The sky bled orange above the ridge as Soren gripped the saddle horn, his knuckles white with effort. Each hoofbeat sent fresh pain lancing through his battered body. The stolen horse beneath him snorted, nervous from the scent of smoke that billowed behind them.
Northaven was burning.
He refused to look back again. Once had been enough, seeing the city he'd called home transformed into a pyre, flames devouring everything he'd known. The wind shifted, carrying the acrid stench of burning thatch, melting metal, and something worse that he refused to name.
'You're alive,' Valenna's voice cut through the fog of exhaustion in his mind. 'That's the only thing that matters. Rest later, learn what these people can teach you now.'
He swallowed hard, tasting ash on his tongue. The shard against his chest pulsed with familiar cold, anchoring him when the world threatened to spin away into darkness.
