Weeks passed.
The fever broke. The wounds healed, mostly. Nyra still felt pain, but it no longer screamed in her bones. She could sit up without trembling. She could stand for minutes at a time. But she didn't leave the cave. The world outside still felt sharp, dangerous. But not when he was there.
Siegfried visited her almost every day. Sometimes with food, sometimes with water, always with a smile that made her forget what she was. He brought her books when he could steal them, and he read to her, pointing at the words as he sounded them out. He told her about the village, the mountain beyond, the harvest festival in autumn. And she listened.
They played games, little ones. Stick duels. Word guessing. He made her laugh, once. It had surprised her. And when he teased her about it, she hit him with a clump of moss.
He called her Ny.
She called him Sie.
It was the only time she said his name like it belonged to her.
That day, the wind had a strange weight to it. Nyra noticed it first. A tension. A scent. Something in the trees.
Siegfried left before noon.
"I'll be back before sundown," he promised, brushing the blanket up around her shoulders. "I'll bring you the sweet bread from the baker's wife. She owes me."
She gave him a skeptical look. "She doesn't like you."
"That's why she owes me."
She laughed quietly, shaking her head. "Come back."
"Always."
He walked away.
The village was busier than usual. The smell of roasted meat hung in the air, smoke from cookfires curling into a clear blue sky. Children ran through the square, laughing, some dragging sticks, others chasing chickens. Siegfried smiled, weaving through the crowds.
Then he saw the armor.
Silver and worn, with blue trim faded by years of war. The man wearing it was tall, with shoulders like a fortress and hair the same gold as Siegfried's. A massive greatsword hung across his back.
"Uncle Lancelot!"
The knight turned.
A wide smile broke across his weathered face.
"There's my favorite little runt!"
Siegfried ran to him. They embraced.
"I didn't know you were coming!"
"Didn't plan to. Got sent by the Crown to investigate a report."
Siegfried blinked. "What kind of report?"
Lancelot looked around. Villagers bustled past. He leaned in.
"Demon girl. Young. Escaped a raid in Netheros. Slipped through the Rift somehow. I almost killed her a few weeks back, but she got away. Figured she fled this direction."
Siegfried's smile froze.
"You... saw her?"
"Briefly. Skin like shadow, eyes like embers. She was hurt. She ran. If she's smart, she's hiding nearby. I'm not leaving until I find her."
"I-I have to go."
Lancelot blinked. "That quick? You just got here."
"Yeah, I… promised to help the baker move sacks. I forgot."
He turned, too fast.
Lancelot frowned as he watched the boy disappear around a corner.
Moments later, a group of children wandered past.
Lancelot stopped them. "You lads seen much of my nephew lately?"
One of the boys shrugged. "He doesn't play with us much. Always goes off alone."
"Where?"
"Deep in the woods," another said. "Past the ridge."
Then a third started to speak. "It started after we saw that demon girl..."
The second elbowed him hard.
Lancelot's face darkened.
Siegfried ran with a steel sword clasped at his side.
The forest blurred around him but the fear in his chest kept pace. His uncle was here. Hunting her.
He reached the cave.
Empty.
"Nyra?" he called, panic rising. "Nyra, it's me!"
No answer.
Then, movement.
A flash of shadow from above.
Something dropped behind him...
WHACK!
The wooden sword cracked him square on the crown of his head. He yelped.
"Ow...!"
"HA! Got you!" Nyra grinned, proud, holding the wooden blade over her head like a trophy.
"That hurt!"
"It was supposed to."
He rubbed his scalp, turning to face her.
But he wasn't smiling.
"You have to run."
She blinked. "What?"
"My uncle's here. The knight. The one who almost..."
A voice cut through the trees.
"Almost killed her?"
They both turned.
Lancelot stepped into the clearing.
His face was carved from stone.
His hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
Nyra dropped the wooden blade.
Siegfried stepped in front of her. "Uncle, wait."
Lancelot's eyes flicked to him. "You lied to me."
"Please. Just listen. She's not a threat. She's a kid!"
"She's a Mal'karin."
"She's Nyra."
The name seemed to ripple through the air.
Nyra stood still, hands at her sides, staring at the man who had nearly killed her.
Lancelot looked from her to his nephew. Then back again.
The forest was silent.
The sword stayed sheathed.
For now.