The night air in Eryndral was sharp enough to cut. Kaelen pulled his cloak tighter as he moved through the forest, boots sinking into soft moss and damp earth. Above him, the sky was webbed with silver threads—ancient scars that stretched across the heavens, glowing faintly with moonlight. They had always been there, as far back as memory reached, proof of the war between realms.
For most, the threads were nothing but distant beauty. For Kaelen, they were chains. His blood carried the remnants of that old magic, a curse he had never asked for. When the veil between worlds weakened, he felt it before anyone else. The hum of it ran through his veins, gnawing at him like hunger. And tonight, the hum was deafening.
He reached the clearing near the river, unsheathing his blade. The sword caught the silver light, a flawless edge forged by his father's hands. Somewhere beyond the treeline, a growl rumbled, too low for an ordinary traveler to hear.
Kaelen braced himself—
"Still hunting shadows, are you?"
The voice froze him. Familiar. Soft, but carrying a sharpness that unsettled him more than the monsters ever did. He turned.
Ariselle stepped from between the trees. Her cloak of emerald silk flowed behind her, brighter than any color this world had to offer. Her presence was wrong here—wrong, and beautiful. She belonged to the Realm Beyond, where starlight and fire were born. Her kind were forbidden to walk this side of the threads.
"Ariselle," Kaelen muttered, forcing the heat from his voice. "You shouldn't be here."
Her lips curved into something between defiance and sorrow. "And yet, here I am. If I left you to your own devices, you'd be dead before dawn."
"I've survived without you before."
"You call this surviving?" she asked, stepping closer. Her hand brushed his wrist before she pulled it back, as if even that touch was forbidden. Her dark eyes searched his face. "You carry a war that isn't yours to bear alone, Kaelen."
The ground trembled. A tear split in the air near the riverbank, black as an unlit sky. Shadows leaked through, writhing and snarling, their forms neither beast nor man.
Kaelen's grip tightened on his sword. "Stay behind me."
But Ariselle only lifted her hand. Flame bloomed at her fingertips, gold and fierce, illuminating the space between them. The fire painted her face in light, and Kaelen had to look away—not from the blaze, but from the unbearable ache in his chest.
"Maybe this time," she whispered, "we fight together."
The first creature lunged from the rift, claws glinting like obsidian. Kaelen swung, his blade cutting through shadow. At his side, Ariselle's fire roared, casting the clearing in a brilliance that swallowed the dark.
And in that moment—between silver threads above, fire beside him, and shadow ahead—Kaelen realized the truth he had tried to bury. The monsters weren't the only danger tonight. His heart was already slipping from his grasp.