The night bites. Liyen presses herself flatter against the cold stone, feels her heart hammering against the rock face like a caged animal. Below, in the village, shadows move. Too many. Too synchronous.
Noctusborn. All of them.
She doesn't count them. Counting means wasting time, and time has become a luxury she cannot afford. Her bow still lies heavy in her hand, knowing it is useless against an entire army. Her fingers no longer tremble—the adrenaline has frozen her, turned her into living stone that breathes, that thinks, that waits.
Then: sounds. From the road.
Hooves. Not the dragging slither of the Noctusborn, but the rhythmic pounding of real horses. Liyen risks a glance over the ledge. There, on the southern path, a group approaches. Torches flicker, casting dancing shadows across Yulong's burnt houses.
Travelers? Now?
"Stop!"
The voice cuts through the darkness. Not Liyen's—it belongs to a man, broad-shouldered, with a beard that glows red in the torchlight. He raises his hand, and the riders halt. Ten, perhaps twelve people. Men, women, and—Liyen's stomach clenches—two small figures on one of the horses.
Children.
"The village isn't burning... anymore?" says the bearded man. His name is Tarin, Liyen recognizes from his people's calls. "But it smells... wrong."
Liyen freezes at the name.
A woman rides beside him, the twins clutched tight in her grip. The twins cling to the saddle horn, eyes as large as big buttons. They smell it too. The wrongness. The burnt earth. Tessa's gaze wanders over the empty streets, the curtained windows, the doors standing ajar and leading into nothing. "Tarin. The children."
"I see them." He turns, studies his daughters—twins, perhaps six, seven years old. "Elin, Lora. Stay on the horse. No matter what happens. Understood?"
The girls nod. Their eyes are wide with curiosity.
Liyen bites her lip. Warn them. You have to warn them. But how? A scream would alert the Noctusborn to her presence. An arrow would mark her as an enemy. And she is only one, exhausted, alone.
Instead, she watches as Tarin dismounts. Watches as he draws his weapon—not from fear, from habit. A fighter. A leader. The kind of man who walks into a trap because he believes he can see through it alone.
"Hello?" His call echoes through the streets. "We are adventurers from Marenlor! We have come regarding the mission!"
Silence. Then: movement.
A figure detaches from the shadow of a house. Mistress Yu. Liyen recognizes her immediately—her aunt. Now only a shell with glowing eyes.
"You are most welcome!" Mistress Yu's voice sounds warm. Too warm. Like honey left too long in the sun. "It is our pleasure to greet you here again."
Tarin relaxes. Not much, but Liyen sees it—the shoulders drop a centimeter, the sword drops a degree. "Thank you. We are always received so hospitably in Yulong."
"Of course." Mistress Yu smiles. Her teeth are too white in the moonlight. "Yulong is known for its hospitality, after all. Come, you must be exhausted from your journey. We have already prepared a meal."
"That is... very kind." Tarin glances back at his wife. Tessa looks visibly more relaxed, but tired. Too tired to nurture suspicion.
"We were attacked," says Mistress Yu, before anyone can ask. Her voice trembles perfectly, a mixture of sorrow and relief. "By bandits. From the west. But we drove them into flight."
"Bandits?" Tarin studies the burnt roofs, the shattered doors. "This looks like more than just—"
"Baitenger territory is not taken so easily." Mistress Yu laughs, and the sound is like glass shards in sand. "I think they won't be returning anytime soon."
Liyen closes her eyes. No. No, no, no.
"That is why we requested your aid, but don't worry—not for fighting, but for rebuilding." Tarin smiles now. He wants to believe. Men like him want to believe that the world still has places where hospitality is not a trap. "We have come to help."
"Thank you." Mistress Yu spreads her arms, a gesture that almost looks human.
"And I have brought reinforcements. My entire guild." Tarin gestures to his group. "This is my wife Tessa. And my two little sunshines, Elin and Lora."
The twins wave hesitantly. Mistress Yu bends down to them, and Liyen sees her nose move. Sees her smell them. "How juicy your cheeks look," she whispers.
Elin and Lora look at each other. Confused. A little frightened.
"I am glad that you are well," says Tessa, her voice barely trembling. "I hope that Liyen and her mother are also well?"
A micro-pause. Liyen holds her breath.
"You must be exhausted from the long journey." Mistress Yu turns, walks toward the tavern. "Let us go inside. We have already prepared a meal for you. And the accommodations are ready as well—you can rest immediately after eating."
Tessa looks at Tarin questioningly. Concerned. But Tarin wraps himself in silence, follows the woman who was once Aunt Yu into the maw of the village.
Liyen remains alone on her rock.
The night breathes around her, heavy and damp. Somewhere, far away, she thinks she hears a whinny. Luobo?
Hope is a spark in the ash. But sparks can catch fire.
Or they can die in the wind.
She waits. Watches. And plans her next step while the strangers in the night disappear—behind a door that closes behind them like a mouth.