~ Great Woods, 9846, Calder ~
The Great Woods swallowed sound.
That was the first thing Calder noticed.
Even his breathing felt too loud beneath the canopy, the massive trees arching overhead like ribs. Light filtered down in fractured beams, green and gold, catching in the edges of his wings. He kept them tucked tight to his back, all six folded as neatly as he could manage, though that space still felt wrong.
Their hideaway was a hollow beneath the roots of an ancient tree. Its trunk was split and had grown around itself long ago. Moss carpeted the stony floor. The air smelled of damp earth and sap.
Hidden…well-hidden.
Adva crouched near the entrance, grinding leaves between her palms. The dye stained her fingers green, darker than the forest but close enough to pass at a distance. She worked it carefully through her feathers, muting their sea-green color until her wings looked like they belonged to the trees themselves.
Calder watched her in silence. "You know a few Greensong methods," he said at last.
"My mother was one." She stated.
"Ah," Calder nodded slowly.
That explained too much.
The precision. The restraint. The way she didn't rush to cover things, just enough to blur the edges. Greensongs didn't erase themselves from the forest. They blended.
Calder flapped his wings, trying to stretch them out. They scraped the bark he hadn't realized was so close.
Adva winced. "Careful."
"You say that like I'm not trying."
"I know you are," she said. "You're just not built for this place…"
He snorted softly. "I'm not built for anything…aside from the open mountain ranges."
Adva's mouth twitched, almost a smile, but it didn't linger. "The Great Woods don't care what you're built for," she said. "Only how much you disturb them."
Calder let his wings settle again, folding them tighter than they were comfortable. The silence pressed back in, thick and watchful, as if the Great Woods had paused to reassess him.
He didn't like being assessed. "How long can we stay?" he asked.
Adva glanced out through the curtain of roots and leaves, listening…but not with her ears alone. "A few days. Maybe longer, if no one stumbles too close."
"And if they do?"
"Then we move," she said. "Greensongs don't linger once Henak starts paying attention."
Calder frowned. "He already is."
"Yes," she agreed, a hint of dry amusement threading through her voice. "He is a god, after all."
He huffed softly, not quite a laugh. Calder leaned back against the inner wall of the hollow, careful this time. His eyes drifted upward as light shifted, the leaves swaying like something breathing.
"They'll be looking for us," he said. "Shadowtouched don't lose things quietly."
"No," Adva agreed, "they don't."
There was a beat. The unspoken hung between them.
Adva met his gaze. "I think," she began, "that if they do, it won't be because of the Great Woods."
That answer sat wrong in his chest. Calder looked back toward the green depths stretching away from their hiding place. His fingers flexed at his side, itching with energy he didn't fully trust anymore.
"Then we'd better not give them a reason," he said.
Adva's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary. "Yes," she spoke quietly. "Let's hope you don't."
The Great Woods shifted again, and Calder had the uneasy feeling that Henak wasn't listening to just Adva. He was listening to him as well…
~
Calder didn't realize he'd moved so far until the hollow was no longer behind him.
The passage sloped downward, roots arching overhead, holding the dirt up. The air changed the farther he went. It was cooler, damp, and threaded with something that hummed. Not sound exactly. More like a rhythm, like a song being held in a breath.
He found Adva in a wider chamber where water gathered naturally, seeping through the stone and bark alike. It pooled at her feet without soaking the ground, hovering in a thin, glass-smooth layer that reflected the low green light.
She stood at the center of it. Her eyes were half-lidded. One hand was raised, fingers subtly moving as the Great Woods responded to her.
Vines along the walls loosened, then tightened again. Leaves rustled, though there was no wind. Beneath it all ran that endless, wordless melody—Endless Songs, Henak's Blessing. While the water at her feet pulsed softly—Careless Waters, Rhezhesh's Blessing.
Two songs at once.
Calder leaned against the root-wall. "You're balancing it well," Calder stated.
Adva nodded once. "Keeping one blessing quiet while another's active is harder than it sounds." She flexed her finger, shaking off the residual tension. "Henak's is…cooperative. Useful in more ways than it lets on. I'm trying to maintain Endless Songs," she said. "It keeps the hideout…blurred. Harder to track. Harder to remember clearly, even if someone stumbled close."
"And the other?" Calder asked.
Her mouth curved. "Rhazhesh's Blessing is only truly useful when I'm in the water." A pause. "Or when I need to drown someone."
Calder snorted under his breath. "Yeah, that tracks."
She glanced at him sideways. "How's your control, now?"
His wings shifted with care. "Better than it was. Worse than I'd like." He shrugged. "Some aspects are only useful half the time anyway. Vezof's Blessing doesn't do much unless there's good wind—or I need to push or pull something that doesn't want to move."
"And Vorsakhi's?" Adva added.
Calder's expression tightened. "Destruction," he said flatly. "Pure and simple. Which checks out, considering she's the Goddess of Fire and Destruction."
"No subtlety," Adva murmured.
"None," he agreed. "Fire doesn't negotiate."
She was quiet for a moment, then gestured to the walls. "Henak is Earth and Time. Growth makes sense. I don't create plants, I just tell them they've already waited long enough."
Calder hummed. "Speeding up what's already meant to happen."
"Exactly." Her gaze dropped to the damp ground where the pool had been. "And Rhazhesh…she's Water and Memory. Careless Waters doesn't just move or drown. It remembers too. Where water's been. What it's touched. What it's taken."
Calder stilled.
"Memory sticks," Adva added softly. "Especially in things that flow."
After a beat, he nodded. "Vezof's Wind and Freedom. Windwalking. Motion without permission. The ability to leave." A faint, crooked smile tugged at his mouth. "Figured that one feels the most like breathing.
The Great Woods shifted again. Leaves whispered, roots settled.
"When I was younger, Windwalking was easy," he began. "Cliffwalker blood. It made sense. Wind answered, I moved. Clean…" he paused.
"And then," Adva prompted.
"And then, fire showed up." He snorted. "Heart of Fire. Emberheart stuff. My mom called it a Shadowtouched fluke. Randomized, she said. Like I just…rolled unlucky."
Adva tilted her head, studying him. "Do you believe that?"
He tossed his shoulders. "I didn't have a better explanation."
"There is one," she said.
Calder looked at her.
"The Shadowtouched didn't always lack a blessing," Adva continued. "Before the Hidden Monarch cursed them, they had their own songs. Their own domains. He just stripped them of their god's blessing."
Calder's fingers curled slightly. "Then why do halfbreeds—"
"—still manifest abilities?" she finished. "Because the echo remains. When Shadowtouched blood mixes with another lineage, it uncovers something old." She met his eyes. "Your fire isn't random, Calder. It's just a memory, whoever your father was—his ancestors—were Emberhearts. The Heart of Fire answered because it recognized you with its blood."
Calder huffed a breath that might've been a laugh if it didn't shake. He looked down at his hands, flexing them. No flame sparked, but he felt it there. Waiting.
"Great," he muttered. "The Great Woods are listening, gods have opinions, and now my blood's keeping secrets from me."
"You should be used to this, you're a halfbreed." Adva teased. She moved closer, stopping just short of his wings.
Calder stares at her. Adva grins. She flicks her wrist, palm up. A flower slips into existence between her fingers. Stem first, then petals with a fresh green color.
"Flower?" she offered, voice light with tease.
Calder raised an eyebrow. He didn't take it right away. Instead, he leaned in and poked one petal with a single finger, letting just a thread of fire slip free. The heat kissed it.
The flower didn't burn. It kept its shape, but the petals darkened where he touched them. The green faded into a deep red, veins turning black like cooled glass.
Adva let out a low whistle. "Interesting trick."
Calder hummed, withdrawing his hand. "They grow in the mountains too, but blue instead of green. They change colors with temperature. Some of them only bloom after lightning strikes."
He took the flower from her, turning it once between his fingers.
Adva reached out, running her fingers along the edge of a petal. "The color reminds me of someone I know."
Calder glanced at her. "And who might that be?"
"His name is Draven. I met him at the Greensong market, one of my days out."
"Draven," Calder repeated. "Can you trust this man?"
"He's helped a few other halfbreeds. I caught him smuggling a few out." Her gaze drifted, memory pulling at her attention. "When I came up behind him, he looked about ready to burn me alive."
Calder snorted softly. "I would too, if I were doing something illegal and someone who looked like a Greenie appeared out of nowhere." He tilted his head. "What kinds were they?"
"Most Greensong halfbreeds are Deepwater halves or Cliffwalker halves," she said, "so those kinds."
Calder nodded slowly, that tracking look settling into his eyes. "Easy to pass, then."
"To some degree," Adva nodded. "If you know how to keep your head down."
Calder turned the flower again, then closed his fingers around it. Heat bled into the petals until they darkened further, taking on a black shape. Ash sifted through the gaps in his hand and disappeared into the roots below.
"Halfbreeds don't have the luxury of peace," he said. "We blend the lines. That's why the laws have to change."
Adva watched the ash disappear. Henak's domain swallowed it without protest. "You say that as if the law listens."
"They will," Calder smiled. He dusted off the rest of the ash. "Eventually. Or they will break."
"That's not how change works." Adva eyed Calder. "Not in this world. Not with gods who like things ordered."
He looked at her. "Order's just a story they tell to keep us quiet," Calder hissed. "Shadowtouched, halfbreeds—anyone inconvenient. My mother died because she didn't fit into their neat…little. Borders."
Adva's jaw tightened. "And burning everything down fixes that?"
"Ah-ah, I didn't say burning," Calder clicked his tongue lightly. "I said changing."
"That's been tried before. Would you like to know what happened? It created the—" she lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers mockingly in the air. "—Shadowtouched."
"And that's the problem," he rolled his eyes. "They didn't rebel. Not really."
Adva stilled.
"They protested. They pleaded. They asked for unity like the gods would suddenly grow a conscience." His voice hardened. "They waited."
"And while they waited," Adva said slowly, "they were cursed."
"Exactly." Calder's wings shifted. "They gave the gods time to respond. Time to decide the answer was no."
Silence settled between them.
"I don't want permission," Calder began again. "I don't want acknowledgement. I want action that doesn't give them time to crush it."
Adva studied him carefully. "Immediate action gets people killed."
Calder met her gaze. "So does waiting."
Adva let out a slow breath through her nose. "So what?" Her voice was sharp. "We take immediate action and then what?" She gestured vaguely upward. "You think the Ascended care if we kill a few Rank Threes? They don't, Calder. Grounded disappear every day. It doesn't move anything."
"Then we don't go for the Grounded." Calder's gaze didn't waver.
Adva's eyes narrowed. "That's not what I—"
"We go higher," Calder continued, calm in a way. "More wings. Higher rank. More attention."
"That's suicide."
"No," he replied. "That's how you force a response."
The Great Woods creaked softly around them.
"You're talking about provoking the Ascended and the gods." Adva shook her head. "Kings. Gods. That kind of attention doesn't land on you—it crushes you."
Calder tilted his head. "Only if you're standing still."
Adva stared at him. Her Greensong patience was warring with his Cliffwalker pride. "You are arrogant like a Cliffwalker, but you think like a Shadowtouched."
He didn't deny it.
"They were cursed for less," she warned.
Calder's mouth curved. "And they're still remembered."
Adva looked away first, sighing. "This isn't a plan, it's an impulse dressed up as purpose."
Calder's feathers grew restless. "Every revolution starts as an impulse." He turned to the hall, looking over his shoulder. "The difference is whether you hesitate long enough for it to be buried."
He didn't wait for her reply. Calder turned and moved away from Adva's chamber. His boots were soft against dirt and root. He pulled his wings closer as he passed beneath the low arch. The Great Woods breathed on.
This place felt too small, too thick with breath and dispute, so he pushed out into the woods until the air burned cold in his lungs. Branches scraped his shoulders as he moved, and his boots sank into the damp earth.
Only when a small stream appeared did he slow. It cut through the clearing like a pale vein. The water flowed over the rocks in a slow, relentless rush. Calder knelt at the edge and plunged his arms in, scrubbing away dirt and dried sap. The cold bit at his skin, but he welcomed the feeling.
That was when he heard it. A shift in the brush. Too deliberate to be wind.
Calder stilled. His hands pulled from the water, and without a sound as he moved, he melted into the undergrowth. The dagger was in his grip before he'd consciously decided to draw it. Through the leaves, he watched.
A Winged emerged from the trees, alone. No escort. No visible markings from this distance. He knelt at the stream's edge, wings folding in close to his back as he leaned down to get a drink.
That was the mistake. Calder moved. In two steps, he was behind him, arm locking around the man's shoulder as the dagger pressed up under his jaw. The blade didn't cut, but the promise of it was there.
"Don't," Calder said quietly, his breath warm against the man's ear. "Wings, hands. If anything moves, you bleed."
The Winged froze.
Calder's grip was steady, but his heartbeat wasn't.
The Winged chuckled.
"Are you crazy?" Calder asked, the dagger pressing harder.
"No," the man replied easily. "But the girl should be more thoughtful about being followed."
Calder's breath hitched. Adva.
His grip tightened. "You're talking about Adva."
The Winged tilted his head as much as the blade allowed, lifting a finger. "Ah-ah, careful. Names travel."
Calder's eyes narrowed. "Then answer me this…" The woods felt as though they were caving in. "Are you Draven?"
"That," he said, "depends on who you ask."
The silence stretched. Calder didn't lower his blade. Whoever this was, Draven or not, he knew far too much.
It was a moment of hesitation before Calder drew back his dagger.
Draven stayed still at first, but when the pressure finally left his throat, he straightened himself.
There was no mistaking what he was. An Emberheart. His skin was sun-kissed and marked with old burn scars threading along his forearms and collarbone like a second map. The feature that stood out the most was his scaled wings. Emberhearts had no feathers.
Draven caught Calder looking and huffed a quiet laugh. "You gonna put that thing away, or is this the part where we circle each other?"
"You followed her," Calder spat.
"Yes."
"You wanted to be noticed."
Draven's mouth twitched. "Didn't say that."
Calder adjusted the blade in his hand. "You were talking about the girl."
Draven's eyes flicked. "She's loud without meanin' to be."
Calder scowled. "You spying on halfbreeds?"
"No," Draven waved his hand lazily. "I get 'em out."
This man with his…hair…was the smuggler? Calder looked at him suspiciously.
"For someone who gets halfbreeds out," Calder said flatly, "you don't look too inconspicuous." He gestured to his hair, then down to his wings.
"Whoa, now. Big words, smart boy. But no, I know. It's part of the look." Draven ran his fingers through his fiery red hair. His four wings puff with slight offense. Draven continued. "The Greensong girl, she's hiding you. Poorly. Figured I'd see if she was worth trustin' before someone worse noticed."
Before Calder could answer, a voice cut through the trees.
"Calder?" Footsteps. No caution.
Calder swore quietly and turned just as Adva pushed through the brush.
Her wings unfurled as she stopped, the sea-green feathers catching the small light.
Draven froze. "Well, I'll be—" he cut himself off, staring at Adva. "That ain't right."
Adva's eyes flicked from Calder's blade to Draven, then back. "You left."
"I needed air."
Draven barked a short laugh, disbelief creeping in. "So that's what you were hidin'." His gaze tracked her wings. "Greensong dye. Clever. But that color?" He shook his head. "Deepwater."
Adva stiffened.
"Didn't peg you for that," Draven went on. "Figured you were full Greensong. Neat trick. Only works 'cause of your horns." Draven tapped his own.
Calder watched Draven carefully. "You got a problem with that?"
Draven looked at him; his red eyes matched his hair. Draven raised his eyebrows. Calder knew he was piecing together what he was. Dusty grey wings. Cliffwalker and Shadowtouched.
"Nah," Draven said at last. "Just surprised." His eyes slid back to Adva. "Makes sense now, though. Why you move like you're always listenin'."
Adva folded her wings tighter. "You followed me."
"Sure did."
"And?"
"And I wanted to know if you were sloppy," he shrugged. "Or desperate."
"And?"
Draven smiled. "Turns out you're neither."
Calder sheathed his dagger. "You help halfbreeds."
"I help them breathe another day," Draven corrected. "Labels don't matter much when the Ascended start countin' wings."
Calder considered him for a moment. Then, quietly, "Any of them willing to fight?"
Draven huffed a laugh. "Most halfbreeds just want to live long enough to matter," he said. "Fightin'? That's not usually on the list."
The stream murmured behind Draven.
Adva didn't look away from Draven. "But you came anyway."
"Yeah," he nodded once. "Because sometimes I run into ones who don't want quiet." His eyes slid back to Calder. "And those," he added, "are the dangerous ones."
Adva tilted her head, her eyes narrowing just a smidge. "You said sometimes," she pressed. "The ones who don't want quiet. Can you get in contact with them?"
Draven shifted his weight, boots scraping against the stone. He didn't answer. Instead, his gaze flicked to Calder.
Calder said nothing. The dagger was gone, but the tension hadn't left him. He stood half-turned, wings tucked, and his posture loose in the way that meant he was anything but. His eyes met Draven's and stayed there.
Ice blue staring into fiery red.
Draven shot out a breath. "Sometimes," he repeated. "Ain't exactly a roster. Folks like that don't advertise."
"But you know how to find them," Adva said.
Daven's mouth curved, not into a smile. "I know how to listen."
Calder felt it. The strange, unwelcome sense that this man might actually be telling the truth. It sat wrong in his chest. Trust was something halfbreeds didn't survive with intact.
And yet, Draven didn't look away. There was just quiet behind his eyes, like someone who had already seen how this would play out and kept walking anyway.
"If we wanted to reach them," Adva continues, "the ones who might be willing to do more than hide—"
Draven lifted a hand. "Then you don't start by talkin' 'bout fightin'."
Adva stilled.
"You start by askin' who's tired," he said. "Who's got nothin' left to lose. And even then—" his gaze flicked to Calder again, "—you don't promise change. You just give honesty."
Calder's jaw tightened.
"Most'll still say nah," Draven went on. "Because breathin' one more day feels like a victory when you ain't had one in years."
Silence settled between the three. Adva glanced at Calder, who looked right back. "If we decided to listen," she turned her attention back to the Emberheart, "would you help?"
Draven scratched the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the ground. "I ain't sayin' yes," he muttered, "but I ain't sayin' no either."
Calder finally spoke. His voice was low. "If you bring anyone near us—"
"I won't," Draven cut in, immediately. He looked back up. "If they ain't safe, they don't come close. That's how y'all end up dead."
Their gazes locked again. Something in Calder eased. "Fine, then we wait."
Draven nodded once. "Then we wait."
~
The hour went by quickly. Draven was long gone, his footsteps swallowed the moment he'd stepped away from them, like the land had agreed to forget him.
The hideaway felt smaller than before.
Adva sat cross-legged near one of the dirt walls, working through the knots in her sea-green wings. She was quiet.
Calder leaned near the entrance. "That went better than it should have."
Adva looked up. "That's usually how dangerous things start, but it could've gone worse."
Calder huffed. "That's not comforting."
"You didn't kill him."
"I thought about it, but he didn't lie."
"I'm sure you did…how do you know he wasn't lying?"
Calder frowned. "He watched first, didn't rush. Didn't ask many questions, only what we wanted."
Adva traced her finger along one of her flight feathers. "That's what worries me."
"Because?" Calder pushed off the wall and began pacing back and forth slowly.
"Because people like that don't pick sides lightly."
"If he helps, it won't be for a cause. It'll be for the Winged." Calder paused. "I don't trust him, but I trust that he believes what he's saying."
A faint smile tugged at her mouth. "You noticed that too."
Calder shot her a look. "I notice a lot of things."
She tilted her head. "So you wanted to follow him?"
He didn't answer right away. The image of Draven by the stream flowed into his head. His easy stance, but careful eyes. "He knows how to move without being seen. And he knows halfbreeds who don't just want to disappear."
"Or at least knows how to find them," Adva said.
"Or how to get them killed." Calder countered.
She exhaled, slowly. "He's a smuggler. Not a soldier, nor a leader."
"Neither am I." He said flatly, his pacing easing.
"Calder, we both know that's not true."
He turned back to face her fully. "That's exactly why it is."
Adva folded her wings back. "If he comes back, things stop being quiet."
Calder's mouth twitched. "Quiet was never the goal."
"That's what scares me." Adva shook her head.
Calder looked past her, toward the dark weave of roots and earth. Where the world waited on the other side. "Good," he said. "It should."
The quiet settled between them again.
The hollow felt close, roots pressing in from every side, and the damp air clung to everything.
Calder took in a tight breath. "It's stuffy in here."
He didn't wait for agreement. He lifted his hands, fingers loose. The wind answered the motion immediately. It slid in low but fast, threading itself through the hideaway. It curled around the roots, slipped beneath the stone lip of the floor, and tugged stale air out through cracks Calder hadn't noticed before.
The change was quick. Cool air washed over Calder's arms and through his feathers, carrying the scent of running water and green growth with it. His chest loosened with the feeling of chills.
Adva watched the air move, head tilting as the current passed her. A few strands of her hair lifted, her sea-green feathers ruffling before settling again.
"Well," she said dryly. "That's one way to do it."
Calder lowered his hand. "Didn't feel like sitting in this stale, muggy air." One of his wings twitched, swirling around dirt.
She huffed, her feathers ruffling in irritation. "You could've warned me."
Calder shrugged; his smallest set fluttered with the motion.
Adva shifted where she sat and rolled her shoulders as the air continued to cycle through the space; her wings followed a beat later, loosening. "You do that like it's nothing."
"It's not nothing," Calder said. "It's just…easy."
"That's not any better." She folded her loose wings back.
He glanced at her. "You're the one who lives underground."
"Because it's much safer than plain sight," she shot back. "Not because I enjoy breathing dirt."
"I lived seventeen passings in plain sight," Calder argued as his wings flared defensively.
"I lived eighteen passings underground." She raised her eyebrows, unamused.
Calder looked away. The argument had lost its edge. "We didn't have a choice."
Adva's gaze dropped as she traced a shallow line with her finger. "Choices don't stop existing just because it's dangerous."
"No," Calder agreed. "But it does change the cost."
She glanced up at him. "And you think you're the one who should pay it?"
Calder didn't answer. He stepped closer to the entrance. "I think…" he paused, "…waiting is how our kind disappears, they vanish…quietly…without care."
Adva flapped her wings, lifting herself to her feet. She brushed the dirt from her palms. "And I think moving too fast gets people killed before they can understand what they're truly fighting for."
"They already die without understanding," Calder said. "At least, this way, it means something."
"Don't talk like meaning keeps blood warm."
"Then you shouldn't talk like safety lasts."
Silence.
It settled between the two halfbreeds like a leaf falling from the sky to the ground.
It was a while before either of them spoke again.
"If Draven comes back," Adva began, "we don't rush him. We just listen."
Calder nodded once. "And if he's lying?"
"Then…" she paused to think, "…then we shut the door."
"And if he isn't?"
Adva hesitated. "Then…" she sighed, "…we start thinking bigger than just hiding."
Calder's mouth curved into a fleeting smirk. "That's all I'm asking for."
She held his gaze. "No, it's not…but it's a start."