A heavy silence settled over the room. The air felt thick, each breath hard to take.

  Soren crouched beside Voralis' still form, his fingers curled around the fallen man’s cooling hand. His voice barely carried in the hushed space. "He's actually dead."

  No one answered.

  Viktor let out a shaky breath and dropped to his knees beside the body. He didn’t say anything. Just stared.

  Jax shifted on his feet, his jaw clenched tight. Mira stood frozen, staring at Voralis as if willing him to move. Arelos sucked in a sharp breath, his expression unreadable. Viktor remained where he had collapsed, his knees on the cold floor, his gaze empty.

  Arelos finally broke the stillness. "We can’t just—" He cut himself off and tried again, more forcefully. "We need to go. Now."

  No one moved.

  With a growl of frustration, Arelos pushed forward, giving Mira a nudge toward the exit. She barely registered it, blinking sluggishly as though she were waking from a dream.

  "What… what happened?" she mumbled, almost to herself. "He was—he was floating. In the air."

  "His neck snapped," Jax said bluntly, scraping a hand through his hair. His fingers were trembling.

  Mira flinched. “No, but—he was just—”

  Arelos flung out his arms in exasperation. "Focus! We don’t have time for this. That bastard yelled for backup. We do not want to be here when they arrive."

  Jax grit his teeth but nodded, visibly shaking off whatever daze had momentarily gripped him. Mira swallowed hard, her hands balling into fists, but she stepped toward the door. That was two of them.

  Fenric muttered a curse and glanced down at Voralis, still looking unsure. His lips pressed into a thin line. "He wouldn't want us wasting time."

  Arelos nodded sharply. "Exactly."

  But Viktor hadn’t moved.

  Soren looked up from where he still held Voralis' hand. His brows knitted together. "Vik?"

  Nothing.

  "Viktor, get the hell up," Arelos snapped, stepping toward him. "We have to go."

  Still, Viktor remained frozen, his eyes locked onto Voralis’ unmoving face, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

  Arelos exhaled sharply, shifting his weight from foot to foot, then knelt beside Voralis himself. His hands moved quickly, rummaging through pockets with an efficiency that might’ve seemed disrespectful had the situation been any less dire. He retrieved a few small items, tucking them away, then hesitated only briefly before unfastening the vials from Voralis' belt and slipping them into his own.

  Behind him, Soren hissed through his teeth. “You’re looting him now?”

  "He’s dead," Arelos said simply, without looking up. "We aren’t. We need the supplies."

  Soren didn't argue. No one did.

  But Viktor still hadn't moved.

  Arelos clenched his jaw. Then, in one swift motion, he hauled Viktor up by his arm and slapped him—hard—across the face.

  The crack of it echoed in the hollow space.

  Viktor recoiled, his head jerking to the side. A flicker of something—anger, confusion—flashed through his eyes only to vanish just as quickly.

  Arelos didn’t wait for a reaction. He gave Viktor a shove forward. "Damn it, move!"

  Viktor stumbled but caught himself, his foot dragging slightly as if he hadn’t quite registered his own movement. Soren watched him worriedly, then sighed and quietly told him, "Come on, Vik."

  This time, Viktor started walking.

  It wasn't much, but it was enough.

  "Go, go, go," Arelos barked, shoving them all toward the entrance.

  Mira was still dazed, her steps uneven. “I don’t—I don’t understand. He was floating.”

  Arelos gritted his teeth. “Yeah, Mira, we got that.”

  They moved—hesitant at first but with increasing urgency. Mira clutched at her sleeves, as if trying to anchor herself. Jax rolled his shoulders, adjusting his grip on his knife. Fenric released a long, slow breath that rattled unsteadily.

  They hit the estate ground at a brisk walk, tense, alert.

  Arelos took the lead, his eyes flicking to every corner, every shadow. As soon as they passed the orphanage gates, he hissed under his breath, "Pick up the pace."

  Jax shot him a look. “We’re moving.”

  “Not fast enough.”

  Viktor lagged behind. The only reason he kept moving at all was because Arelos, after spotting the way he slowed, dropped back and physically pushed him forward again. "Keep up, damn it," Arelos growled.

  Viktor didn’t respond, but he stayed with them. His feet moved.

  That was all that mattered.

  For now.

  They reached the gate, where the guards barely spared them a glance. Too late for merchants, too early for travelers, but not worth the trouble of stopping. The group passed through without a word.

  Once they were out of sight, past the first bend in the road, Arelos slowed. No one spoke. The only sounds were their footsteps and the distant rustle of wind through the trees.

  Minutes stretched, the quiet growing heavier with every step.

  Jax finally broke the silence. "Alright, someone say it. What the hell happened back there?" He turned, walking backward to face the group. His eyes locked on Viktor. "Are you a bloody mage?"

  Viktor didn’t answer. Didn’t even look up.

  Jax scoffed. "Oh, come on. The man floated. His neck snapped in midair. That doesn’t just happen." He snapped his fingers for emphasis. "I mean, I’ve seen some weird shit, but that? That was something else."

  Mira, still pale, shook her head. "It doesn’t make sense."

  "Doesn’t it?" Jax pressed. "Think about it. The guild’s been obsessed with Viktor for years. Why? Because he’s got a nice smile? No. Because he’s a mage."

  Soren exhaled sharply. "Yes, Jax. He’s obviously a mage. Congratulations on catching up."

  Jax frowned. "I just—"

  "Just shut up about it," Soren snapped.

  Jax held up his hands in surrender. "Fine. Dropping it."

  Silence again.

  Finally, Fenric broke the silence with a practical question. "So, what's the plan?"

  No one answered at first. All eyes turned to Arelos.

  He sighed. "Same as before. We find Faros in the capital. The Lycona chapter’s gone, but the guild isn’t."

  Mira hesitated. "But how do we even find the headquarters?"

  Jax perked up. "Didn’t you hear what Voralis said? Arelos knows."

  Mira’s gaze sharpened. "Do you?"

  Arelos hesitated. "I know roughly where it is."

  Jax groaned. "Roughly? That’s not exactly reassuring."

  Arelos shot him a look. "I’ll find it. Don’t worry."

  Jax snorted. "Oh, well, if you say so, then I’m completely at ease."

  Arelos ignored him.

  Jax wasn’t done. "Maybe we should rethink this."

  Arelos crossed his arms. "By all means. Where do you suggest we go instead?"

  Jax opened his mouth. Closed it. Scowled.

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  "Thought so," Arelos said. "Look, I don’t love this plan either, but unless someone has a better idea, we stick to it. First priority is getting as far from Lycona as possible. Otherwise, we’ll be hunted down like dogs."

  Soren’s jaw tightened. "You think they’re after us?"

  Arelos exhaled. "Probably not. But I don’t like gambling on ‘probably.’"

  Mira’s voice was small. "If they are following us, how long before they catch up?"

  Arelos rubbed his temple. "Depends. If they knew exactly where we were headed, they could use the serums and be on us in no time. But they don’t. And we’re not on the most direct route to the capital. If they’re tracking us, they’ll check the main roads first."

  Jax wasn’t convinced. "And if they do come this way?"

  Arelos met his gaze. "Then we deal with it."

  Jax muttered something under his breath.

  Soren shifted uneasily. "Maybe we should get off the road. Just in case."

  Arelos shook his head. "Not yet. We’re already taking a less obvious path. If we start cutting through the wilds, we’ll slow down too much. We need distance more than cover right now."

  Jax exhaled. "So what you’re saying is, we might be safe, but we also might be completely screwed."

  "I'm glad we're on the same page," Arelos responded.

  Jax rolled his eyes. "Fantastic."

  Arelos’ expression hardened. "Keep your ears open. If they are coming, I want to know before they’re breathing down our necks."

  No one argued.

  They walked on.

  The moon hung high, casting pale silver light over the uneven dirt path. Their boots scuffed against the ground in an unsteady rhythm—no longer the hurried pace born of fear but the weary trudge of exhaustion seeping into their bones.

  After what felt like an eternity, Arelos raised a hand, signaling them to stop. He scanned the nearby trees before nodding toward a small clearing just off the path. “We’ll make camp here. Try to rest for a few hours.”

  Jax frowned, pushing damp hair out of his face. “Are you sure about that?” He cast a glance behind them. “I mean, we’ve been moving for hours, yeah, but what if they’re just circling around us? Taking a different path so we walk right into them?”

  Arelos glanced around. “If they were following, we’d have seen or heard something by now.”

  Mira wrapped her arms around herself. “What if they’re smarter than that?”

  “Don't be ridiculous, Mira,” Arelos said, though there was no bite to his tone. Just exhaustion. “They're not ghosts.”

  Jax kicked a rock, sending it tumbling into the underbrush. “Should we really be letting our guard down now?”

  Arelos sighed, rubbing his temples. “No one’s saying we let our guard down. But we can’t keep moving like this. If we try, someone—probably you, Jax—is gonna collapse face-first in the middle of the damn road.”

  Jax scoffed, offended. “Like hell I would.”

  “You've been complaining about your feet for the last five miles,” Soren pointed out dryly.

  Jax scowled. “That was different. I was making conversation.”

  Arelos ignored him and addressed the group as a whole. "We have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow, and we can't do that if we're dead on our feet. We stay."

  One by one, they dropped their packs, some more reluctantly than others, and sank onto the cold, unwelcoming ground.

  Jax gave an exaggerated shiver. “Great. Now all we need are the comforts of home. Warm blankets, some mead, maybe a nice fire—”

  “Yeah?” Arelos cut in. “And are you planning to conjure one up? You got kindling in your pockets?”

  Jax sniffed indignantly. “I could find some.”

  Arelos gave him a pointed look. “By the time you gather enough wood and struggle to light it with whatever non-existent tools you have, we’ll have wasted more time than this rest is even worth. Not to mention a fire draws attention. Bad idea.”

  Jax muttered, “Thought they weren’t following us.”

  “They probably aren’t,” Arelos said, tired of repeating himself. “But on the off chance I’m wrong, maybe don’t put up a beacon that says ‘we’re right here, come stab us’?”

  Jax grumbled under his breath but didn’t push further. Mira still looked uneasy, and after a moment she asked, “Shouldn’t someone keep watch? Just to be sure?”

  Arelos inclined his head. “Good thinking.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  All eyes snapped to Viktor. He’d barely spoken a word since they left. Now, as his voice cut through the space between them, it sent a ripple of unease through the group.

  Soren squinted at him. "Are you sure, Vik? Pretty sure you look as dead on your feet as the rest of us."

  Viktor just nodded once. “I’ll keep watch.”

  Something in his expression made further arguments die in their throats.

  Arelos gave him a long look before nodding. “Alright. But if you start feeling drowsy, wake someone up to take over. Don’t push it.”

  Viktor didn’t respond, just walked a few paces away and sank onto a fallen tree, gazing out beyond the clearing.

  Jax flopped onto the ground, glaring at the dirt like it had personally offended him. “I don’t see how the hell I’m supposed to sleep like this. It’s freezing.”

  “Then don't,” Fenric said.

  “Or you could stop whining and huddle like the rest of us, " Soren responded, his tone exasperated.

  Jax scoffed. “With you lot? Please.”

  Soren waved a hand dismissively. “We’re all miserable. Suck it up.”

  Arelos ignored Jax’s continued protests and gestured for everyone to move closer under the tree cover. They had nothing but their cloaks and the warmth of shared body heat, but it would have to be enough. Jax dragged his pack closer and used it as a makeshift pillow, though he continued muttering in irritation about the “inhumane sleeping conditions.”

  The night stretched long and quiet.

  Too quiet.

  Then—a howl.

  Low and distant, rising through the trees like a ghost’s lament. The hairs on the back of Mira’s neck stood on end.

  Jax bolted upright. "Nope. Absolutely not. Fuck this cursed forest."

  Mira swallowed hard. “That… sounded close.”

  Arelos remained still, listening. When nothing came immediately after, he finally said, “If it were right on top of us, you’d hear more than that.”

  Jax shot him a glare. “Oh, good, that makes me feel so much better, thanks.”

  Mira crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “What if it comes closer?”

  “It won’t,” Arelos assured her. “Wolves don’t like approaching groups of people unless they’re desperate.”

  "And who's to say that they aren't desperate?" Jax countered.

  Arelos rolled his eyes. “Just go to sleep, Jax.”

  A second howl rang out, this time accompanied by another, farther in the distance. Mira tensed.

  “… Arelos?”

  He didn’t speak right away. Just listened. His fingers curled slightly near his belt, where his dagger rested.

  Finally, he exhaled. “We stay close. We don’t make noise. Wolves won’t attack unless they think we're weak. As long as we don't go wandering off on our own, they’ll leave us alone.”

  No one was entirely convinced, but silence settled once more.

  Viktor sat apart from the others, listening as the quiet stretched around him, broken only by the distant rustling of leaves and the slow, steady breaths of his companions as they tossed and turned, struggling for rest.

  "If only I'd scouted ahead like he told me to," he thought bitterly, his fingers gripping the rough bark of the fallen tree he sat on. "If I'd just listened—"

  His fingers curled into fists.

  "He might still be alive."

  The thought twisted through him, sharp as a dagger.

  Viktor shook his head hard, as if that alone could drive away the relentless guilt crawling beneath his skin. His throat tightened painfully.

  "I'm such a fool," he whispered to himself. "It should’ve been me."

  He swallowed against the lump in his throat, his mind a storm of regret. Voralis should have been here, leading them forward, strong and steady as always. Instead, it was Viktor who remained—and for what?

  His regret burned, quickly turning to anger.

  Greg. That traitorous bastard. His rotten smirk. The twisted red veins running down his skin.

  Viktor gritted his teeth, his jaw aching from the pressure.

  Then came the Hollow Hand—the ones who struck first, who started this chaos.

  And the Black Cipher. How could they have been so weak?

  But beneath all the rage, the frustration, the grief—one cold, sobering thought remained.

  "Why didn’t I just use my abilities?"

  He had been training to hone them. He was supposed to be cautious, prepared. But instead, he had let his guard down—the thought not even crossing his mind.

  For nearly an hour, he forced himself to stay alert, sending out steady pulses of awareness past the perimeter of their camp. But all he sensed was the shifting presence of wildlife, nothing more. No figures lurking in the brush. No footsteps creeping closer.

  Still, he found no relief.

  Then—soft, deliberate steps approached from behind.

  He didn’t turn—he knew who it was before the voice even reached him.

  "He was a good man," Arelos murmured.

  Viktor remained silent, his shoulders tense.

  Arelos didn't press, just walked up beside him and settled down onto the tree with a sigh.

  "I wish he was here with us now," he continued. "We could really use him."

  Viktor said nothing, his guilt swallowing any words that tried to form.

  They sat there, the silence stretching between them, before Arelos spoke again—softer this time, like he could feel the weight pressing down on Viktor’s chest.

  "But we need you now more than ever."

  Viktor’s fingers clenched against his knees. His voice, when it came, was raw. Haggard.

  "I killed him."

  Arelos breathed out sharply. "That scum Greg deserved what he got."

  "Not Greg," Viktor cut in, his voice raw. He turned slightly, eyes dark with grief. "I meant Voralis."

  Arelos exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "That’s not on you, Viktor."

  "You don’t understand," Viktor insisted, staring at the dirt beneath his boots. "If I had scouted ahead—"

  Arelos snorted quietly. "Ah. So that’s how it is."

  Viktor shot him a small, incredulous glance. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "It means I knew you’d pull this kind of self-pitying bullshit," Arelos replied bluntly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "You knew damned well you could’ve done things differently."

  Viktor opened his mouth to argue but hesitated.

  Arelos saw it and pushed forward. "You’re surprised? Voralis would've still been alive."

  Viktor recoiled slightly, not expecting agreement. His voice was sharp when he responded. "So what? I was right? It *was* my fault?"

  Arelos let a beat of silence stretch between them before he responded. "Yes. But it wasn't *just* yours."

  Viktor’s fingers clenched around his knees as he stared at Arelos in silent challenge. "Then whose fault?"

  "Mine."

  Viktor blinked. "What?"

  "You heard me," Arelos said, voice calm and even.

  "Why would it be your fault?"

  Arelos shrugged. "Same reasons as you. I could’ve done things differently too."

  "How?"

  Arelos sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I could’ve been more vigilant. Set up a proper lookout. Maybe suggested Soren keep watch earlier." He gestured vaguely. "Could've—should've—done all sorts of things.”

  Viktor shook his head. "Nobody asked you to do that."

  "And nobody asked you to scout ahead," Arelos countered, meeting Viktor’s gaze.

  Silence stretched between them.

  "...But Voralis relied on me," Viktor muttered, his voice barely audible.

  Arelos scoffed. "If he relied on a habit you hadn’t even formed yet, then that’s on *him*."

  Viktor’s eyes flashed. "That’s not fair."

  "Maybe not," Arelos admitted with a small sigh. "But it’s true. Look, either we’re *all* at fault, or none of us are. We can sit here dissecting every choice we made, thinking about how we should’ve known better—" He glanced at Viktor meaningfully. "—but we didn’t. And now here we are."

  Viktor’s jaw clenched as something inside him cracked. His breath came faster, shallower. He inhaled sharply through his nose as warmth prickled at the edges of his eyes. A moment later, silent tears spilled onto his cheeks.

  Arelos didn’t say anything. Just sat there. Present.

  After a while, Arelos moved, placing a firm, steady hand on Viktor's shoulder. He squeezed once, grounding him.

  "Enough guilt for one night," Arelos murmured. "We still have time before dawn. You should get some sleep."

  Viktor hesitated, shaking his head. "I— I don’t think I can. Not after—"

  Arelos gave him a dry look. "Yeah? Well, *I* need you rested in case shit goes sideways. So as much as I’d love to let you sit here and wallow in self-loathing all night, I’d prefer you be useful come morning."

  Viktor almost—almost—smiled at the way Arelos phrased it. Instead, he just exhaled through his nose and muttered, "I don’t think I’m going to fall asleep even if I try."

  Arelos wasn’t having it. "Well, you owe it to the rest of us to at least try. Besides," he added with an exaggerated sigh, "I need some time to stew in my own poor decisions too."

  That managed to pull a weak chuckle from Viktor.

  "There we go." Arelos smirked faintly before his expression sobered again. "Vik—can I... can we count on you?"

  Viktor hesitated. Then, finally, he nodded.

  "Good." Arelos pushed himself to his feet and stretched. "Then get some sleep. That’s an order."

  Viktor snorted softly but stood, rubbing at his face with the heel of his palm as he moved back toward the others.

  Arelos sat where he was, watching him go—but when Viktor turned back, just for a second, Arelos gave him a knowing look.

  "Keep going," it seemed to say.

  Viktor swallowed, nodded once more, and settled in for what rest he could manage.

  And for the first time that night, the guilt didn’t feel quite so suffocating.