
Sharp as broken glass, cold as river ice:
"Let him go."
They all turned.
Selaithe stood at the edge of the clearing, just where the shadows began. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders, tangled and wild. Her knife caught the moonlight—one in her hand, another she hadn't even bothered to hide anymore at her hip.
Her eyes were glowing. Not from magic. From something older.
Hate.
Fear.
Bloodlust.
Love.
She wasn't panting. Wasn't shaking.
She was smiling.
Not the teasing kind.
The kind wolves smile right before they rip out a throat.
One of them reached for her—too fast, too loud, too clumsy.
She moved first.
A blur.
Steel whispered.
And a red line bloomed across his neck before his feet even stopped running.
He collapsed with a sound like someone dropping wet leather onto the dirt.
"Shit—!" one of them shouted, stumbling back, but she was already there. Already in them.
Selaithe didn't fight like a girl with knives. She fought like she was one. Like she was the weapon.
One bandit lunged. She dropped to a knee, drove a blade up under his ribs. Pulled free.
The other tried to grab her from behind. She turned, fast as a twist of wind, and slashed his eyes.
He screamed.
She kicked his knee backward. It broke with a crunch.
Then she drove her heel into his throat.
Only one tried to run.
Smartest of the bunch.
Her second blade left her hand and sang through the dark.
It hit him between the shoulder blades. He stumbled, crashed into the underbrush, and didn't get up.
Silence.
Smoke hung in the clearing. The fire had guttered down to orange coals. I could still hear blood dripping onto leaves.
Only one man remained—the one who tied me. He hadn't moved.
He was still kneeling in front of me.
Knife halfway drawn.
Sweating. Frozen.
Like he knew if he so much as breathed, she'd kill him.
Selaithe stepped over the last corpse and began walking toward him.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Knife still red. Smile still carved on her face like it was etched there by something else.
"Don't," I said.
She didn't stop.
"Selaithe."
She paused. Looked at me.
Then back at the man. Her hand lifted—just slightly. The blade gleamed.
He whimpered.
"He's done." My voice came out quieter than I wanted. "Please."
The clearing held its breath.
She exhaled. A long, shaking breath. Then turned—without a word—and knelt at my feet. With one clean motion, she cut the rope at my wrists, then the ankles.
The last man didn't wait.
He stumbled back. Fell. Crawled. Then scrambled into the trees like he'd just been born and realized the world hated him.
We didn't stop him.
Selaithe stayed by my side. Her hands brushed mine, carefully undoing what was left of the bindings. Her fingers trembled—just a little. Just enough for me to feel it.
"You okay?" she asked softly. Her voice cracked.
Then she leaned forward and kissed my forehead.
I closed my eyes. Let her touch linger a second too long.
"Yeah," I said.
That was a lie.
Ashriven lay nearby in the grass, half-buried by the fight. I reached for it. The hilt greeted me like a pulse beneath my palm—warm, faintly humming, like it knew. Like it had seen.
It hadn't been drawn tonight.
But it had watched.
It always watched.
Selaithe helped me to my feet. Her face was calm again, but her eyes weren't. Not anymore.
Something in her had cracked open.
And whatever was leaking out now...
It wasn't fear.
⟡
The clearing was quiet now.
The kind of quiet that doesn't come from peace.
The kind that comes after.
Selaithe didn't say anything as she stood. Her knives were still red. She didn't look at me—not right away.
Instead, she walked over to the nearest corpse and crouched beside it. The one who'd run at her first. His throat was still leaking into the dirt.
She didn't flinch.
Her hands moved quick, practiced. She pulled a coin pouch from his belt, tested the weight, then tossed it into our satchel. Searched his boots. Cut free a dagger that might've been worth something, wiped it on his shirt, and kept going.
I just watched.
One by one, she checked the bodies. Her face was blank—not cold, not cruel. Just… distant. Like she'd done this before. Like it didn't register anymore that they'd been alive less than ten minutes ago.
She pulled a necklace off one of them—silver, twisted into a holy knot of the Grand Church—and stared at it for a moment. Her expression didn't change. Then she pocketed it and moved on.
My stomach twisted.
I wanted to say stop.
I wanted to ask what are you doing.
But I didn't.
Because part of me already knew.
We had no money. No food. No supplies.
They'd taken our bags apart.
We'd been out here too long to be soft.
Still… something about it felt heavy in my chest. The way she worked. The way she didn't look away from the wounds she made.
Like this was what she was, not what she'd done.
She didn't take everything. Just the things that glinted. A few rings. A silver clasp. A waterskin.
Then, quietly, she wiped her hands clean in the wet grass, returned to the fire pit, and knelt beside me again.
"I had to," she said softly.
"I know," I replied.
But I still couldn't meet her eyes.
She shifted closer, sitting cross-legged across from me, elbows on her knees. Her sleeves were pushed up, flecked with blood, and one of the knives now sat idly in her lap like it had always belonged there.
"You're angry."
I shook my head. "No."
She didn't believe me.
"You're scared, then."
That... hit closer.
I rubbed my wrists where the rope had dug in. The skin was raw, pulsing with every heartbeat. Ashriven sat across my lap, silent now, the metal cool against my thighs. Like it had nothing to say. Like it had seen worse.
I looked up.
"I'm not scared of you, Selaithe," I said, slower this time. "I just… I didn't know you could fight like that."
She tilted her head. Her expression softened. "You knew."
"I didn't know it would be so—"
I stopped. Didn't finish the word.
Easy.
"Did you think I'd let them take you?" Her voice was quiet, but there was something in it now—something fierce and wounded. "Kaelen… if I hadn't found them first…"
"I know," I said. "You saved me."
She looked down at her hands. They weren't trembling anymore. Not at all.
"You don't have to forgive me for how I do it," she said. "But don't hate me for it either."
"I don't hate you."
She looked up. Her eyes shimmered again, not with bloodlust this time—but something gentler. Softer.
"You were scared for me," she whispered.
"I thought they'd hurt you." My throat closed. "Or worse."
Selaithe reached out and touched my cheek with her fingers—just barely. They were still cold from the forest air.
"I don't break easy," she said. "Not when it's you."
We sat there like that for a while. No words. Just silence, and firelight, and the dead cooling in the grass nearby.
Eventually, she leaned her head against my shoulder.
I didn't move. I didn't flinch.
She was warm. She smelled like pine needles and steel. Her hair tickled my neck.
"I'll do worse," she said into my collar. "If it keeps you safe."
I didn't answer.
Because part of me believed her.
And part of me wondered what that meant for the girl I thought I knew.