The ambush came at the narrow pass.
It always did.
The road dipped between jagged stone walls, tall enough to block sightlines, close enough to trap sound. Aelira felt it before anyone spoke—the way the shadows leaned inward, the way the air tightened.
"Hold," Kael said softly.
The group slowed.
Too late.
The horn blast shattered the quiet.
Arrows rained down from the cliffs, iron-tipped and fast. Rook swore as he yanked his shield up, Lyra already moving, blades flashing as she sprinted for cover.
"Royal patrol," Jax shouted. "Six—no, eight!"
"Ten," Kael corrected, drawing his sword. "They planned this."
Aelira dismounted smoothly, cloak snapping behind her. She didn't raise her hand.
Not yet.
"Jax—left ridge," Kael ordered.
"Lyra—cut their line."
"Rook—on me."
They moved like a unit—trained, practiced, alive.
The second wave of arrows never landed.
The shadows along the cliff face surged—not violently, not wildly—but precisely. They wrapped around bowstrings, yanked weapons from hands, dragged boots off balance.
Aelira exhaled slowly.
"Now," she whispered.
Kael charged.
Steel met steel in a sharp, ringing clash. He moved like a blade released from its sheath—clean, efficient, relentless. Rook slammed into a guard beside him, laughing as he disarmed the man and knocked him flat.
Lyra emerged behind the patrol line like a ghost, knives flashing. Jax's arrows flew true from above, dropping two soldiers before they even turned.
The patrol broke.
"Fall back!" one of them shouted.
They tried.
The shadows closed the pass.
Not crushing. Not killing.
Blocking.
Aelira stepped forward, eyes cold, voice steady. "Leave."
The soldiers froze.
"Tell the queen," she continued calmly, "that roads bite back."
One bolted.
The others followed.
Silence returned, broken only by heavy breathing.
Rook wiped blood—not his—from his knuckles. "Well," he said cheerfully, "that was rude of them."
Lyra glanced at Aelira. "You controlled that."
"Yes," Aelira replied. "Barely."
Kael sheathed his sword, gaze sharp. "And they'll report."
"Good," Aelira said. "I want her to know we didn't scatter."
They didn't linger.
Kael led them off the road, down a path that shouldn't have existed—stone steps hidden by moss, markers only visible if you knew where to look.
Aelira followed, watching carefully.
"This way," she said quietly after a moment.
Kael paused, surprised. "You feel it too."
"Yes."
The land bent here. Old. Remembering.
The path opened into a hollow carved deep into the hills—half natural cave, half fortress. Lanterns flickered to life as they approached, revealing walls etched with faded sigils and banners long hidden from the sun.
People stepped out to meet them.
Armed. Alert. Watching Kael with recognition.
One man broke into a grin. "Took you long enough."
Kael exhaled. "Still standing, I see."
"Barely," the man replied, then turned his gaze to Aelira—sharp, assessing. "So this is her."
Aelira met his stare without flinching.
"Yes," Kael said. "This is her."
The man nodded once. "Then welcome to the Hollow."
Inside, the base thrummed with quiet life—fighters training, healers working, messengers preparing to ride. Not chaos.
Organization.
Aelira took it in, pulse steady.
"You built this," she said to Kael.
"We did," he replied. "Before the crown decided loyalty meant silence."
Rook grinned. "Surprise."
Lyra leaned close to Aelira. "Try not to look too impressed."
Aelira smiled faintly. "I'm very impressed."
Kael watched her as realization settled in her eyes—not fear, not doubt.
Possibility.
"This isn't running," Aelira said softly.
"No," Kael agreed. "It's waiting."
She turned to him. "For what?"
"For you," he replied.
Silence stretched.
Then Aelira straightened, voice calm and certain.
"Then," she said, "let's stop waiting."
Around them, the Hollow listened.
And somewhere far away, a queen received word of an ambush gone wrong—
And a road that had chosen a side.