The sky above the Wildlands slowly turned bruised grey in color, and on the horizon, they could see the faintest stain of smoke rising from the eastern quarter of Ironhaven. Even at this distance, across miles of dry ridges and the thorn-raked scrub of the lands the wound they had opened in the flank of the city still smoldered on in accusation of their actions.

  They had not stopped running since escaping through that wound, opting to run through the day and most of the night. The brutal pace took them southeast before veering sharply westward to avoid any roads, ruins, checkpoints and waystations. Lianna’s pathfinding skills had been ruthlessly pushed to find them a way through gullies, dry creek beds and broken hills that left the party exhausted, bent legged and scraped of palm.

  Now, however, the first light of morning fell upon them as they crouched in a natural hollow that was tucked into a wind scoured bluff. It was not so much a shelter as much as an obscure location that provided them with a spot where they would be overlooked by searchers unless they knew precisely where to look.

  Xavier leaned back against the hard stone wall, his breathing shallow and every movement caused aches and pain. In the satchel at his side, he felt the weight of the ledgers, not physical weight but the burden of knowledge. They were more than simple parchment and ink, they were the collective of proof, thousands of names, dates, sales, brands and ancestry. The anatomy of a trade that minimizes lives to no more than simple numbers, commodities. His fingers moved to hover over the flap of his satchel though he did not give in to opening the bag, for now.

  At the end of the small hollow, Lythara crouched at the edge of the shadow, her eyes fixed on the thin plume of smoke in the distance. “They will be sweeping this quadrant already,” she all but whispered. “Halestorm will not assume we went to the east. He knows how fugitives think and will predict we ran for cover instead of confrontation with his forces.”

  “He will be right,” Sihri muttered as she brushed dust off her clothing and wraps. “We really are not ready for large confrontations.”

  “It does not matter,” came Lianna’s voice from overhead. Her face popped into view as she peeked over the edge. “There are riders on the high ridge, four maybe five, but they are sweeping wide. I am guessing they are scouts.”

  “Colors?” Ella asked. She did not look up from where she was tending to one of Valkra’s paws, the cub had scraped it raw during one of their descents and it was causing her trouble.

  “I did not see any house banners. They were black on red though,” Lianna responded.

  Lythara sighed. “That means they are Redmaw, likely the ones that stuck with Ivarik.”

  Tensing at the news Xavier asked, “Are they tracking us?”

  “It does not seem like they have found our trail yet,” came Lianna’s response. “But they will.”

  Lythara’s voice was flat when she finally spoke again. “Tavrek Halestorm won’t rely on city guards, not for something like this. He will have the Redmaw Reaver remnants out in force, those who were not loyal to me, anyway. He will also use the soldiers and the conscripts from Arenvalis’ Army... they’ll be obedient, but slow. It’s the Reavers we need to worry about.”

  Ella finished with Valkra’s paw, giving the cub a soft pat. “Then we keep moving before they catch our scent.”

  Xavier glanced again at the satchel. “They’re not chasing slaves,” he said quietly. “They’re chasing what we took from their vault.”

  Lythara’s crimson eyes met his. There was no fear in them, no anger, only clarity. “You did not just take documents,” she said. “You wounded them. You carved through their illusion of control. You made the system bleed.”

  A dry wind kicked dust off the bluff’s edge, scattering it into the air like old ash. It caught the sun just beginning to rise, turning every particle gold for the span of a breath before they vanished again.

  “And Ironhaven,” she added, “doesn’t forgive those who make it bleed. Now they want to prove it was just a fluke.”

  They moved in silence after that, slipping into the ravine beyond the bluff’s edge, as they departed, they left no trace but a broken heel print and a trace of shadowmane blood. Behind them, the wind carried the last curls of smoke from the eastern bulwark, a whisper of rebellion, already fading into legend.

  The wildlands stretched out around them like a sun-bleached wound, rolling hills of brittle grass, shale-cracked ridges, and long-forgotten trails half-swallowed by time and weather. The sparse trees that remained were stunted and dry, their roots clutched at dust of the land instead of rich fertile soil. The wind graced them with its presence often and it always had grit on its breath. They traveled in silence, no fires lit their nights, no songs filled the air, no easy words passed between them. Only desperate rush and anxious looks for any sign of being trailed.

  The days passed in sun and stone, each hour measured in blisters, breath, and raw endurance. Their path arced south-westward to avoid the ruins of Bramblegate, then angled south again. They always kept the distant shadow of the Silverwood just over the horizon, like a promise they weren’t yet allowed to reach but ever drawing them onwards.

  Lianna led most often, her sharp eyes scanned the terrain with instinctual and skillful caution. Frostclaw padded beside her, his movements were silent as breath, and he occasionally stopped to sniff the wind. Where roads once crossed these hills, nature had long since reclaimed them with thorns and dry washouts.

  Sihri marched near the center of the group, muttering under her breath, the words were from her homeland, sharp-edged and rhythmic. Her movements were steady, coiled, the gait of a fighter conserving every ounce of strength. Her cutting humor was gone now, replaced by a narrowed focus.

  Xavier walked second behind Lianna, his satchel grew heavier by the day. The ledgers seemed to press against his hip with the weight of history. Each time he adjusted the straps, he could feel the pressure of names against his body, children, families, brands, prices.

  Ella had taken to moving beside him often, never asking if he was alright. She only kept pace, her presence a quiet tether of strength and support. When the terrain grew rough, she would catch his arm without comment. When they passed old cart tracks or scorched earth, she’d murmur about their likely age and origin.

  Lythara trailed behind most of the day, always watching their flanks. She didn’t speak often, but she noticed every shift in the wind, every bird that stopped singing. The farther they traveled from Ironhaven, the more her expression shifted, going from numb, to haunted, to something distant. Freeing her had removed her chains, but not the scars.

  “They will stop sweeping behind us by now,” she said late on the third day. “If we were not caught by now, Halestorm will likely assume we are running deep.”

  “Isn’t that exactly what we’re doing?” Xavier asked.

  “No,” she said. “Running would mean we’re trying to vanish. We are not, not really anyways. You are heading toward something, not away.”

  He didn’t respond, because she was right. He just hadn’t named it yet and he was slightly disturbed at how she had figured that out.

  On the fourth evening, they crested a rise and saw it, a thin line of green cutting across the world to the south. Not Silverwood proper, not yet, but its outer thickets. Trees that had grown tall and defiant despite the thinning soil and Arenvalis’ distant reach. They didn’t celebrate. They knew they were not safe from those they had injured yet. They set camp beneath a cluster of leaning stones that once served as a watch platform for trade caravans. Now, it was shelter if just barely.

  Xavier knelt beside a crumbling foundation and pressed his hand to the earth. He closed his eyes. Through his connection to the ley, he felt the memory of passage, not Arenvalis guards or soldiers, not Reavers. He felt something older, quiet. Something that had moved through the stone decades ago and still lingered in the bones of the earth.

  “We’re close,” he said quietly.

  Lianna nodded, her eyes already turned south. “Tomorrow, we reach the first bend of the river.”

  They had a collective sigh of relief when the river finally came into view just as the sun began to dip behind the treetops, its glow cast the Silver Reach in radiant hues of gold and rust. The banks were soft with moss and worn stone, the current strong but not violent, a living ribbon drawn through the woodlands eastern hem.

  They reached the banks wordlessly. It had been nearly six whole days of constant frenetic movement. Rushing along half-hidden paths, ghosting through Reaver patrols and ghosting away from any sign of life to get this far. Now the water, real flowing water, not the water they had that trickled from a cracked spring or seeped through ruined stone, lay just before them a reward for survival that no one had dared ask for during their flight.

  Camp was the first priority though. They moved out of habit now, rolling out cloaks and bedding, checking their packs, unstringing bows. They still did not dare light fires, nor pitch tents. The camp was just open air next to the gentle babble of the river.

  Xavier didn’t speak, as the others settled into their evening routines, he shouldered his satchel and slipped away upriver. He followed the curve of the bank until the sounds of the group faded behind him, not far, but just far enough to be alone. It was there that he was able to find a small tide pool tucked between some stone outcroppings, the water had carved out softer earth leaving behind a natural large stone tub against a shallow embankment. A place the world had forgotten that was shielded by moss covered rocks and sheltered beneath willow boughs.

  He undressed slowly, the silence welcome, but the solitude more so. Setting the satchel atop his piled clothing he moved to the water of the pool. A sharp inhale was the only noise he made, the water was frigid, but clean. As he stepped in, the cold wrapped around his calves, thighs, chest, each inch a baptism and cleansing of what had come before. He didn’t gasp besides the initial one, instead he simply let it take him. The current whispered over stone, pulling the weight from his muscles, the dust from his skin, the pressure from his thoughts and, for the first time since Ironhaven, he let himself go still.

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  Back at camp, the others moved without hurry until they noticed his absence.

  Sihri stretched her arms overhead and cast a look upriver. “He wandered off. Probably found a place to sulk, or bathe, probably both.”

  “He deserves a minute,” Lianna muttered, as she checked Frostclaw’s pads for burrs or small twigs from the scrub of the Wildlands.

  Ella glanced in the direction Xavier had gone and smiled faintly. Then she set her gear aside, rose, and walked without a word.

  It was Sihri who moved next. She stripped off her bracers and overshirt casually with practiced motions before she wandered off, tossing a grin over her shoulder. “If he drowns, I call dibs on his pack.”

  “Leave the cloak,” Lianna called dryly. A few moments passed before she followed them, quietly, not rushed. She didn’t explain herself to anyone as she did so.

  Lythara lingered the longest, she was watching the water with her usual detached amusement. Then she exhaled through her nose, slow and deliberate, and made her way upstream as well.

  Xavier was waist-deep in the tide pool when he heard the first splash. He turned and saw Sihri, grinning, already up to her neck.

  “You didn’t think we would let you have the river to yourself, did you?”

  He blinked, more surprised by her nudity than her joining him. “I was hoping.”

  She laughed and dove under the water.

  Ella appeared next, slipping into the water without comment, calm and serene. Her presence didn’t disturb the peace, instead she simply joined it. Her eyes met his once, and she smiled softly before drifting toward his side settling next to him her fingers just brushing his under the water.

  Lianna stepped into the pool a moment later, hands behind her back, her expression neutral. “I will be over here,” she said simply. “No commentary.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he muttered.

  Finally, Lythara waded in gracefully, unhurried, letting the water rise around her like it was part of her. “For fugitives,” she mused, “you all take bathing very seriously.”

  “We’re hiding in plain scent,” Sihri replied, splashing water toward her.

  It earned a ripple of laughter. Even Lianna smirked at the comment.

  Frostclaw padded along the edge, dipped a paw in, then flopped dramatically into a shallower part of the pool. Valkra, after sniffing the cold surface and sneezing, retreated indignantly to a patch of moss with a huff.

  For the first time in what felt like an eternity, they laughed, not because they had won, or because they were safe, but because they had survived long enough to feel like people again. The water carried the sound downstream. The wind didn’t betray them. As the stars began to rise, for that brief moment, the world let them rest.

  After the bath, the river’s chill still clung to their damp skin as they returned to their camp. Overhead the last of the day’s light filtered through the thick canopy like rays and fragments of timeworn gold. No one spoke but collectively they all moved slower now, it was less from fatigue and more from the release of the tension they had been carrying since breaching the city wall. The river had taken something from each of them as it flowed past their bodies, it washed away the weight of smoke and fear that had still clung tenaciously to them. In its wake it left them quieter, sharper, and refreshed.

  As they settled back in around the campsite, Ella gathered together a small ring of stones.

  “A small fire here should be fine,” she said softly running her fingers over the moss-lined creation. “Here, the trees should break the wind, and any smoke will be dissipated by the canopy.”

  Lianna nodded from nearby where she was helping brush and dry Frostclaw’s fur. “Arenvalis was not running patrols this deep into the woods yet. The canopy should also help spread and mask the scent as well.”

  Xavier caught Ella’s eye for a short period then gave a small nod. “Alright but just enough to keep warm.”

  As a group they gathered dry twigs, bark and small fallen branches, guided by Lianna’s survival skill. Something that increased Xavier’s own skill by a point much to his pleasure. When the Ranger sparked the fire to life with practiced ease, it was low, small and nearly smokeless, just a faint glow instead of a burning beacon. To the group, however, even the small flame felt like defiance to what they had fled from. They were nearly safely back to their lands now.

  As the darkness gathered they formed a loose circle around the fire, cloaked and quiet in the dusk’s gloom, none of the worlds moons had risen yet just the faint light of the fire and stars that broke through the canopy lit the world around them.

  They remained quiet, not out of the tension of their flight but instead out of reflection of what had happened. The fire’s warmth slowly leeched chill from skin and replaced it with its own sensation. Sirhi stretched her long digitigrade legs out. Valkra curled up near Xavier’s bedding, her fur still sticking up in patches from the damp that clung to it. Lythara sat with her knees drawn up close, her crimson eyes flickered with the flamelight, ever unreadable.

  Xavier leaned against a tree root, staring down into the firelight as if it held answers the stars overhead refused to give. “Why do the gods keep interfering?” he asked at last. “I keep reading of their interactions with mortals in the legends of this world, and what are they really like?”

  There was no hesitation. Lythara sat forward, her voice calm. “There are three pantheons,” she said. “And none of them stay idle.”

  She proceeded to tell of the Radiant Pantheon. They were supposedly the champions of good, yes, but also enforcers of order. She told how they were led by Solara, and their ranks were full of Lawful Good, Neutral Good, and Chaotic Good deities who wielded light and right like a hammer.

  She then described the Veiled Pantheon, led by Danu. The gods of balance, endings, and the turning of the great cycle. Lawful, True, and Chaotic Neutral in nature. They were seen to intervene only when the balance is at stake. And even then… rarely with mercy coming down on everyone equally and brutally normally.

  And finally, she told of the Boundless Pantheon. Led by Nekros, they seek transformation through ambition and collapse. Lawful Evil, Neutral Evil, Chaotic Evil deities, their gifts always come with a price. And they never forget or forgive a debt they see as owed.

  “They all shape the world in their image,” Lythara concluded. “Some with chains, others with silence, but always with consequence.”

  Sihri tossed a twig into the flame and watched it catch fire before she asked, “So mortals are what? Footnotes in divine arguments?”

  “Footnotes that bleed,” Xavier murmured.

  Ella looked over to Xavier, her eyes steady. “And maybe, eventually, one that writes back.”

  The fire crackled softly between them. The wind had died. Even the river’s voice seemed as if it had grown hushed, as if it too, was listening.

  They didn’t speak again for a while. But the silence no longer felt uncertain, instead it felt like the moment before a question finds its answer.

  The fire had settled into a quiet rhythm just embers now, low, slow, warm. It was the kind of fire built by those who knew how to hide and still needed light.

  Lianna hadn’t spoken during the conversation about the gods, but as the silence stretched and the fire flickered lower, she finally leaned forward, her arms resting across her knees. When it came her voice, was thoughtful, not bitter, but measured.

  “I don’t know everything. No one really does. But there’s a story I’ve heard more than once.”

  The others turned to face her as they listened.

  “It’s said that in Year 12898, it is the Year 13097,” she clarified for Xavier, “the gods enacted something called the Divine Edict of Order. Not all of them mind you, just the ones who follow law aspects. It was gods from the Radiant, Veiled, and even some from the Boundless Pantheons.”

  She looked toward the fire, as if she could see the tale reflected in its glow.

  “They didn’t send down heralds or divine signs, there was no thunder from the sky. It was just a... change, a shift in how the world moved. What was once questioned became unquestionable and what was debated became law.” As she spoke, she drew a line in the dirt beside the fire. “After that, things changed in Arenvalis. The slave codes got sharper. More permanent. Noble houses stopped claiming divine favor, they started invoking it. Then there are the rumors about the Shadow Court…” she paused. “They didn’t appear overnight, but they grew stronger as the years went by, like something unseen had opened doors for them, they were the quiet ones, the hidden ones, the ones ruling the Kingdom in the shadows.”

  She looked up. “As to how the Edict was decided, no one speaks of it openly, no one confirms it. But I’ve heard the stories, travelers, animari elders, even some temple initiates who spoke too freely after wine and that is how I have put this together. They said the Edict was a vote, one that Danu opposed. The rumor is that she stood against it but was outvoted. And after that… she stopped speaking altogether with the other Pantheons.”

  Ella frowned, her gaze distant. “If it’s true, it explains a lot.”

  “Truth or not,” Lianna said, “the world changed after that year, and none of it changed in our favor.”

  Sihri tossed a pebble into the fire circle, her expression unreadable. “So the gods handed down balance... and called it justice.”

  “They handed down structure,” Lianna corrected. “And left us to call it whatever helped us survive it.”

  The fire crackled softly. Xavier stared into the coals, his jaw clenched tight. “If it was real… if they really did that… what happens if someone breaks that law?”

  No one answered for a long moment. Then Lythara, voice like velvet soaked in smoke, “then they’re not just breaking the law. They’re breaking the illusion of control., and the gods, even more than Ironhaven,” she added, “hate losing control.”

  The fire dimmed to embers. No one spoke again, but at that moment something had shifted, not in fear, but in clarity.

  The evening passed and each turned introspective. Over time they shifted and made themselves comfortable to rest. The fire had long since burned down to mere glowing coals, no longer bright enough to even cast shadows but their heat radiating out to warm those nearby and hold the group close to the small pit.

  Most of the group had since gone still and quiet. Sihri dozed lightly, her back resting against her pack and her cloak draped over her legs. Valkra lay curled up beside Ella, her body rising and falling with each of her slow deep breaths. Lianna reclined opposite the fire from Xavier. She was leaning against a moss covered rock and through hooded eyes was watching Frostclaw’s ears twitch as the great snow leopard dreamed his dreams.

  Xavier also remained awake. He was seated near the fire’s edge, his arms draped over his indrawn knees loosely. The night was in its depth now, thick with the light of stars and several moons that gave an odd glow to the mist rising from the river. Xavier smirked slightly thinking how it seemed that the world was in pause between major events, then he snorted slightly, having a feeling of portent.

  Unclasping his wrists, one hand moved to his chest. It came to rest over where he knew the Kael’Sharyn mark sat. It didn’t burn per say but it tingled, a subtle hum. It wasn’t the urgent sense of warning, just enough to let him know it was there, waiting and perhaps listening. He had listened while the others spoke of gods as rulers, of this Edict as a chain that bound the world to a specific path. While he could see that as a possibility, he had broken a devil’s contract with barely a touch. He had been able to sever something that should have been beyond mortal, and if Lythara was right, beyond immortal ken. He, a man from Earth, had been able to shatter it without spell, without prayer, just his will.

  That is what troubled his thoughts now, and he wasn’t sure what it meant in the grand scheme of things. “Maybe this mark isn’t just Danu’s blessing,” he murmured to himself. “Maybe it is her crack in the proverbial wall, her way of breaking this Edict.”

  Beside him he heard someone stir, a soft rustle, Ella. She sat down quietly at his side. As she did so she pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders warding away the chill night air. The soft glow from the embers touched her face gently and brought softness to her solemn expression.

  “You think it is meant to break something?” She asked softly.

  He hesitated then nodded. “Maybe,” he responded. “Or maybe its Danu’s way of reminding the gods that they are not untouchable either.”

  Ella didn’t speak in response, instead she leaned into him resting her head on his shoulder while he mulled the possibilities.

  “The gods bind the world with their laws, the system enforces them,” Xavier finally continued his thoughts aloud. “But everything, even laws, have beginning and endings.”

  From her spot across the fire, Lianna stirred. She still hadn’t fallen asleep. She shifted slightly now watching the pair subtly. Watching Xavier subtly, something unreadable in her hooded eyes. It was not distrust anymore, but it was uncertain and growing.

  Lythara was the only one who sat apart from the small group around the fire, her legs were drawn to her chest, and she rested her chin on one knee. When Xavier glanced her way, their eyes met for a heartbeat in length. Her gaze was sharp, curious, and hungry in a way that had nothing to do with the usual appetites of her kin.

  So softly that no one heard it the succubus whispered. “You do not even realize it yet. You have already begun to unmake the designs of the gods.”

  A popping from the fire drew Xavier’s attention back to it as a coal broke and collapsed upon itself sending a brief puff of ash and cinders skyward into the night. He reached out and nudged a charred stick deeper into the embers.

  “They rule from above,” he said quietly, “but its us who bleed. Maybe its time that mortals write something of our own.”

  The fire flared briefly as the stick caught flame once again. It cast soft light across the faces of the watchful and the sleeping alike while overhead the stars and the moons continued their relentless trek across the night sky.