The morning was quiet—not the kind of silence that lingers after a storm, but the stillness before a breath, the kind that waits.
They broke camp before the sun crested the ridge. The valley below still slept beneath a thin veil of frost, the trees glazed in silver and blue. Insects remained buried beneath bark, and no birds called to greet the dawn. Even the wind had not returned.
Kael walked at the front.
His steps were measured, boots pressing into the thin crust of snow. The weight of the previous day hadn't left his shoulders—it had settled deeper, like frost in bone. Beside him, Liora clutched her staff. She had not spoken much since the fire gave her that name, but the set of her jaw was certain. She walked like someone who had already accepted the road, no matter how cruel it might become.
Wren kept to the shadows of the trees. She didn't walk in step with them, nor did she trail behind. Her movements were a dance between the branches, near-silent, her cloak blending into the trunks like smoke curling through charred stone.
Kael had grown used to her presence, even if he rarely saw her coming.
But he'd begun to notice something else.
She was watching him.
Not with suspicion or fear. But with something closer to... study. Like an archer watching the tension in their bowstring. Not because it would break—but because it might be called upon.
When they stopped at a stream to refill their flasks, she approached him quietly.
"You haven't slept," she said.
Kael glanced at the water, watching it curl around the rocks. "Didn't realize you were counting."
"I don't have to. You move differently when your mind is tired."
He chuckled, though there wasn't much humor in it. "You've been watching me that closely?"
"I watch everything closely."
He turned toward her. "Why?"
Wren met his eyes, unflinching. "Because I remember what happens when I don't."
There was something there. A story half-buried. But he didn't push. Not yet.
Liora's laughter broke through the air.
She'd crouched beside the stream and drawn shapes in the frost—small swirls and half-suns, patterns Kael didn't recognize. She was smiling now. Not broadly, not like a child free of care, but softly—like someone remembering warmth after a long winter.
Wren followed his gaze. "She's changing."
Kael nodded. "She's remembering something we don't understand."
"Are you afraid of her?"
"No," he said. "I'm afraid of what this world might do because of her."
Wren didn't answer at first. She knelt by the stream and cupped water in her hands, drinking deeply. When she stood again, she said, "You know, most men wouldn't carry something they couldn't control."
"I'm not most men."
"No. You're not."
Her tone held something rare—admiration, maybe. Or the ghost of it. She turned and walked back toward the path without another word.
Kael stayed behind a moment longer, watching the current dance over stone.
There were memories in that water—reflections of fire, of war, of old pacts sealed in blood. But when he looked up, all he saw was Liora tracing her fingers through frost like it was poetry, and Wren moving like a shadow that chose not to vanish.
He could live with that.
They reached the base of the stone bridge by midday.
It was ancient—older than the road, older perhaps than the mountains that cradled it. Thick vines curled around its base like grasping hands, and moss clung to every crevice. But the stones held. They always had.
Seran was already there, perched on the edge with one leg dangling into open air.
"You took your time," he called. "Starting to wonder if the girl ate you both."
Kael raised a brow. "You didn't scout ahead?"
"I did. Nothing but wind and whispers up there. Figured I'd wait before the wind started talking back."
Wren climbed up beside him with ease, scanning the horizon.
Beyond the bridge, the land changed. The forest thinned into broken plains, riddled with sharp ridges of slate and red earth. Strange monoliths rose in the distance—stone spires carved with ancient runes, flickering faintly even under daylight.
"We're close," Liora said. Her voice was soft, but sure.
Kael looked at her. "To what?"
She tilted her head, eyes distant. "To the place where the wind remembers names."
Wren gave him a look.
He didn't have an answer.
They crossed the bridge one at a time, spacing their steps, each movement echoing faintly in the hollow space below. The chasm beneath was sheer, and no river flowed through it. Just emptiness—deep, dark, and endless.
Kael kept a steady eye on Liora.
When it was her turn, she walked slowly, carefully, but without fear. At the halfway point, the wind returned. It blew upward, sharp and strange, lifting her hair as if drawn to her presence.
She stopped and turned.
"Do you hear it?" she asked.
Kael stepped closer. "Hear what?"
She smiled faintly. "The song."
He didn't. Not then.
But Wren stiffened.
Seran's eyes narrowed.
Kael reached for Liora's hand. "Let's keep moving."
Night came quickly on the plains.
They made camp between two ancient stones, each etched with weathered symbols that pulsed faintly in Liora's presence. She touched one briefly before curling up beside the fire. Not asleep, but no longer speaking either.
Kael sat with Wren on the outer edge of camp, backs to the stone, eyes scanning the dark.
He broke the silence this time.
"You've fought in the east, haven't you?"
She nodded.
"I thought so. You carry your blades like one of the Windborn."
Wren smirked. "My father was Windborn. My mother was smarter."
Kael chuckled softly. "You always joke when people get too close?"
She gave him a sideways glance. "You always ask questions you already know the answers to?"
They were quiet for a while.
Then she said, "You raised her alone?"
Kael nodded.
"She was... left behind. In the ruins of a village cursed by blight. I don't know who her parents were. I only know she reached for me."
Wren leaned her head back against the stone. "And you took her."
"I couldn't leave her."
"That's why she's still alive."
He looked at her, but she didn't return the gaze.
"She's stronger than she knows," Wren added. "But the world won't care. It'll see her as a threat long before it sees her as a girl."
Kael's voice was low. "Then I'll remind them."
Wren finally turned her head. "You always this stubborn?"
He smiled, tired but warm. "Only when I care."
She looked at him a moment longer, then rose. "I'll take first watch. You get some sleep."
He didn't argue.
As he settled near the fire, Liora's eyes flicked open.
She reached for his hand beneath the blanket, fingers curling around his own.
"You don't have to protect me from dreams," she whispered.
"I know," he said, eyes already drifting. "But I will anyway."
Above them, the wind began to shift again.
It didn't howl.
It sang.
Not a song with words or melody—but a call. A memory of a name the world had forgotten. And now, step by step, it was beginning to remember.