CHAPTER 8

The moment the crowd began to disperse, the ache in Aria's bones surged tenfold.

She stood frozen in the center of the sparring ring, Selene’s blood staining her knuckles, mud in her hair, the bruises blooming across her ribs like war medals. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, not with adrenaline, but with a bone-deep exhaustion that made her sway.

And then…

The world tilted.

Her knees buckled.

Darkness rushed up to meet her.

The scent of lavender and crushed pine brought her back first.

Soft light filtered through the canvas walls of Maela’s tent, and the quiet murmuring of the camp beyond drifted in like a half-remembered lullaby. Aria’s throat was raw, her skin sticky with dried sweat and blood, and her limbs refused to move. A warm, callused hand pressed something wet against her cheek.

“You passed out cold,” Maela said softly. “Twice.”

Aria blinked.

Maela leaned over her, face shadowed but gentle. Her hands moved expertly, cleaning the reopened gash on Aria’s thigh, checking the bruise along her collarbone. Her lips were pressed in a tight line.

“Did I win?” Aria rasped.

“You survived,” Maela said.

“Same thing.”

Maela snorted. “Not always.”

She poured something bitter into a clay cup and offered it to Aria, who gagged after one sip.

“Gods,” Aria coughed. “Is that tree bark and regret?”

“Close,” Maela said dryly. “Willow root and scorched moss. For pain.”

“You could’ve added honey.”

“I could’ve let you bleed out too.”

They stared at each other for a moment. And then, for the first time in what felt like days, Aria smiled…barely.

Maela tucked the blankets tighter around her. “Rest. Your muscles will scream tomorrow.”

Aria let her eyes drift closed again, but sleep didn’t come. Not really. Not when her skin still buzzed from Selene’s final words. You’ll regret surviving.

Not when Kael had stood stone-silent through it all.

Not when everything still felt like fire beneath her skin.

The tent flap rustled suddenly.

Nessa slipped in, cheeks flushed, curls wild and windblown. She tiptoed like she wasn’t supposed to be here, clutching something in both hands.

Aria’s chest ached the moment she saw her.

“Hi,” the little girl whispered.

“Hi,” Aria managed, voice scratchy.

“I brought you something.”

Nessa opened her palm to reveal a tiny wildflower, its petals pale blue and trembling. A weed, really. But the way she held it, careful and proud made Aria’s throat tighten.

“It’s for good dreams,” Nessa said. “I asked the Moon for it.”

Aria blinked fast. “Thank you.”

Nessa placed the flower on Aria’s pillow, then tugged at the bracelet tied around Aria’s wrist. “Still wearing it.”

“Of course,” Aria said. “You made it for me.”

“I thought maybe the trial would break it,” Nessa mumbled. “I was scared.”

Aria reached out, her hand shaking, and brushed Nessa’s cheek. “It didn’t break. You tied it too strong.”

Nessa beamed, climbed into the cot beside her, and curled up without asking.

And Aria, without thinking, held her close.

For a few precious moments, the ache dulled.

But that night, Aria dreamed.

She was standing in a forest of ash.

Trees burned silently around her, their flames silver-blue and otherworldly. Smoke coiled in the air like hands reaching for her throat. And through the haze… she saw it again.

The white wolf.

Its coat shimmered like moonlight. Its eyes…her eyes were silver and sad.

It walked toward her, paws leaving prints of frost in the fire. And when it opened its mouth, the forest screamed.

“He remembers her. But he forgets the fire she carried.”

Aria stepped forward. “Who are you?”

“I am the part of you that was buried.”

The trees crackled louder. The flames rose higher.

The wolf leaned close, breath brushing Aria’s face. It smelled like winter and sorrow.

“And I am no longer content to sleep.”

Aria jolted awake, drenched in sweat, her pulse racing.

The cot was empty beside her. Nessa must’ve snuck off during the night. Maela’s herbs filled the air, but they couldn’t stop the chill curling through Aria’s veins.

She sat up slowly, limbs aching.

Outside, the camp was alive again.

By midday, Aria forced herself to move through it.

She kept her hood up, her stride slow, her expression unreadable. Rogues moved around, sharpening blades, mending gear, hauling crates from supply tents.

And for the first time, she noticed the small things.

The way one rogue boy barely older than Nessa told jokes to make the others laugh while gutting rabbits for stew.

The way two women sparred near the fire, their movements fluid but friendly, like dance partners rather than opponents.

A young man with bandaged hands braided his sister’s hair.

The camp lived.

Even in hardship. Even with Kael’s strict silence and Silverpine’s looming threat. These people lived.

Aria passed a group sitting cross-legged, passing bread and jerky around. One of them looked up at her, eyes narrowing but said nothing.

She walked past them.

Past the campfires.

Past the warmth.

She sat alone.

She picked at a chunk of dried meat Maela had pressed into her hands earlier but couldn’t bring herself to eat.

And then…

She saw him.

Kael.

He was walking through the eastern path, coat half-unbuttoned, eyes narrowed at some report one of the guards handed him. His dark hair was wind-tousled, his jaw clenched tight.

He walked straight past her.

Didn’t look once.

Didn’t pause.

Aria stared at his back, pulse thudding.

He had watched her fight Selene. Had watched her bleed, struggle, fall and rise again.

And he had done nothing.

Not a word.

Not a glance.

Not even now.

Her fingers clenched the food so tightly it crumbled in her hand.

She rose, ready to march after him, but something froze her mid-step.

A voice.

Soft. Barely there. Like breath in her ear.

“Aria…”

She spun.

No one was there.

The rogues nearby hadn’t even flinched.

Her heart leapt into her throat.

Again, the whisper came.

“Aria…”

It was not human.

Too cold. Too hollow. Like wind whistling through bones.

Aria backed away slowly, scanning the treeline. A prickle danced down her spine.

Maela’s voice snapped her back to the present. “Aria!”

The healer jogged toward her, worry on her face.

“What is it?” Maela asked, eyes searching hers.

Aria swallowed. “I… I heard something.”

“Where?”

Aria turned toward the woods.

But the voice was gone.

Only wind moved through the leaves now.

Only shadows.

That night, Aria didn’t sleep.

She sat by the edge of the campfires, Nessa curled up beside her again, the bracelet between them like a lifeline. Her fingers absently traced its knots.

The fire crackled. Rogues murmured.

Kael never looked her way.

And far off in the forest’s darkest corner, something waited.

Watching.

Whispering her name.