The walk back from the forest felt longer than it should have.
Violet's boots crunched through frost-hardened snow, each step deliberate, measured. Beside her, Garrett moved with his usual silence—the kind that felt less like absence and more like waiting.
She could feel his eyes on her, the way they had been since she'd asked for help. Patient. Cautious. Like watching a wounded animal that might bolt.
"Where?" he asked finally.
The word hung between them, simple and heavy.
Violet didn't stop walking. "The Valley of Winds."
Garrett's stride faltered. Just once. "The Beastkin territory."
"Yes."
"That's two weeks' travel. Maybe more in winter." His voice stayed level, but she heard the calculation beneath it. "How do you plan to get there without Calla noticing? Without Maria asking questions?"
Violet's hands tightened in her coat pockets. "I have a way. But I'll be gone for a few days. Three, maybe four."
"A few days," Garrett repeated slowly. "To reach a place that takes weeks."
She turned to look at him. His face was carved from the same stone as his voice—hard, weathered, unreadable. But his eyes betrayed him. They always did.
"You'll have to handle Mama," Violet said quietly. "Tell her... anything. Calla won't visit for another month. I checked the calendar."
Garrett studied her for a long moment. The wind picked up, scattering snow like ash between them.
"You're asking me to lie to her."
"I'm asking you to trust me."
The silence stretched. Somewhere in the distance, a branch cracked under the weight of ice.
Then Garrett exhaled slowly, his breath fogging white. "Alright."
Violet blinked. "Alright?"
"I said I'd help." He crouched down, bringing himself level with her gaze.
His hands—rough, scarred, capable of breaking bone—rested gently on her shoulders. "But you promise me something first."
"What?"
"You stay safe." His grip tightened just slightly. "Whatever this is, whatever you're not telling me—you come back. You hear me?"
Her throat closed. She nodded once, not trusting her voice.
Garrett's eyes searched hers for another heartbeat, then he stood, turning back toward the cottage. "Come on. Before Maria sends a search party."
****
The cottage appeared through the trees like a memory half-forgotten—warm light bleeding through frost-glazed windows, smoke curling lazy from the chimney.
Maria was at the stove when they entered, stirring something that smelled of rosemary and salt.
She turned at the sound of the door, her face brightening in that way it always did when she saw them safe.
"There you are! I was starting to worry—did you catch anything?"
"Not today," Garrett said, hanging his coat with more care than necessary. "But I was thinking... might take Violet on a longer trip. Few days. Upstream, where the ice trout run."
Maria's spoon stopped mid-stir. "A few days? Garrett, she's barely—"
"She's getting stronger," he interrupted. Then, with visible effort, added more words than Violet had heard him string together in months. "Fresh air's good for her.
Build her stamina.
Can't keep her wrapped in blankets forever, Maria. She needs to learn the woods, needs to—"
"Needs to stay warm and alive," Maria cut in, but her voice had already softened at the edges.
Violet stepped forward. "Please, Mama. I want to go."
Maria looked between them—father and daughter, both wearing expressions too carefully neutral. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"A fishing trip," she said slowly. "In the middle of winter."
"The trout—" Garrett started.
"Run in spring, Garrett. Spring."
He cleared his throat. Tried again. "Well, there's... the preparation. Scouting. Finding the good spots before the thaw so when spring comes we're—"
"You're lying." Maria set the spoon down with a soft clink. "Badly."
Garrett froze.
Violet felt her pulse spike, but Maria's eyes weren't angry. They were... sad. Knowing.
"I don't know what this is about," Maria continued quietly, wiping her hands on her apron. "And clearly you're not ready to tell me." She looked at Violet. "Are you in danger?"
"No," Violet said immediately. "I promise."
"Will you be safe?"
"Yes."
Maria's jaw worked silently. She turned back to the stove, shoulders tight. "Then I suppose I can't stop you."
"Maria—" Garrett started.
"But," she interrupted, voice firmer now, "you're taking warm clothes. And dried meat. And you're checking in with Old Kerran before you go—he'll know if the weather's turning."
Violet moved to her side. "Mama..."
"And you're not pushing yourself." Maria finally turned, her eyes bright and fierce. "If you feel even a little sick, you come straight home. I don't care if you've caught the biggest fish in the kingdom, you hear me?"
"I hear you."
Maria cupped Violet's face, thumbs brushing cold-stung cheeks. For a moment she just looked at her—really looked, like trying to memorize something that might slip away.
Then she sighed. "Go pack. Both of you. And Garrett?"
He straightened. "Yes?"
"Whatever this is..." Her voice cracked, just slightly. "Keep her safe."
"I will."
Maria nodded once, then turned back to the stove, blinking rapidly.
Violet glanced at Garrett. His expression was caught somewhere between relief and guilt.
"One day", Violet thought, watching Maria's shoulders hunch as she stirred with unnecessary vigor. "One day I'll tell you everything. When it won't break you to hear it."
****
Three days later, they left before dawn.
The mountain loomed ahead, dark against the paling sky. Snow crunched beneath their boots in rhythms that felt almost ceremonial.
Garrett had said little since they'd set out. Now, as they reached the base of the climb, he stopped.
"How long?" he asked.
"Three days. Maybe four."
He didn't ask how she'd know. Didn't ask where she was really going. He just nodded, pulled a bundle from his pack—dried meat, a water skin, flint and tinder—and pressed it into her hands.
"If you're not back in five days," he said quietly, "I'm coming after you."
"Papa—"
"Five days, Violet."
She swallowed hard. "Five days."
He rested a hand on her head—brief, heavy, warm—then stepped back.
Violet turned toward the mountain trail that wound up toward the creek. The same creek where she'd fallen. Where the Black Creek where the accursed Nyx flowed, which had swallowed her whole and spit her out in another world.
Where everything changed.
She didn't look back. If she did, she'd lose her nerve.
The climb took hours. The air grew thinner, colder. Her lungs burned despite the body that no longer failed her.
Finally, she heard it—the rush of water over stone, fast and black and endless.
The creek appeared through the trees like a wound in the earth, churning dark beneath ice-thin edges.
Violet stood at the bank, staring into depths that held no reflection.
"Last time, I fell. This time..."
She took a breath.
Stepped forward.
And let herself fall.
****
The cold swallowed her whole.
Not the biting cold of winter—this was deeper. Older. The kind of cold that lived in the spaces between worlds.
Water filled her lungs, her mouth, her nose. She didn't fight it. Couldn't, even if she wanted to.
The current pulled her down, down,
down—
Then up.
Air hit her face like a slap.
She gasped, coughing water, hands scrabbling against stone as she dragged herself onto familiar ground.
The cave.
Torchlight flickered against damp walls. The smell of earth and old blood and something sweetly rotting filled her nose.
Violet rolled onto her back, lungs heaving, vision swimming.
I'm here. I'm actually here.
The Realm of Night.
She pushed herself up slowly, water streaming from her hair and clothes. The cave was empty—no Luciel, no white raven, just shadows and the distant echo of water dripping.
He hasn't come yet. I'm too early.
That was fine. She wasn't here for him.
Not this time.
Violet walked deeper into the cave, her footsteps echoing soft and hollow. She knew this place. Every curve, every shadow. She'd lived here for years in another life, learned magic here, laughed here, bled here.
The entrance loomed ahead—the mouth of the cave opening onto the strange twilight of the Realm of Night.
She stood at the threshold, staring out at a sky that was always dusk, always burning with colors that had no names.
Muninn.
The name tasted like memory. Like hope.
Mr. Raven had told her once, late at night when Luciel was training and the darkness felt too heavy, that his kind could travel anywhere. Teleportation, he'd called it. A gift and a curse.
"It takes a toll," he'd said, preening his white feathers. "Once per day in the same realm. Once per lunar cycle between realms. And you'll only be able to call me if both parties know the true name."
Violet closed her eyes.
"Muninn," she whispered to the wind.
Nothing.
She waited, counting heartbeats.
Still nothing.
Her chest tightened. "Of course. Why would he know my name? We haven't met yet. This is before—"
"Muninn," she said again, louder now. "Please. I need—"
Silence answered.
Violet's hands curled into fists. "Stupid. This was stupid. I should have known—"
She turned back toward the cave, toward the water that would carry her home, defeat already settling heavy in her bones.
"I'll have to find another way. I'll have to travel on foot. I'll be too late, just like before, and Vael will—"
Wind struck her face.
Not the soft breeze of the realm, but then
gust—
sharp, sudden, smelling of smoke and feathers.
White plumes scattered through the air like snow.
Violet spun around.
On a low branch at the cave entrance, silhouetted against the eternal twilight, sat a white raven.
His eyes—bright and knowing and impossibly old—fixed on her.
"Well, well," he said, voice carrying that familiar mix of amusement and exhaustion. "It looks like you have many tales to tell, Princess."
Violet's breath caught.
Her knees nearly buckled.
"Muninn— Mr. Raven...," she whispered.
The raven tilted his head, feathers ruffling. "Indeed... So tell me, How are you Princess?"