The forest closed around them like a cage of blackened ribs, each branch bending inward as if to eavesdrop. Their boots sank into the damp earth, leaving no trace in the moss, save for the occasional print where the ground was softer. Mist curled low over the path, swallowing their ankles.
No one spoke for the first mile. Velira's presence—her perfume of iron and roses, her sly half-smile—lingered in the air like smoke.
Finally, Seralyn broke the silence. "We should have killed her."
Kaelen's eyes flicked to her. "She came under parley."
"She came to rattle you," Seralyn shot back. "And it worked."
Lyra, walking a step behind Kaelen, glanced between them. "She seemed… sincere. In her own way."
"Sincere about serving Vorath," Rhess muttered. His hand stayed near the hilt of his sword, as if Velira might still leap from the shadows. "You heard what she said. 'Vorath has victory in chains.' You know what that means."
Maeve's voice was low but steady. "It means he's taken someone powerful. Someone who could turn the tide."
Kaelen didn't slow his stride. "Or it's a lie to make us falter."
"Is it working?" Seralyn asked, her tone sharper than she intended.
Kaelen didn't answer right away. His gaze stayed forward, tracing the mist-wrapped path. "It's… distracting. And that might be all she wanted."
The party pressed on, the path narrowing until they were forced into single file. Branches clawed at cloaks and hair. Somewhere ahead, water murmured—a stream, fast and narrow.
Rhess took the lead to scout the crossing. "If we keep pushing east, we'll hit the old watchtower by nightfall. That's higher ground."
"Good for sightlines," Maeve agreed, "and shelter, if it's still standing."
Kaelen nodded. "We'll make for it. But we need to move quiet. Velira came alone—or so she claimed—but there could be others tracking us now."
As they moved, Lyra quickened her pace until she was beside Kaelen. "Do you think she meant it?"
"Meant what?"
"That… she wanted you to surrender because she took an interest in you. And me."
Kaelen gave her a sidelong glance. "I think Velira's interest is a weapon. She looks for threads to pull, and we gave her some without meaning to."
Lyra bit her lip, but didn't reply.
They reached the stream—a silver ribbon spilling over mossy stones. Rhess tested the depth with his spear, then motioned them across. Seralyn went first, leaping from stone to stone with easy grace. Lyra followed more carefully, clutching Kaelen's offered hand for balance.
Once across, they regrouped in the thinning mist.
Maeve adjusted the straps on her pack. "If Vorath truly has… victory in chains, we need to know what that means before we decide our next move. Charging in blind is suicide."
"Agreed," Kaelen said. "Which is why we gather intelligence before anything else. The watchtower will give us a vantage point—we can observe the valley from there."
Rhess frowned. "And if Velira's already told him where we're heading?"
"Then," Kaelen said simply, "we won't be there long enough to matter."
The forest began to thin as the afternoon wore on, shadows stretching into long, black fingers. The air smelled faintly of rain, though no drops had yet fallen. Above the canopy, the first peaks of the mountains rose like jagged teeth.
Seralyn, walking a few paces ahead, glanced back. "You think she was telling the truth about being here of her own accord?"
"No," Kaelen said. "And yes. Velira's the sort who decides what's in her own interest and makes it true—Vorath's will, or her own, depending on the moment."
Lyra hesitated before speaking. "That makes her dangerous."
"That," Kaelen agreed, "makes her exactly the kind of enemy Vorath keeps close."
By the time they crested a small rise, the watchtower was in sight—its silhouette a leaning finger of black stone against the bruised sky. The top was broken, jagged like a shattered crown, but the base looked solid enough.
"Perfect place for an ambush," Rhess muttered.
"Or a perfect place to spot one," Kaelen countered. "We check it before nightfall."
They approached in silence, weapons ready. Inside, the tower was cold and smelled faintly of ash. The ground floor was empty, save for a few crumbling crates and a heap of old, rotted cloth.
Maeve ran her fingers along the wall. "This hasn't been used in years."
"Good," Kaelen said. "That means it's ours for the night."
They ascended the narrow spiral stairs to the upper level. The view from the broken crown of the tower was breathtaking—the valley spread out before them, veiled in twilight mist. A river cut through its center, glinting faintly, and beyond it lay the dark sprawl of the Deadwood.
"Tomorrow," Kaelen said, scanning the horizon, "we head for the river. We'll need to circle the Deadwood if we want to keep the element of surprise."
Rhess leaned against the wall. "Surprise? Against Vorath? After Velira's little visit, I'd wager he already knows exactly where we are."
"Then we make sure he doesn't know where we're going," Kaelen replied.
They settled in as night deepened. A single lantern lit the room, casting long shadows on the cracked walls. Outside, the wind picked up, carrying the scent of rain at last.
No one mentioned Velira again—but she was there, in every pause between words, in every wary glance toward the dark horizon.