Chapter 183

Nyra woke to the sound of birdsong.

For a moment, she didn’t know where she was. The ceiling above her was not the familiar stone of the Astrlyn keep, nor the silver moonlight of the Moon Court. It was wooden—rough-hewn beams and thatched roof. The bed beneath her was soft but unfamiliar.

Then she remembered.

The seer’s village. The first test. I passed.

She sat up slowly, her body still tired from the mental exertion of the trial. The Trial of the Mind had been exhausting a marathon of riddles and puzzles and illusions that had pushed her to the limits of her intelligence and creativity. But she had passed. She was one step closer to Soren.

A knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Corvin entered, carrying a tray of food bread, cheese, fruit, a steaming cup of tea. He smiled when he saw her awake.

“You’re up. Good. The seer said you should rest today. The next test isn’t until tomorrow.”

Nyra took the tea and drank deeply. “What time is it?”

“Mid-morning. You slept late. We all did.”

“We?”

“Me, Ragnar, Roderic, Marek, Maureen, Jasper. We decided to take the day off too. The seer said we should rest and recover. Explore the village. Relax.”

Nyra raised an eyebrow. “Relax? We’re on a quest to bring a man back from the dead.”

“All the more reason to relax.” Corvin sat on the edge of her bed. “You can’t save Soren if you’re exhausted. Neither can we. So today, we rest.”

Nyra wanted to argue. She wanted to say that there was no time to rest, that every moment mattered. But the truth was, she was exhausted. The trial had drained her more than she wanted to admit.

“Fine,” she said. “One day.”

“One day.”

They spent the morning exploring the village.

It was a small place perhaps thirty houses clustered around the temple, with a market square and a small inn. The people were quiet but friendly, nodding to Nyra and her friends as they passed. They seemed to know who she was the Daughter of the Moon, the one who would save them all. But they didn’t treat her like a goddess. They treated her like a person, a young woman who had come to their village seeking help.

Nyra appreciated that.

They wandered through the market, examining the wares, handmade crafts, dried herbs, simple jewelry. Maureen bought a small charm a silver crescent moon on a leather cord. She tied it around her wrist and smiled.

“For luck,” she said.

“Do you believe in luck?” Jasper asked.

“I believe in hope. Luck is just hope with a fancy name.”

They continued through the village, talking and laughing and enjoying the simple pleasure of being together. For a few hours, they forgot about the tests, about Soren, about the weight of everything they were trying to do.

It was nice.

In the afternoon, they decided to go hunting.

It was Ragnar’s idea an excuse to get out of the village, to stretch their legs, to do something physical after days of riding and worrying. They borrowed bows from the villagers and set out into the forest.

The forest was beautiful ancient trees, dappled sunlight, the sound of birds and small animals rustling through the underbrush. They split into pairs Nyra with Corvin, Ragnar with Roderic, Marek with Maureen, Jasper on his own and spread out through the trees.

Nyra and Corvin moved through the forest in comfortable silence. They had been through so much together the academy, the war, the loss, the grief. They knew each other’s rhythms, each other’s silences. They didn’t need words.

“There,” Corvin whispered, pointing.

A deer a small one, grazing in a clearing. Nyra raised her bow, aimed, and fired. The arrow flew true, striking the deer in the side. It fell.

“Good shot,” Corvin said.

“Thanks.”

They carried the deer back to the village, where the others had gathered with their own catches a brace of rabbits, a pheasant, a small wild boar. The villagers helped them prepare the meat, building a fire in the market square, roasting the animals over the flames.

That evening, they sat around the fire with the villagers, eating fresh meat and drinking local ale. The people told stories old legends of the Moon Goddess, of the first Moonblood queens, of the magic that had shaped the world. Nyra listened, fascinated. She had heard some of these stories before from her father, from the elders, from the priests. But hearing them here, in this small village, surrounded by people who still believed in the old magic, felt different.

This is what I’m fighting for, she thought. These people. This land. This history.

She looked at her friends at Corvin and Ragnar and Roderic, at Marek and Maureen and Jasper. They were laughing, talking, enjoying the moment. They had been through so much loss, betrayal, grief. But they were still here. Still together. Still fighting.

This is what I’m fighting for, she thought again. Them.

At the academy, Proctor Kane sat alone in his office.

The academy was quiet quieter than it had ever been. Most of the students had gone home for the summer. The halls were empty. The training grounds were still. Even the birds seemed to have gone silent.

Kane looked at the photographs on his wall the class portraits, the team photos, the individual shots of students who had passed through his halls over the years. His eyes lingered on one in particular a photo of Soren, Corvin, Ragnar, and Roderic, taken during their first year at the academy. They were young barely more than boys but their potential had been obvious even then.

I miss them, Kane thought. I miss all of them.

He thought about Soren the Sword Sovereign, the crown prince, the student he had trained and loved like a son. He thought about Corvin the brilliant alchemist, the serpent, the boy who had become a man. He thought about Ragnar the scarred warrior, the loyal friend, the one who had always stood by Soren’s side. He thought about Roderic the quiet observer, the tracker, the one who had returned from the dead to help his friends.

They were the best students I ever had, Kane thought. And now… now they’re out there, fighting for the realm. Fighting for all of us.

He poured himself a glass of whiskey and raised it to the empty room.

“To Soren,” he said. “To Corvin. To Ragnar. To Roderic. May you find what you’re looking for. May you come home safe.”

He drank.

Valeria Morvane sat in her office at the academy, staring at the plaque on her wall.

Valeria Morvane. Senior Lecturer. Member of the Board. For Services to the Crown.

She had been promoted after the war rewarded for her role in helping to capture the assassins, for her bravery in the face of danger, for her willingness to turn against her former allies and do what was right. Her name had been written in the history books. She had been given a medal, a title, a place of honor.

And yet, whenever she looked at the plaque, she didn’t feel pride.

She felt shame.

I almost went down the wrong path, she thought. I almost became one of them. If Soren hadn’t saved me—if he hadn’t given me a second chance I would have been dead. Or worse.

She thought about Soren constantly about his strength, his courage, his sacrifice. She thought about the way he had looked at her when he confronted her in her quarters. The anger in his eyes. The disappointment. The hope.

He believed in me, she thought. Even after everything I did, even after I betrayed him, betrayed Nyra, betrayed everyone he believed I could be better. And I was. Because of him.

She wanted him back. More than anyone more than Nyra, more than Corvin, more than his own family she wanted him back. Because she owed him. Because she had never properly thanked him. Because she had never told him how much his belief in her had meant.

Come back, Soren, she thought. Please. I need to tell you something. I need to thank you.

But she knew he couldn’t hear her. He was in the Moon Court trapped, sleeping, waiting for someone to save him.

Nyra will save you, Valeria thought. She has to. Because if she doesn’t—

She couldn’t finish the thought. It was too painful.

In a small village at the edge of the realm, Selene sat alone in a cheap inn.

She had been wandering for weeks moving from town to town, never staying in one place for long, never letting anyone get too close. She had money, her mother had given her a substantial sum before she was sent away and clothes, and food. She had everything she needed to survive.

But she didn’t have a home. She didn’t have a family. She didn’t have a future.

What’s the point? she thought. What’s the point of any of this?

She thought about her life about everything she had done, everything she had lost. She thought about Soren about his cold eyes, his distant manner, the way he had never loved her. She thought about Nyra about the girl she had tried to destroy, the girl who had won everything. She thought about her parents about the way they had disowned her, the way they had looked at her with shame and disgust.

I lost everything, she thought. Everything. Because of my own stupidity. My own jealousy. My own pride.

She wished she could go back. She wished she could turn back time. She wished she could undo all the terrible things she had done the lies, the manipulation, the betrayal.

But she couldn’t.

She could only sit here, in this cheap inn, and watch the world pass her by. She could only regret. She could only mourn.

She could only survive.

At the palace, the King and Queen sat together in their chambers.

They had been quiet since the execution since Soren’s sacrifice. They had tried to be strong for Freya, for the realm, for each other. But it was hard. It was so hard.

“I miss him,” Seraphina said quietly.

“I know.” Aldric took her hand. “I miss him too.”

“He was so brave. So strong. He gave his life for us—for all of us.”

“He did.”

“I don’t know how to move forward. I don’t know how to live without him.”

Aldric was silent for a moment. Then he spoke.

“We live because he would have wanted us to. We live because Freya needs us. We live because the realm needs us.” He squeezed her hand. “We live because that’s what he sacrificed himself for.”

Seraphina nodded slowly. The tears were falling hot and silent.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you too.”

In the corridor outside Freya’s chambers, Dain Blackfang stood alone.

He had come again as he did every day. He had brought flowers from the palace gardens. He had practiced what he would say. He had prepared himself to be brave.

But once again, he couldn’t bring himself to knock.

She’s still grieving, he thought. She’s still in pain. She doesn’t need me confessing my feelings. She needs a friend.

He turned to leave.

“Dain?”

He froze. The Queen was standing at the end of the corridor, watching him with knowing eyes.

“Your Majesty.” He bowed.

“I’ve seen you here every day,” Seraphina said. “Standing in the corridor. Never knocking.”

Dain’s face flushed. “I… I didn’t want to intrude. She’s grieving.”

“She is. But she’s also lonely. And she needs her friends.” The Queen stepped closer. “Go in. Talk to her. Not as a suitor as a friend. That’s what she needs right now.”

Dain hesitated. Then he nodded.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

He turned and knocked on the door.

Freya was sitting by the window when Dain entered.

She looked up, her eyes red from crying, her face pale. But when she saw him, something in her expression softened.

“Dain,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” He crossed the room and sat in the chair beside her. “I’ve been coming every day. I just… I never knocked.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t want to intrude. I knew you were grieving.”

Freya was silent for a moment. Then she reached out and took his hand.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “I’ve been so lonely.”

“You have friends. Your parents.”

“I know. But it’s different.” She paused. “They look at me like I’m broken. Like I’m something to be fixed. You don’t.”

Dain looked at her at the grief in her eyes, at the strength in her jaw, at the way she held herself even when she was falling apart.

“You’re not broken,” he said. “You’re just hurt. There’s a difference.”

Freya smiled—a small, fragile smile. “You always know what to say.”

“I try.”

They talked for hours about Soren, about the past, about the future. Dain told her stories about his childhood, about growing up with Ragnar, about the adventures they had shared. Freya told him about Soren about the way he had protected her, the way he had loved her, the way he had sacrificed himself for her.

And through it all, Dain held her hand.

When the sun began to set, Dain realized how much time had passed.

“I should go,” he said. “Your parents will be worried.”

Freya nodded. But she didn’t let go of his hand.

“Dain?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For being here. For not giving up on me.”

“I’ll never give up on you, Freya. Never.”

She looked at him at his gray eyes, at his kind face, at the way he looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

And then, without thinking, she leaned forward and kissed him.

Dain froze. His eyes went wide. But then slowly he kissed her back.

It was a gentle kiss. A soft kiss. A kiss of comfort and hope and new beginnings.

When they finally pulled apart, Freya was smiling, a real smile, the first real smile she had worn in weeks.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For making me feel alive again.”

Dain smiled back. “Always.”