We ran until our lungs gave out.
The last of Warborn’s warding stones shattered behind us, magic crackling in our wake like dying stars. What lay ahead wasn’t sanctuary—it was worse. The trees grew too tall, too twisted. The canopy devoured the moonlight whole.
The Forbidden Lands.
A place older than the war. A place even the wolves feared to tread.
Lucian staggered to a stop beside a crumbled stone marker covered in vines and bone dust. He didn’t speak—just listened.
“What is it?” I whispered, chest burning.
“We crossed the veil.” His voice was raw. “They won’t follow.”
“Why not?”
“Because even monsters know better.”
We made camp beneath a canopy of dead leaves and silver moss, the only light from the soft flicker of my conjured flame. Lucian stood guard while I pressed wild herbs into our cuts—a half-healing spell and a half-desperate prayer.
The silence between us wasn’t heavy this time.
It was charged.
Finally, I broke the quiet when the fire was low and the night deepened into so
