Zarius didn't answer immediately.
He reached into his coat, movements slow and deliberate, and pulled out a worn, creased map of Thranduil. He spread it over the rough wood, smoothing the edges with his palm.
His finger didn't hesitate. It traced a sharp, decisive line from Valdar, snaking south, until it tapped a single name.
Skaldvin.
Yulia ran her tongue over her dry lips and set the cup down.
"Not bad," she murmured, a faint, dry smile touching her lips. "Being buried alongside my father... I suppose that's a decent ending."
She didn't wait for a reaction. Her expression hardened instantly.
"But jokes aside. Why Skaldvin? And what exactly are you looking for there?"
Zarius finally lifted his head. The exhaustion in his mismatched eyes wasn't subtle anymore.
"The Visemen," he said. "If anyone still has answers, it's surely them."
Hyran spun his chair around, claws scraping the wood as he leaned in. His golden eyes burned.
"The only place I'm going with you is straight to hell."
"We're going," Zarius snapped. "All of us."
Silence followed—tight, brittle. Yulia rubbed her arms, goosebumps crawling over her skin.
"I doubt Skaldvin will save us," she said calmly. "But traveling together again… I don't mind that."
Hyran turned away, jaw clenched. He said nothing.
Zarius's fingers tapped against the map—slow, measured rhythm.
"But how?" Yulia asked quietly. "Moriana can barely stand. And me?"
"We wait," Zarius replied without looking up. "Until Moriana recovers."
Hyran chuckled sarcastically.
"You mean we wait for Yulia to—"
"There's no other choice, Hyran." Yulia's voice cut clean through him.
The beast leaned forward, forearms slamming onto the table.
"I can carry you and the witch the whole way."
Yulia didn't flinch.
"And if we're attacked? We'll just slow you down and put us all in danger."
Zarius seized the opening. "Exactly."
Yulia looked between them, then sighed, shifting her gaze to Hyran.
"Then it's settled. Unless you have another plan."
Hyran exhaled hard, a low growl vibrating in his chest.
"Time isn't on our side."
Zarius didn't move. He didn't even blink.
"So?" he whispered.
Hyran glared at him.
"So... think about something faster."
Zarius's restraint finally shattered.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," he snarled. "Do you think I'm hiding miracles in my pockets?"
He slammed his fist down. The empty cup jumped.
"I've thought this through until my head bled. There are no shortcuts."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping—quiet, poisonous.
"There's only one faster solution."
Hyran stiffened.
"If you're that desperate," Zarius continued, eyes wild, "go kill Moriana. End the source of the danger."
Yulia's breath caught.
"Maybe that saves Yulia," Zarius went on, ruthless. "Or maybe she die anyway."
He tilted his head, challenging the beast.
"So tell me—does that work for you?"
The words hung in the air, colder than the night outside.
Hyran didn't answer.
He jolted up, sending his chair crashing onto the floor. He turned, disgust etched into every line of his body.
"Fuck you," he spat, and stormed out.
Yulia twitched, as if to stop him—but didn't.
Zarius sagged onto the bench. The fury drained from his face, leaving something hollow and raw. He stared at his trembling hands on the table as if they belonged to someone else.
Yulia watched him for a long moment.
"Zarius…"Her voice was steady.
"I'll take care of Moriana's recovery. We'll leave for Skaldvin as soon as her body allows it."
She stepped closer and placed her cold hand on his head, patting it slowly—deliberately.
"Leave it to me," she said softly. "Get some rest."
Zarius held her gaze for a heartbeat.
Then he stood.
The motion forced her hand away. He said nothing. He didn't hesitate. He walked off taking the opposite path Hyran had chosen.
Yulia remained by the table.
The overturned chair lay where it had fallen. The argument still echoed in the space between the walls.
She moved away from the wreckage and looked out into Valdar's alley.
Life surged past her in a harsh, relentless current.
Pale faces. Bent backs. Coughs smothered in torn sleeves. Blood-soaked bandages dragging against the dirt. Eyes empty of expectation.
A sudden thud snapped her attention sideways.
Two men were beating a third against the wall. He was curled on the ground, arms over his head. A woman screamed and clawed at them, trying to pull them away.
No one stopped.
The crowd flowed around the violence like water around a stone—eyes forward, steps unbroken.
Yulia watched.
She felt no shock.
Only a bitter familiarity.
The alley's cruelty mirrored the one she'd just left behind at the table—smaller, uglier, just as pointless.
Her jaw tightened.
Damn it…what a mess