We left the forest trail behind just as the sky began to bleed from black to blue. The sun hadn't risen yet, but the stars had faded, leaving only that hollow brightness before dawn. Mist clung to the trees like old cobwebs. My boots squelched in half-frozen mud, and the weight of Calden's sword—Ashriven—dragged at my back with every step.
Selaithe hummed a tune as we walked. She wasn't a good singer. She didn't care.
I hated how quiet it had gotten since the fight. Not the forest. The space between us. She was still there—beside me, leading us forward, occasionally glancing back to see if I was keeping up—but something in her had curled inward since we left the dwarves behind. Like her usual laughter had wrapped itself in thorns. Like she didn't quite trust the silence anymore.
Or maybe I didn't.
"There," she said, finally breaking it. She pointed through the thinning trees. "The bridge."
We stepped out of the woods, and there it was—broad and low, an old stone span stretching across a dark green river, wider than I expected. The kind of river with a current that didn't look fast until it pulled you under. The bridge was solid, flat-topped, worn smooth in the middle. Moss lined its sides like a forgotten crown.
On the far bank, the forest rose again, thinner now, with foothills beyond it. Somewhere out there—past the trees, past the road curling into the distance—was Bravhessa. A proper city. With people. With inns. With beds and roofs and smells that weren't damp wood and bloodied clothes.
I didn't realize how much I wanted those things until I saw the bridge.
"Well?" Selaithe nudged me. "You gonna cry about it or cross it?"
I scowled. "You're really good at ruining moments."
"It's a skill." She smirked. "Like kicking bandits in the throat. Or walking faster than you."
"You're five months older."
"Exactly. Which means I get to win."
She darted ahead before I could reply, bare feet slapping stone, boots in her hand. Her hair flashed like threads of riverlight as she ran.
Of course, I chased her.
⟡
I should've known better.
The bridge was slick, and my boots were still damp from the riverbank. I got halfway across before my foot caught something—maybe moss, maybe my own exhaustion—and I stumbled. My arms flailed. The weight of the sword pulled me sideways and—
"Kaelen!"
I didn't fall. I almost fell. I dropped to a knee, one hand scraping stone, and the other clenched tight around the hilt across my back to keep the sword from sliding off.
"Godsdamn—" I growled, breath caught.
Selaithe was already back at my side, crouched beside me. Her eyes were wide, but her mouth twitched like she was trying very hard not to laugh.
"You almost made the world's slowest splash," she said.
"I tripped."
"Uh-huh."
"Over your ego."
She snorted. "That river's deeper than your comebacks."
I tried to glare at her, but she offered me a hand, and I couldn't quite ignore it. Her grip was smaller than mine, but stronger than it looked. I stood with her help. My pride didn't.
We finished crossing side by side, slower now, with her occasionally glancing at my footfalls like I was a child about to fall again. I didn't complain.
Not aloud.
⟡
We found a flat patch of dry grass on the far side, just before the trees thickened again. Selaithe tossed down a canvas roll she'd taken from one of the bandits. I sat beside it, letting my legs stretch out, and unhooked Ashriven from my back. The wrapped blade thudded beside me like a promise I wasn't ready to open.
She pulled something from her belt pouch. Rations. Dried meat. Some shriveled nuts. A piece of hardbread shaped like a square boot heel.
"We should've taken more from them," I said.
"We did fine."
"I'm still hungry."
Selaithe tossed me a chunk of dried fruit that looked more like bark than anything edible. "Savor it."
I bit down.
It cracked.
"I think my tooth just gave up," I muttered.
"Good. Now you match your sword."
I almost smiled. Almost.
⟡
We sat in silence a while after that, watching the sun start to break through the mist above the river. The light hit the water just right—turning it gold for a moment, then pale silver, like a mirror in motion.
I picked up a smooth stone and tried to skip it across the surface.
It plunked. No skips. Just sunk.
"Tragic," Selaithe said. "Utterly shameful."
"It's heavier than it looks."
She stood, plucked a pebble from the edge, and flung it.
Three skips.
She didn't even look proud.
"Show-off."
"You'll get there." She sat again, closer now. "Maybe when you're twelve or so."
"Funny."
"I'm hilarious."
We didn't talk after that. Not for a long minute. I listened to the river. The trees. The way birds were finally coming back now that the sun had driven off the shadows. And for the first time in days, I let myself breathe. Not like I was preparing for something. Just…breathe.
And that's when it happened.
The dream. The memory. The something.
I don't know if I blinked or blacked out—but suddenly I wasn't beside the river. Not really.
I saw the bridge.
But older. The stone was black, charred. The sky above was red as dying coals, and seven swords hovered in the air like they'd been thrown by the wind and frozen mid-fall. The same man with a mask stood at the edge. Tall. Hooded. Blood soaked his robes and hands and the mask. And when he stepped off—
The wind stilled. The swords tilted like they bowed.
He rose.
Not fell. Rose.
Like the river couldn't take him.
"Kaelen?"
I blinked. The vision vanished. Selaithe was beside me again, one hand on my shoulder.
"You spaced out."
"...Just tired."
"You do that more now." She narrowed her eyes. "The staring. Like you're watching something only you can see."
I didn't answer.
She didn't push.
Instead, she reached into her pouch and pulled out something else. A little scrap of cloth. Pale blue, slightly frayed. She stared at it for a second, then offered it to me.
"What is it?"
"My mother's veil," she said. "I tore it before we left Sylrienn. You can… wrap the sword grip with it. If you want. It's soft. Better than leather."
I stared at her. "You sure?"
"It's not a relic. It's just a memory, of someone I didn't even knew."
I nodded, throat tight.
She brushed dirt off her skirt, then stood, stretching like a cat. "We should keep walking. If we make good time, we'll reach Bravhessa by nightfall. Or close enough."
I stood too. The sword was heavier now, but I didn't mind. It felt more mine than before.
We walked.
And after a while, she looked at me from the corner of her eye and said, quietly, like she hadn't been thinking about it for hours:
"I'm tired of you calling me by my whole name, like some stranger. Call me Sel."
I didn't say anything at first.
Then I said it, soft, like trying it out for the first time.
"Okay… Sel."
She smiled.
And the river behind us carried our echoes away.