Kael sat at the battered wooden table in his modest fishery, staring at the whorls and knots in the planks as though they might reveal all the answers. Only hours ago, he’d broken the news to Inga’s mother—that Inga was gone, consumed by the Starless. She had sobbed uncontrollably, clutching at Kael’s tunic until her nails bit into his skin, asking why and how and who was to blame. It wasn’t until several of the other tradesmen gently took her away to grieve that he’d been able to slip back to his home, hollowed by guilt.

  Now, the main room of the fishery felt too quiet. Outside, the wind battered the warped shutters, while the persistent scent of brine and fish guts clung to every beam of the old structure. A small hearth crackled in the corner, casting dancing orange light across the floor. Kael set a chipped mug of mead on the table, but he couldn’t bring himself to drink, his thoughts still with Inga’s mother, hunched over and broken.

  Corin, on the other hand, looked entirely at ease—almost offensively so. He lounged on a rickety chair with one leg slung over Kael’s side table, using it as a footrest. Between easy sips, he swirled the mead around in his cup as though assessing its quality. Blonde, windswept hair was completely run through, and a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  “This is tolerable, I’ll admit,” he said, raising the cup in a mock salute. “But the wine down south—that’s the real nectar of the gods. This stuff is… how shall I put it? Quaint.”

  Kael frowned, running a hand through his unruly hair. He’d intended to brush off Corin’s comments, but everything felt too raw. The memory of Inga’s Starless form haunted him. Could I have saved her if I’d been there sooner?

  Corin seemed to sense Kael’s mood. “Apologies if I sound dismissive. You’re not the only one dealing with all this.” He gestured vaguely at the fishery’s surroundings. “It’s just I find a bit of levity helps lighten the load. Or at least I like to pretend it does.”

  Kael folded his arms, gaze flicking to the hearth. “You’re a master of pretense, that’s for sure.”

  “Guilty as charged,” Corin said, flashing a quick grin. Then he sobered, letting out a long breath. “So you told her mother the whole story—or most of it, anyway. Guessing you spared her the part where you’re… you know?”

  Kael nodded, the ache in his chest deepening. “She demanded answers. I told her the truth.” He paused, recalling the woman’s devastated wails. “I couldn’t keep her in the dark.”

  Corin nodded, taking another sip. “Probably for the best. She’s already lost a daughter. Knowing you’re, uh, related to that sort of power—” he waved his hand in the air, “—could be a little too much.”

  Kael exhaled, remembering the raw anguish in Inga’s mother’s eyes, how her hands had clutched desperately at his tunic. “I told her I’d failed. That if I’d known sooner, maybe I could’ve saved Inga before she turned. That was enough to send her into hours of sobbing.”

  Corin’s face flickered with empathy. His tone was lighter, but the look in his eye was serious. “Well, better the truth—some of it, anyway—than a pack of rumors that’d only make it worse.”

  Kael agreed.

  They fell silent, the hush broken only by the wind rattling the old shutters and the crackle of the flames. Kael glanced at Corin’s posture: legs still up on the side table, mug of mead in hand like he owned the place. Yet despite his easy slouch, a spark of guarded focus lit behind his humor.

  “You’re taking this surprisingly well,” Kael observed. “Killing a Starless, seeing someone actually turn… you act like it’s another day in paradise.”

  Corin let out a short chuckle. “Oh, trust me, I’m not one to undermine a tragedy like that. But I figure if I can’t ease the tension with a bit of wit, I’ll just end up drinking all your mead and sobbing into the netting overhead.” He glanced at the worn fishing nets crisscrossing the rafters. “Would probably get me tangled up real quick.”

  Despite himself, Kael’s lips twitched at the mental image. “Fair enough.”

  Silence settled once again, broken only by the slow crackle of fire and the distant rustle of nets swaying overhead. Corin took another sip, then planted both feet on the floor, leaning forward.

  “I hate to push, but we need to talk next steps,” he said quietly. “Let’s be honest: after what happened, you can’t stay here hoping it all blows over. The Starless are going to keep turning up, especially if they sense—” He gestured vaguely, “—and you know it. The village isn’t equipped to fend them off.”

  Kael suppressed a surge of anger, not at Corin but at the helpless truth. He’d come to the North to vanish, an exile who wanted no part in the world that had cast him out. But the world had found him regardless—through monsters like the Starless, and opportunists like assassins. “I don’t want to raise an army,” Kael said flatly. “I’m not trying to prove anything or challenge anyone.”

  Corin gave a tight shrug. “Maybe not. But you do need to fight, if not for yourself, then for these people you seem to care about. You can’t pretend you’re a simple fisherman any more. That mask is slipping, and folks are going to notice. Not to mention the Starless themselves.”

  Kael massaged his temples, the beginning of a headache forming. “I know,” he managed. “This place isn’t safe. Not if I remain here.”

  Corin’s smirk faded, the usual glint of mischief in his eyes dulling to something quieter, more serious. He set his cup down with deliberate care, the last remnants of mead swirling in the bottom, forgotten. For a long moment, Kael simply watched him, firelight tracing the sharp planes of his face, casting flickering shadows that made him seem older, wearier than his usual easygoing mask suggested.

  “Look,” he said finally, his voice softer, lacking its usual flippant charm. “I won’t lie—part of this is about getting you to raise your banner. But there’s another reason I’m here. Something I’d rather show you than waste time trying to explain.”

  Kael’s brow creased, unease flickering in his chest. “Show me?”

  Corin tipped his head, confirming without elaboration. “It’ll make more sense when you see it yourself. And we should go now, while there’s still time.”

  Kael wanted to tell him to shove off. He’d had enough upheaval for one day, and the weight of exhaustion sat heavy on his shoulders. But before he could form the words, a familiar pull at the edge of his mind made his pulse tighten.

  “Seems the jester has other ideas.” Orion’s voice slithered into his thoughts, thick with dry amusement.

  Kael stiffened at the constellation’s sudden intrusion, his wariness sharpening as he met Corin’s gaze once more.

  But Corin didn’t move, didn’t try to push him, just watched with that same quiet resolve. After a moment, he spread his hands slightly, a gesture somewhere between offering and challenging.

  “You can trust me - or not - it’s your call. But, I promise, what you see tonight might change everything.”

  Kael’s gaze flicked from Corin to the dim embers in the hearth, the meager warmth doing little to ease his tension.

  “We need allies,” Orion murmured, his voice steady but insistent.

  Kael exhaled sharply. He didn’t trust Corin, not entirely. But if he had a plan—if this could shift the odds in their favor—then Kael had no choice but to follow.

  He rolled his shoulders, forcing down his doubt. “Fine.” His voice was steady, but there was a weight to it. A finality. “Lead the way.”

  ***

  They set out from the village in the late afternoon, the sky overhead tinged with swaths of pale gold and deepening blue. As they left the last cluster of cabins behind, Kael glanced back, heart weighed by the sight of a few villagers huddled in doorways, still reeling from the news of Inga’s fate. Ahead, Corin took the lead, humming an off-key tune that grated on Kael’s nerves. It felt almost disrespectful, but he suspected it was just the man’s method of coping.

  “We’re going to climb that, I take it?” Kael eventually asked, pointing to the craggy silhouette of a mountain peak looming in the distance. His breath formed clouds in the cool air.

  “Indeed we are,” Corin replied with a lofty wave of his hand. “Only a few miles—mostly uphill, mind you. You’ll be cursing my name before we’re halfway.” He tossed Kael a devilish grin. “Unless, of course, you want to call on your ‘special abilities’ to lighten the load. Orion could just whisk us up the mountains in a blink, right?”

  Kael snorted. “That’s not how it works.”

  A low chuckle echoed at the back of his thoughts. “He’s got some cheek, this jester,” Orion remarked, his earlier scorn giving way to a surprising note of amusement. “I’ll admit, he’s starting to entertain me.”

  Great, Kael thought wryly, now both of them are enjoying this. He forced his lips into a tight line, trying not to show how insufferable he found them. “We’ll walk,” he muttered, picking up the pace.

  Corin threw him a sidelong look, smirking. “Pity. I’d have paid to see us float over these rocks.”

  Kael merely pursed his lips, keeping the mental retort to himself. If Orion’s soft chuckling was any indication, Kael was the only one who found their dynamic at all infuriating.

  At first, the path they followed looked deceptively simple—only a thin layer of hard-packed snow weaving between gnarled evergreens. It felt almost peaceful, the scent of fresh pine mixing with the subtle tang of distant smoke from the village below. But as they gained altitude, the forest thickened around them. Tall conifers closed in on the narrow track, their branches heavy with newly fallen powder that shook free at the lightest brush, clinging to their cloaks and dampening their boots.

  Kael, raised by the harsh wilderness of the Frostbitten North, usually had no trouble picking his way through an icy slope. But today, as they wound higher into the mountains, the path proved treacherous enough that even he found himself choosing each step with care. Then there was Corin—ironic in his southern roots—seeming to handle the concealed slick patches with disconcerting ease, often taking the lead as though he’d trekked these passes his entire life.

  A hint of irritation tugged at Kael’s chest. He gritted his teeth, adjusting his balance whenever a hidden patch of ice threatened to steal his footing. Each time he pivoted to avoid a patch of crumbling rock, he’d catch sight of Corin forging ahead, confident and surefooted.

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  From deep within Kael’s mind, Orion stirred, low laughter vibrating against his thoughts. “He thinks he’s quite the mountain goat, doesn’t he?” The constellation’s teasing comment made Kael stiffen. He was hardly about to be outdone on his own terrain, though he silently admitted the path was especially treacherous.

  When Corin paused to motion Kael forward, Kael jerked his chin in acknowledgment and continued past him, wanting to prove he could manage just fine. But the moment Kael’s boot touched a patch of black ice, he felt a quick slither beneath his soles. Corin, catching the slip, extended an arm for balance. Kael righted himself with a sharp inhale, embarrassed more than anything.

  “Easy now,” Corin said with a faint, wry smile. “We’ve still got ground to cover.”

  Kael cleared his throat. “I’m fine.” He grumbled, biting down the urge to snap at Corin’s helpfulness.

  In his mind, Orion chuckled: “Humor him, Kael. He’s trying not to gloat.”

  Scowling inwardly, Kael muttered a curt “thanks” and pressed on. Corin resumed the lead, navigating the narrow switchbacks with unruffled agility, while Kael focused on not letting Orion’s barbs get under his skin.

  The deeper they moved into the woods, the more the daylight faded, until the sun sank below the ridgeline, painting the sky in muted oranges and purples. Soon enough, an evening twilight settled over the trail, lending the snow a bluish tint. The wind picked up, rattling the overhead boughs so that drifts of fresh flakes fluttered down like tiny, glittering daggers. Kael found himself fighting a constant chill that seeped through his cloak and into his bones.

  Eventually, the pathway narrowed to a point where they had to traverse a sheer ravine. A faint deer trail—no wider than a man’s shoulders—twisted along a precarious ledge. Each step made Kael painfully aware of the plunge beneath him. The drop disappeared into a swirling darkness, the faint sound of rushing water echoing somewhere far below. Icy scree crunched underfoot, and the bitter wind howled past, smelling of pine resin and something metallic that set Kael’s nerves on edge.

  Above them, the sky was cloudless, unveiling a canopy of brilliant stars. Corin, for his part, maintained a guarded silence, occasionally throwing Kael a reassuring nod when they paused to catch their breath.

  By the time they reached the final ledge overlooking a sweeping valley, twilight had long since deepened to dusk. Below them, the land dipped into an expanse of icy rock and snow-kissed ridges. Standing at the threshold of the mountain’s peak, Kael’s thighs burned, his lungs tight and raw from the frigid climb.

  Corin paused at a natural outcrop of boulders, raising a hand as though to keep Kael back. “Wait,” he murmured. “Just another minute, and then…”

  Kael frowned, casting a wary glance around. The air felt strangely charged, a kind of stillness that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle. “Something’s not right,” Orion echoed his concern.

  And then Kael saw it. Deep in the valley, where an old pass snaked through the frozen earth, a massive horde of twisted shapes lurched into view. Even at a distance, he could see they weren’t human—bodies malformed and hunched, limbs dragging in the snow, hollow eyes catching the last glimmer of twilight. A collective shiver ran through Kael as he realized just how many there were.

  Thousands.

  They moved in a slow but relentless swarm, moaning or occasionally shrieking in that warped, unnatural way of the Starless. Their cracked skin pulsed faintly with starlight at each fissure, creating a grotesque glow that undulated across the snowy plain. Some hunched, scrambling forward in jerky spasms, while others staggered upright, limbs elongated and twitching. From time to time, one would release a hollow cry that echoed across the valley, sending ripples of agitation through the crowd.

  Corin let out a long, low breath, any trace of levity gone. “I’ve been tracking their movements for days,” he said, quiet enough that his words barely carried over the biting wind. “I picked up a trail of smaller packs—scattered, disorganized—then realized they were all converging here. Normally, Starless don’t come this far north; the cold slows them, and there’s less prey.”

  Kael tore his gaze from the writhing forms below, glancing at Corin. “You knew about them and didn’t warn me earlier?” Anger flickered in his voice, but it was undercut by fatigue and dread.

  Corin’s shoulders rose in a small shrug, his eyes still on the horde. “I had leads, rumors, not hard proof. Didn’t want to cause a panic if they never showed.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “But then I found a bigger clue: a Starbonded lurking in the Frostbitten North. Didn’t take long to realize that might be what’s drawing them in. Turns out I stumbled on royalty in the process—a real two-for-one, you might say.”

  From the back of Kael’s mind, Orion stirred, mocking. “Don’t flatter him. I doubt he’d have stuck around if you weren’t of use to him.”

  Kael gritted his teeth, ignoring the constellation’s jibe. “So it’s me,” he said, swallowing. “That’s why they’re marching here.”

  Corin hesitated, then nodded. “They’re attracted to that star-forged aura of yours. They definitely sense it.”

  A tense hush fell, broken by a distant moan from the Starless below. Kael closed his eyes against the chill that ran down his spine. “If they get to the village—” he began.

  “They will,” Corin said grimly. “In about two days, give or take, if we’re lucky. They’re slow, mindless, but the winter terrain only slows them so much.”

  Kael’s stomach clenched as he pictured the faces of the villagers—Inga’s mother most of all. Two days. That was all they had before the horde reached the village. He couldn’t leave, not when his very existence had drawn this threat to their doorstep. And yet, the thought of standing alone against an unstoppable tide of Starless clawed at his resolve.

  “Could always just pack up and leave,” Corin mused, adjusting the fit of his gloves. His tone was light, but there was something unreadable beneath it. He let the words settle before flashing a smirk. “Might be easier than fighting a walking nightmare.”

  Kael turned a glare on him, his jaw tightening. “Try suggesting that again and see what happens.”

  Corin held his hands up in mock surrender, but the grin lingered. “Relax, I’m just saying—sometimes a tactical retreat is the smartest move. Not that I’d ever actually say that out loud.” The slight glint in his eyes suggested otherwise.

  Kael exhaled sharply, turning back toward the valley. Snow swirled in the cutting wind, catching in the ridges of jagged peaks. He studied the landscape, mind ticking over the options.

  And then—an idea.

  His gaze sharpened, fingers curling into a fist at his side.

  Orion, silent for most of the climb, stirred in the back of his mind with an eager hum. “Well, well. Maybe you do have a brain after all. I was beginning to worry.”

  Kael ignored him, his thoughts already locked onto something else.

  “What?” Corin asked, watching him closely. “You’re planning something. Care to share with the rest of us?”

  Kael didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let the thought settle, weighing its risks, testing its strengths. Finally, he exhaled through his nose, gaze still fixed on the distant valley.

  “We’re going to need more people,” he said, his voice steady. “A lot more.”

  Corin’s grin widened, his curiosity deepening into something sharper. “Now that’s promising,” he said, adjusting his coat. “Lucky for you, I know just the village that might be convinced to help.”

  Kael gave him a single, measured nod. “Then let’s not waste time.”

  Orion, practically purring with anticipation, whispered, “Finally, something worth my time.”

  ***

  The descent back toward the village was a slow and treacherous one, the snow-covered path illuminated only by the pale glow of the stars above. It had long since fallen into night, the crisp air biting at Kael’s exposed skin as he trudged through the thick drifts. Corin, ever at ease despite the steep incline, walked a few steps ahead, hands tucked into the folds of his coat.

  Kael barely registered the cold. His mind churned over his plan, turning each detail over like a blade between his fingers. It was reckless, and more than likely, it would cost lives. But it was the only option he had. He clenched his jaw, forcing the doubt to the back of his mind. If he let himself hesitate now, he might as well start digging the graves himself.

  They walked in silence, the only sounds their boots crunching through the ice-crusted snow and the distant whisper of wind cutting through the peaks. Kael’s thoughts, however, refused to settle.

  There was something else gnawing at him. Something that had been pressing on the edges of his mind since they set out.

  As the village lights came into view in the distance, Kael slowed to a stop.

  Corin, noticing the sudden pause, turned back to him with an easy grin. “What’s this? Already winded? Should I be worried about you holding your own against a horde of Starless if a bit of downhill walking gets you all broody?”

  Kael wasn’t smiling. “I need to ask you something.”

  Corin gave an exaggerated sigh. “By the stars, couldn’t it wait until we’ve had a drink? Or at least until we’re inside somewhere that isn’t a damned snowdrift?”

  Kael remained silent, gaze sharp.

  Corin’s smirk faltered just slightly before he waved a dismissive hand. “Fine, fine. If it’ll help you sleep at night, ask away.”

  Kael didn’t rise to the bait. His gaze settled heavily on Corin, “Who are you?” His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it, a quiet demand.

  Corin let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. "Gods, you’re persistent. I told you already—I’m a simple, wandering knight who made a series of unfortunate decisions, leading me to your charming little village." He spread his arms wide as if to punctuate the absurdity of the question. "I mean, really, is that so hard to believe?"

  Kael didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

  That single word hung between them, weighty and sharp.

  Corin exhaled through his nose, rubbing the bridge of it like he was nursing the beginning of a headache. “Alright, fine. What exactly do you think I am, then? Some spy? A lost prince of my own, here to shake up the kingdom?” He let out a short chuckle. "You wound me, Kael. Deeply."

  Kael’s jaw tightened. “I think you’re a liar.”

  Corin placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Harsh.”

  "You expect me to believe that you just happened to be in the village?" Kael pressed, his patience unraveling. "That you just happened to know about the Starless horde marching straight for us? That you just happened to know who I was after all these years?”

  Corin didn't respond, but the ghost of his grin remained.

  Kael took a step closer, the weight of his words forcing Corin to meet his gaze. "You showed up in the nick of time, watching me, tracking me. There’s no way in hell this was coincidence."

  For a fleeting moment, something shifted in Corin’s expression. A crack in his usual facade. He tilted his head, studying Kael as if weighing his options. “Does it really matter?” he asked finally. “Would knowing some oh-so-tragic backstory of mine change anything? We’re still here, aren’t we? You still have a village to protect. And I—” he hesitated, then gave a small, humorless chuckle, “—well, let’s just say I’ve already thrown my lot in.”

  Kael didn’t look away. “It matters to me.”

  That caught Corin off guard. His lips parted slightly, as if Kael had just spoken in a language he didn’t quite understand. For a moment, his gaze flickered—uncertain, weighing, deciding.

  Kael pressed on. “I need something real from you. Something honest. If I’m going to trust you—even just for now—I need to know why you came looking for me.”

  “You really are a stubborn bastard,” he muttered.

  Kael folded his arms, his patience thinning. “And you’re avoiding the question.”

  Corin sighed through his nose, rubbing a hand down his face as if physically wiping away his usual carefree mask. He tilted his head back, staring up at the night sky, lips pressed into a thin line. “Alright,” he said at last, his voice quieter, more measured. “I came looking for you.”

  Something in Kael’s gut twisted. He didn’t react outwardly, but his fingers curled slightly where they rested against his arms. “Why?”

  Corin hesitated, shifting his weight. “It was an assignment.”

  Kael’s jaw clenched. “An assignment.”

  “Not by accident. Not by chance.” Corin looked at him then, none of the usual levity in his gaze. “I knew you were out here, and I found you on purpose.”

  Kael forced his breathing to stay steady, but unease coiled through him. “What assignment?”

  For a moment, Corin didn’t answer. His eyes flicked over Kael’s face, gauging something, before he finally exhaled, “You could say I had a change of heart.”

  The way he said it made Kael’s stomach drop. He frowned. “A change of heart about what?”

  More silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Corin gave him a small, tight smile, but his gaze was sharp—too sharp.

  “There weren’t supposed to be three assassins that night,” he added, voice almost casual.

  Kael’s breath stilled. His mind whirred, pieces snapping into place with chilling precision.

  The implications hung between them, unspoken but undeniable.

  The wind howled softly through the trees, rustling the frostbitten branches. The world felt distant, too quiet, as Kael locked eyes with the man before him.

  And then, from the back of his mind, Orion let out a low, dark chuckle.

  “Well. The jester finally shows his true colors.”