The transition from the scorched heat of Oakhaven to the biting chill of the Whispering Barrens was instantaneous. Behind them, the city was a glowing wound in the horizon, smoke and holy light painting the sky a bruised purple. Ahead, the trees were twisted husks, their leafless branches clawing at the moon like the fingers of a starving man.
Alaric stumbled, his knees finally giving out. He hit the frozen mud with a heavy thud, the Star-Steel fused to his arm hissing as it touched the cold ground.
"Alaric!" Evelyn scrambled toward him, her hands glowing with a dim, flickering emerald light. "Don't you dare close your eyes. If you fall asleep now, the mana-fever will burn what's left of your mind."
"It's... too quiet," Alaric muttered. His breath didn't come out as steam; it came out as a fine, crystalline powder. The "Holy Damage" from the gate was crawling up his neck in the form of white, vein-like cracks.
"That's because the Barrens eat sound," she replied, frantically pouring a stabilizing tonic down his throat. "We are in the dead zone. Even Gareth's scouts won't follow us this deep tonight. They fear the restless spirits more than they hate you."
Alaric looked at his silver arm. It wasn't glowing anymore; it was cold—dead cold. The Star-Steel had stabilized his heart, but it had also turned his right side into a conductor for the Barrens' ambient misery. He could feel the trees whispering, a thousand overlapping voices mourning a sun they hadn't seen in centuries.
"We need to find the Black Alchemist's Grove," Evelyn said, looking at a rusted compass that spun in useless circles. "Varkas told me that if we ever escaped, we had to find the one who taught him. The only person who knows how to graft Star-Steel without it killing the host."
"And if he's dead?" Alaric asked, his golden eyes narrowing.
"Then we both are," Evelyn said, her voice unusually soft. She leaned against a tree, her strength finally failing. "You broke a Holy Barrier, Alaric. You're not just a fugitive anymore. You're a miracle that the Church needs to erase. Every bounty hunter from here to the Iron Sea will be looking for a man with a silver arm."
Alaric sat up, his movements stiff. He looked at the scars on his chest, then at the girl who had given up everything to sew a dragon into his ribcage. He reached out with his human hand and touched her shoulder.
"Let them come," he growled. "I've died once already. The next person who tries to take my heart will find out exactly why dragons were hunted to extinction."
In the distance, a low, guttural howl echoed through the trees—not a wolf, but something much larger, something that smelled the fresh dragon-mana in the air. The Barrens were welcoming its new guest.