They fled Hollowmere before dawn, knowing the king's forces would return in greater numbers.
The road was narrowed into a ravine, cliffs rising sharply on both side.
Nyxara slowed.
"This path is wrong," she warned.
It was too late.
The ambush came from above.
Wardens rained down arrows, forcing Aerin to raise a barrier of silver light. The strain was immediate. Nyxara moved swiftly, cutting down attackers who descended the cliffs.
Then Aerin saw him.
A boy,no older than fifteen,wearing Warden armor far too large for his frame. His hands shook as he raised his sword.
"Please," the boy whispered.
"I don't want to die."
The Crest surged, urging a strike.
Aerin hesitated.
That moment of mercy shattered the barrier.
An arrow pierced Aerin's shoulder, pain exploding through their body. Nyxara screamed their name, dragging them behind cover.
The boy fled in terror as the Wardens retreated, mission incomplete but message delivered.
That night, Aerin burned with fever. The Crest glowed erratically, unstable.
Nyxara knelt beside them, anger and fear battling in her eyes.
"You cannot hesitate," she said harshly.
"Mercy will get you killed."
Aerin met her gaze, jaw tight. "If I lose that, I lose myself."
Nyxara said nothing.
But the silence spoke louder than words.