Nyla dreamed of the Hollow tearing open.
The valley stretched before her the way it always had, but wrong, sky bruised purple, riverbed cracked and dry, the air thick enough to choke her lungs. A strange wind dragged itself through the fields, tugging at branches, rooftops, her hair blowing around her face. Nothing in it had direction. It circled like something searching.
Then the earth shuddered.
A storm spilled down from the mountains, black and heaving, swallowing the horizon in one monstrous breath. Lightning webbed through it in jagged, bone-white veins. Trees bent. Houses groaned. The very air felt as though it were being unstitched.
With her breath seizing, the air strangled her tight, forcing her to face the storm. She tried to scream for Alva but the words were like concrete. The wind slammed her to her knees and the storm roared like an angry beast devouring the valley.
"Nyla."
The voice cut through everything.
And the world vanished.
Her eyes snapped open with a quiet sharp gasp and the first thing she noticed was that her neck ached. Wincing, her hand shot to her neck and she realised she'd fallen asleep at the bench surrounded by her sketchings and loose pressed flowers.
Dreams were omens, Nyla straightened her aching shoulders and looked out to the thawing trees, trying to remember more of her dream. She made a note of it on a piece of paper in front of her.
The fire had burned low, embers soft and sullen. Pale morning leaked weakly through the shutters, striping the floorboards in thin silver gold lines. A breeze moved the curls against her cheek. She turned her head, saw the empty spot in front of the hearth. "Barius?"
No answer.
She rose at once, feet hitting the floorboards, heart plummeting. The workshop door stood slightly ajar, the faint smell of damp air and pine drifting in. Panic clawed up her chest. He couldn't even sit upright yesterday, how in all the stars was he standing? Had someone dragged him out while she slept?
She stepped outside quickly, blinking against the pale morning light and he was no where in sight.
"Oh Gods..."
∞
The world jittered at the edges, colours bending, sound warping into strange echoes as Barius limped through the trees. He didn't know why his feet moved. He didn't know anything except the cold on his skin and the ache ripping through his chest with every breath.
The square opened before him with soft morning light, shuttered windows and the distant thump of someone chopping wood. All of it felt like a place he should not be. Like a place he might break simply by standing in it.
Voices murmured from the far side, then hushed.
Someone had seen him.
A door slammed. Footsteps rushed. "Don't move."
The woman approached slowly, like she was trying not to spook a wild animal. She had flour-dusted sleeves, a heavy apron, and a glare that could stop a charging bull.
But her eyes, that was what hit him. A lightning blue that pierced him. Recognition. Alarm and something bordering on fear. "G-gods," she breathed. "You're one of the prince's men."
The words meant nothing to him, but her tone struck something low and sick in his gut.
The world spun around him, a hot wave rolling up his spine. She caught him before he hit the dirt, hands surprisingly steady, voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "This has Nyla's name written all over it. What was she thinking bringing you into the village?" She looked quickly around, checking if anyone else had seen. A few curtains snapped shut.
Barius made a small sound, half pain, half confusion.
"Oh, don't look at me like that," she muttered, frustrated and terrified all at once. "Inside. Quickly. Before someone decides to fetch a bow."
He didn't understand the words. He barely understood himself but he understood the pressure of her arm as she pulled him sideways, practically shoving him toward the bakery door.
She hauled him through the door with the strength of someone used to wrestling sacks of grain twice her size and the heat of the bakery wrapped around him instantly, sweetness, spice, warm bread, somewhere soft and safe. It almost knocked him flat.
"Sit," she barked. "If you fall over, I'm not picking you up again."
He obeyed, mostly because he didn't trust his legs to stay attached and dropped himself against a chair, resting his aching body. "Where...where am I?"
"The Hollow. You rode through yesterday, you don't remember?" Lysa circled him like a hawk assessing a problem she didn't want. The back of her hand pressed against his head roughly, "Burning with fever. Covered in half-healed wounds. Someone is watching over you, boy, of all people to find you, you had the luckiest pick getting Nyla."
Barius blinked at her. "Nyla..."
Her gaze sharpened. "Yes, Nyla. The only reason I suspect you're still alive. Tsk," Lysa said stepping back a pace in disapproval, muttering, "Always with the bleeding heart, that girl."
Barius didn't respond, eyes drifting across the shelves of fresh hot breads, sweet-rolls and cakes. The smell of sugar crisping in an oven nearby, sent a sharp dull pain through his abdomen. He gripped his head, "Who...who am I?"
Lysa was taken aback, "Well, I don't know. What, you hit your head or something?" her brow softened, sensing trouble, like she'd just realised she might be scolding a man who didn't remember his own name. She grabbed a pastry, shoved it toward him. "Here. Eat before you pass out and make me look bad."
He touched it slowly, like it might crumble under his fingers.
The sweetness hit his tongue like sunlight. Tears stung his eyes and he didn't know why.
The pastry was still warm in his hand when footsteps sounded outside, quick and purposeful. A knock followed, firm, familiar.
"Lysa."
The door unlocked immediately.
Nyla stepped inside, breath still uneven, curls tugged loose by the wind. Her gaze swept the room in one sharp pass, counter, oven, shelves, then landed on him. There was a flicker of relief she didn't bother hiding. It vanished just as quickly.
Where Lysa was dark haired and fair skinned, Nyla was all warmth and fire.
"Well," Lysa said, dry as old bread, "it's about bloody time."
Nyla didn't rise to it. "I'm so sorry, Lysa. I couldn't find him."
"Really?" Lysa replied, arms crossing. "You don't say."
Barius shifted, disoriented. The woman who'd dragged him in straightened, clearly bracing herself. "I found your stray wolf halfway into the square," Lysa continued. "Staggering about like a corpse someone forgot to bury. I hauled him in before the entire village decided to get involved."
Nyla's jaw tightened. "I'm sorry."
That earned her a look. "Don't," Lysa said sharply. "You don't apologise after the fact. You apologise before you leave a man alone long enough to wander into trouble."
"I didn't think he could walk. I mean, look at him."
Both women stared straight at him for a moment, and Lysa tsked in reluctant approval. "And yet here we are."
Nyla crossed the bakery in three long strides. She didn't touch him at first, just looked. Took in the pallor, the tremor in his hands, the way he leaned like the chair was the only thing holding him upright. "You've opened your stitching," she said flatly.
Barius frowned. "I—"
"Why did you leave?" she demanded.
He swallowed. "Had to see...the trees."
Her mouth tightened. "You don't go wandering when you can barely stand."
Lysa let out a sharp breath. "That's what I said. Though I used fewer words and more common sense."
Nyla straightened and finally looked back at Lysa. "Thank you. For bringing him in."
"Someone had to." Lysa replied. "Next time, try not to make it the baker."
A beat.
Then Nyla nodded once. "I'll take him back."
"And do what exactly?"
"I've already contacted the Eodwyn guard. I just have to keep him alive long enough for them to get here."
Lysa scrunched her nose up at the idea but relented. "You'll do it quietly," Lysa said. "And you'll do it now. Before Devrin decides to look out his window."
Nyla's gaze flicked to the door. "Understood."
She turned back to Barius, already shifting into command rather than comfort.
"Can you stand?"
He hesitated.
"That wasn't a suggestion," she added.
Before they could speak another word, a fist slammed against the door.
"Lysa! Open the damn door!"
Lysa froze, eyes flicking to Nyla.
Nyla stepped in front of him, not loudly, not dramatically, just there, quiet as breath but immovable.
Another shout: "We saw him! Gods, Lysa, don't play stupid, open up!"
She clicked her tongue. "Patience, Devrin. Or did the war rattle the last of your manners out of you?"
Devrin. A man with a limping gait and a temper that flared like dry grass.
Another voice joined, "Don't antagonize him," said Thom, quieter but angrier. "We know who you've got in there."
Thom, a broad-shouldered man who used to carve wooden toys before the Emperor drafted him into his war against the Fae who dominated the outer territories. Many lives were lost, many men returned home broken, and ultimately the Emperor's war was unsuccessful and meaningless.
"Let us see him," he demanded. "If that's one of the prince's guards, we deserve to hand him over."
Nyla's jaw tensed.
Lysa made a sound, like someone done listening to children bicker. "Oh, for Divine's sake, the three of you sound like drunk geese," her eyes flicked to Nyla as she quietly added, "Steady now, Healer Nyla."
Barius tensed.
Lysa cracked the door just enough, spine straight, chin lifted, but voice low so as not to draw further attention. "There'll be no blood on my floors today, boys, you got that?"
The door flung open and the men crowded in.
Nyla closed her eyes for half a breath as she took in Thom, Devrin, Jarek but instead of worry, all she felt was irritation.
Behind her, Barius shifted. His breathing was shallow, uneven, the sound of it scraping against her nerves. He had been too still for too long.
Devrin glared first, skin rippled with scars from battles long ago. "So it's true," he spat, "You brought one of them into the village. A murderer."
"Woah, now-" Lysa began.
Nyla didn't flinch. "He was dying, but he wasn't dead. I took an oath, Devrin-"
"They killed Jorin. A boy." Thom's voice boomed within the wooden walls of the bakery, "We just buried him, but you missed that funeral didn't you?"
Jarek leaned in, voice snide. "What was the plan? Heal him up and send him back to the prince? Maybe secure yourself a lovely little reward?"
Lysa barked a laugh so sharp it froze the three men. "Oh Jarek, you idiot. Nyla doesn't give two figs about your conspiracies. She dragged a dying man out of the mud because she has a moral backbone thicker than your skull, don't pretend none of you don't know it."
"That's not the point, Lysa. She broke Ewan's word," Thom said. "He told everyone to stay inside. Everyone trusted that call."
"I know," Nyla said. "I was there when he said it."
Devrin let out a sharp laugh. "Then you decided it didn't apply to you?"
"Not at the time, no," Nyla shot back. "I decided Maris didn't get to risk losing her baby because of it."
That stopped them, just briefly.
"The mushrooms," Nyla continued. "They only bloom on the full moon. She needed them. You know that, Thom, I used them on your wife delivering Willa."
"Do not bring my family into this," Thom warned. "This was a village matter and you took it into your own hands. Not only that, you believed you knew better - had he not been dead, you may have suffered a fate worse than death."
"I went because I knew where to find them and how fast I could be back."
"And instead," Jarek said, voice rising, "you came back with him."
"I came back with a wounded man," Nyla snapped. "I didn't know who he was."
Not entirely a lie.
"Oh don't give us that shit, you knew exactly who he was and you still brought him into the village."
"Well she's called the guard, so stop getting so loud." Lysa then side-eyed Nyla, "You did send for the guard, didn't you?"
"Yes," Nyla said. "I did."
That did it.
Thom uncrossed his arms, anger breaking through his restraint. "You didn't run it past anyone. You didn't tell Ewan. You didn't tell us."
"There wasn't time," Nyla said. "He was half-frozen. Bleeding. He's only just woken up."
"That's not your call to make alone," Devrin said. "Not anymore. Not after Jorin."
The name hit like a fist.
Nyla's jaw tightened. "Don't."
"You don't get to ask us to forget," Jarek took a dangerous step towards Nyla. Nyla stood her ground, despite her heartbeat picking up, as he got close to her. "You don't get to decide that your mercy outweighs our safety."
Behind her, the scrape of wood against stone cut cleanly through the argument and the heat of Barius' body radiated against her back as he rose into a standing position. His presence filled the room like a dark shadow.
He didn't speak but he didn't need to.
He was taller than anyone in the room, even bent slightly, broad shoulders filling the narrow space. Blood seeped darkly through the edge of his bandage. His breathing rasping but steady. The intense hazel of his good eye, though ringed with burst blood vessels, stared intently at Devrin.
Devrin stiffened, taking an imperceptible pace backwards. Thom's gaze flicked to him, assessing despite himself. Jarek swore under his breath, glancing around at Thom and Devrin, as if waiting for someone to decide what to do.
For a heartbeat, all of them saw what he could be. A man built for violence, even broken.
Nyla felt it instantly. She didn't turn fully, just glanced sideways, eyes sharp.
"It's all right." she said, sharper than intended, despite being mildly impressed he was able to silence three of the loudest men in the Hollow.
He held himself there for another breath, jaw clenched, shaking, then the effort broke. He sagged back against the counter, breath tearing out of him as pain won.
The silence afterward was thick.
Nyla stepped forward, reclaiming the space before any of them could speak.
"That," she said tightly, "is what I found in the snow."
Thom shook his head. "You can't honestly tell me you don't see the danger."
"I don't see the danger? I'm a damn woman, Thom-"
"Exactly. You expect us to believe you did this alone? Where's Valtor, huh? Prick was always sweet on you. You mean to tell me you lifted him," Thom's eyes narrowed at Barius then flicked back to Nyla, "on your own?"
"Oh Gods," Lysa scrunched up her nose as if smelling something foul, "I just lifted him through the doorway when he fell, you going to accuse me now too?"
"That's not the fuckin' same, and you know it Lysa. Bottom line is that Healer Nyla bought a murderer into our village. Kept it a secret and directly disobeyed orders that keep this village safe."
She stepped closer to the men, voice softer now.
"Do not forget who I am here, Thom. I helped bring your children into this world. I saved your wives when those pregnancies' went wrong. I mended broken bones and fevers, and nightmares. I helped many of you with issues I'm sure you'd not appreciate being disclosed right now, and I mended the soldiers that returned from the war - those I couldn't, I mercifully sent them to the Aelir - and I asked no questions, when I am almost certain there should be some."
Devrin's eyes flicked away, and Thom noticed it. Jarek's mouth twisted but uncertain.
"You know me," Nyla said quietly. "You know the oath I swore and you know why I couldn't leave him there. If he were dead that would've been different but he wasn't."
Devrin spat to the side. "Nyla, you're asking us to trust a man who swore to the Emperor."
"He doesn't even know his own name right now," she replied. "He can barely stand. He doesn't remember the prince, or the Empire, or anything, but yet he was willing to protect me from you. And if you tried to lay a hand on him in this state, you'd be a damn coward."
Thom's eyes flicked past her, toward the dim interior.
Barius met his gaze for a heartbeat.
His vision wavered. He tried to straighten but sagged back against the counter. His breath rasped, too loud. Too obvious.
Thom's expression cracked first.
"Gods," Thom muttered. "What does that to a man?"
"A Nightwalker," Nyla said.
A hush fell over the room.
Jarek scoffed, but softer now. "A Nightwalker? They don't attack people, they just take the dead...don't they?"
"I don't know."
"You think a Nightwalker did this to him?"
"I don't know what happened. All I know is that the venom they use to preserve the bodies, is what they used to try and kill him with."
"Why would they do that?"
"I don't know!" Nyla snapped, voice echoing off the walls, silencing those around her. Nyla took a breath, "I've already contacted the city guard."
Lysa stepped forward, planting herself beside Nyla like a rooted oak.
"You want to drag him out?" she dared. "Be my guest. But think hard before you frighten the children on their way to morning chores."
That hit.
Hard.
These were fathers. Uncles.
Men who once came home from war broken, trying to rebuild the shape of gentleness for their families. The threat wasn't bodily harm. It was shame. Being the man who scared the village's little ones, who brought the war home with them.
Thom dropped his gaze.
Devrin's jaw unclenched.
Jarek looked away first, muttering, "We just want answers."
"And you'll get them," Nyla promised. "From me. Later. When he can breathe without wincing and can defend himself."
Lysa added, "And until then, the next man who pounds on my door will get undercooked bread for a week."
A beat.
Then Devrin huffed. "Fine. But we'll be back."
"Wonderful," Lysa said sweetly. "I'll put tea on."
The men left, not satisfied, but disarmed enough to walk away.
Nyla shut the door quietly.
Her shoulders slumped the second it latched.
Lysa's eyes widened and she blew out a breath, "Well...I'd say that went surprisingly well."
"Define well."
"Well, they didn't kill him."
"Comforting." Nyla said bitterly, turning back to Barius.