The grass outside Valebright was still damp with evening dew, cold against Darian's boots as he stumbled after Serenya. Behind them, horns blared from the walls, soldiers shouting orders into the night. Torches dotted the ramparts like angry stars, sweeping across the fields as if searching for ghosts.
"Keep moving," Serenya whispered, not slowing her pace.
Darian wanted to argue, to collapse right there in the field and let the earth swallow him whole. His arms throbbed from the climb, his legs burned, and his chest still heaved like a bellows. But the fire in her stride left him no choice.
They pressed on until the horns faded and the glow of Valebright dimmed behind them. At last, Serenya led them into a hollow beneath a twisted oak, half-hidden by brambles.
"We'll rest here," she said.
Darian dropped onto the ground with a groan, every bone aching. "Rest, she says. As if I've got anything left to rest."
Serenya ignored his muttering, pulling flint from her cloak. She sparked a small flame, feeding it with dried moss until a fragile fire flickered to life. Its glow painted her face in shades of gold and shadow.
For the first time, Darian really looked at her without fear snapping at his heels. She was younger than he expected—no older than himself—yet carried herself with the poise of someone twice her years. Her eyes, sharp as ever, scanned the horizon as though danger might rise from the grass itself.
"You've done this before," he said quietly.
Her gaze flicked to him. "Done what?"
"Running. Hiding. Climbing walls in the dead of night."
She didn't answer at once. Instead, she drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders. "A princess who doesn't learn to hide doesn't live long in a kingdom like ours."
Darian blinked. He expected pride, arrogance, even pity from her. But her tone carried neither—it was hard, brittle, almost weary.
He shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not sure why you need me. I'm no knight. I'm not even a proper squire. I feed horses and patch saddles. That's all."
"And yet Rowan chose you."
Her words silenced him.
Serenya leaned forward, the firelight catching in her eyes. "He saw something in you. Something worth trusting. You should ask yourself why."
Darian shook his head, staring at the dirt between his boots. He didn't feel like someone worth trusting. He felt like a boy about to break beneath the weight of a letter.
---
The fire crackled softly. Crickets chirped in the distance, filling the silence between them. For a while, Darian let himself believe they might be safe here.
But then the wind shifted, carrying with it a strange sound—low and mournful, like a whisper dragged across the grass. Darian stiffened.
"Did you hear that?" he asked.
Serenya's hand went instantly to the dagger at her belt. "Where?"
He strained his ears. The sound came again, faint but closer this time. A voice—or something like one—sliding through the night.
"It's nothing," Darian said quickly, though his skin prickled. "Just the wind."
"No." Serenya rose to her feet, eyes scanning the dark. "That's not the wind."
The fire sputtered, dimming as if smothered by unseen hands. Darian's heart hammered. The night seemed to press closer, the shadows deepening.
And then he saw them. Shapes moving beyond the edge of the hollow—too thin, too fluid to be men. Their forms shimmered faintly, like smoke given flesh.
Serenya's dagger flashed in the firelight. "Shades," she whispered, her voice tight.
Darian scrambled back. "Shades? As in—the old stories?"
"As in the reason Rowan risked his life to deliver that letter."
The nearest shadow drifted closer, its faceless head tilting toward Darian as if it sensed the seal hidden beneath his tunic. Cold washed over him, deeper than fear, as though the thing were leeching the very warmth from his blood.
Serenya stepped between him and the creature, steel trembling in her grip. "Stay behind me."
Darian wanted to obey. He wanted to curl into the earth and vanish. But something in him stirred—a spark, faint but insistent. He reached for the nearest branch, gripping it like a club.
The shade lunged.
---
The fire burst suddenly, flaring high as if fed by unseen breath. The shade recoiled, hissing in silence. For a heartbeat, Darian swore the flames answered him—as though his fear had kindled them.
Serenya seized the chance, slashing her dagger through the creature. It dissolved like mist, leaving only a chill in the air. The others drew back, shivering, then slipped away into the grass, retreating as quickly as they had come.
Silence fell again, heavy and absolute.
Serenya lowered her blade, her breath ragged. She looked at Darian, eyes narrowing. "What just happened?"
He stared at the fire, still flickering unnaturally bright. His hands trembled. "I… I don't know."
But deep down, some part of him feared he did.
---
They sat in uneasy silence until the fire calmed and the night returned to its usual rhythm. Serenya finally sheathed her dagger, though her gaze never left him.
"Rowan chose you for a reason," she said softly. "And perhaps now we've seen the beginning of it."
Darian shook his head, but he could still feel the fire's heat clinging to his skin.
The road ahead no longer seemed like an escape. It felt like a summons.