The night stretched wide and breathless —
too bright, too quiet, too watchful.
A silver moon loomed above the plains, pouring its light like molten glass over a sea of tall grass. Each blade shimmered white at the tip, black at the root, swaying faintly in the windless air. The only sound was the soft, steady crunch of boots — two figures cutting through the emptiness.
Ray walked ahead, every motion precise, hand resting on the hilt at his side. Zelene followed close behind, wrapped in a gray hood that dulled against the moonlight. Her steps were lighter, but her mind — her mind was loud.
Smoke. Fire. Screams she couldn't unhear.
Her father's voice calling her name — fading.
The cold stillness of her mother's hand.
She blinked, but the vision stayed for a heartbeat longer, bleeding into the edges of reality before it dissolved into the silver dark.
She took a shallow breath. "I hate this quiet," she murmured.
Ray glanced back, voice low. "Quiet's better than being found."
They'd been walking for hours — through plains that never seemed to end, toward the far-off shadow of the northern ridge. Somewhere beyond it lay Dravenhart.
Three days by carriage.
By foot? Who knew.
But neither spoke of turning back.
Zelene finally whispered, "Ray."
"Hm?"
"Does it ever… feel like the air is watching you?"
He stopped, eyes narrowing as he studied the horizon. "That's not the air, Zelene. That's instinct."
Her throat went dry. "You feel it too?"
He didn't answer — just looked up at the moon, jaw tightening. "Keep your hood low. Stay close."
At first, it was just a sound — a soft tremor beneath the stillness.
Then, a ripple in the tall grass.
Another.
Too measured. Too synchronized.
Zelene froze. "Ray—"
He held a hand up. "Don't. Move."
The faint clink of metal came next.
Harnesses. Spurs.
Then a breath of wind brought it — the unmistakable scent of iron and smoke.
"...Horses," Ray muttered. His voice had gone flat, cold. "Many."
Zelene's pulse surged. "They found us."
"I don't know yet," he said, already unsheathing his sword. "But I'm not staying to find out."
They ran.
At first quietly — careful steps pressed into dirt — then faster, faster still, as the rhythm of hooves began to rise behind them, pounding like war drums. The grass lashed at their legs, sharp and cold. The moonlight fractured in their wake, painting silver streaks across their flight.
The first arrow came as a whisper.
Then — Twang.
Ray's blade flashed — faster than thought.
Steel met shaft in midair, splitting it cleanly in two. Splinters scattered like shards of light.
Before Zelene could gasp, another arrow hissed past, grazing her shoulder. Ray moved without hesitation — pulling her in, shielding her body with his own.
"Keep running," he breathed, his voice barely human, all grit and fear and urgency. "Go!"
They sprinted up the incline. The soft soil gave way to hard-packed earth, the grass thinning into loose gravel. The land was changing — no longer flat but fractured, tilting toward jagged rocks ahead.
Behind them, torches flared — a trail of gold tearing through the dark.
Zelene's lungs burned. Every inhale felt like ice.
She stumbled once, caught herself, stumbled again. Her vision blurred with tears she didn't have time to shed.
Flashes came unbidden.
Her father's last words. Caelan's blood. Elara's scream.
She grabbed Ray's sleeve. "Ray— we're not getting out of this."
He didn't stop. "We will."
"No, listen— I've seen this," she gasped, voice cracking. "You'll die here. We both will."
He turned, fierce and breathless. "Then we change it."
And they ran.
Arrows rained again — sharp whistles slicing through the night. One nicked Ray's arm; blood darkened his sleeve, but he didn't falter.
Another arrow hit the dirt beside Zelene's boot, burying itself deep.
The next— grazed her cheek.
Her breath hitched — but she kept moving.
"Ray— the edge!" she cried.
Too late.
The earth cracked beneath them — a sickening rumble followed by weightlessness.
The ground vanished.
The world flipped upside down — sky and stone spinning into chaos.
Zelene reached out — felt Ray's fingers close around hers for half a heartbeat before gravity tore them apart.
They fell — down a steep, hidden drop masked by shadow, the fall broken only by dirt and jagged roots. The sound of their bodies hitting earth echoed once, then was swallowed by the night.
For a long while, there was only silence.
No arrows.
No voices.
Just wind moving through the reeds above.
Ray stirred first, coughing through the dust. His side burned, blood warm against the cold air. He rolled over with a grunt, blinking hard. "Zelene—"
No answer.
"Zelene!"
A faint groan answered. She lay a few feet away, half-buried in crushed grass, hood torn, hair loose and tangled with leaves. Her chest rose — shallow, but steady.
Ray crawled toward her, ignoring the pain in his arm. "Zelene. Hey. Look at me."
She stirred weakly, voice barely a whisper. "I'm fine…"
He huffed a shaky laugh — disbelief and relief tangled together. "You call that fine?"
Her lips almost twitched into a smile, but her eyes — wide and hollow — stayed fixed on the dark above them.
The rim of the cliff glowed faintly with torchlight.
Above, the soldiers peered down the ravine. Their leader scoffed, spitting to the side.
"No one survives a fall like that," he muttered. "Leave them. The crows will finish it."
A murmur of agreement followed. Torches turned away, one by one — their light shrinking into the distance until only darkness remained.
Ray exhaled slowly, head tipping back against the stone. "They're gone," he whispered.
Zelene turned her head toward him. The moonlight reached just enough to touch her face — pale, streaked with dust and blood, but alive.
Barely.
"It's not over," she said quietly.
Ray's eyes softened. "No. But it will be, if we stop moving."
He pushed himself upright, wincing, and extended a hand toward her.
She took it — fingers trembling, eyes distant — and for a moment, they just stayed like that.
Two broken silhouettes beneath the moon, bound by loss, by exhaustion, by the single fragile thread of survival.
Above them, the plains whispered — endless and cruel.
And somewhere in that same silver wilderness, a black stallion thundered through the night.
Kael Dravenhart — eyes fixed ahead, cloak snapping like wings — following the faint scent of blood and smoke that led straight into the dark.