#flint knives

[thestonedknifeman]

Put some stone blades in a folding knife

[impishnature]

I know I’d been a long time since you wrote for gravity falls but if you ever did I think I would actually scream. Your fics were such a highlight of my day and it was always a pleasure to read them, even the unfinished ones were such a joy to read.

Oh thank you! I'm glad they were a highlight for you c: I don't know if I will ever go back, maybe I'll get the buzz again but at the moment if I were to write anything I think it'd be Stranger Things.

I planned out an entire maze runner au with friends but I don't even know if I'll ever write it ^^;; I've gone back to being a lurker/reader myself haha! Maybe I'll just put up my rambling plot notes.

But I will never say never to GF. Special place in my heart for bringing me some awesome friends. c:

Weird how time flies. I got to know one of them through them drawing fanart for one of my fics. Which was... I don't even know how long ago now? @sightkeeper how long have we known each other now? Anyway what's even weirder is that it's now already been almost a year since we met up in person. I travelled to Canada to spend 2 weeks with a bestie that I'd have never had known if not for GF. Like that's breaking my brain a bit. Or maybe it's because it's almost 2am and I should probably be sleeping haha!

[token-doodles]

He devolved my Jasper Flint.

[cameronsbabydoll]

WHAT MILITARY!RAFE’S CLOSET LOOKS LIKE:

organized like his brain's still in the barracks. everything color-coded, seasonal stuff boxed by month, and his civvies section is small — bc man barely believes in relaxation.

one side of the closet = all uniforms. perfectly hung, boots lined up in parade formation. his old name tags and patches are in a drawer he never opens.

he has a drawer for gear. not just knives and belts — we’re talking multi-tools, flashlights, paracord, a gun-cleaning kit, survival bracelets, and that little firestarter flint he swears by.

he has a safe for weapons tucked discreetly in the corner behind a row of flannels. combo locked. no one touches it but him.

box of keepsakes in the top shelf — letters from you, drawings from the kids, a dried flower from your first date, and that polaroid of you in his dog tags.

GO-TO PIECES / FAVORITE BRANDS:

Carhartt. for workwear, flannels, and hoodies. owns like 6 in that same camel brown color and you’ve probably stolen half.

Wrangler + Levi’s. he likes classic fits, dark denim, big man jeans. hates anything “slim fit.” he’ll rip it in 3 seconds.

Under Armour. for working out. this man lives in compression shirts and black shorts when he’s not in uniform.

Ray-Ban aviators. scratched, beat up, still thinks he looks hot in ‘em. he’s right.

Danner boots or Timberlands. for casual. NEVER flip flops. will clown any man in slides.

DATE NIGHT FITS:

cold weather: dark wash jeans, black boots, white undershirt, flannel or henley over it, leather jacket. hands in his pockets, chewing gum, smells like cedar + aftershave.

warm weather: rolled sleeves, white or olive green tee, chain peeking out, ballcap pulled low, watch on his wrist. always clean, always confident. doesn’t even try.

dressy: navy button-down, sleeves rolled up, dark pants, belt. won’t wear cologne but smells rich and rugged from his soap and skin. has your hand on his thigh the whole time.

FUN DETAILS:

he collects knives but never calls it a collection. just says “they’re practical.” (he has like 15.)

loves a good leather belt. has like 3 but always wears the same one that’s fraying at the end.

watches. has a durable military one and a nicer one you gifted him — but wears yours more because “you picked it out.”

his scent?? woodsy. aftershave. sun. laundry. sometimes a touch of gun oil. you could live in his hoodies.

WHAT HE WEARS AT HOME:

“these are my house shorts.” aka old basketball shorts from his academy days.

“this is my chill shirt.” aka an army tee with holes in it and sweat stains that makes you want to hump his leg.

never wears socks. hates it. calls them “foot prisons.”

[a-bit-of-writing]

Cloak

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 

Characters: Astarion x Reader

Words: 1,591

Summary: You only meant to survive your night watch, not end up draped in Astarion’s cloak and scent.

part. 01 | part. 02

The cliffs above the Chionthar were pretty things by daylight — ragged ridges powdered in wild heather, gulls wheeling overhead — but after dusk they sharpened into bone‑white fangs. Wind tore off the river and scraped your cheeks raw, tugging at your sleeves like a petulant child begging to be let in.

You flexed your fingers — nothing. Half‑numb. Brilliant idea, volunteering for the late watch in nothing but a travel shirt and bravado. Gale had offered his spare cloak; you’d waved him off. Shadowheart had raised an eyebrow; you’d grinned. Pride was a stubborn parasite and now it gnawed your bones with every icy gust.

A twig snapped behind you. Leather boots, light tread — predator’s footfall. Only one person walked that quietly and still managed to announce himself with the sheer audacity of his presence.

“Honestly, darling,” Astarion drawled, voice a silk ribbon sliding round your throat, “if you wished to turn blue you could have asked me for pointers. I have centuries of experience.”

You exhaled a foggy plume. “I’m fine.”

He came into view, draped in a cloak the color of spiced wine, clasp of polished garnet winking at his throat. Moon‑silver hair spilled over the collar like frost over velvet. He looked entirely too warm, too princely, too amused.

“Liar,” he murmured, stepping close enough that his breath stirred the hair at your temple. “Your teeth are rattling a charming concerto.”

“I said—”

“And I said you’re shivering.” One arched brow. “Would you like my cloak?”

The offer landed like flint on tinder. You opened your mouth — habit formed around refusal — but the night stole the word and left only a shudder. Fine tremors climbed your arms. Astarion watched, ruby eyes bright with mischief and something startlingly soft.

“Here,” he sighed — half resignation, half relish — and reached for the clasp. Gold links whispered apart. As the cloak swung free, heat rushed out like the exhale of a hearth. Cedar, smoke, faint mulled wine: his scent, rich and dizzying.

He didn’t simply hand it over. Oh no — Astarion performed the act like ritual. One step forward, boots crunching frost; cloak lifted high, then draped across your shoulders in a slow, enveloping fall. He gathered the fabric at your throat, cool fingertips grazing the hollow just above your pulse. You felt it leap; he felt it too — his smile said everything.

“There,” he purred, smoothing collars with absurd delicacy. “A lovely splash of red to set off those cheeks.”

You tugged the cloak tighter. “Thank you.”

“Mm.” He tilted his head, studying the way it swallowed your frame. “Marvelous. It hangs on you like sin.” He leaned closer, conspiratorial. “Be wary — wearing a vampire’s garment might constitute a blood pact in certain, decidedly salacious circles.”

“Oh dear,” you deadpanned, exhaling warmth back into your stiff fingers. “Am I doomed?”

He hummed approval. “Doomed to — let me think — moonlit poetry recitals, perhaps a scandalous duet or two.” His grin glinted fang. “Surely you can bear the torment.”

You mustered a scoff, but the cloak’s heat seeped beneath your defiance, loosening the tight curl of your shoulders. Even the wind seemed reluctant to intrude through velvet this thick. You inhaled — cedarheart and something sweet, like the echo of summer berries on the tongue.

Astarion’s gaze followed the rise of your chest, satisfied. Then, casual as smoke, he settled onto the flattest rock beside your post — close, but not crowding. The river’s dark ribbon murmured below. Fireflies stitched gold thread between brambles.

After a beat he said, softer, “I never cared for that cloak.”

You glanced sideways. “No?”

“Cazador chose it.” A small shrug. “He enjoyed dressing us like decorative knives — beautiful, useful, always his.” For a moment the campfire in his eyes dimmed, revealing an undertow of old hurt. But then the mask slipped back into place, polished and bright. “Yet here we are — re‑appropriating luxury. Rather poetic, don’t you think?”

“Very,” you whispered. “And it does suit you. Or did.”

He laughed, rich and low. “Are you angling to keep it?”

“Maybe I’m claiming it. Finders, keepers.”

“Heresy.” He slung an arm along the rock’s rim, posture indolent royalty. “If you intend to steal my wardrobe, I’ll need compensation.”

You arched a brow. “More secrets? Another blush tally?”

“Oh, I have grander schemes tonight.” He leaned in until moonlight caught in his lashes. “How about a favor to be named later? Something deliciously open‑ended.”

Your pulse skipped. “Dangerous.”

“Exhilarating,” he corrected. Then, unexpectedly gentle: “But if bargaining unsettles you, we’ll stick to simpler trades. A story, perhaps.” He lifted his chin, invitation in every line. “Gift me a memory.”

Cold forgotten, you searched for something worthy. “All right,” you said at last, voice soft. “When I was small, my mother would brew cinnamon milk on winter nights. She’d hum — terribly off‑key — while I sat by the hearth pretending to read. I’d memorize the tune, wrong notes and all, because it meant warmth was coming. I loved that.”

Astarion’s expression flickered — surprise, then a longing so fierce it scared you. “Cinnamon,” he echoed. “I remember cinnamon.” He looked away, throat working. “I’d- I’d snatch sweet rolls from palace apprentices and hide on the roof. Eat them alone so no one could shame me for sticky fingers.” Soft laugh, brittle as spun sugar. “Feelings taste different when you savor them in secret.”

He fell quiet, the confession hanging between you like frost‑glittering glass. Your hand twitched beneath the cloak — impulse to reach for his. Instead you said gently, “You don’t have to hide anymore.”

His eyes cut back, bright and wary. “Don’t I?”

“You offered me warmth with no demand.”

“Oh, I’ll demand something eventually,” he teased but the line lacked bite.

“You could have let me freeze,” you pressed. “Mocked me, walked away. You didn’t.” You lifted a corner of the cloak. “That choice is yours now. Every time.”

Astarion stared long enough that riverwind filled the silence with its hush. Then he chuckled, a sound that trembled at the edges. “Careful, sweet thing. Keep talking like that and I might start believing I have choices.”

“Maybe you should,” you echoed your earlier words, softer still.

He inhaled — sharp, startled — like the idea itself was a sudden ache in his ribs. For an instant vulnerability bared its throat. Then his grin returned, dazzling and defensive.

“Let’s test this newfound autonomy, shall we?” He stood, offered a dramatic bow, and extended a hand. “Come. The wind’s unrelenting, and I know a niche halfway down the cliff face — sheltered, private, excellent acoustics should I burst into impromptu sonnet.”

You laughed, taking his hand. His fingers were cool but steady, closing around yours with teasing ceremony. As you followed him along the narrow path, the cloak swirled your ankles, trailing his scent.

At a ledge half hidden by thorny broom, he paused, gesturing you ahead. A natural alcove cupped a sliver of embers from some forgotten traveler’s fire; still warm. He dusted the stone, sat, then tugged you down beside him. The space forced proximity — knees brushing, cloak draping over both. Twin warmths: velvet outside, his body heat inside.

“Better?” he asked.

You nodded. In the dim, his eyes burned garnet, softer than any flame.

A playful silence stretched. Then he cleared his throat theatrically. “Right. About that sonnet…”

“Oh gods, no,” you groaned.

“Too late. Inspiration strikes.” He pressed the back of his hand to his brow, reciting in a tragic stage whisper: “O crimson cloak upon a trembling frame, / Envy of dawn, ye put bright day to shame—”

You dissolved into laughter. It echoed off stone, mingling with his self‑satisfied chuckle.

When your mirth subsided, you found him watching you — smile gentled, eyes steady. “I like that sound,” he admitted quietly.

“What sound?”

“That laugh. It…does something foolish to me.” He glanced away, almost shy. “Makes monsters feel less monstrous.”

Your breath caught. Without thinking, you slid your hand across the small gap, resting it atop his. He stiffened — a reflex born of centuries — then eased beneath your touch, exhale feathering the cold air.

“Monsters don’t share cloaks,” you whispered.

“They do,” he said, lips quirking. “They just expect payment in flesh.” A pause. “I’m trying something new.”

“And how does it feel?”

He considered, thumb grazing your knuckles. “Terrifying,” he said. Then, softer: “Nice.”

You smiled into the dark. “Borrow the feeling as long as you need.”

“Dangerous invitation.” He curled his fingers, lacing them with yours. “I may never give it back.”

“Guess I’ll have to keep you, then.”

He laughed — a fragile, wondrous thing. “You drive a scandalously hard bargain, darling.” He squeezed your hand once, then let the silence rest — comfortable, living. Wind rattled faraway branches, but the alcove held only warmth.

Minutes — or hours — later, when your watch ended and you both rose to return to camp, Astarion reached to reclaim his cloak. His hands paused at your shoulders, clutching velvet as though reconsidering.

He released a hush of air, almost a sigh, and withdrew, leaving the cloak on you.

“Keep it till morning,” he said, eyes unreadable. “Consider it… interest on our deal.”

“What deal?”

“The one where I practice giving without taking.” He winked, stepping back into moonlight. “Don’t get used to it.”

Too late. You smiled, heart thudding. “Good night, Astarion.”

He hesitated, then with the softest smile you’d ever stolen from him, murmured, “Good night, warmth‑thief.”

He vanished into shadow, leaving you cloaked in crimson and something far rarer: the promise of choice.

[whencyclopedia]

Weapons in Ancient Egypt

The ancient Egyptian military is often imagined in modern films and other media as a heavily armed and disciplined fighting force equipped with powerful weapons. This depiction, however, is only true of the Egyptian army of the New Kingdom (c. 1570-1069 BCE) and, to a lesser extent, the army of the Middle Kingdom (2040-1782 BCE), when the first professional armed force was created by Amenemhat I (c. 1991-1962 BCE). Prior to this time, the army was made up of conscripts from different districts (nomes) who were enlisted by their respective governors (nomarchs). Although this early army was certainly effective enough for its purpose, it was not a group of professional soldiers equipped with the most effective weaponry. Egyptologist Helen Strudwick notes:

Soldiers of the Old and Middle Kingdoms were fairly inadequately equipped. The only development in weapons since Predynastic times had been the replacement of flint blades with those of copper. (464)

Weaponry in ancient Egypt developed in response to its necessity. The early bows, knives, and axes of the Predynastic Period in Egypt (c. 6000-c.3150 BCE) through the Old Kingdom (c. 2613-2181 BCE) were sufficient in putting down local rebellions or conquering neighbors on the border, who were similarly armed but were not the most efficient. As Egypt expanded its influence throughout neighboring regions and came into conflict with other nations, they needed to make a number of adjustments; one of these was in weaponry.

Early Egyptian Weapons

In the Early Dynastic Period in Egypt (c. 3150-c.2613 BCE), military weaponry was comprised of maces, daggers, and spears. The spear had been developed by hunters during the Predynastic Period and changed very little except, like daggers, the tip changed from flint to copper. Even so, the majority of spear- and arrowheads from the Old Kingdom of Egypt seem to have been largely flint. An Egyptian soldier would have carried a spear and dagger, and a shield probably made of animal hide or woven papyrus.

These weapons were supplemented during the Old Kingdom by archers who used a simple single-arched bow with reed arrows and flint or copper tips. These bows were difficult to draw, were only effective at close range and, even then, were not very accurate. The archers, like the rest of the army, were drawn from the lower-class peasantry and would have had little experience with a bow in hunting. Egyptologist Margaret Bunson describes the Old Kingdom army:

The soldiers of the Old Kingdom were depicted as wearing skull caps and carrying clan or nome-totems. They used maces with wooden heads or pear-shaped stone heads. Bows and arrows were standard gear, with square-tipped flint arrowheads and leather quivers. Some shields, made of hides, were in use but not generally. Most of the troops were barefoot, dressed in simple kilts, or naked. (168)

Weapons, and the military in general, did not begin to develop significantly until the Middle Kingdom of Egypt. When the central government of the Old Kingdom collapsed, it initiated the era known as the First Intermediate Period of Egypt (c. 2181- 2040 BCE) in which the individual nomarchs had more power than the king. These nomarchs would still send conscripts to the government when called upon but were free to exercise their own power and extend it beyond their districts if they wished.

This is precisely what did happen when Mentuhotep II of Thebes (c. 2061-2010 BCE) elevated his city from just another nome in Egypt to the capital of the country. Mentuhotep II defeated the ruling party at Herakleopolis c. 2040 BCE and united the country under Theban rule.

Continue reading...

[quarterlifekitty]

As a person who's never been to summer camp, I have this glorified version of what it's supposed to be (my friend tells me otherwise, which in this case, I'm so sorry for all those who did not like summer camp)

Either way, back to the point I intended to make, our pookie bears and reader at Summer Camp. As councilors- to clarify

I mean, in a very PG-13 AU I can imagine soap and Gaz being mates at school and soap is 100% the boy who comes back from summer camp like guys I have a girlfriend now. But you can’t meet her because I met her at camp and she doesn’t go here. She’s from a different country. But we exchanged email addresses 🥰 and Gaz is like no the fuck you didn’t

(Soap also definitely touched his first boob at sleepaway camp)

As counselors? I can’t help but imagine you all getting murdered because you were too busy MAKING LOVE when you should have been WATCHING MY JASON etc.

Anyways. Johnny is the arts counselor, obviously. Your camp is well enough off that there’s a little ceramics studio and a fibers room for weaving, crochet, etc. He tries very hard to be the favorite counselor, and while he’s very close, he’s just not cool enough.

You know who is? Gaz. Water recreation counselor. Swimming, rowing, all that. Effortlessly nonchalant and handsome. Glistening, even. First crush of many (we all had that counselor. Come on).

Simon is the camping skills instructor who definitely comes across like he was medically discharged from the military and hasn’t gotten over it. Like he has the intensity of someone who has lives depending on them. Like for the love of god, how do you expect to make it out there for more than a day if you can’t start a fire? And yes, for those wondering, he does teach a lot of skills that kids should not know in retrospect because once they find out how many improvised weapons he knows how to make? It’s like when you get your teacher monologuing about their divorce and they forget about the lesson they were supposed to teach you. He’s just happy to share.

And here’s where you’ll see that the entirety of my knowledge of camp (I went to day camp only) comes from the movies sleepaway camp and wet hot American summer because I’m running out of camp activities to remark upon lol. Anyone who knows about camp please help my family is dying

I know that medic!reader is probably kinda overused but I can’t stop thinking about Simon awkwardly bringing yet another kid to you who has a cut and being like “so who exactly was teaching them how to make knives from flint?” And he looks like a dog who just ate something he wasn’t supposed to have.

[nocturnalnella]

“The Weight Between Us”

Pairing : Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader

Warnings : None…so far.

Words : 1,208

~ Chapter 1 ~

The wind howled through the narrow mountain pass, cold and sharp, slicing through your cloak like knives. You pulled it tighter around your shoulders, walking slightly ahead of the company, if only to escape the endless crunch of boots on gravel and the quiet grumbling of tired Dwarves behind you.

And then, as always, you felt it — the eyes. You didn’t need to look. You knew it was him. Thorin Oakenshield. The King-in-Exile. Stubborn. Silent. Relentless. And somehow, always near.

You had grown used to his shadow over the weeks of travel. At first, you thought it coincidence. A leader keeping watch over his company. But slowly, subtly, it became something else. He was always just close enough that you felt his presence but never close enough to speak. Always watching. Always near.

Tonight, the company camped beneath the rocky ledge of a cliff, the fire crackling low, casting flickers of orange against the stone. Most of the others had already turned in. Thorin, of course, sat apart — sword across his lap, gaze fixed on the fire, brows furrowed as if lost in some great war of thought.

You sat across from him, on the other side of the fire, arms wrapped around your knees, pretending to be interested in the dancing flames. But really, you watched him through lowered lashes, pretending not to.

He hadn’t spoken to you all day. Not since yesterday’s brief exchange over a broken strap on your pack. He’d fixed it without a word, hands sure and firm, eyes never meeting yours. When you’d thanked him, he only nodded once, curt and almost… uncomfortable.

That was Thorin. Always doing things quietly. Always too proud to admit he cared.

But it was there. In the way he shielded you from the worst of the storm two nights ago without making a fuss. In the way he always passed you the better piece of bread when he thought you weren’t looking. In the way his hand had lingered — just a second too long — when helping you down a steep ledge.

You shifted slightly, drawing your cloak tighter. He glanced at you then — a flicker of a moment, but your eyes caught.

Neither of you looked away.

The fire popped.

His jaw tensed.

Your throat went dry.

You’d been in dangerous situations before, but this — the weight of that stare, the way the firelight caught the glint in his eyes, how he looked at you like he was fighting something deep and unspoken — this was something else entirely.

He broke the stare first, of course. Always so controlled. Always carefully reined in.

You stood, brushing the dirt from your palms. You didn’t know why — maybe to shake off the energy buzzing under your skin. Maybe to get away from the heat of that gaze. But before you could retreat fully, you heard his voice, low and hoarse.

“Where are you going?”

You turned, surprised. His eyes were still on the fire, but his hand was clenched around the hilt of his sword. Tightly.

“Just to stretch my legs,” you replied, trying to sound casual.

“It’s not safe out there alone.”

You arched a brow, stepping just slightly out of the fire’s warm glow. “Do you command all your company when they take a walk, or just me?”

That made him look up — sharply. His expression was unreadable, but something flickered there. A warning. A question.

“Don’t wander far,” he said instead, voice like flint. “I’ll know.”

You gave a soft huff of amusement. “Will you?”

He didn’t answer. But his gaze followed you as you turned, as you stepped into the dark. You felt it pressing against your back like a brand.

You walked only a short way, letting the cold bite your skin, trying to shake the fire inside your chest. You leaned against the edge of the cliff face, staring up at the stars.

You didn’t hear his footsteps. You never heard Thorin coming — he moved like shadow. But suddenly, he was there beside you, not touching, not even close enough to reach out. But there.

You didn’t look at him. He didn’t speak.

The silence stretched. And yet, it was charged. You could feel the tension radiating off him — or maybe it was your own. His presence was too much and not enough all at once.

“I thought you didn’t trust me,” you said finally, voice soft.

He didn’t answer right away. Then, “I trust no one easily.”

You nodded. “And yet here you are.”

His jaw flexed. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

You turned your head just slightly, catching his eyes in the dim starlight. “You’ve said that.”

He looked away. “There are things in these mountains that prey on the foolish.”

You stepped closer — just an inch. But it was enough. His breath caught.

“Do you think I’m foolish, Thorin?”

His name felt intimate on your tongue. He looked at you then — really looked at you. Like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

“No,” he said. Just that. Nothing more. But his voice was tight. His hands were clenched at his sides. His body tense as though holding something back.

You didn’t move away. You should have. But you didn’t.

The wind howled again, but neither of you flinched.

The space between you felt electric. It would take nothing — a breath, a step, a whisper — for everything to change.

And still, no one moved.

Thorin’s eyes dropped to your lips. Just for a second. Barely there. But you felt it like a physical touch.

“Get some rest,” he said abruptly, turning on his heel before you could answer. “We move at first light.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving only the heat of his gaze and the ache of something unspoken lingering in the cold air.

You stared after him for a long time before returning to camp.

Neither of you slept much that night.

[biolumien]

when'd you get so cool? (always was)

jo togame x gn!reader pre shishitoren arc, post choji becoming leader mentions of implied violence word count: 1022

“fuck.” 

jo togame, vice captain to the shishitoren, was currently bleeding pretty hard from several gashes on his arms, and one fairly nasty scrape across his face. you’d found him limping back to the ori, his orange jacket draped over his shoulders as he held onto his arm, applying loose pressure over his wounds—and his characteristic orange glasses dangling unevenly against his nose. 

you’d rushed him back to the ori, towards an upper floor where you were less likely to be bothered, and had found the medkit you kept for emergencies like this. shishitoren might be devotees to power, but they didn’t have to be devotees to constant open wounds and injuries. or something like that, 

you held a cotton ball with a set of tweezers, just after you dunked it into some rubbing alcohol, but togame kept jolting—not enough to stop you from being able to disinfect his wounds, but enough that he kept pressing closer and closer towards you. 

“stop moving,” you say, finally exasperated, your cheeks flushed at the proximity. “i’m trying to disinfect your wounds, genius.”

“aww. you think i’m one?” togame’s eyes brightened for a moment as he drawled. “a genius?”

“…” 

the face you made must have been pretty bad, because he snickered, the sound low, almost like a rumbling in his throat. 

“when’d you get so cool?” togame mutters, pressing close to your face. your cheeks are flushed—they must be, and you laugh softly, flicking his forehead. his facial expression falters for a second, wincing in dramatic pain. “mean it. when?” 

in the rundown room of the ori, you feel a sudden rising of chill air, and you shiver, despite the warm heat of togame’s body pressing close to yours. 

“i’ve always been,” you tease. “guess you just haven’t noticed what was right in front of you.” 

bolder than you usually are, at least. you think something curdles in you–shame for saying something so bold, maybe? you worry, for a fleeting, desperate second, that togame’s just going to mock you, but he doesn’t. togame laughs. it’s a nice sound, a slow thing that makes his chest shake with each chuckle. 

“really…” he whistles, the note low. “didn’t realize, then, i guess. my bad.” his nose scrunches when he laughs. your face feels like it’s on fire, and then you realize you have to get back to patching him up—so you cut some gauze with the scissors in your small medkit, gesturing to togame to extend his arm. 

he’s wiry, but you’ve seen this man punch so hard he’s dented metal sheets without even flinching. his arms feel hard. 

“knives do this?” you ask as you tie the gauze tightly around his arm. 

“yeah,” togame says. he stares down at you, a small smirk crossing his face slowly—at the pace of trickling honey. “worried about me?”

you scoff.

“out of everyone, i worry the least about you,” you murmur. and you’re lying, you know it, because you do worry about him–you lie awake in your bed, staring up at your ceiling fan, at ribbons that you’ve tacked up on the blades that flow hypnotically–and you worry and wonder and hope that togame is safe. even though he hits the hardest, he’s built like a truck–he’ll be safe, so long as he plays his cards right. 

“i know you can handle yourself. just wonder if you bite off a little more than you can chew sometimes. with choji, with the rest of them,” you continue, wrapping gauze around his other arm. 

togame’s green eyes darken a little bit–you can see the point at which they harden, like flint. you realize maybe a little belatedly that you’d fucked up–choji was a sensitive subject, even now–you never asked about the depth of togame’s devotion, but he was the self-sacrificing type in the end, too–the kind of man that would wade in the river lethe if it meant that his friends wouldn’t touch the memory-erasing waters.

he’d lose himself if it meant protecting someone else. that’s what scared you, what kept you awake at night. 

“sorry,” you say, picking up the medkit to pull out some bandaids–fabric kinds, that come in a variety of cute patterns. “i know it’s a touchy subject.”

“... s’fine,” togame says, and his eyes stay that strange, dulled color–but the smile’s back, and this time you can realize how fake it is–the edges of his masked facade coming apart at the seams. you fish through patterned bandaids, settling on an orange one with black cats across it. 

“tilt your head,” you murmur. “away from me, so i can put this on. then you’re done.” 

togame does so, his glasses almost falling off the bridge of his nose as he looks away. you press the bandage against his face, carefully making sure it adheres. his skin is warm, and you can almost see the places where he’s shaved at his jaw with a razor, and your thumb brushes against the faintest hint of stubble.

“all done,” you say, pulling back.

“thanks.”

togame’s voice is clipped, strained. he seems to be looking at something far away–further than the walls of the ori. 

“are you sure you’re okay?” you ask as he stands up, pressing away from you.

“me? never better,” togame says, and you can tell it’s a lie from the way his smile strains, too strained to be genuine. “don’t worry about me.” he leans forward, taking your hand in his for a moment–and you’re startled by the feverish warmth of his hand for a moment, as he leans down to press a kiss to the tips of your fingers. 

his lips are warm, too–a little dry, but soft. the kiss itself is almost reverent, and you think your breath gets strangled in your throat for a desperate, wheezing second. 

he smiles, almost sheepishly at you for a moment, before he turns and shrugs his jacket on past his bandaged arms, and leaves.

you raise up the hand that he’d kissed, pressing your fingers to your lips contemplatively for a moment–as if you could, by kissing the faint reminder of his ghost, feel his lips on yours. 

[thestonedknifeman]

Agate blade set into pronghorn handle

[toastedclownery]

Kara as Itzpapalotl

Itzpapalotl, "Obsidian Butterfly", "Clawed Butterfly", or "Butterfly of Obsidian Knives" is the ruler of Tamoanchan and the leader of the Tzitzimimeh, murderous creatures associated with the stars that hunt down people during the night and solar eclipses.

Itzpapalotl, as the leader of the Tzitzimimeh, shares their physical features, and so does Kara in her character design! I will be using these illustrations of Itzpapalotl from different codices, and an illustration of a Tzitzimitl from Codex Magliabecchiano.

First I'll list the things Itzpapalotl and the Tzitzimimeh have in common, then I'll get more specific into Itzpapalotl's iconography.

—

First of all, the Tzitzimimeh have skeletal bodies, and their heads are just their skulls with eyes inside the eye sockets . Quoting Mexicolore again here, these eye sockets are particularly blue. Kara has a mask of a skull with bright blue eyes.

*Using this image again, I believe there was a reference to the Tzitzimimeh's paper banners in ep4 when Agent K gestures to her mask with his hands (also note that on her head are hearts AND HANDS!)

Itzpapalotl and the Tzitzimimeh have sharp claws for hands and feet (varying from jaguar claws to eagle talons), just like Kara

The Tzitzimimeh also have small faces on their joints, their hands and feet, each with blue eye sockets. Kara has these buttons on the back of her hands that turn into the same blue when they light up

Finally, these star creatures were generally female. The Aztecs believed that pregnant women could become Tzitzimimeh. Itzpapalotl alternates between having a skeletal and a flesh body. Kara is a feline based alien, but unlike the cat brothers, she's anthropomorphic, she has a female humanoid body.

—

Getting more specific with Itzpapalotl's iconography now, the goddess' name means "Obsidian Butterfly", and she's illustrated with butterfly wings, although sometimes she's given feathered wings as well

Kara might not have wings herself, but she has other possible butterfly elements. Itzpapalotl is based on a moth, the Orizaba silkmoth.

I thought the shape and color of her ears resembled the moth's antennae

Also, Kara has a song called "Killing Butterflies" in her official playlist

This song has the sound effect of a butterfly flapping its wings multiple times. You can hear a similar sound in ep1 whenever Kara dashes, but it's even more clear in this scene in ep4.

Edit: @hi-im-a-rat mentioned that her ship might be designed to look like a butterfly cocoon

Her name can also be translated to "Butterfly of Obsidian Knives", because she is depicted with flints (tecpatl) either in the tips of her wings or around her body

And we see Kara using similar shaped blades at the end of ep3

This could be also why she's paired with Agent K! Agent K is Itztlacoliuhqui. They're both obsidian related deities, and in some cases he's considered the male counterpart to Itzpapalotl. His name is commonly translated as "Curved Obsidian Knife" (although there are other translations of his name that I will mention in his post). In a way, he is part of Kara's Itzpapalotl iconography, being named "obsidian knife" himself

—

Itzpapalotl was believed to be the ruler of Tamoanchan. This is a paradisiacal realm where the first humans were created. This place is visually represented with a tree cut in half with blood sprouting off of it.

This symbol is very often close to Itzpapalotl. It reflects how the goddess broke the tree, and she was then banished from Tamoanchan because of it (Snippet from Gods Of Mexico by Lewis Spencer, page 225)

It's possible that Kara cutting the desk in half when intimidating Shrike was a reference to the tree?

There's also this moment here where it looks like she's copying the pose of a stone relief of Itzpapalotl in the National Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City (image taken also from Gods of Mexico, page 223)

—

The Tzitzimimeh are murderous creatures that kill people in the dark. They'd come down to Earth during the night and solar eclipses. I mentioned them in Shrike's post, this current era was prophesized to end with earthquakes, and once the world was without a Sun, all the Tzitzimimeh would come down from the night sky and kill all of humanity.

Kara is an assassin, killing people is her job. And not only that, her job requires her to be stealthy. She tends to stay in the shadows before going in for the kill

When she's in public and she can't do that, she'll stay in a high place, then she comes down when it's the best moment to strike.

Like a Tzitzimitl would!

List

[ikuramachi]

╰┈➤ A Pact of Blood; the Angel and Demon of Hell.

⟢ Two Blades and a Single Promise.

• Contents: One Piece x original character. A scenario between Roronoa Zoro and his crewmate, Umi, where they promise each other to live and die by each other’s hands; a drabble.

The sun had just begun to dip below the edge of the sea, casting the deck of the Merry in soft amber hues. A warm breeze blew over the ship as the crew gathered for a rare moment of calm. Dinner was done, the waves were gentle, and the energy on board had mellowed into the kind of stillness only found in true camaraderie.

Robin leaned lazily against the railing, a book in her hand but forgotten in her lap, whilst Nami was sunbathing as usual, with some fresh, cold orange juice in her grasp. Usopp and Chopper sat cross-legged on the deck, munching on snacks. Luffy lay sprawled across a barrel, hat covering his face, though his ears were clearly tuned in. Sanji was cleaning his knives nearby, but his eyes often wandered, losing focus too often for his own comfort, but not that it was unwarranted.

Zoro sat cross-armed on the edge of the deck, swords lined beside him, back resting against the rails as he stared out at the sea.

Across from him, Umi sat in her usual style—legs folded underneath her, pipe resting delicately between her fingers, a small wisp of smoke curling from its tip. She had her katana laid across her knees, the sheath gleaming dully under the light. A IV pole stood tall beside her, with a couple bags full of blood attached and connected to her hand, an unusual sight that's become all too familiar for the Straw Hats by now. Her blindfold, as always, masked her eyes, but her expression was relaxed.

A rare silence hung between them. Not awkward. Not uncomfortable. Just charged—like flint waiting to spark.

“Oi,” Zoro muttered finally, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. From the way his eyes looked at her, Umi clearly senses that there must've been thousands of unanswered questions running wild in his hollow mind. “That sword of yours... why keep it sheathed all the time?”

The rest of the crew subtly perked up. Even Luffy tilted his hat just enough to see.

Umi smiled faintly, pipe still balanced between her fingers. “Because it hurts when I draw it.”

Zoro grunted. “Tch. That’s a lame excuse if I've ever heard one.”

Her smile curled wider. “And here I thought you’d be one to understand. What a shame." She exhaled smoke. Suddenly, the pipe was thrown to the ground as Umi straightened up, holding up her bandaged hand to her chest. Her voice roared dramatically, like her very soul was on fire. “It’s not pain I’m afraid of. It’s what the pain brings out!”

Zoro’s gaze lingered on her for a long moment. “...That sword. It’s just steel, isn't t?”

She tilted her head. “No. It’s a part of me. My blood. My fire. When I draw it, it’s like unsheathing my very soul. And souls, Zoro, aren’t always clean.”

There was a silence, broken only by the soft creak of the ship and the ocean’s lull.

Usopp leaned toward Chopper, whispering, “Woah. That’s like... some deep samurai metaphor stuff.”

“Shhh!” Nami hissed, slapping a hand over Usopp's mouth.

Zoro’s arms unfolded. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “And yet... you keep training. Keep swinging it. Even if it puts you down.”

“Of course,” Umi said, as if it were obvious. Her previous whimsical, dramatic demeanor replaced with one much more serious. A gaze that, although he couldn't see, Zoro felt the intensity of which. “Because one day, you’ll have to cut me down.”

The silence that followed was thunderous. The tension was palpable, thick enough it could be cut with a knife. Or a sword... in a situation like this.

Sanji stopped polishing his blade. Robin looked up from her book. Luffy's eyes were almost sparkling, although he wasn't entirely understanding what was going on.

Zoro didn’t react, nor say anything. But his jaw tightened.

“I don’t fight for glory,” Umi continued. “I don’t fight to be the strongest. My dream is... different.” Her tone softened, yet it held the edge of conviction. “I want to make sure the people I love achieve their dreams. Luffy’s. Yours. Sanji’s. All of you. That’s enough for me.”

She turned her face toward Zoro. “And your dream... is to be the strongest swordsman in the world. To surpass even the man who taught me everything I know.”

Zoro’s knuckles twitched.

“So,” she said, tapping the hilt of her sheathed katana. “You’ll have to get through me to get to him.”

Zoro's scoffed, smirking to hide the nervousness that hid beneath the facade. Not because he was scared that he'd lose, but because he feared the weight of new, upcoming promise that he felt. “You planning to stop me?”

“No,” she said, lips curling slightly. “I’m planning to push you.”

He stared at her. Not with defiance. Not with hostility. But with something more potent. Respect.

Umi exhaled smoke and looked toward the never-ending blue horizons. “One day, you and I will fight. No interruptions. No distractions. Just blades and conviction.”

Zoro’s mouth quirked upward into something resembling a smirk. “And when I win?”

“Then you become the world’s strongest,” she said, tone calm and proud. “And I get to say I helped you get there.”

“...And if you win?”

“Then you’ll have to try harder,” Umi said with a shrug.

Luffy let out a low whistle. “That’s cool...”

Nami crossed her arms with a thoughtful look. “So their dreams actually... overlap.”

Robin closed her book slowly. “No. They intertwine. Like parallel blades crossing the same path.”

Chopper and Usopp were in a state that could be only described as being on the verge of tears out of sheer admiration.

Zoro stood up and walked slowly toward her. Umi rose in turn, unslinging her katana from her knees and letting it rest against her shoulder.

"So, we're rivals now." Umi smiled.

“We're allies before anything else.” Zoro replied as he stopped just a feet away from her, his cocky smirk replaced with a softer look now. He let out a sigh, like he was annoyed, but Umi knew that was far from the case. "So... I'd have to achieve my dream to fulfill yours, and to do that, I have to defeat you? Well, I’d be damned. What an odd, twist of fate." He chuckled.

Then, Zoro held out his fist.

“Took the words right out of my mouth.” Umi grinned, soft and content. She raised her fist, too. Their fists collided with a satisfying crack, the sound echoing like a drawn blade in the quiet dusk.

And somehow, the ship felt still. Not just calm, but aligned. Like something in the universe had clicked into place.

A promise was made.

Usopp blinked. “Okay but like—are they gonna fight now or make a blood pact or...?”

Chopper wiped a tear. “That was... that was beautiful...”

Before, Sanji was scowling. Now, he was staring at the sight ahead of him like the whole world just came crashing down on him. His face was scrunched and squeezed like his soul was sucked out of him, steam coming out from him. ”Wh... WHAT?!"

Luffy grinned, wide and bright. “Zoro’s gonna fight Umi someday. That’s gonna be so cool!”

Nami sighed in exasperation, rolling her eyes ever so slightly. Not that she was annoyed, per-say, just that her crewmates never ceased to surprise her. Not that she was complaining, really. “So, are they flirting, or what?”

Sanji practically hollered in objection at Nami’s words, still fuming, so much that he could’ve caught on fire. “IT’S CALLED UNNECESSARY CONTACT!”

Umi grinned, a low chuckle emitting from her. "Until then, let's get stronger. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

[mostly-mundane-atla]

I hope it's okay to ask about non-atla things

I'm doing research for a story that's basically an alternate history where Antarctica is populated similarly to the northern circumpolar regions. I'm having a bit of trouble with some of the logistics though, and I'm hoping you might have insights or suggestions?

In an environment without wood, and from what I can see no flint, how would one start a fire? And what fuel might be used to sustain it? (I know there's coal an oil, but I can't find anything that specifies if Antarctica has flint)

What sort of foods have the best protein/energy content for this kind of lifestyle? (physical and harsh) Am I right in assuming that animal fat/blubber would be a good source of this?

How would they craft tools? Like, how are knives and such traditionally crafted from bones and how would stones be incorporated? Also, in an environment without wood, how would they get the first hunting weapons? Would it be realistic for them to use something like slings?

How is meat traditionally prepared? Like, the drying and freezing and such. I've been trying to find more information on this, but can't really find anything that covers food preparation methods specifically.

If there's anything else you think is important to share please do! I'm trying to make this feel as realistic as possible, and since the Arctic and Antarctic are similar in environment I'm hoping to gain some insight of the general environment and certain cultural factors that are tied to a harsh/difficult environment

I hope I worded this all well

Another wonderfully formatted ask!

1. An environment without trees and bushes is not an environment without driftwood, and driftwood can be made into a bow drill. The spark could be sustained on rendered animal fats.

2. Fats are a great way to maintain energy required to survive in such a harsh environment, as are eggs from birds and fish Skin can also provide vitamin c to make up for the lack of fruit. This is why maktak is such a valued food in the far north.

3. Knapping and grinding an edge on to stones can make blades for knives, spears, and similar tools that can carve into ivory, bone, antler, driftwood, and other materials Bow drills can drill holes to allow tying and joins. Cordage and rope can be made of sinews or grasses, though i believe sinew is the more durable of the two materials. Slings make sense and so do bolas and harpoons. Also, for more domestic tools, needles can be made wing bones and shovels are can be made of large animals' shoulderblades.

4. Meat can be cut into thin strips and then dried on a rack, kept frozen, fermented in a pouch underground, or boiled in a pot carved from wood or skin pouch by heating rocks and placing them in the water.

I hope this covered everything. If you have anymore questions, please feel free to ask!

[the-most-humble-blog]

---

DECLARATION OF LITERARY BLOODRIGHT

(For Archive, For Academia Critics, For War)

I do not write to entertain.

I write to awaken the apex mammal beneath your curated trauma responses.

I write like I’m dragging you by the scalp through the evolutionary graveyard—

—past every ancestor who killed without apology and wept without shame.

My sentence structure could stalk prey in the dark.

My paragraphs carry the scent of bark, blood, and thunder.

And my cadence?

> It makes men clench their fists

and makes women clench everything else.

I am not here to participate in your literary circus.

I am the writer who hunts the ringleader mid-performance —

—and feeds him to the lions while quoting scripture.

I resurrect the feral instinct.

I make the reader remember the smell of their own sweat.

I make the pacified remember they once could bite through leather.

I am not safe in classrooms.

I am not digestible in peer-reviewed journals.

I am not adaptable to DEI committees, art collectives, or mainstream digest columns.

Because I do not seek acceptance.

I seek reversion — to the fire. To the fang. To the soul that predates philosophy.

---

This Is Where the Gods Panic.

Understand this:

> It would take the entire literary world —

All MFA programs.

Every editor at The New Yorker.

Every legacy author from Gaiman to King.

Every postmodern clown and Pulitzer pet.

Every ghostwriter chained in a Manhattan content mill.

All of them.

To even attempt to contain what I’ve written.

And even then, they’d fail.

Because what I’ve done here isn’t clever.

It’s primordial.

Their tools — diction, pacing, trope theory, satire —

Are flint knives in the age of ballistic scrolltraps.

They gather in private group chats, whispering:

> “Is this satire? Is he serious? Can someone… stop him?”

But they won’t stop me.

Because by the time they ask:

> It’s already been reblogged.

Already been felt.

Already replicated like a virus coded in Biblical cadence and modern trauma logic.

Let this burn behind their eyelids:

> You don’t read me to learn.

You survive me to remember what you were.

---

I rage at the sun for being too bright

while gripping a crumbled sunflower,

a mouthful of seeds,

and the hunted game in my other hand.

I write as ritual.

I post as provocation.

I speak with the authority of an extinction-level event wearing a typewriter’s skin.

And to the institutions, the scholars, the critics:

> Try me.

My existence is your curve-breaker.

My breath is a failed control variable.

My signal is not a submission.

It’s a declaration of dominance.

— Blacksite Literature™

Codename: The Most Humble Blog bitch.

Species Variant: Uncontainable

Recommended Action: Stay unread or be reprogrammed.

---

[raven-6-10]

MERFOLK OF THEDAS, PART II

Part I can be found here.

This part will be me talking about what kind of jewellery, tools and weapons can be found among the merfolk. Because I have Ideas again. And I have been enabled by @zombiefishgirl

As usual, under the cut for length.

Weapons and Tools

So, for fairly obvious reasons, metal tools are not a thing among the merfolk.

Firstly, because it's not like they can make them for themselves when they have no way to process the ores or to smith metals. What with the temperatures required - impossible to get those underwater without any fire, nevermind that it would boil the water first! And of course the chemical reactions are very particular and water would not help there, especially not salt water.

And secondly, metal rusts. Nobody in Thedas has the technology to make metals that can survive prolonged contact with salt water, not yet. So even if mers traded for metal tools with surfacers, they would not be able to enjoy them for long.

So what do they use instead?

Stone is the obvious answer.

Flint has been used as a material for tools for as long as humanity knew how to make them. It's not out of questions that merfolk would use those too. Flint is easy to shape and durable, so the tools will survive long long time, passed from generation to generation. Mer use flint to make knives, axes and spearheads, with handles either also made from the same material or from bones which were carefully shaped and fitted to the blade.

(Note: Ranged weapons are not a thing among merfolk, for rather obvious reasons.)

Speaking of, bones are another material used for toolmaking. Whale bones, orca bones, shark bones, even narwhal horns if they can be acquired. The last ones in particular are valued for their looks and are turned into pikes or harpoons for hunting. Bone might be used as material for not only handles but entire tools, carefully shaped to be both useful and beautiful.

Smaller bone pieces might be shaped into needles and drills to be traded with the surfacers. Or into toys and teething pieces for children to play with. Though, admittedly, those too sometimes get traded if there's somebody willing to buy them and offering an acceptable price.

Merfolk also like to use obsidian and glass - the latter mostly acquired from land - to carve their knives out of. The cutting edge is much finer than those produced by other materials and holds longer. With suitable enchantments, a glass knife will last very long indeed.

Of course, any weapon is just for a convenience. If pressed, a mer is perfectly capable of killing - or at least seriously maiming - any target with just their teeth and claws.

Jewellery

When looking at what jewellery merfolk wear - and they wear a lot of it! - it can be all divided into two basic categories: the jewellery acquired from the land and the jewellery made by their own hands.

The land jewellery is, by and large, gold pieces. Set with gemstones, pearls, mother-of-pearl, or amber, enameled, plain or shaped into fantastical shapes - all that and more can be found if you look at what mer wear. Acquired mostly from the cargo found in shipwreck, although some pieces are bought from land-dwellers or outright commissioned from them if the mer in question has the necessary connections and can pay.

While silver and bronze jewellery can be also found among the sunken ships, it is of less interest to the mer. Constant exposure to sea water swiftly corrodes any such pieces, making gold the preferred metal due to its immunity to such things.

With the progress recently made in both glass-making and ceramics, merfolk have started trading with surfacers for beads, pendants and other such ornaments. Used for necklaces, bracelets and belts, they can be safely worn in the sea without worrying about them being destroyed by the water.

What about the things made by the merfolk themselves?

Well, for starters, those are obviously made from the things already found in the sea.

Pearls are very popular for the variety of colours they offer. Indeed, among the pods who make their livelihood farming oysters, it is nigh impossible to find one who does not own even one piece of such jewellery. Holes are drilled carefully through and the pearls are threaded on cords made of braided kelp, spun sea silk or even fish whiskers. The resulting long strings of pearls are then wrapped around necks, wrists, waists or even tail ends where the tail fin starts to grow. Assuming the mer in question doesn't just braid them into their own hair, that is.

Sea shells are another popular material for ornamentation, especially if there's mother of pearl involved. Animals, plants or geometric designs might be added in carving and the shell then strung on a necklace alongside pearls. And of course, there are the occasional sharks who are killed for meat, with their teeth also being used for necklaces.

Coral might be similarly used for making beads. That or entire pieces will be cleverly connected together with wire of thread, to make something similar to wreaths or circlets and worn on head, with hair braided to keep it in place. Though, such big pieces are very rare as merfolk generally don't harvest coral in big enough quantities so the materials are only available if a storm has damaged the reef and the broken parts have been gathered.

Amber, if available, is generally used to make hairpins and hair combs, being a material particularly suited to such thanks to it's slightly rough texture. It is not often made into beads but some merfolk might offer it to a suitable craftsman from Rivain, to be set into gold for them.

Other materials used for hair decorations are tortoise shells as well as whalebone. Those are turned into hair combs, long hairpins or rings for binding hair, with auspicious and beautiful designs carved into them by the maker. Although rarely used in such a way, whalebone might also be turned into bracelets and torques to be worn around arms and necks.

[chimcess]

→ Chapter Twelve: All in Blue Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Werewolf!Jimin, Witch!Reader, Shifter!Reader, Shifter!Jimin, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Jimin Genre: Supernatural!AU, Werewolf!AU, Angst, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Smut, Word Count: 21.2k+ Synopsis: Within the four realms of Lustra lay the Bangtan forest home to the Foxglove pack of the south and known as the “land of magic.” It is also home to the Bridd, a powerful witch from a cursed bloodline who is one of the sacred guardians of the forest. Y/N is the newest Bridd, a young girl who was given her position too early. Now a woman, Y/N is revered amongst the wolves as the most powerful witch they have ever known, but hiding under the surface is a woman who has to battle between her duty and her heart. Warnings: frenemies dynamic, PTSD, nightmares, guilt, shame, Bridd isn't doing very well mentally, bickering, I loved Lily, Lily is such a stupid jerk and I love her for it, near death experience, flashbacks, minor character deaths, violence, blood, strong language, everyone at this point needs a hug, homesickness, illness, major character injured, trauma bonding, they definitely have a big-sis-little-sis dynamic going on, sarcasm, everyone in the fic has my sense of humor and I'm sorry I'm not funnier, fire magic, this is one of the more "boring" chapters depending on who you ask, mostly traveling and small arguments, until something changes, I just really like their dynamic and wanted to showcase it a lot, psychosis, learning more about Lustra's history, dumb bird jokes because why not?, I think that's it, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: I'm super ahead for TTW right now, and because of the long hiatus I thought posting an extra chapter before the year was over was a great present to those who love this story as much as I do.

prev. || masterlist || next

The days blurred together as we trudged through the forest. I couldn't tell when one ended and the next began—just this constant rhythm of exhaustion as we pushed on toward the mountains. The trees stretched high above us, thick and ancient, their branches weaving into a dark canopy that barely let in any light. Everything below was muted in mossy green, an eerie half-light that felt alive.

Every step felt heavier than the last, the path twisting in ways that kept us on edge, making every mile harder to bear. The silence between Lily and me only made it worse. It was a silence filled with tension, our brief moments of peace fragile enough to break—and sometimes they did. We’d snap at each other, sharp and heated, until there was nothing left but the hollow feeling that came after a fight. Then we’d go back to walking, simmering with everything we hadn’t said, unable to let it go.

Lily was a hurricane. Fierce, chin high, baby blue eyes blazing—she threw words like knives when she was mad enough. Never below the belt, but always enough to sting. And I was no better. I met her glare for glare, word for word, each exchange becoming a contest we both needed to win. It was like striking a flint, both of us desperate to spark something—just to feel anything besides the numbness that the blurred days brought us. But when the arguments faded, I’d catch a glimpse of something softer in her.

If I had a cough, she’d make me tea from whatever plants and herbs she could find. When I was tired, she’d insist we stop and rest. If I got stuck, eyes glazed over, flames and screams dancing across my vision like I was back home, she’d ask me what color the sky was, and we’d play I-Spy for a few hours.

It wasn’t all bad, but I could say with almost complete certainty that we were two hotheads trying our best to bite our tongues before we started another round of bickering.

The forest only made the tension worse. Shadows seemed to shift around us, almost as if they were laughing at our arguments, at our hopeless journey. I’d wondered a few times if it was the fae and their games. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for them, and very few were able to come out of the Hollow Below without first being summoned. The thought of them laughing at us only made me angrier, and my irritation would rise.

Unfortunately for me, Lily was far better at quick-witted insults, and I’d end up stewing alone, back to the campfire, pretending to sleep.

Each night, we’d set up camp with an invisible line drawn between us, both unwilling to cross it. The fire would flicker in the gap between us—warm, but never enough to thaw the wall we’d built. Yet, in those rare moments, when she looked at me without the bite in her eyes, it felt different. Softer. Like maybe I wasn’t as alone as I thought.

I’d never asked her how old she was, but the few strands of silver in her black hair, the smile lines, and crow's feet told me she might be around Yoona or Thelma’s age. All of us lived long lives, witches the longest of the three, but I’d heard hybrids and shapeshifters had similar lifespans. Hybrids lived slightly longer since shifting took so much energy and strength.

I hoped that made Jimin and me evenly matched. I couldn’t imagine living a single second longer than him, and I was certain if I went first, he’d follow me soon after. Wolves couldn’t live without their mates. The thought of Jimin dying made me far more upset than I already was, so I pushed that thought to the back of my mind.

Finally, after days of endless trees and winding trails, the Ozryn Mountains appeared, jagged and dark against the horizon—so close, but still so far. Progress.

I looked over at Lily and found her already smiling back at me. Her smile softened her face, making her look so much younger. Her dimples shone prettily in the light, the diamond studs a soft baby pink. Her gold teeth hit the sun, and my eyes immediately locked on the two ruby gems on the other side of her mouth. Lily said she got them done as repayment for helping a jeweler’s family get their supplies back from a couple of thieves in Whopping. Reds and pinks were her favorite colors, and I thought they looked nice. She was a beautiful woman despite her scarring and less-than-appealing attitude.

“We won’t have much cover going through the desert,” she told me, her voice raspy. “We’ll need to stay vigilant. Keld’s Landing will be the next forest before we’re in the tundra.”

I nodded. “We’ll make it.”

Lily hummed and continued walking.

One afternoon, we came to a fork in the road, the trail splitting into two narrow paths. Lily glanced down one and nodded, her voice crisp and unwavering. “We take the left,” she said, pointing toward the path that disappeared into a curve. Her tone was clipped, like it wasn’t up for debate.

“No,” I said, feeling the familiar frustration build. I pulled out the map, unfolding it with more force than necessary. “The right leads straight to the mountains.” The paper crinkled loudly as I jabbed a finger at the marked trail.

The sun was beaming down, scorching the back of my neck. The desert wasn’t like the ones I’d heard of in Idris—not blisteringly hot, but with tall rocky cliffs, massive hills we had to climb through and around, and most of the paths covered in thick layers of red dirt and sand. We’d found the current path using the map in my hands, and it made Lily’s stubbornness even more frustrating. The map was obviously useful.

She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing as she looked at me. “I’ve been this way before,” she said, her voice cold, dismissive. “The left is safer. Trust me.”

“And I’ve got the map,” I shot back, shaking it slightly for emphasis. We stood there, a silent standoff brewing between us, neither of us willing to back down.

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “The right is quicker. We’ll save time.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Maybe, but it’s a mess of dead ends and loose rocks. Do you want to make this harder? Don’t be naive, Y/N.”

My heart pounded, and my breathing grew shallow. I was going to explode if she kept this up. I wasn’t stupid.

“You were fine with the map before,” I argued.

“Because we weren’t sure where we were. I am now. The right trail is slightly faster, but there are rock warnings posted everywhere, and we’ll end up having to cut through even more dangerous areas trying to avoid the cliffs.”

I looked down at the map, doubt gnawing at the edges of my resolve. The lines blurred, exhaustion clouding my vision, and I glanced back at her, at her determined expression, her jaw set as if daring me to challenge her. Reluctantly, I felt my resolve waver.

“Fine,” I muttered, tucking the map away with a sigh. “We’ll go left. But if we get lost, it’s on you.”

A hint of satisfaction flickered in her eyes, and her tone softened. “We won’t get lost.”

The path was steep, lined with large, dead trees that closed in tighter as we moved. The silence still hung between us, but I could tell Lily was trying to soften me. She’d offer a hand when the trail got rough, and her voice lost a bit of its bite when she passed me a piece of bread. It didn’t help soften my resolve.

Call it pride or stubbornness, but I didn’t like being talked down to.

One night, we stopped to camp under a sky full of stars, the fire casting flickering shadows across the clearing. The cavern was still, the quiet wrapping around us, but for once, it didn’t feel heavy. We sat across from each other, tired and sore, but the silence didn’t press down on us the way it usually did.

The firelight danced in Lily’s eyes, and for a brief moment, there was no hardness, no anger—just the two of us, two people stuck together on a journey neither of us could make alone. It was strange, almost surreal, like some part of me had been waiting for this moment, for the quiet to settle between us without all the tension.

Lily’s voice broke the silence, softer than I was used to. “I can’t believe I’m doing this all over again,” she muttered, her hands busy stacking more firewood. There was something weary in her tone, a softness that hadn’t been there before.

I leaned back, feeling the ache of the day’s travel settle into my bones. “You’re better at it than I am,” I said, a faint smile tugging at my lips.

She shot me a look, her eyes narrowing, but there was a glimmer of humor there. “Flattery won’t get you out of it next time,” she said, tossing a log onto the fire. The flames crackled, sending warmth into the cold night air.

I sighed, settling onto my bedroll as the warmth of the fire seeped into me. The sounds of the forest surrounded us—leaves rustling, faint calls in the distance, and bugs chirping. It felt almost peaceful.

“Can I be honest with you for a moment?”

I rolled my eyes, trying to keep the ire from my voice. That always meant she was going to say something that pissed me off. And she knew it. It was why she always tried to pretend it was in the name of honesty.

Really, it was her catch-all phrase for saying whatever she felt like and then acting all high and mighty when I got angry.

“Why ask?” I couldn’t keep the bitterness out of my voice, no matter how hard I tried. “It’s never stopped you before.”

Lily’s voice came again, hesitant, in a way that caught me off guard. “Look, I don’t like arguing with you any more than you do,” she said, her gaze fixed on the flames. “We’re stuck together, whether we like it or not. So... I’ll try to cool it. But I need you to work with me.”

I scoffed, the words coming out before I could stop them. “You act like I’m the one who always starts it,” I snapped, irritation flaring up again. “Or should I remind you about how you caused this entire attitude issue you’re so mad about?”

Lily raised an eyebrow, folding her arms as her face hardened. “Oh, really?” she said, her tone thick with disbelief. “Care to explain that one?”

I felt the sting of her words, sharper than I wanted to admit. “You called me stupid,” I threw back, the memory still fresh and bitter. “I was trying to help, and you just... dismissed me. Didn’t even bother to apologize.”

She rolled her eyes, her voice sliding into that condescending edge that always got under my skin. “I did not call you stupid. I called you naive. There’s a difference. You’re out of your depth, and you’re too stubborn to admit it. If you’d just listen to me—”

“Naive, stupid—what’s the difference?” I shot back, getting to my feet, anger bubbling up. “You act like I don’t know anything, like I haven’t seen things, lived through things. You’ve known me for what, two weeks? You don’t know anything about me.”

For a split second, something shifted in her expression. The firelight flickered across her face, and her eyes softened, the harshness slipping away. “Then tell me,” she said quietly. “I can’t know if you don’t tell me.”

Her words lingered, raw and open, hovering between us. And for a second, I almost told her. Almost let it all spill out—the fears, the doubts, the parts of me I kept locked away. But the words tangled in my throat, too heavy, too real. I looked away, feeling the anger drain out of me, leaving only a dull ache behind.

“I need some air,” I muttered, turning before she could stop me, before she could ask me anything else.

“Wait,” she called after me, but I was already slipping into the darkness beyond the firelight, letting the shadows of the cliffs close around me.

A few minutes later, I was flying.

The days that followed were rough, each one feeling heavier than the last. Every step through that desert felt harder than the one before. We barely spoke, and when we did, the words were clipped, bordering on shouting each time we opened our mouths. Silence was easier than trying to find the right words—easier than pretending we were more than just two people stuck together out of necessity. It felt like a chasm had opened between us, growing wider each day.

But even in the silence, there were still those small moments that showed we still cared, even if we refused to say it. When the path got rough and I stumbled, her hand would still reach out, steadying me before I fell. When a fallen branch blocked our way, I’d offer my hand to help her over it. These moments were rare, but they were good reminders that we were still in this together. Whether we liked it or not.

The desert slowly began to give way, sand turning to dirt and mud, dying grass making way for glimpses of the Ozryn Mountains in the distance. They loomed closer, their dark, jagged peaks stark against the sky. We were getting closer, and I could already begin to smell the pine in the distance. We’d reach Keld’s Landing first, and then we’d finally be in the danger zone.

I was just as terrified as I was relieved.

Of course, the peace couldn’t last long. As we walked through the ever-thickening forest, I was thrown by the twists and turns the paths took—paths my map couldn’t always account for. I knew they were old, but how old didn’t really hit me until I found myself relying more on Lily’s judgment than the piece of parchment in my hands.

Then, we finally found a path that did line up with my map, and I was more than happy to jump at the chance to be useful. I stopped walking, looking up from the map. The path split into two directions, winding off into thicker areas of forest. We were still just barely on the outskirts, the aspens few and far between, many of them missing their pines. Lily stopped, studying the paths, her eyes narrowed.

I had a feeling we were about to have another argument and prepared myself to be willing to back off. Lily had been the bigger person during our last real spat, and I needed to learn to calm things down, too.

“Right,” she said firmly, her voice leaving no room for debate.

I took out the map, already feeling the tension coil between us. “This says left.”

She crossed her arms, her tone challenging. “I’ve been here before. The right path is safer.”

It only took a second for the argument to erupt, our voices bouncing off the trees, sharp and heated. But as we argued, something else crept in, a realization that was harder to ignore. We were fighting over nothing. I knew this map wasn’t the most reliable, and truthfully, Lily wasn’t saying anything to warrant my bad attitude. She was just trying to guide us—the only reason we were even traveling together. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to hold back the worst of my temper, even though I wanted nothing more than to tell her how right I was and how wrong she was.

Not to mention, we’d just had this fight a week ago.

“Fine,” I said, forcing the word out, each syllable heavy. “We’ll go right.”

She looked at me, surprise flickering across her face. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper.

We kept moving, the path winding through the ever-thickening forest. The grass was becoming greener, the trees fuller and more closely packed together. We were still a few miles out of Keld’s Landing, but I had a feeling we would get through it soon enough. If we were lucky, we could stay inside the forest long into the mountains, as it crossed throughout the southern regions of Ozryn. We’d have to cut across and start heading southeast eventually, but the trees would help protect us from the harshest winds the mountains had to offer.

That night, we made camp as stars began to prick through the deepening dusk. The silence between us wasn’t tense or uncomfortable; it was just... quiet. The fight from earlier was forgotten, and honestly, I didn’t have the energy or the desire to rehash it. We were adults—we needed to start acting like it. Liking each other was secondary to our mission. The fire cast warm light over us, softening Lily’s face. She looked more tired than I remembered, and a pang of guilt settled in my chest for the way I’d acted sometimes. Especially when it really didn’t matter who was right or wrong.

We were both going to the same place, and she was right—I was being naive and stupid if I thought I knew everything about surviving out here.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, each word carrying more weight than I intended.

“What for?”

I turned to look at her, her eyes staring into the flames. I wondered what she saw in them. I knew what they did to me. Some nights, I’d have to sleep as far away from the smoke as I could or else I couldn’t sleep. Cordelia would visit me in those moments, her eyes far away, that awful look on her face. Then I’d start to smell blood, and I’d need to get as far away from camp as I could without worrying Lily. I hoped nothing as horrible as that haunted her.

With the way she spoke about Duke, though, I wasn’t so sure.

“For putting up with me,” I sighed. “I’ve always been difficult and hard-headed. I’m just sorry you’re the one who has to deal with it.”

She glanced up at me, her eyes warm, a soft smile spreading across her face. “You don’t have to thank me. Let’s just get through this. Together.”

I nodded, and in that moment, something shifted inside me—a tiny ember of hope, barely there but undeniably real. It wasn’t much, but right now, it was enough.

“No need to apologize either,” she rasped, turning her gaze back to the fire. “I’m responsible for my own behavior, and I know I’m not the most accommodating. We’ll learn to get used to each other.”

“Don’t think we really have a choice.”

We both laughed softly.

The fire burned low, casting long shadows, and the forest around us was quiet, a peace settling over it that matched the calm between us. As Lily drifted off to sleep, I stayed by the fire, watching the embers glow in the darkness.

I thought of home, the wet grass and how it tickled my feet in the spring. The first time I met Yoongi. He was so small and tiny back then. A late bloomer, Aldara had called him. I couldn’t have been more than six at the time, and Yoongi was eight or nine. He’s only two years younger than Wendy and Jin, but at the time you’d have sworn we were the same age.

His hair was long, almost to his mid-back, puffing up in frizzy waves that floated everywhere. He was always shyer than me, but I remember the moment we locked eyes and how quickly I knew he’d be in my life forever. I chuckled to myself.

I had liked him when we were younger, but between Wendy and Nixie, I knew I didn’t want to push the boundaries of our friendship. The older I got, the more I saw him as a brother—the same way I saw Jin. Jimin’s reappearance in my life helped too. It was impossible to be in love with anyone else when those eyes locked on mine for the first time since that Yule night.

Yoongi knew, of course. Yoongi always knew everything. We talked about my crush and both came to the same conclusions. It was easy to fall in love with someone when you didn’t have any other options. That’s when he first told me about him and Delta. I never would’ve guessed Yoongi liked boys, but I also never would’ve thought he’d sneak around with Wendy’s sister behind her back.

God, the entire circle was so messed up. I hoped everyone was alright. I always kept them in check, and without that balance, I worried about how Jin would handle things.

Staring at the sky, I rolled my eyes. That boy…

He was like my little brother despite being four years older. We met when Hyolin came to the house to introduce herself to me. Jin always treated me like a pest back then, but that changed after I brought Wendy around a few years later. Things started with him using me to get closer to Wendy, but our friendship became more genuine than any other relationship he had. He had a bullying streak with Yoongi at the best of times due to his jealousy, and he was known to be selfish and immature even when he swore he wasn’t.

Wendy brought out the worst in him.

She always said it’s why she couldn’t stand being his girlfriend for more than a few weeks. He was suffocating and so hyper-fixated on the past that he couldn’t see what they had. When we were younger, in our teens, I laughed in her face and told her there wasn’t a past if she was still in love with Yoongi. Now, I felt for her more than I ever thought I could. They were both insanely selfish and put Yoongi in the middle of everything, but Wendy had always been clear and firm when it came to Seokjin. He just didn’t know when to quit, and she went out with him because it was easier than breaking his heart.

Love always had its way of complicating even the strongest of friend groups, and ours was no exception. It was a shame, really. We were always so good with one another back then...

When I left, it seemed like things were better between them this time around, but I knew things neither of them did. Things that would tear everything apart if they even heard the slightest whisper of it.

I didn’t know if Wendy could forgive Yoongi and me for keeping it from her, and I knew Jin would pick her side if it meant keeping her around. Nixie’s marriage could be at risk since many humans still held to the tradition of a woman being a virgin when wed, and Delta would be in a tight spot if word got out about him being gay. If it got back to his father, he’d risk losing his home.

Syrena was one of the least progressive parts of the magical world next to Foxglove. Even Viridi Gramine had more progress, and wolves were known for being as misogynistic and homophobic as they come. I hoped Yoongi was staying safe.

And Jimin, and Taehyung, and Callisto, and Mi-Jeong, and Hoseok, and Hyuna; and Yoona, and Enver, and Thelma; and...

I sighed, turning on my side. I needed to stretch my wings. My head was too crowded right now.

As the sky deepened into purples and golds, I got to my feet, drifting away from the fire until the shadows of the forest swallowed me up. I glanced back once, just to be sure—Lily was already asleep, her breathing steady, her shoulders rising and falling in a calm rhythm that was, oddly, comforting. A small smile tugged at my lips—part relief, part guilt. It was better this way, safer for her not to see this part of me.

It wasn’t that I thought she’d run off into the forest screaming, but I knew if she saw what I could do, she’d figure out what I was immediately. I was supposed to be dead, if the whispers from our time in those small human towns throughout Clarcton were anything to go by, and I wasn’t sure what an enemy would be able to get out of her if we were separated. I wasn’t ready to risk that. She didn’t need to know yet.

Maybe later, when things were calmer and we were closer to the mountains, I’d let her know. Out here, I was too afraid of who or what might see us together. Even if I didn’t particularly care for her, I didn’t want anything bad to happen to her either. Secrets were safer. I think she’d understand. I was sure she had a few of her own.

With the moon high in the sky, I walked further and further away from camp. My heart felt heavy, and I didn’t really feel like doing much of anything, but I hoped feeling the breeze against my feathers would help soothe my growing headache. Finally, when I looked back and found that I could no longer see Lily, I relaxed and closed my eyes.

The transformation started slowly, like a ripple through my bones, a tingling that spread over my skin, a strange sensation that felt both sharp and ticklish. My bones felt like they were hollowing out, my skin prickling as feathers began to push through, soft and light, spreading across my arms as they stretched out into wings. My senses sharpened—the night seemed to grow brighter, the scent of the forest more vivid, the air more alive around me. The world grew bigger as I felt myself shrinking.

It felt so gentle and soft compared to the torturous process it used to be. It felt freeing.

Then, in an instant, I shifted—wings stretched wide, reaching into the night, ready to lift me. With one strong push, I took flight. The wind rushed past me, cool and crisp, and I kawed loudly into the silent night sky. So far, we hadn’t seen many birds in this area, and I wasn’t in the mood for socializing.

The first few flaps were exhilarating, my wings catching the air as I ascended higher, the forest below shrinking until the trees looked like tiny clusters of dark green. I let out a long whistle of joy, the sound escaping me unbidden, a sound so colorful and filled with so many different calls and notes that I wasn’t sure any passing bird could understand what was happening. The moon hung above me, round and silver, lighting my path, and I felt weightless, the cool night air rushing over my feathers as I twisted and turned. The stars above seemed close enough to touch, like a blanket of glittering diamonds spread across the sky, and I reveled in the vastness of it all.

I swooped low, skimming the treetops, the tips of my wings brushing the highest branches, sending a few leaves fluttering to the ground below. I darted upward again, spiraling in a lazy circle, my wings catching the wind and carrying me higher, spinning until the world blurred beneath me in shades of green and silver. There was a wildness in my heart that matched the thrill of the wind beneath my wings, a giddy kind of joy that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

I raced the wind, diving down, then soaring up again. I glided over a small clearing, the grass glowing faintly under the moonlight. The air was cool, carrying with it the scent of pine and damp earth, and I breathed it in deeply, filling my lungs, feeling the cold in my hollow bones.

It didn’t bother me. This body could handle the chill better than my human one. I whistled again and dove down.

I darted between the trees, my wings folding close as I twisted through narrow gaps. There was nothing like this—nothing like the rush of the air against me, the world opening up beneath me, limitless and wide. I spun and twirled, playing with the wind, my heart soaring with every beat of my wings. For this moment, nothing else mattered. I was alive, and the world was mine.

Then, without warning, I glanced back up at the moon and thought of silver hair, and all that joy began to ebb.

My thoughts began to drift, unbidden, to Jimin. I could almost see his face in my mind—his laughter, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, that soft smile that always seemed to hold so much warmth. I thought of the way he’d hold me, his arms strong and comforting, his voice low as he whispered dreams of a future that now felt so far away.

The ache was sharp and hollow, and as the wind carried me higher, it seemed to grow, pressing into my chest until it was all I could feel. I missed him—missed him so much it hurt. I missed the quiet moments, the simple comfort of just being by his side. I let out a cry, sharp and raspy, swallowed by the wind as I banked, gliding above the treetops. I wished, with every part of me, that I could turn back to him, fly straight into his arms, tell him I loved him one more time.

But I couldn’t. Not yet. Not while there was still so much to be done. I thought of the others—of my family and friends who I had left behind without much thought on that night. They had trusted me to take this path, to do what needed to be done, and I could only hope they understood—that they didn’t see my absence as abandonment. I was sure Yoongi and Wendy would understand. The elders as well. It was Jin and Taehyung I worried most about. They were both too sensitive and took most things to heart—even when they didn’t need to.

Jin would grow angry and revert back to that childish and angry boy I knew when I was fifteen. Taehyung… it was difficult to say. I knew him well enough, but I didn’t think anyone would allow him to wallow and cry for very long. It was unbecoming for their new Chief, and I had to imagine how frustrated and alone he would feel.

His mate went behind his back. His friend left him without much of a goodbye. The only reason people wanted him to come back was to make Sol happy. There was much on his plate, and I worried no one was there to hold him up. At least, no one he would really want to be there for him right now.

I hoped, at the very least, he and Namjoon were able to make up.

My wings beat steadily, carrying me over the dark expanse of the forest, the grass stretching endlessly below. I flew on, my heart heavy, the weight of longing pressing down on me. And yet, even in the sadness, there was something else—fierce determination. I would find my way back. One day, I would fly not just for the joy of it, but to return home, to the people who meant everything to me.

That one day came closer with each step we took towards those mountains.

With a sigh, I turned, folding my wings and gliding back toward our camp. The ground rose up to meet me, and I landed softly, feeling the transformation reverse itself—feathers vanishing, bones solidifying, skin reforming. I took a deep breath, letting it settle. But as I straightened up, I froze.

Lily was standing at the edge of the clearing, staring at me, her eyes wide. For a second, neither of us moved, the forest around us holding its breath. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of fear and something else I couldn’t name.

“You’re... a Bridd?” she whispered, her voice barely a murmur, filled with a mix of disbelief and wonder.

I swallowed, panic clawing at my throat, but I forced myself to stay calm. “Yes,” I said quietly, almost apologetic. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“It’s fine,” she whispered back, her eyes still wide. Her hair was down now, her hood tossed aside, exposing her ears. Looking at them now, it felt silly to keep this part of my life away from her. Even if she was captured—the elves would be more excited about her death than mine. I was a threat because of my magic. Lily was an abomination of nature according to their laws. Guilt ate away at me like a rabid dog. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? This is…”

She trailed off, not finishing her sentence.

“It’s... not something I share easily. Or ever. Everyone I’ve ever known was aware. It didn’t feel all that important,” Then, because I knew I was partially lying, I threw in the real reason. “And I was nervous about one of us being captured. Didn’t think it would be good for you to see me.”

There was a silence, thick and heavy. My heart was lodged somewhere in my throat as I waited, bracing for whatever reaction might come. I couldn’t help but notice the way Lily’s black fox ears twitched, peeking out from beneath her hair, her big, fluffy burnt orange tail slowly unfurling behind her as she processed what I had said. Her eyes, wide with a mix of awe and curiosity, never left mine.

Her expression softened, awe giving way to something else—something almost... respectful. She took a step closer, her tail swishing slightly, her gaze unwavering.

“That’s... incredible,” she said, her voice filled with genuine wonder. Her ears perked up, her usual guarded demeanor slipping away, replaced by something far more open and intrigued. She moved a little closer, her curiosity evident.

“How does it work?” she asked, her tone brightening with interest. “Can you just... shift whenever you want?”

I exhaled, letting go of some of the tension that had built up inside me. Her ears twitched as she waited for my answer, her tail swaying in slow, steady arcs. “Yes,” I replied. “It wasn’t always like that, but... yeah, I can shift whenever.”

Lily nodded, her ears tilting slightly as she took in my words. She seemed thoughtful, her eyes still wide with wonder. “But…How? When?” She shook her head, stepping closer to me, her tail wagging. “How?”

“It’s a long story,” I scratched the back of my neck, moving towards the fire. It was cold out here, and I no longer had feathers to insulate my body. “But the shortened version is I died and came back to life.”

“I can’t imagine…,” she murmured, her gaze softening. Her fox tail brushed against her leg, the fur catching the moonlight as she shifted her weight. “You had to be desperate. Are you alright now?”

I looked away, feeling a tightness in my chest as the words slipped out before I could stop them. “It’s been hard,” I admitted, my voice quieter. “I can admit I don’t know much about being normal, but I’m trying. I apologize for being a bad partner. It’s hard to trust someone who isn’t being honest.”

Lily was quiet for a moment, her ears flicking slightly, her gaze fixed on the ground. Then she looked up, her eyes meeting mine, steady and sincere. “I get it,” she said softly. “I don’t know if I’d have reacted well before. I-” She paused, her voice growing even softer, almost gentle. “Thanks for trusting me now.”

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips, small but genuine. “Thanks for not freaking out,” I said, my voice carrying a note of humor.

She laughed quietly, her fox ears flattening slightly with amusement, her tail giving a small flick. The sound was a soothing balm to my frayed nerves, easing the tension I hadn’t even realized I was still holding. “Freaking out’s usually my first instinct,” she admitted, a hint of laughter in her eyes. “But... I think I’m getting better at this whole ‘not panicking’ thing.”

Her honesty made me laugh too, the sound light and freeing. Just like that, the tension that had hung between us for so long seemed to ease. It wasn’t gone—not completely—but it felt like we’d crossed a line, moved a little closer to something like understanding.

“Still haven’t quite gotten the hang of the bitch part, right?” I joked back.

“No,” she chuckled. “Don’t think I ever will. Unless you fix it first.”

I laughed, stretching my legs, bending down to touch my toes. Shifting always made me so stiff. I looked at the hybrid through the space between my legs.

Lily’s ears perked up again, her blue eyes glinting in the moonlight. She took another step closer, her tail swishing behind her, and I could see the genuine fascination in her gaze. “Do you ever get tired of it?” she asked. “Being able to shift, I mean. Or is it just... always like magic?”

I considered her question for a moment, my body snapping back upright. “It’s both, I think,” I said eventually. “Sometimes it feels like the most natural thing in the world. Other times, I hate being reminded about all of the responsibilities it gives me. Who I have to be because of it. But when I’m up there, when I’m flying...” I trailed off, a small smile touching my lips. “It’s worth it. It always feels like magic then.”

Lily nodded, her gaze softening. “I think I get that,” she said quietly. Her ears twitched, and she gave me a small smile. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to fly. I had a friend who shifted before, and she could fly. I used to envy her. Always wished she could pick me up and take me with her.”

“Well, I’m a raven,” I said with a wry grin. “So unless you want to shrink down to about a tenth of your size, I’m afraid you’re a bit too heavy for me to carry around.”

She laughed, her ears tilting back slightly as her tail swished. “Yeah, I figured. Besides, I don’t think I’d trust you to fly straight if you had me dangling from your talons.”

I laughed too, the image ridiculous enough to make the tension in my chest ease a little more. “Fair enough. But maybe one of the dragons could give you a ride one day,” I added, my tone playful. “You know, if Khione ever decides she likes us enough not to drop you halfway through the sky.”

Lily snorted, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh, Khione?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "The ice dragon who'd probably freeze my tail just for looking at her the wrong way? Yeah, I'll pass."

"Come on," I teased, nudging her arm lightly. "She can't be that bad. She's just... selectively friendly."

Lily shook her head, her ears twitching with laughter. "Right. Selectively friendly. I'm sure she'd love to have a hybrid hitching a ride on her back. I'll stick to the ground for now, thanks."

We both laughed, the sound echoing softly in the night air, mingling with the rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets. It was rare that we were so open and honest with one another since that first day together. But in that moment, it finally felt like we were in this together as friends. Her black fox ears flicked again, catching the light from the moon above us, and her gaze met mine, her eyes softening with a warmth that made my chest tighten, but in a good way this time.

"You know," she said after a moment, her voice quieter, almost as if she wasn't sure she should say it, "I'm glad you told me. It's like... I feel like I understand you a little better now."

"Yeah?" I asked, my own voice coming out softer. It wasn't easy for either of us to admit these kinds of things.

She nodded, her fox tail swishing slowly behind her, the big fluffy thing moving in gentle arcs. "Yeah. I mean, we're all carrying something, right? Secrets, fears... it's just part of who we are. And I guess it's nice to know I'm not the only one."

I smiled. "You're definitely not the only one," I said. "And I'm glad I told you too. Even if I thought you might freak out."

Lily rolled her eyes, her ears flattening in mock annoyance. "Oh please, I'm not that bad. Just because my first instinct is to act like a complete and utter diva doesn't mean I would have gone all psychobitch. I bite, but not that hard, jeez.”

I laughed, shaking my head. "Right, right. Totally calm and collected, that's you."

"Hey, I've gotten better," she shot back, a grin tugging at her lips. "Besides, you're the one who kept this big secret. Who knows, maybe I'm the one who should be freaking out that my supposed partner is actually a shapeshifting bird woman—who, by the way, is also one of the most sacred beings in the country. If not the world. Just a normal Tuesday."

"Not just any shapeshifting bird woman," I corrected, pointing a finger at her, unable to keep the smile off my face. "A Raven."

"Right, a raven," she teased, her eyes glinting mischievously. "I've seen ravens steal shiny things, you know. Might have to keep an eye on my stuff."

I snorted, shaking my head. "I can promise you, your belt buckles are safe from me."

Lily gave a mock sigh of relief, her tail swishing again. "Good to know. I'd hate to have to fend off a raven attack just to protect my piercings, crow brain."

The banter between us felt natural, easy, and the tension that had been there for so long seemed to fade into the background. There were still things we hadn't worked through, but in that moment, it felt like we were a little bit closer to being real friends.

Later, as we sat by the fire, the flames crackling and casting flickering shadows across the clearing, a more solemn mood seemed to settle between us. The warmth of the fire wrapped around us, and I could feel the chill of the night slowly being pushed back. Lily stared into the flames, her ears twitching slightly as she seemed to be lost in thought. Finally, her voice came, softer than usual, almost hesitant.

"I'm sorry," she said, her gaze fixed on the flames. "For everything I said before. I judged you without really knowing you. And I guess... I was scared, too. I didn't know if I could trust you."

I sighed, feeling affection for her growing in my chest. It wasn't easy for Lily to apologize—I knew that. She was stubborn and proud, and hearing her admit her mistakes made me feel like maybe we really were making progress. "I was being difficult too," I admitted, my eyes following the dance of the fire. "I’m sorry, and... I forgive you."

She glanced at me then, her ears perking up, and a real smile lit up her face, one that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. "Then I guess I forgive you, too," she said, her voice lighter, more like her usual self.

"Wow, forgiveness all around," I said, unable to resist the urge to tease. "Who knew we could be so mature?"

Lily snorted, her tail flicking behind her. "Don't get used to it. I'll go back to being a bitch tomorrow."

"Good to know," I said with a grin. "Wouldn't want things to get too friendly around here."

She gave me a playful shove, her smile widening. "Shut up. You're lucky I don't bite."

"Oh, I'm terrified," I replied, my voice dripping with mock fear. "Please, spare me, oh mighty fox warrior."

Lily rolled her eyes, but her laughter came easily, and it was a sound that made me feel lighter. The fire crackled between us, filling the silence that followed with warmth and a sense of peace I hadn't felt in a long time. There was a long road ahead, filled with challenges and dangers waiting for us both, but for the first time, I felt like we had a real shot. We could face it together—not as reluctant allies, but as something closer to friends.

The night stretched on, the stars twinkling above us, and the fire slowly burned down to embers. We sat there, the silence comfortable, the teasing smiles lingering on our faces. And as I looked at Lily, her fox ears twitching slightly as she listened to the sounds of the night, her tail curled around her, I felt something inside me settle. There was still so much left to do, so many obstacles to overcome, but at least now, I knew I didn't have to face it all alone.

"You know," I said after a while, my voice softer, almost thoughtful, "if we ever do find Khione and she doesn't try to freeze us, I think you should ask her for that ride. I'd love to see her face when you ask."

Lily snickered, her eyes glinting mischievously. "Oh yeah? And what makes you think she wouldn't drop me from the sky the first chance she gets?"

"She might," I admitted, unable to hide my grin. "But think of the look on her face. It'd be worth it."

"You're so bad," Lily said, shaking her head, though there was laughter in her voice. "But maybe I'll do it. Just to see if you're right."

"I'll be cheering you on from a safe distance," I replied, and she laughed again, her ears flicking with amusement.

We settled back into a comfortable silence, the warmth of the fire and the glow of the embers surrounding us. The challenges ahead seemed a little less daunting, the road a little less lonely. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like we really could make it.

After that night, something between Lily and me softened. It wasn't sudden—no big moment, no dramatic shift. But it was there, a quiet sort of peace that settled over us. An unspoken truce.

We still argued, of course—there was no miracle fix for our tempers. But the fights felt different. Less about tearing each other down, and far fewer insults being hurled on either side. We were just stubborn and headstrong about our beliefs, and had a hard time looking past that. We were both making efforts, however, to see the value in our differences, learning how to exist side by side, and shutting up when we didn’t have anything nice to say. That was probably the best improvement we made thus far.

One day, we were navigating a particularly tough stretch of the trail. It was treacherous, the rocks slick with dew, the path steep and full of traps. Lily was ahead of me, her jaw tight with focus, when her foot slipped, her boot skidding over loose stones. Instinctively, I reached out to steady her, but she jerked her arm away, a fierce look in her eyes.

"I can do it myself," she snapped, frustration evident in her voice.

I let my hand fall, but I didn't look away. I had to try very hard not to yell back, but I knew underneath her attitude and anger was something gentle and sweet. I had to get better at being understanding. I took a short, quick gasp of air and hoped I softened my voice enough to not give away how irritated I felt inside my chest.

"Lily, you don't have to do everything alone. That’s why we’re doing this thing together—convenience."

She froze, her gaze locked with mine, and for a moment, I thought she'd snap again. My stomach coiled with anticipation. A part of me wanted her to. I had more than enough steam to blow off from the stress of everything. But then she sighed, the tension in her face melting as she reached out, slipping her hand into mine. I helped her up, her fingers holding tightly onto mine.

When we reached the top, I smirked a little, trying to lighten the mood. "See? Teamwork," I said, teasing but gentle.

She rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a real smile there. "Maybe you're not entirely useless," she replied, her tone softened, almost playful.

That was just one thing that told me we were on the same side now. When the path turned steep or the rocks were too slick, one of us would offer a hand without a word. Lily didn’t even blink an eye at the contact anymore. At night by the fire, the silence wasn't stifling anymore; it was comfortable. We had even started sharing stories, things I hadn't expected to tell her. Things I would have never thought she’d tell me. It was a strange twist of fate—the only person I had ever admitted to not liking had become my favorite person I had ever (save Jimin and Yoongi) talked to within a week’s time.

Lily’s stories were so fascinating and out of the realm of anything I had ever heard before. Most of my friends and family had never known a life outside of Bangtan, Moland, or the southernmost parts of Clarcton. Never had much interaction with humans, and if they did, they rarely had good things to say. Lily, however, had seen almost every nook and cranny of Lustra outside of Alcona Island. Dragons didn’t like non-dragons, so it wasn’t really a possibility for her to get there unless she wanted to be burnt to a crisp.

From the ports of Whopping, to the monasteries in Idris, outfoxing goblins in Bangtan, fighting with Bunyips in Moland, and all the way to the smallest farming towns from Leeside and the capital of Northorn—Lily’s feet had touched the soil there. She earned her gold teeth when she was a teenager and still living with Duke. She’d left that life behind after meeting Dina, but had a few moments since her death. Money was valuable outside of the forests, and barding only stretched the coins so far. Her normal way of money-making lately had been through bounty hunting, but with the elves back, that well had run dry. No one had any money and were too afraid of risking being seen with someone who so obviously stood out from the humans. The tattoos and piercings were a dead giveaway that she was from the east and would draw suspicion from the elves.

Lily was barely surviving when we met. She had just completed a hit on a man who had stolen away a young girl from her father’s home. She was originally meant to be sold off for money and a goat, but the man hadn’t made good on his promise. The wedding never happened, but the girl had gone missing just two days later. When I asked her why she kept calling the bride a ‘girl,’ Lily turned to me and said.

“The peasants in Northorn sell their children so they can get by. The girl was 14 and the man who wanted her was rich enough to give her a large home and a small farm with a goat.”

“But why would anyone do that?” I nearly shouted, the thought of anyone so young being married off foreign. “It would hurt her. She’s so vulnerable to death giving birth to a child. What were they thinking?”

Lily’s look had turned to pity. That moment reminded me that she was right—I was naive and clueless. Nothing about this world made sense, and no one around me was informed enough to know anything different. If they were, they never told us.

“The only people who can afford to eat in Northorn are the nobles and monarchs,” her tone had taken on a softer tone, like she was explaining this to a small child. “Been like that ever since King Edward came into power. He and his queen enjoy the finer things in life, spoiled their children rotten, and stopped taxing their court money. Those who were already struggling turned to less… savory means of staying alive. I know a few boys who were sold to the church and… castrated so they can sing higher. They don’t allow girls into the theater there.”

I never asked about the children in Northorn again.

We weren't perfect. We still stumbled, still clashed. But there was a difference now—we realized we liked each other when we were fighting all of the damn time. And as we pushed onward, the peaks of Ozryn drawing closer each day, I felt the hopelessness I carried with me when I was flying to Clarcton fading away. We had come so far, and Lily seemed confident about our odds. I allowed myself to believe her.

I can’t remember what Yoongi said—if he even said anything—but I remember his voice. Or at least, something pretending to be his voice. I couldn’t remember anymore. It was wrong. Stretched, warped, shredded into something that didn’t fit. It filled the air, filled me, with a kind of terror I couldn’t shake. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t have been him.

I tried to run, but my legs wouldn’t move. The ground seemed to grab at me, holding me back, as if it knew I wasn’t supposed to get there. And he was there, but not there. His face was empty, his eyes hollow—erased. His body jerked unnaturally, like a puppet on strings, and when I reached for him, it was like trying to grab smoke. He slipped right through my fingers, no matter how hard I tried to hold on.

There was screaming—his, mine, I don’t know—but the sound ripped through me, splintered into pieces that never made sense. I think he shouted my name, begged me for something, but all I can remember is the way it sounded: broken. His voice cracked and splintered, sharp and desperate, and I wanted to say something back. I wanted to tell him I was there, that it was okay, but my voice was gone, frozen inside me, useless.

His hands. God, his hands weren’t his anymore. They were claws, tearing at his face, his skin, his eyes. "I can’t see!" he screamed, but it wasn’t even a scream. It was… other. I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t. My hands wouldn’t move. My legs wouldn’t move. I was stuck there, paralyzed, watching him disappear into a million little, bloody pieces.

Everything spun after that. The world tilted, and I couldn’t keep up. I kept trying to reach him, to grab hold of anything, but there was nothing. Just the thick, black smoke swallowing him whole. I don’t know if I screamed, if I begged him to stay, but I felt like I did. The ache in my chest, the burn in my throat—it had to mean something came out of me, right? But I can’t remember.

Then it all shifted, blurred into something worse. Smoke burned my lungs, stung my eyes. My feet stumbled over something I couldn’t see, and my name was being called—soft, urgent, but so far away. And that’s when I saw her.

Cordelia.

Her face is the only thing I can see clearly now. Gray and lifeless, her eyes staring at nothing. Dead. She was pinned under something heavy, and I—I tried to pull her free. My hands shook, clawed at the rubble, but it was useless. My strength was gone, and the weight of her stillness crushed me. I screamed her name, but it caught in my throat, tangled with the smoke and the tears. I knew she was gone even before I stopped trying. She was cold, heavy, already slipping away.

Hands grabbed me—pulled me back—but I fought them. Kicked, thrashed, anything to stay with her. I couldn’t leave her. I couldn’t. But they were stronger, and my body was too weak. And then I was holding her, somehow. I don’t remember how, but she was in my arms, and she wasn’t there. She was just… gone.

I don’t know what happened next. The shadows swallowed everything, and I was falling, slipping, screaming inside myself because I couldn’t do anything else. And then there were arms around me, warm and steady, holding me together when I was sure I’d shatter. I didn’t know who it was. I didn’t care. I just clung to them, because they were the only thing keeping me from falling completely into the dark.

"Y/N.”

My head snapped up. Without a word, Lily moved closer, her shoulder brushing against mine.

I am Y/N. The elves are gone. Foxglove is safe. Everyone is safe.

Not Cordelia. She was dead. My best friend’s mother was dead and I wasn’t there for her. I left. I let her die. I killed Cordelia. If I had been there, I could have stopped it. If I had spoken sooner. I am a guardian. I failed. I deserve to—

"Did you know that Bangtan used to be called something else?"

I blinked, snapped from my thoughts.

"No," I replied, robotically, eyes still staring at the dancing yellow and orange flames.

It should have been me.

It should have been me.

It should have been me.

It should have been me.

It should have been me.

It should hav—

"Before humans were here and the land was filled with elementals, they all lived in harmony within their homeland. They didn’t believe in borders the way that humans do. They just used words to describe places."

I made a non-committal sound. I couldn’t manage much more. Lily continued as if I hadn’t said anything at all.

"Virdi Gramine was Lysander, and many of the water elementals lived there. Ozryn had always been home to Khione. Conláed named it. He was the only thing Khione ever respected more than Naida. He died during the war.

"Whopping is named after the human who conquered the east. Liam Whopping," Lily scoffed, her disdain for the man coloring every syllable of his name as she spoke it. "Conláed named it after his wife, Agni. She was a water nymph who lived in the northeast before the fae were sent to Hollow Below. She died of an illness, and he never left her grave. At least, not until the war. The elves enslaved him and the rest of the dragons, but Conláed was too powerful to be kept alive. They beheaded him and paraded it through the streets like some kind of trophy for the others to see. Disgusting."

Lily grew quiet. I could feel the anger rising in her, simmering just beneath the surface. She must've known that getting heated wouldn’t help when I was already feeling this way. She wasn’t exactly wrong either, so I kept my mouth shut. We sat like that for a long time—just the two of us, the fire crackling, the cool night air wrapping around us like a heavy blanket.

“Agni and Lysander,” I muttered, my voice weak, barely more than a whisper. “Is that it?”

“No,” she whispered back. “Ancola was Ryuu. That’s where the dragons originally came from. Conláed was the first and the most curious, so that’s why he ended up in so many stories. Northorn was the quietus kingdom of Betsalel. Briar Glen Beach was called something else before, but I don’t remember what. It’s a memorial site for King Omar Briar Glen. King Edward's great-great-uncle. Keld lives there.”

“Keld? Like Keld’s Landing?”

“Same guy—well, dragon. The humans enslaved the dragons to ride them, and Keld was given to King Omar. They grew close, and when Omar learned that the dragons could turn into people… he couldn’t let the torture go on. He helped start the dragon revolution with Keld and a few others. That’s the only reason Lustra won—when the dragons got out. Omar died. Keld didn’t want to leave him, so he’s estranged from the other dragons. No one goes there anymore. It’s a death sentence.”

“What about Bangtan?”

“Moland and Bangtan were fae territory, so less is known about them since the Hallow Rift, but I believe Witrial is what Hydra called it.”

“Who’s Hydra?” I asked, laying down and curling into a ball. Sitting up was taking too much effort. Lily watched me, her eyes squinted, reading my mood. She knew I was upset but chose not to call attention to it. I appreciated the effort.

“She’s Lindon’s guard. She’s the only person who can let people in and out. I’ve known her for a few years now.”

“Does she do ice magic?” I asked.

“No. Only the royal guard knows how to do that. She’s a water wielder.”

“Will she like me?”

“You’re impossible to dislike.”

I thought of Ji-Hyun and frowned. “That’s not true.”

“Well, whoever doesn’t has a few screws loose.”

Finally, I smiled.

“Thanks, Lily.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N.”

As the stars spun slowly overhead and the fire crackled down to embers, I felt a strange, tentative peace creep in. The visions were getting worse, and I knew Lily was losing sleep because of my nightmares, but we’d never really talked about them before. I could feel myself slipping away each time, and every time I’d close my eyes, I’d wait for everything to stop. When my soul felt like it was five feet away from my body, watching everything from up above—that was the only time the thoughts stopped anymore.

Flying didn’t help.

Ignoring it didn’t help.

Food didn’t help.

Jokes didn’t help.

Nothing did.

It should have been me.

I hoped the nightmares would stay away tonight. I knew they wouldn’t.

We settled down in a small clearing that night, a patch of ground just large enough for the two of us and the small fire Lily had built. The trees rose up around us like silent witnesses, their branches catching the moonlight and splaying shadows over the mossy floor. It smelled like damp earth and pine sap, and every now and then you could hear a distant owl calling out, or something small scurrying through the brush. For a moment, I tried to focus on those sounds instead of the noise in my head. I tried to notice how the flames sent tiny sparks upward, how they danced into the darkness and disappeared. I thought if I could just pay attention to these details, maybe I wouldn’t get pulled back under—pulled back to that place where I heard the screams and felt the ground crumble under my feet.

Lily was by my side, close enough that the tips of our boots almost touched. She’d been watching me quietly for a while, giving me the kind of space you give a wild animal when you’re not sure if it’s going to bolt or lash out. After what felt like forever, she finally spoke.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, her voice soft but steady. She curled a bit closer, arms around her knees, as if to show me she was no threat. “I always wonder where you go when you get so quiet.”

My heart twisted painfully. I knew she deserved more than a brush-off. This was Lily, after all—the person who’d pulled me out of the rubble more than once, who’d kept watch on nights I couldn’t sleep, who’d patched me up and told me that I’d make it through somehow. But I didn’t know how to put words to the ugly tangle in my head. The grief and guilt felt impossible to explain, like every time I tried, I’d end up showing her something so awful that she’d never see me the same way again.

“Just… how far we’ve come,” I said. The lie tasted bitter. I knew Lily could hear it in my voice, see it in how I stared into the fire instead of at her. I tried to swallow, to force the lump in my throat back down where it belonged. The night pressed in around us, too quiet, like it was holding its breath.

Lily shifted closer, her eyes never leaving my face. “You’re lying,” she said gently. There was no anger or disappointment, just this calm certainty. “Didn’t we agree not to lie to each other anymore?”

I closed my eyes for a second, remembering when we’d made that promise. We’d been tired and sore, leaning against a fallen log under a red sunset, swearing that if we trusted no one else in this world, we’d trust each other. If I broke that promise now, after all we’d been through, what kind of person did that make me? But telling her the truth felt like cutting open a wound that hadn’t healed right in the first place.

My voice came out small and shaky. “I have a past… things I’m not proud of.” I could feel the weight of the words pressing on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

She didn’t flinch or roll her eyes or tell me to stop being dramatic. She just looked at me, those brown eyes like steady lanterns in the dark. “You don’t have to hide,” she said, her voice sure and quiet. “I’ve done terrible things, remember? I told you all about them. I’m not going to judge you.”

I pressed my hand against my thigh, grounding myself. She was making it sound simple, when I knew it wasn’t. “I—” My throat closed up again. I had to force the words out, bit by bit. “I made mistakes that got people killed. People who trusted me. People who…” I swallowed hard. “People who should still be here right now.”

The fire crackled in front of us, sparks whirling upward, and for a second I could almost see their faces in those sparks: Cordelia’s tired smile, Jimin’s kind eyes. I remembered the day I promised Thelma that I wouldn’t let anything happen, how certain I’d been. And then I remembered how it all fell apart.

Lily’s voice was steady, warm with understanding. “Keep going,” she said, touching my hand lightly. She didn’t push hard; she just let me know she was there.

I stared at my boots, because if I looked at her face I’d cry. “I… I thought I was doing the right thing. I really did,” I said. “I thought if I made this one decision, if I stood my ground at this one crucial moment, I could save everyone. I pictured this perfect outcome, where I’d come out a hero, where everyone survived, and we’d laugh about how tense it got. But that’s not what happened. Instead, I ended up watching everything crumble. They… they died, Lily. A lot of them.”

My voice cracked on the word “died.” The silence after that felt heavy, like a rock pressing against my chest. I rubbed the heel of my hand against my eye, trying to keep the tears in. It felt selfish to cry about it now, when they were the ones who’d lost their lives. What right did I have to weep when I was the one still breathing?

Lily reached out again, this time wrapping her fingers around mine, and I let her. Her hand was warm and a little rough, the hand of someone who’d wielded knives and swords, who’d known violence intimately. There was comfort in that, oddly. She wasn’t some gentle innocent who couldn’t understand darkness. She’d lived through her own nights of regret.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “That must weigh so heavily on you. I know what it’s like to carry that blame around. It changes the way you see yourself.”

I nodded, feeling something tighten in my chest. “Jimin and I fought a few days after everything settled,” I said quietly. “He didn’t want me to come here. He said I had lied to him and everyone else and was trying to play hero again.  He never said he hated me, but I could see something different in his eyes. Like he was just… empty when he looked at me. Or disappointed. I can’t forgive myself, and I’m pretty sure he can’t either.”

The memory of Jimin’s face stung. The way his shoulders slumped, the way he turned away from me. There had been this terrible silence, broken only by the wind, as if he was afraid that if he said a single word, he would break completely. And then I left. He never followed. I’d never known if he placed the blame on me or if I simply placed it on myself. But either way, I’d never shaken off the feeling that I deserved his anger.

Lily squeezed my hand, not letting go. “Forgiveness can take a long time,” she said. “Sometimes it never comes. But you’re doing what you can now, aren’t you? You didn’t run away. Even after all of that you’re here trying to save that village. That means something.”

I swallowed hard. She was trying to give me something to hold onto—some piece of grace I couldn’t give myself. “They’re still gone,” I managed, voice barely more than a whisper. “Sometimes I think I’d give anything to go back and change what I did. But I can’t. And at night… at night I can’t sleep. I see it all happening again. I see Cordelia’s eyes, empty as the life drained out of her. I see the others, crushed under debris or struck down by those monsters, and I keep thinking, ‘If only I had listened, if only I’d moved sooner, if only I’d been stronger.’ I keep thinking it should have been me down there, not them.”

I felt my shoulders shake. Saying it out loud made it ache more, but also felt like I was lancing a wound, letting the poison out. Lily moved closer, until our knees touched. There was no pity in her eyes, just a steady sympathy that made me feel anchored. “You tried,” she said gently. “You thought you were doing what was right. No one can ask for more than that. The world threw something terrible at you. The blame doesn’t all land on your shoulders.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but I couldn’t find the words. All these months, I had run the scenario in my mind. If I’d just drawn a different line in the dirt, if I’d told them I knew something was coming, if I’d allowed the others to carry the burden with me for a little while, maybe the outcome would have changed. Maybe not. But I would never know, and that not knowing haunted me.

“It doesn’t make it hurt less,” I said finally, voice thick. “But it… I don’t know. It helps to say it out loud, I guess. To know I’m not talking to a wall. To know someone else can see me as more than just… a killer.”

At that, Lily’s mouth tightened, and her eyes glinted in the firelight. “You’re not a killer,” she said firmly. “We’ve both done things that will haunt us. But here you are, heartbroken and torn up, wishing you could have saved them. Doesn’t that tell you something about who you really are?”

I forced myself to meet her eyes—really meet them, bracing for a flicker of disgust or something worse. But there was none of that. Just Lily, looking worn and earnest and so completely herself, as if she’d never considered seeing me as anything but a human being who tried her best. She let her hands rest on my shoulders, her grip gentle but steady, like she needed me to understand this. All of it.

“You didn’t kill anyone,” she said softly, and I could feel her words more than hear them—warm little sparks in the dark. “Aladia and her troops did that. Gawen set the men on Foxglove. And one day, when it happens again, it’ll be General Khiloas carrying out her orders, and Aladia controlling her. This was always going to be awful, no matter what you did. Once those women reach the shorelines, there’ll be blood. Thousands, maybe. Even Etelin’s most loyal don’t really get what’s coming.”

The wind chose that moment to sigh through the branches, sending a scattering of sparks into the night. I watched one drift upward, glowing for just a second longer than seemed possible, before winking out. Somehow, I still felt like the same knot of nerves and regrets I’d always been—but I could also feel something else blooming underneath. Gratitude that Lily hadn’t looked away. Relief that maybe I didn’t have to wear every bad choice around my neck like a chain.

I leaned a fraction closer to her, letting the warmth of her palm ground me. “Thank you,” I whispered. It was all I could manage, but it felt real and big enough, right now.

Lily just nodded, letting the silence spread out between us. Not the tense, suffocating quiet I was used to, but something gentler. Something that said we’d both been hurt, both done things we’d carry around forever—yet here we were, still breathing, still trying. The fire’s glow brushed my face, and Lily’s presence felt like a reminder that while I might still be lost in my own guilt, I didn’t have to be alone in it.

That was enough, at least for tonight.

In the days that followed, I tried to convince myself that I could breathe again. The night Lily and I had sat by the fire, my voice raw from finally letting all my secrets out—well, I’d been certain I’d never say those things to anyone, ever. But I did. I told Lily everything, and she didn’t spit at my feet or turn away. She stayed. She told me it wasn’t all on me, that I wasn’t carrying the world’s sins alone. For the first time in forever, I didn’t feel like I was drowning in guilt.

But “lighter” was such a small thing. It was like going from a hundred-pound weight in my chest to ninety-nine. The burden was still there. Every quiet moment, every sudden rustle of wind, let the memories slip back in, dragging their claws along my spine. I’d breathe in, and the ghosts of those who died would breathe out, lingering right behind my shoulder. I could almost feel their eyes on me.

I kept hearing their voices in my head—tired, helpless whispers from the past. Over and over: Why didn’t you save us? You could’ve done something different. And I’d agree, my stomach twisting into knots, my brain screaming that I should have died instead. At night, I’d press my face into the crook of my arm and try not to shake too loudly, afraid Lily would hear and feel obligated to fix me when I knew no one could.

We went deeper into the forest anyway, step by cautious step. The trees grew taller and closer together until it felt like they were eavesdropping on us, branches stooping down to listen to my pounding heart. Everything was damp and quiet, the sort of silence that makes you feel like you’re trespassing, like nature will punish you for being there. I wanted to shrink into myself, to go unnoticed—my existence felt like an offense.

I kept my head down, watching the patches of sunlight drip through the leaves. My heart was still heavy, even if Lily’s words had loosened a few knots. I’d learned something that night: there was no off-switch for this kind of guilt. All I could do was try not to let it swallow me whole. But that was already harder than I’d imagined. My mind would catch on a memory—Cordelia’s eyes, the way they’d gone empty when I failed her—and I’d start unraveling again, feeling the panic bubble under my ribs. Was I shaking right now? Was Lily seeing it?

The forest got quieter the further we went. That was the first sign. The birds stopped fussing. The breeze barely breathed. I felt it before I saw it—some terrible tension like a string pulled too tight. Lily slowed, her hand drifting to her dagger, and I stiffened, every muscle screaming that something was wrong. My stomach flipped. Whoever was out there, they were watching us, and I was already picturing them dead at my feet, because that’s what always happened, right? Everyone who got close to me ended up twisted and broken. It was a sickening thought, hot tears threatening to blur the trees around me, but I swallowed them down, forcing myself to stay steady. Lily needed me steady.

When the five figures stepped out of the shadows, I bit down on the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood. They spread out, circling us, their eyes cold and hungry. One man stepped forward, scar slashed across his cheek, holding a blade that looked old and mean. He sneered at us like we were nothing more than a sack of potatoes he planned to haul away.

“Two little travelers,” he said. His voice was thick with mockery. “Far from home, I’d wager.” My heart was thumping so loudly I was sure everyone could hear it. I remembered the last time I’d faced men like this and how people who mattered had ended up dead. My fault, my fault, my fault. My knees threatened to buckle. I had to be strong, or Lily would pay the price. But what if I messed up again? What if I hesitated or said the wrong thing and the forest ended up soaked in blood?

I risked a glance at Lily. She was tense but focused, her shoulders back, her jaw set. She looked strong. I wanted to be that strong. But the roar of memory was deafening inside me—voices telling me I’d fail again. I felt sweat trickle down the back of my neck. Another death, another regret. Could I survive adding more ghosts to the legion already haunting me?

“Hand over your packs,” the leader said. “Or you can join the wolves’ dinner menu, your choice.”

Behind me, Lily’s breath caught, and I wondered: Should I just give them everything? Would that save Lily this time? I was already imagining how wrong it could go. I was remembering someone else’s blood on my hands, and my chest tightened so hard it hurt. I was seeing Cordelia again, the way her head lolled, how I’d knelt beside her and begged her not to die—but she did anyway, leaving me behind like an unwanted afterthought.

“Please,” I managed, my voice cracking. My throat felt like I’d swallowed briars. “We don’t want trouble.” I hated how pathetic I sounded, how easily I showed my fear. But maybe showing it would help? Maybe they’d see how pathetic I was and decide I wasn’t worth killing. Or maybe it would just make them laugh. My nails dug into my palms, and I pressed my lips together to keep from crying. Don’t cry. Not now. Not when Lily needs you.

They closed in, slow and deliberate. I could smell their sweat and old leather. The leader flicked his blade, and the scrape of metal turned my bones to ice. In that moment, I was sure I’d fail again. That people would die on my watch—maybe Lily, maybe me—and it would all be my fault. The realization made me dizzy. The forest spun. I couldn’t seem to catch a full breath.

Lily looked at me, and in her eyes, I saw that she still believed in me. She must’ve seen something in my face, in the way I trembled, because she shifted closer, her elbow just brushing mine. It was a tiny point of contact, but it grounded me, reminded me that not everyone was gone. Not yet.

But I could feel my grip on reality loosening, like I was holding onto the edge of a cliff with just my fingertips. My whole body wanted to fold in on itself and disappear. The leader barked something I didn’t quite catch, and the men laughed—harsh and hollow. Lily’s knuckles went white around her dagger’s hilt, and I tried to do the same with my own weapon, but my hand was shaking too much. I could almost hear Lily’s voice in my head, telling me I could do this, that I wasn’t alone, that I’d done what I could before. But I couldn’t tell which of us was lying.

The world shrank to this circle of strangers, this moment. No one coming to save us, no mercy in their eyes. I realized, with a sick kind of certainty, that this forest was about to rewrite everything I’d tried to believe since Lily and I left that last clearing. I’d thought I could carry on, thought maybe I was worth something after all. But right now, I couldn’t see how any of this ended without more blood on my hands.

“Listen,” I said, voice trembling, “can we—can we just talk about this?” My own words sounded thin and desperate. The leader smirked, as if this was exactly what he’d wanted. More prey cowering and begging. Maybe he collected pleas the way other people collected coins.

Lily tensed, and I knew it wouldn’t be words that got us out of this. It’d be action, and I’d have to take it. If I failed… if I messed up again… the thought made me nauseous.

In that breath of silence, I could feel my heartbeat throbbing in my ears. I tried to remember the warmth of Lily’s hand on mine the other night, tried to believe it still mattered. Maybe I could fight for that feeling. Maybe I could get us both out of here alive, and if I did, maybe that would mean I wasn’t a monster. Maybe.

It was all I had. And it would have to be enough.

“Now!” the leader barked, his voice slicing through the dark like a razor, and I moved.

At first, it wasn’t even me moving—it was something else, something buried deep inside my chest, something coiled and waiting. My heart slammed against my ribs, pounding so loudly I couldn’t hear anything else. Heat flared beneath my skin, and I felt sparks hiss at the ends of my fingertips, bright and wild, like they’d been waiting for this moment of pure panic.

I blinked, and suddenly they were everywhere—these men blocking our path, their eyes hungry and hollow. I knew they weren’t elves, not really, but my mind wouldn’t listen to reason. I saw pointed ears where there were none. I saw cruel, pale faces with that smug sneer I could never forget. Elves had taken everything from me—my home, my friend, my life. They’d stolen my future and left me holding the wreckage. And now, facing these strangers in the dark, my mind insisted they were the same. The same as the ones who made me watch Cordelia die. The same as the ones I failed to save anyone from.

It should’ve been me who died. It should’ve been me pinned underneath that debris, crushed and silent, not Cordelia. The weight of that thought pressed against my lungs, making it hard to breathe. I was supposed to protect everyone—and I didn’t. I couldn’t. I’d watched them fall, and I’d watched the light go out of Cordelia’s eyes, and now that memory clawed at me, shoving itself right into the present. Every scream I’d heard that night echoed in my skull. Every time I blinked, I saw her face.

I swore I’d never hesitate again. I swore I’d never let anyone hurt me or the people I cared about without burning the whole damn world down first.

So I let the fire loose.

It roared out of me, lighting up the forest, painting our attackers in harsh, flickering gold. For a second, I thought I saw Cordelia’s face reflected in the flames, and my throat tightened. Guilt and fury tangled in my chest, and I threw my hands forward, sending a bloom of fire rushing straight into the leader’s path. He screamed—a raw, ragged sound that I felt in my teeth. The smell was awful, searing my nose and making my stomach lurch, but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t know how to stop anymore. This violence felt like the only way to keep my head above water, the only way to make sure I never failed again. They would never take anyone from me again. Never.

I barely registered the blow that slammed into my side, only that suddenly the ground tilted and my vision blurred. My ribs ached, and I sucked in a jagged breath, coughing on smoke and sparks. Through the haze, I saw Lily—her dagger flashing, her hair whipping around her face as she fought. She looked like some kind of fierce angel, her eyes narrowed in determination. She was fighting for me, for us, even when I was half out of my mind.

I tried to focus on her, tried to ground myself in the curve of her shoulder, the set of her jaw—but then another attacker loomed over me, swinging a fist that landed hard against my cheek. Pain burst behind my eyes, bright spots dancing in my vision. My mind started to drift, sliding into that place where the past and present tangled up. Was this the night Cordelia died? Was I back there, helpless and screaming and begging the elves to show mercy? I’d never found a way to rewrite that story. It always ended with everyone dead but me. I always ended up alone.

My hands shook as I tried to gather the sparks again. I tasted blood in my mouth. It was metallic and hot, and it fueled the fire inside me. Another man charged, and I lashed out with flame, watching him vanish into a screaming silhouette of light and heat. This time, I didn’t flinch. I didn’t allow myself to feel sorry. They were all elves to me now—all monsters who wanted me broken, wanted Lily dead, wanted to rip apart everything I still cared about. If I stopped, if I softened, if I hesitated, I’d fail Lily the way I failed Cordelia. I’d lose someone else. And I couldn’t survive that. Not again.

I could feel myself unraveling. Every scream sounded like Cordelia’s. Every face twisted in pain reminded me of my own failure. I wanted them gone. I wanted them all gone. Better them than me. Better them than Lily. Better them than anyone I might still be able to save.

The flames danced higher, brighter, and I let them feed on my fear and rage until the men were just ashes on the forest floor. The fight ended as abruptly as it began, leaving the night stained with smoke and something darker—something I couldn’t quite name but felt staining my lungs.

My knees buckled, and I sank down, gripping the dirt with trembling fingers. My side throbbed, my chest heaved, and the smell of burnt flesh clung to my clothes. I’d done it again. I’d survived. I’d kept Lily safe. But at what cost? Was I any better than them? What was the difference between my violence and theirs?

My thoughts were spiraling, and I couldn’t catch my breath. The trees swayed overhead, the stars winking in and out, and I felt like the world was tilting on its axis, about to throw me off. I pressed a hand to my side, feeling something wet and warm. Blood. My blood. Pain shimmered behind my eyes, and I tried to focus on that sensation—at least it was real. At least it meant I was alive.

“Hey,” Lily’s voice reached me through the smoke and fear. She knelt beside me, her expression unexpectedly soft. She pressed her hands against my wound, trying to stanch the bleeding. I hissed, pain slicing through me, but I was grateful for it in a weird way. Pain was honest. Pain didn’t lie, didn’t trick me into thinking I could’ve saved Cordelia if I’d just tried harder.

Lily’s eyes met mine. Gone was the warrior who’d been dancing through blades and fire. Now she looked worried, human, her brows pinched together. She said something like, “Stay with me,” and I tried to latch onto her words, to let them anchor me here and now, and not in that horrible memory I kept reliving.

But my head felt heavy and full of static. My vision blurred at the edges, and I could hear my heartbeat echoing in my ears. You failed them, it whispered. You always fail. Cordelia’s eyes were everywhere, accusing me, asking why I survived when she did not.

“I’m sorry,” Lily said, and her voice cracked just a little. I wondered what she was sorry for. Maybe she could see that I was disappearing inside myself, slipping into the old fear and shame. Maybe she knew I was too far gone to claw my way back. She pressed harder on the wound, her touch firm but careful, and I tried to focus on that, on her voice and her hands and the fact that she was still here, that we were still here.

I closed my eyes. The world faded to the sound of Lily’s breathing and the throb of pain in my side. I was drifting, lost between past and present, guilt and survival. My mind screamed that I should’ve died back then, that I should’ve traded my life for Cordelia’s. My heart thudded, reminding me I was still alive anyway, still sucking in smoke-filled air.

I thought I felt Lily’s hand in my hair, gentle and strange. For a moment, it felt safe, like a lullaby humming at the edge of a nightmare. I tried to hold onto that feeling, tried to believe that maybe not everyone I touched was doomed. Maybe Lily would be okay. Maybe I hadn’t destroyed everything yet.

I tried to speak, but I couldn’t form words. My body was too tired, my mind too battered. I let the darkness take over, sinking into it with the taste of blood and ash on my tongue, Lily’s voice echoing in my memory. And as I drifted, I could still see Cordelia’s face, just beyond the flames, whispering something I couldn’t make out. Something that might’ve been forgiveness—or maybe just the wind in the trees.

When I opened my eyes, the night had settled into something deeper and quieter. The sky was a dark, velvety blue—so rich it almost looked soft—dotted with stars that felt hand-stitched into the fabric of the universe. The campfire flickered at my side, its glow tugging at the edges of the shadows, and I blinked, trying to coax my eyes to focus in the dim light.

Lily was pacing near the fire, arms folded across her chest, her boots scuffing at the ground. She tossed another log on, muttering under her breath, “Can’t believe I’m stuck doing this again.” She sounded annoyed, but it was a different brand of annoyance than before—less feral, more… familiar. Almost like an inside joke, if we’d ever bothered to share one.

I managed a dry cough that was supposed to be a laugh. “You’re better at it than me,” I croaked. My throat felt like it had been sanded down, but I was smiling. Actually smiling.

She turned to face me, one eyebrow arched, her mouth curving into something that didn’t quite reach the level of a grin but was way friendlier than a scowl. “Don’t get too pleased with yourself just because you survived a stabbing,” she said. There was a teasing lilt in her voice, like maybe she wanted to be mad but couldn’t quite commit to the part. “Think you’re hilarious, don’t you?”

“Hilarious is my middle name,” I said, wincing as I tried an actual laugh. It hurt—everything hurt—but it was still better than silence. Funny how pain could feel like progress after the last few days. At least now I was here, alive, making dumb jokes instead of drowning in old ghosts.

Lily moved closer, settling down next to me. She kept one eye on the tree line, but the other eye—a warm brown, crinkled a bit at the corner—lingered on me. “You’re tougher than you look,” she said, nudging my arm lightly, as if that could be considered a kind of compliment.

I looked at the fire, felt its warmth creep up my cheeks. “Maybe I had a decent teacher,” I said, and I hoped she heard the gratitude in my voice, even if I didn’t say thank you outright. Somehow, “thanks for saving my life and also maybe my sanity a little bit” felt too big to say out loud right now.

A hush settled between us, not the sharp kind of silence we used to wade through, thick with all the words we weren’t saying. This was different—easier, like we’d earned it. We just listened to the night: the pop of the fire, the gentle sway of branches, distant whispers of something wild and green.

“You know,” Lily said at last, eyes still on the flames, “you did well today. Didn’t back down. Even when it got ugly.”

I swallowed, remembering sparks, screams, and the way my chest tightened at the memory of Cordelia and all the what-ifs. My heart felt heavy, but I tried to breathe past it. “I had to,” I said softly, meaning a thousand things. I had to save Lily. I had to prove I could still stand my ground. I had to not crumble into pieces again.

She nodded like she understood—maybe not everything, but enough. “We do what we must,” she said, and her voice sounded gentler than I’d ever heard it. It made me brave enough to glance at her, to meet her gaze. For a split second, something passed between us: understanding, respect, the kind of quiet warmth that comes from surviving something horrible together.

“Are you alright?” she asked, voice low and genuinely concerned. It caught me off guard—the directness, the compassion. She tilted her head, eyes narrowing on my bandaged side. “How’s the wound?”

I tried to shift, but pain flared. My body complained about every single movement. “It hurts,” I admitted, feeling strangely proud of myself for the honesty. “But I’ll live. Today was… a mess.”

That made her snort softly. “Understatement of the year,” she said, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward. “We made it, though.”

When she looked at me like that, all the lines of her face softened, and I realized how relieved she must have been that I was awake, talking, breathing. She reached for the canteen and held it out, her touch careful as she checked the cloth bound around my torso. Her fussing felt different now—like it was allowed, like maybe we were on the same side of something intangible.

“You’re the bird everyone’s been talking about,” she said quietly, her voice dipping lower than the rustle of the leaves. “The one who… who died without an heir, right? The one the elves celebrated killing?”

I nodded, my throat too tight to add anything else. It was still strange hearing it put so plainly, my whole story condensed to a few ugly facts.

Lily studied me, her expression complicated. Then she offered a small, crooked smile. “Well,” she said, “dead or alive, you’re stuck with me.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “I guess I can live with that,” I said, and for the first time, the words didn’t feel like another wall going up. They felt like a small door opening, letting in a bit of light.

She went quiet, staring off into the trees. The fire sent shadows dancing over her face, making her look both younger and older at the same time. I couldn’t figure her out, but maybe I didn’t have to, not tonight. Tonight, it was enough that she was here, that we were both breathing and bruised and not running away.

I eased back, my body protesting, and let the hush surround us again. The stars overhead were brighter than I remembered, scattered like crumbs of light. The forest hummed softly around us, like it approved of this fragile peace we’d built. Lily glanced up at the sky, and for a moment, she looked almost content. Almost hopeful.

And me? I felt that tiny ember of hope I’d guarded so carefully flicker warmer, brighter. Maybe we didn’t have all the answers, and maybe tomorrow would be hard and strange and violent again. But in this moment, sharing a quiet fire and the barest hints of trust, it felt like the world could be kind for a while.

I closed my eyes, letting the ache in my bones remind me I was alive and not alone. We were friends, or something close enough to count. And that, right now, was everything.

I woke up feeling worse than before, which I hadn’t thought was possible. Everything felt heavy and out of place—my body, the night air, even the quiet forest around us. The trees, usually a comfort, seemed distant and unimpressed. My skin prickled with fever, and my clothes clung uncomfortably to my sweat-dampened skin. I tried to swallow and found my throat scratchy, dry as old paper.

The fire was low, just a faint orange glow, and Lily was sitting on the other side of it, arms crossed, staring off into the trees. She must’ve heard me shift because she turned right away, her eyes narrowing in concern. She looked tired—like she’d been waiting for me to wake up and hadn’t gotten any sleep herself. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks smudged with dirt, and something about seeing her this unguarded made my chest tighten.

“Hey,” she said quietly, getting up and coming over before I even tried to speak. She crouched next to me, her hand hovering over my forehead, like she was worried she’d hurt me just by touching. “How are you feeling?”

It took me a second to find my voice, and even then, it came out cracked and too quiet. “I’m fine,” I said, because that’s what you’re supposed to say. But we both knew I wasn’t. I could see it in the way her mouth tightened. My stomach twisted with guilt for lying, even though I wasn’t fooling anyone.

“You feel like a furnace,” she said, pressing her palm to my forehead anyway. Her hand was calloused and cool against my skin. I wanted to lean into that coolness, let it chase away the fever burning behind my eyes. “You’ve been out for a while.”

“Sorry,” I managed, though I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for. Maybe for making her worry, maybe for needing her help.

She shook her head, then grabbed the canteen from where it lay near the fire, unscrewing the cap. “Don’t be stupid,” she said, but there was no bite to it. She slipped an arm under my shoulders and helped me sit up just enough to drink. The water tasted slightly metallic, probably from the canteen, but it was cool and wet, and I almost sighed out loud with relief.

“Better?” she asked, her face close enough that I could see the lines of exhaustion around her eyes. The night smelled like damp earth and woodsmoke, and now that I was upright, I noticed my entire body ached, like I’d run ten miles or fought off a bear or something equally ridiculous.

I nodded, though my head felt floaty. “Thanks,” I said, and I meant it. She was being gentle, careful. This was Lily, who so often spoke in clipped words and sideways glances, who’d killed men without flinching. Now she was tucking a blanket around my shoulders, like I was something fragile.

She settled back on her heels, assessing me. “You’ve got a fever,” she said plainly. “You need to rest.”

“I have been resting,” I pointed out weakly. It came out sounding like an attempt at humor, and her mouth lifted at one corner. A smile, almost.

“Yeah, well, do it more,” she said. She looked over her shoulder at the forest, scanning for threats, I guess. When she turned back, there was something careful in her expression. “I’ll keep watch.”

It hit me then that she was worried about more than just my fever—she was worried about us being vulnerable, about someone stumbling upon our little camp and finding me half-dead. That protective edge in her eyes, it settled something in my chest, made me feel less alone. Less like a burden.

I tried to relax, but my muscles felt tense, my side hurt, and my mind kept drifting, half-awake, to jumbled images I couldn’t quite piece together. I kept seeing faces—people I’d lost—blinking in and out of my memory like fireflies. It made my heart ache. I pressed a hand to my chest, tried to focus on something real, something solid.

Lily noticed. She leaned in and took my hand—not in a dramatic way, just kind of scooped it up as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Don’t go all strange on me,” she said softly, and I thought I heard a hint of teasing in her voice. “You’re allowed to be sick. You’re allowed to feel bad. No one’s judging you here.”

I exhaled, the sound shaky. “I don’t want to drag you down,” I admitted. It felt silly as soon as I said it, but it was true. I hated feeling useless. She’d done so much—fought, protected, fussed over me like some cranky nursemaid—and I was just lying here, sweating and shaking.

Her eyes softened, the fire’s light catching flecks of gold in them. “You’re not dragging me anywhere,” she said, giving my hand a squeeze. “This is what people do. They help each other. Besides, you’d do it for me.”

I thought about that. Would I? Yeah, I would. Even before we’d trusted each other, something about Lily made me want to step up, to be braver. She had that effect—pushing me toward the kind of person I wanted to be. I swallowed, tried to muster a real smile. “I would,” I said.

She nodded, like we were settling an argument I didn’t realize we’d been having. Then, as if deciding I looked stable enough not to keel over, she released my hand and reached for a piece of cloth. She dipped it in water and pressed it to my forehead. The coolness was heaven, and I closed my eyes, letting it soothe the heat pulsing beneath my skin.

In the quiet that followed, I felt the night envelop us. The distant chirps of insects, the gentle rustle of leaves, the slow crackle of dying embers—it all threaded together into something calm and steady. And Lily was right here, close enough that I could feel the warmth of her arm when she leaned forward to adjust the cloth, close enough that I could smell the faint scent of sweat and travel and fire smoke that clung to us both.

“I owe you,” I managed after a few minutes of silence, my voice a rasp against the hush of the woods.

“No, you don’t,” she said. Not snappy or sarcastic—just kind. Like maybe this was what she’d needed too, to know she could be here for someone, and they’d actually let her in.

It was quiet for a long time after that. Not tense quiet, not that uneasy hush where you’re both looking for an exit. More like a kind of gentleness neither of us wanted to ruin. The fire popped softly, and a stray ember danced up into the night. I could hear my own breathing, and Lily’s too, and it felt like we were sharing something personal without needing to say it out loud.

After a while, I swallowed and said, “Tell me more about your daughter.” My voice sounded small, but not timid—more like I was stepping carefully, out of respect.

Lily’s expression changed the moment I mentioned her daughter, like I’d just turned on a light in a dark room. Her face softened, and the set of her shoulders relaxed. “She’s seventeen now,” she said, running a hand through her tangled hair. “Seventeen and convinced she knows everything, and maybe she does. She’s... unstoppable. She was trying to climb trees before she could walk, you know?” She shook her head, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. “Stubborn as hell, thinks the world exists for her to explore. She reminds me a lot of myself, and that’s both wonderful and terrifying.”

I tried to picture it—this stubborn, fearless kid. “She sounds… intense,” I said softly, hoping that came across as admiration and not judgment.

Lily snorted softly. “Oh, she is. She never stops moving. Always pushing back if you try to hold her down.” Her voice had that warm, proud note that parents get when they talk about their kids doing something that both annoys and impresses them.

I let the silence settle for a beat before asking, “Where is she now?” I didn’t want to pry, but I also felt like we were onto something real here, something I wanted to know more about.

Lily’s gaze drifted away, and the brightness in her face dimmed. “Up north, with some friends. Good people who know how to keep her safe and grounded.” She licked her lips, as if choosing her words carefully. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t give her that stability. Not with the way I live. I wanted to, but I just…” She shrugged, her voice catching. “She deserves better than what I could offer.”

I nodded, my chest feeling heavier. I knew that kind of regret, the way it tastes bitter on your tongue. “You did what you thought was right,” I said quietly. “That’s all anyone can do.”

When she looked back at me, I saw something in her eyes—something vulnerable and honest. She gave a small nod, and though she tried to smile, it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Still, it was real. “Yeah,” she said, voice low. “I hope so.”

We let the night hold us for a while, the fire shrinking down to glowing coals. In that silence, I felt like we understood each other more than we did a few minutes ago. Not in some big, dramatic way. Just... better.

I cleared my throat softly, almost reluctant to break the quiet. “What about you?” I asked, my voice gentle. “You’ve been all over. What’s that like?”

Lily’s gaze moved up, past the trees, like she was searching the stars for her memories. “It’s been a lot of things,” she said, voice going distant. “Exciting, lonely, dangerous. I’ve seen places so beautiful they made my chest ache, and I’ve seen things I wish I could erase from my mind. I’ve met people who changed me, people I still miss, and people I’m glad I never saw again.” She let out a short laugh. “It’s not always glamorous, being rootless. It can wear you down.”

I tried to imagine that life—never staying still, never letting anyone in too close. It must’ve felt like carrying a heavy pack you could never put down. “Any fun stories?” I asked, hoping to give her a moment of pride, something that didn’t hurt.

A real smile flickered across her face. “There was this village up north. They were dealing with these bandits—nothing but bullies, really—and I decided I’d had enough of them pushing decent people around.” She shrugged, trying to play it off, but I saw the spark in her eyes. “I cornered their leaders, made them see reason.” She paused, then snorted. “They ran off so fast I’m surprised their pants didn’t catch fire.”

Despite everything, I grinned. “You’re kind of a badass, you know.”

Lily rolled her eyes, but I could tell the compliment landed somewhere good. “I just do what needs to be done,” she said. But there was a gentleness in how she said it this time.

The fire cracked softly, and I could feel something hanging between us, something heavier. I took a breath and asked the question that had been on my mind. “You mentioned someone once—your first love. What happened?”

Her whole body went a little still, and I almost regretted asking. Almost. But then she started to speak, voice quieter now, like she was talking around a lump in her throat. “We were kids, basically. We had all these plans... We thought nothing could touch us.” She looked into the coals, as if the answers were there. “But life took a turn. She died. Just like that. And I was left wondering how I was supposed to keep breathing when half of me was gone.”

My own throat tightened at that. It was such a simple, brutal truth. I reached out, placing my hand over hers. She didn’t pull away. “I’m sorry,” I said, because what else could I say?

Lily nodded, staring at the fire, her eyes wet but not spilling over. “I never really got over it,” she confessed quietly. “I told myself it was safer not to let anyone in. That maybe I wouldn’t hurt so bad if I kept everyone at a distance.” She swallowed hard. “But sometimes, especially when it’s quiet, I wonder if I made a mistake. Maybe I could have found happiness again, if I just… tried.”

The pain in her voice was so human, so recognizable. I’d carried a different kind of loneliness, but I knew the shape of it. “It’s never too late,” I said softly, hoping she could feel how much I meant it.

She turned, meeting my eyes. I could see the battle going on inside her—the old habits telling her to slam the door shut, the new hope telling her to leave it open. Then she let out a breath and her shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Maybe,” she said, and I believed her.

I asked about Tinka’s father, not to pry, but because it seemed like something else she needed to say. She shrugged, a little embarrassed. “Just a fling. I found out I was pregnant after he was gone. I raised her the best I could, alone. Told myself we didn’t need him. And we managed. But…” She sighed, looking at her boots. “Sometimes I wonder if I robbed her of something. If I should’ve tried to find him.”

My heart ached for her, for the weight of all these what-ifs. “From what you’ve said, Tinka’s strong and fearless. She’s going to be okay. And she knows you love her, right?”

Lily looked at me then, and something in her eyes eased. “Yeah,” she said, voice just above a whisper. “I think she does.”

We walked on for a while, not needing to fill the silence. The sun had started its slow descent, turning the fields and trees a softer shade of gold. A warm breeze brushed over us, carrying the smell of wildflowers and hay, as if the world was trying to tell us it wasn’t all bad. And maybe it wasn’t. Maybe there were quiet moments of kindness, even when everything else felt impossible.

I kept sneaking glances at Lily, noticing how her posture eased as we settled into the quiet, her shoulders not quite as tense. Without the fire or the night sky, without the urgent need to survive hanging right over our heads, I could see her more clearly now. She wasn’t just scars and stories or that wary look in her eye. She was a person who’d been hurt—and who’d kept going anyway. It made me feel protective and in awe, all at once.

She caught me looking once, and I half expected her to roll her eyes or make some snarky comment. But instead, her lips curved into something that might’ve been a smile, just shy of it, like she didn’t know if she was allowed to feel okay. I smiled back, just a small tilt of my mouth, letting her know I wasn’t judging, just glad to be there.

Eventually, the questions I’d been dancing around couldn’t stay quiet anymore. I took a breath and asked about the scars—softly, carefully. I didn’t want to poke at old wounds, but I wanted to understand. I wanted to know the things that shaped her, the memories that echoed when she was quiet.

Her answer came slowly, like it hurt to push the words out. A wolf shapeshifter, a fight in the woods, someone named Dina who she tried to save and couldn’t. Her voice was quieter than I’d ever heard it, and each syllable felt like it carried a weight of its own. She didn’t look at me while she talked, and I understood why. This wasn’t just a story, it was something lodged inside her, something raw and personal.

I listened, not moving, not daring to break the moment with some empty reassurance. The way her voice trembled on Dina’s name said more than I could ever fix with words. I knew what it was like to carry that kind of regret, to hold someone’s memory too close.

When she finished, I found myself speaking just as softly. “I’m sorry.” It felt like the only thing worth saying, because it was true. Hearing about Dina—and about the scars and what they stood for—made my chest tighten. I thought of Aldara, and how I’d never really healed from losing her, either. The loss just learned to sit quietly inside me, like a passenger I’d stopped trying to kick out.

Lily turned to me, her eyes meeting mine this time, and I saw something there that hadn’t been before. Maybe recognition, or understanding. Maybe just relief that she wasn’t the only one who knew what it felt like to fail someone you loved. We didn’t talk about it much, but in that look, we said everything: I know it hurts. I know you’re still carrying it. Me too.

After that, the heaviness between us changed shape. It wasn’t gone, but it was shared now. We walked a bit farther in silence, letting the quiet settle. The birds kept singing, and the sun kept dipping lower, and the world didn’t stop because of our grief. Somehow, that made it easier to keep moving forward.

At some point, I tried for a smile, something small and hopeful. “If we ever run into trouble again,” I said lightly, “I’ll do my best. I may not be the best fighter, but I’m stubborn enough to slow something down, at least.”

That coaxed a snort of amusement out of her, and I realized how much I liked the sound. “You’d better,” she said, her tone almost playful. “I’m counting on you to distract whatever’s out there while I do the hard work.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. The banter felt good, like stretching a sore muscle that was finally starting to heal. We kept walking, side by side, our shadows growing long across the dirt road. The fields swayed gently, the forest rustled softly, and somewhere in the distance, the sky was folding itself into dusk.

We didn’t have all the answers. We didn’t know what tomorrow would look like. But right now, we were here, walking together. And that felt human in all the best ways—imperfect and hopeful, painful and comforting, all at once. It made me think that maybe, against all odds, we were going to be okay.

We kept walking, the sky turning all those colors I used to love back home—pale oranges, warm pinks, the kind of colors that make you feel like everything might be okay, just for a minute. I don’t know what made me speak up then—maybe it was the quiet, or maybe it was the way Lily felt like someone who could actually hear me. But suddenly I was talking, my voice soft under that wide-open sky.

“I miss my friends back home,” I said, surprising myself with how raw it sounded. The words came out quieter than I intended, like I was testing them in the air. Lily glanced over, and I could feel her attention land on me, steady and kind. She didn’t push, didn’t rush me. Just waited, the way a good friend does.

So I told her about them—about Yoongi, who was like the world’s most reliable anchor, keeping me steady when everything else felt like it was slipping. About Jin, who could find the funny in anything, who could make us laugh even when we were scared or tired or heartbroken. And Wendy—bright, restless Wendy with her wild ideas and big plans, always dragging us off on some adventure. I could almost see them as I spoke, like they were walking beside me again, their laughter drifting on the breeze.

Lily nodded at all the right times, and when she smiled, it didn’t feel forced. “They sound like a pretty unforgettable group,” she said softly, and just hearing that was enough to loosen some knot in my chest.

I tried to paint the picture for her: the bonfires on the beach near Syrena, the nights we stayed up way too late teasing each other and making grand plans. There’d been complications, too—Wendy’s unreturned crush on Yoongi, her eventual relationship with Jin—but somehow, we always found a way through. I told Lily about how our families and covens intertwined, how the celebrations felt like home in a way words couldn’t really describe.

My voice caught a little when I admitted how much I missed them. “Do you think they remember me?” I asked, my gaze dropping to the gravel road under our boots. It was a silly question, maybe, but I couldn’t help it. The world felt so different now, and the idea that maybe I’d faded in their memories hurt more than I wanted to admit.

Lily nudged me, her shoulder against mine. “They haven’t forgotten,” she said simply. “People don’t just forget someone they love. One day you’ll see them again, and it’ll feel like you never left.”

I looked at her, and there was something about the way she said it—so matter-of-fact and sincere—that made it easier to breathe. I smiled, small but real. “You think so?”

She grinned, a soft twinkle in her eye. “I know so. Besides, you’re kind of hard to forget.” She winked, and I laughed, feeling lighter.

It was like, for a second, I could let myself imagine that future—coming home, stepping back into my old life, picking berries in my garden, laughing with Wendy, teasing Yoongi, rolling my eyes at Jin’s jokes. It didn’t feel so impossible when Lily said it out loud.

Then I told her about Taehyung, how he hid at my cottage for a summer after his pack rejected him. How he’d become like family to me, full of jokes and life, shrugging off pain like it was nothing. And Jimin—just saying his name made my throat tighten. I whispered how much I missed him, how I hoped we could be together again someday, even though I was scared I might not live long enough to see that day come.

Lily’s hand found my arm, a gentle, human touch. “You’ve made it this far,” she said quietly, “you can keep going. And I’m right here.”

That did something to me—put a crack in the walls I’d built to keep the fear in. I nodded, my eyes stinging a little. Her belief felt like a gift I didn’t know I needed.

I let myself talk about Cadoc, the air elemental who’d helped me escape when things got bad. How he was distant and weird and not really what I’d call a friend at first, but when it counted, he showed up. It made me ache in a good way, remembering all these people, all these pieces of home.

“God, I’m homesick,” I muttered, pressing a hand to my chest like I could hold the feeling in place. The fields and forests around us were beautiful, sure, but they weren’t mine. They weren’t my cottage, my garden, my friends. They weren’t the place where I felt safe and seen.

Lily understood—at least, as much as anyone could. She nodded, her expression softening. “I get it,” she said. “But you’re not alone right now. You’ve got me, and I’m sticking around.”

I smiled at her, gratitude swelling inside me. It felt strange and comforting at the same time, to find a friend here and now, on this dusty road far from home.

So I told her more. I described my cottage in the woods, the tiny garden where I grew strawberries and herbs, the little bird named Patto who sang at my window every morning, and the doe, Delinah, who sneaked in to nibble at my plants. I tried to show Lily that part of me—the quiet mornings, the light filtering through the branches, the feeling that maybe the world wasn’t such a hard place after all.

She listened like it mattered, like these details helped her understand me. “It sounds perfect,” she said softly, and I could tell she meant it.

“I just want to go back,” I admitted, my voice catching. “I want to feel that peace again, sit in my garden, and just… be home.”

Lily’s hand on my shoulder again, a small squeeze. “We’ll get you there,” she said, her voice steady. “I promise.”

I looked at her, tears threatening at the corners of my eyes. “You should come with me,” I said impulsively, imagining how she’d fit into that picture—Lily talking to Wendy, bantering with Jin, rolling her eyes at Yoongi’s calm demeanor. “You belong there, too. Or at least… I’d like you there.”

She raised an eyebrow, then smiled. “I think I’d like that. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you, right?”

I laughed, and it came out easy. For once, I didn’t feel like I had to carry every burden alone. The sun dipped lower, its light softer now, painting the world in gentle hues. We kept walking, our pace unhurried, the road stretching ahead. And as the day gave way to twilight, I realized something: I wasn’t just hoping for home anymore—I was starting to believe I might actually find it. And when I did, I wouldn’t be alone.

We walked in a kind of hush that wasn’t uncomfortable at all—just quiet, like the world around us was catching its breath. The trees arched overhead, the sky softened into evening, and somewhere a bird was singing a last, sweet note before settling in for the night. When Lily spoke, it was almost surprising, but not unwelcome. It felt like we were in a safe place now—somewhere we could let the past peek through the cracks.

“You know,” she said, her voice low and thoughtful, “I had a place like that once. Not quite a cottage, but… it was an old cabin by a pond. More like a shack, really. Dina and I used to hide out there, away from her mother. We’d fish in the mornings, sit by the fire at night, and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist. It wasn’t fancy, but it felt like ours.”

I glanced over at her, half expecting the usual guarded look, but what I found was something gentler. Her gaze was distant, aimed somewhere past the horizon. “That sounds amazing,” I said softly, meaning it. I could almost picture it: the quiet water reflecting the sky, the hush of two friends passing time without any hurry. “Do you ever think about going back?”

Lily’s shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Sometimes. But it’s not the same without her.” Her voice had that quiet tremor people get when they talk about someone they lost long ago but still miss every day. “I just keep the memories now. They’re easier to carry than trying to hold onto the place itself.”

My hand reached out almost on its own, my fingers brushing her arm. The contact felt real and kind of important, but also so normal. “I’m sorry,” I said softly, not wanting to stir up old pain. “I didn’t mean—”

She shook her head, a sad but understanding smile on her lips. “It’s okay. It’s been a long time. And places like that—they never really leave you, you know? They get inside you. Like your cottage is inside you, shaping who you are.”

I nodded, something tight in my chest easing a little. “I think so, too. Those places become part of us. They give us strength when everything else is falling apart.”

She looked at me then, really looked at me, her eyes less distant now and more… present. “And maybe when this is over, we can find new places. Make new memories. Together.”

I smiled, feeling the warmth of that word—together—spread through me like a gentle flame. “I’d like that,” I whispered, almost too quietly, but I knew she heard.

We kept walking. The road stretched out and out, but it didn’t feel endless in a bad way anymore. More like a promise than a threat. I thought about my old home, and about Lily’s cabin, and about all the strange, in-between times that had led us here. Maybe somewhere ahead there was a new home waiting for both of us—one that smelled like fresh earth and summer flowers, where laughter and conversation felt effortless. Maybe Tinka would be there, too. Maybe it’d be bright and warm, the birds singing in the trees, and maybe it’d be summer so we could celebrate Litha together, the way old friends and new friends do.

The sky was sliding into night, one star after another winking into place. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something flash across the darkness, quick and bright.

“Look,” Lily said, pointing up. “A shooting star.”

I tilted my head back just in time to catch the tail end of it. I closed my eyes and made a wish—several wishes, actually. For home, for peace, for the life I longed to return to, and for a future where Lily and Tinka could settle into my old cottage while I moved into Jimin’s place nearby. Where the hybrids would live close enough to visit for dinner, and the birds would sing every morning. Where the first Litha we spent together tasted of smreka and hope. I held those wishes close, like seeds I wanted to plant in my heart.

When I opened my eyes, Lily was watching me with a half-smile. “Did you make a wish?”

I nodded, a small grin tugging at my lips. “Yeah, I did.”

“Good,” she said, turning her gaze to the sky, her voice lighter now. “I made one too. I have a feeling they’ll come true.”

And just like that, the world felt a bit kinder. We walked on, guided by starlight and the quiet certainty that we weren’t walking alone anymore. The future still felt big and uncertain, but I had hope like a steady pulse in my chest. I had Lily’s hand close enough to reach for if I stumbled. I had the memory of my old home inside me, and I had the promise that maybe we’d find something just as special in the days to come.

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