The road stretched ahead like a thread drawn through mist.
The forest flanked them on both sides, dark and patient, the scent of pine heavy in the morning air. The wheels of the carriage murmured softly against the earth, steady and rhythmic — a lullaby for thoughts that refused to rest.
Zelene sat by the window, her gloved fingers tracing idle patterns in the fogged glass. The sky above was still pale, the kind of gray that promised neither rain nor mercy.
For a long while, no one spoke.
Ray sat across from her, arms crossed, his gaze distant. Finn, beside him, had one boot propped lazily on a crate, humming a tune that was halfway between a lullaby and a tavern song.
It was Finn, of course, who broke the silence first.
He always did.
"So," he said, glancing up from the coil of rope he'd been fiddling with, "what's the grand plan, then? We ride into the unknown, ask politely if anyone's seen an Auryn lying around, and hope the gods are feeling generous?"
Zelene's lips twitched — not quite a smile, but close. "If only it were that simple."
She leaned back against the seat, the wood creaking softly beneath her. "I don't even know where to begin. The Auryns could be anywhere — buried, hidden, passed through hands or bloodlines we no longer remember. Every lead is cold."
Her voice grew quieter, the weight of it settling like dust. "How does one even start looking for something that was never meant to be found?"
Finn was silent for a heartbeat, his usual grin fading into something thoughtful. Then he said, almost idly, "Maybe… by remembering how they drifted apart."
Zelene turned to him, brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"
Finn leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The morning light caught the copper in his hair, softening him in a way his words did not.
"Well," he began, "the way I heard it — back when the Crimson Auryn fell into slumber, the others began to drift. Like stars when their sun dies. They waited for their leader's return… holding onto a promise that was never kept."
Zelene's gaze lowered. "And now?"
He shrugged. "Now… who knows? Too much time has passed. Kingdoms rose and fell. Bloodlines thinned. If the Auryns were once bound by loyalty, that bond's been tangled in centuries of silence."
Ray's voice joined them then — low, calm, practical. "You're saying they could have been reborn. Hidden within families who don't even know what they carry."
Finn nodded. "Exactly. Power like that doesn't just vanish. It finds new vessels — new names, new faces. Passed through generations like a whisper that no one remembers how to hear."
Zelene frowned, her thoughts chasing shadows. "Then how do we find them? If they've been passed down by blood, how do we even tell who bears it?"
Finn scratched his chin, his expression unreadable. "There's something… distinct about them, or so the stories say. Each Auryn carries a mark — not visible to the eye, not unless you know what to look for."
Zelene tilted her head. "And do you?"
He smiled faintly, almost wistfully. "Not yet. But maybe we'll know when we're close."
For a moment, only the sound of the road filled the silence again.
Outside, the trees thinned, revealing rolling hills painted gold by the weak sun.
Zelene's eyes softened, though her thoughts remained heavy. "The Crimson Auryn…" she murmured. "If he truly sleeps, then perhaps the others are waiting for him still."
Finn leaned back, his tone quiet but certain. "They are. That's what makes them what they are — bound by a promise they refused to forget."
Zelene turned to the window again. The wind tugged at the edge of her hood, carrying the faint scent of earth and rain.
Bound by a promise they refused to forget.
Something in her chest ached at that.
Because deep down, she knew — promises had a way of outlasting people.
She closed her eyes, letting the rhythm of the wheels lull her thoughts. Somewhere behind them, Kael's words still lingered, echoing like a vow she had never asked him to make.
Wait for me.
But waiting had never been her strength.