Nyla dreamt of the Hollow again.
The square was empty, blanketed in a strange, muffled silence that didn't belong to the usual bustle of the morning. Shadows clung to the corners of the cottages, long and thin, stretching like fingers toward the center of the village.
She stood alone beneath an old warped signpost, cloak pulled tight around her shoulders. Her breath didn't mist in the air. Her heartbeat didn't echo. It felt like the world around her was being swallowed whole.
The sky churned and at first she thought it was snow but then the clouds coiled inward, twisting into a black spiral that pressed down on the Hollow like a clenched fist.
The wind arrived all at once. Not a gust - a scream.
It tore across the square, ripping leaves from rooftops, sending shutters slamming against walls. Snow spiraled upward instead of down, caught in a violent upward draft that raked at her face.
Nyla stumbled back, hair whipping wildly.
Then she saw them.
Figures walking through the storm, not human, not spirit, blurring in and out of the gale like smudged ink. Tall, dark silhouettes moving with purpose toward the center of the Hollow.
Toward her.
Her pulse hammered. She took a step back, boot sliding on the icy ground. A shadow reached toward her and the storm surged forward.
She woke with a gasp, clutching the blanket at her sides with both hands.
Light filtered faintly through the shutters. The cottage roof creaked in the cold and her heart thudded beneath her palm, refusing to calm even as the dream dissolved.
"Just a dream," she whispered to herself, the images playing behind her eyes. "Please just be a dream..."
A clatter sounded from the kitchen.
Nyla sat up, swung her legs out of bed, trembling against the cold as she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and padded toward the warm glow of the hearth.
Alva was standing on her tiptoes, stirring a pot of porridge with dramatic seriousness. Honey dripped from a wooden spoon onto the bowls waiting on the table.
Barius sat at the far side, hair messy, eyes downcast, both hands wrapped around the warm ceramic like he wasn't entirely awake yet. He glanced up when Nyla entered.
"Good morning," he said softly.
"Oh, Barius," she tightened the shawl around her, "...good morning."
Nothing unusual. Yet she felt heat coil low in her stomach when his gaze lingered a heartbeat too long, just long enough to stir the memory of last night: the quiet firelight, her hand on his jaw, their faces far too close.
She forced a composed nod and sat. "Morning."
Alva beamed as she pushed the bowls toward them, placed another with warmed oat-breads and butter. "I made breakfast!"
"And we're very lucky for it, thank you Alva," Nyla said, smoothing down stray locks of hair that had dangled loose in front of her.
Barius gave Alva a small smile. "It smells good."
A proud smile spread across Alva's face.
For a moment they ate in silence, the kind that wasn't uncomfortable but wasn't normal either. Nyla could feel his gaze flick toward her, then away.
"How's your head?" she asked finally, tearing her bread apart just to keep her fingers from fidgeting.
Barius brushed his thumb along the healing cut. "Better," he said. "No thanks to you."
Nyla pretended to be very focused on her tea, but his eyes were clearer today. Signs of injury fading, revealing the handsomeness of the prince underneath. "That's my job."
Barius finished his porridge first. He set the bowl aside carefully, testing the weight on his leg before he rose.
"I'd like to help with the chores," he said.
Nyla glanced up sharply. "Your ribs-"
"Are healing," he interrupted gently.
"And your leg?"
"Still attached," he said, almost smiling.
It wasn't a joke, not really, but something flickered warm beneath it. Something unsure. Something that made Nyla's pulse stumble.
She exhaled, conceding. "Light work. Nothing strenuous."
He nodded.
After porridge and honey, after sweeping frost from the steps and sending Alva to collect herbs, Barius spread feed for the chickens and petted the goats when they nibbled on the edge of his coat. Nyla found herself settling into the rhythms of a life that suddenly felt too fragile and too quiet.
"Barius," she said, brushing snow from her sleeves as she bent over a garden bed to pick winter peas, "there's a basket inside the cottage under the table. Could you bring it out?"
He nodded. "Of course."
His leg protested a little, but he ignored it and headed for the door. The morning light felt gentle on his face, and for once he didn't feel like he was dragging his body behind him, he walked with more certainty than he had yesterday. More steady. More himself, though he couldn't say why.
He stepped inside the cottage and let the warmth settle over him. The fire snapped quietly in the hearth.
He moved toward the table, scanning the floor for the basket Nyla mentioned.
There, a woven handle peeking from beneath a folded blanket.
He crouched, reaching for it.
The blanket shifted and something metallic glinted beneath the wool.
Barius paused.
The basket slipped from his mind. He pulled the blanket back slowly, breath tightening in his chest without warning.
A sword lay beneath it but not just any sword.
He knew it the moment he saw the worn leather of the grip, the slight notch near the guard, the way the metal caught the light. Recognition slammed into him with no memories to anchor it, just instinct, as fierce and sure as a heartbeat.
He reached for it without thinking.
The moment his fingers closed around the hilt, memory ripped through him, not whole or clean, but shattered, jagged pieces slashing through the fog in his mind.
A training yard. Frost on stone.
A man pacing in front of him, dark hair streaked with silver. "Again," he ordered, voice roughened by wind and war.
Barius lifted the blade. Too slow and stiff, and a calloused hand closed over his, correcting his grip, guiding the tilt of his wrist.
"Strength is nothing without control, my son."
A clash of steel.
A grunt, pain, pride.
"Good. Now again."
The memories hit him too fast.
Too sharp. He felt the blinding thud of a fist connect with his head.
Pain flared behind his eyes. He staggered, hand shooting out to brace on the table before he dropped the sword. His breath came harsh and uneven.
Emrys. Brother.
He straightened slowly, the world steadier but changed, as if the colors had shifted around their edges.
He looked down at the sword again.
He could feel the weight of it in his bones, the long hours, the discipline, the hands that had taught him, the oath he had taken. Even without the full memory, his body remembered. His muscles remembered who he had been and who he still was.
When he lifted the blade again, it slid into his hand like an extension of himself. His stance settled instinctively, one foot back, shoulders square. The vibrating steel of metal on metal reverberated through his mind.
Emrys' laugh echoed in his mind, short, taunting - the shadow of his brother's memory darkened his thoughts and a sense of impending doom rolled over him.
His father's voice echoed in his ears, urging them to continue, to keep going until they no longer could. Barius winced at the memory of Emrys mercilessly beating him.
It wasn't everything. Not yet but it was enough to piece together exactly who he was.
A son.
A brother.
A soldier and a prince.
Someone who belonged to a much larger, darker world and enough to understand one terrible, throat-tightening truth: if he stayed here, he would bring danger to Nyla's door.
∞
Nyla turned back to her broom, sweeping the path, trying to ignore the way her heart hadn't settled since her storm dream.
A minute passed.
Then two.
Then five.
Nyla frowned. Barius was slow, but not that slow. She dusted her hands on her skirt and walked toward the cottage door.
"Barius?" she called lightly as she stepped inside.
He didn't answer.
The fire still crackled in the hearth, warm and soft but a new, heavy stillness had settled over the room. Her eyes adjusted to the dim interior, and she saw him.
Standing in the center of the cottage.
Back to her.
Shoulders rigid.
The blanket she kept under the table now sprawled open on the floor.
And in his hands, his sword.
Nyla froze.
He held it as if he had been born holding it, one hand around the grip, the other steadying the flat of the blade. His chest moved with deep, controlled breaths.
"Barius...?" she tried again.
He turned.
Slowly.
His eyes meet hers first and it was as if he now had startling clarity - an awareness of the world that he didn't know before. The softness she'd gotten used to, the dazed confusion, the tentative gentleness - it had pulled inward, leaving something sharper in its place. It was a man remembering the world beyond these walls.
"This is mine, isn't it?" he said.
The words were quiet, but they landed like a death knell in the little cottage as he stood motionless.
Nyla swallowed, stepping back before she realized she was moving. "Yes."
"I remember now..."
For one heartbeat, a single, cold breath, fear prickled across her skin because she did not know this version of him.
His gaze flicked down, he saw it.
Barius clenched his jaw and set the sword down against the table with deliberate care, palms open, stepping back from it as if it were a live flame. He even stood straighter, moved with a caution he didn't have before.
For a moment, Nyla could feel her heartbeat in her neck. The hair on the back of her neck stood to attention - a chilling sign of danger nearby and she noted it immediately. When Barius took a small step forward, Nyla didn't mean to take one backwards.
Barius paused, searching her face. "I still remember this," he said softly.
The tension in her chest loosened, just slightly, but the feeling of impending danger hadn't disappeared. Would he try to attack her now that he was awake? Would the stories of him suddenly all become true? "What do you remember?"
"Not everything. But I know who I was -" he stopped himself, "Who I am. But I don't...I don't feel like him anymore."
For a heartbeat, Nyla softened hesitantly, "What was your first memory?"
"My father teaching us how to fight each other. My brother, Emrys, nearly killed me."
"And your last? Before you came here."
Barius mind zeroed in on his mission. On Callan. "We were looking for someone. A fugitive. He was in the woods when we arrived, we were ambushed by Nightwalkers..." Barius expression turned into desperate confusion, as if he could not fathom it. His eyes flicked to her as if he'd already said too much. "I cannot stay."
Nyla's throat tightened. "Barius - wait-"
"It's been three days, hasn't it?" he cut in, voice edged with urgency. "Three since you found me? No - four."
"Three and a half."
He nodded once, jaw ticking. "Someone should have come by now."
Her brow furrowed. "It's five days -"
"Five on horseback," he corrected, thinking aloud. "But they would have sent two riders. Fast ones. If word reached Eodwyn that a man matching my description was found in a border village near death..." His breath stuttered. "They should have arrived yesterday."
A cold ripple slid down Nyla's spine. "Maybe the message hasn't reached them yet."
Barius gave her a grave look, the piercing sharpness of his hazel eyes boring into hers, a look she hadn't seen on him before, "Let's pray it has."
He reached for the sword, stopped himself, then let his hand fall.
His eyes softened, "Nyla." Her breath caught at the way he said her name. Familiar. Different. Weighted with something new. "Nothing can repay what you have done for me. I will ensure you are protected, you have my word." His voice strained, the words costing him something.
A tight ache spread through her chest. "You're still injured. You can't just wander into the wilds alone."
"I'd rather risk the wilds than risk you."
The admission stopped her. She just stared at him, "Don't say things like that if you're about to leave."
"There's much I want to say, but I'm afraid there simply isn't time. Every second I stay here I put your life at risk."
"Where will you go?"
"To meet them," he said, and for a moment the soldier in him shone sharp beneath the surface. "Before they reach the village. Before anyone gets caught in their path."
Nyla gripped the edge of the table, knuckles whitening. "Barius-"
He looked at her, really looked, and the softer version of him flickered back for a moment. "I don't want to leave," he admitted, and the quiet honesty cut deeper than any blade. "But I must. For you and Alva...and everyone else," a haunted look crossed his features. "I now understand what it cost you to protect me when I was at my most vulnerable and for that alone, you have my respect. But now I must protect you. But you have my word, Lady Nyla, if it is within my power, it is yours."
Nyla's chest tightened. "Will I see you again?"
His jaw tightened and he swallowed hard, pained, "I hope so.,." he said, "But there are people in my life that will do anything they can to hurt me. If they for one moment think that you-" Barius cut himself off with a sharp breath, "I simply cannot allow that to happen...I won't."
Nyla felt traitorous tears sting her eyes and she turned around, picking at the hem on her sleeve, "Then this is goodbye."
Barius took a breath and swallowed, "For now."
"Alva will miss you, don't go without-"
The warmth of his fingers enveloped her hand, turning her to face him, "Nyla..."
Nyla turned, whispering, "I will miss you."
This moment felt fragile, suspended, like if either of them moved too quickly it would shatter. She could feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing between them, every reason they shouldn't, tightening her chest.
Her fingers curled instinctively into his hand. Not to stop him. Not to pull him closer. Just enough to let him know.
His restraint broke. His hand came up to her jaw, pressing his lips against hers. Nyla's heart stopped, eyes slipping closed as he deepened the kiss, and slid one hand over the curve of her waist to gently tug her closer.
Color exploded within her, a euphoric sensation of power coursing through her body as their lips met. He was practically humming with magic.
Nyla felt her back press up against the wall and he pulled away for a moment, lips swollen, their breath mingling together, the hard wall of his body pressed against the softness of hers. "I shouldn't have done that."
She couldn't help but feel flutters in her chest, "Why did you?"
Before Barius could answer her, a soft creak sounded behind them.
Both he and Nyla turned sharply toward the door.
It was open only a sliver. And in that sliver, just for an instant, was Alva's face. Wide eyed and trembling lips. Her whole expression going stricken in one heartbeat.
Then she vanished.
A flutter of footsteps thudded away from the doorway, rapid and light, the unmistakable rhythm of a child running before she could cry.
"Alva?" Nyla stepped forward instinctively, but the girl was already gone.
The back door slammed lightly against the wind as she fled into the trees.
Nyla made to go after her, panic tightening her voice. "I'll get her, she shouldn't be alone--"
"I'll go," Barius's voice stopped her instantly, steady and quiet. He stepped toward the door, jaw tense, eyes dark with something that was not hardness but hurt. He met her eyes, the softness hadn't left him, not fully, not even now with the weight of his memories settling heavily across his shoulders. "I will be back."
Then he stepped out into the cold, cloak catching the breeze as he followed the trail Alva had taken toward the meadow.
The door swung shut behind him. Her fingers trembled on her warm lips.
And Nyla was left alone in the small, quiet cottage staring at the sword and fearing, for the first time, that the storm from her dream had already arrived.