Chapter 5: The Crimson March

Vireya's POV

I had meant to speak to Zevarion. I took a step toward him, my heart beating faster with each stride, when a sudden burst of light erupted behind me.

Instinctively, I turned back, shielding my eyes with my arm. The blinding light tore through the clearing like a falling star, brilliant and fierce. In that radiant moment, the Heartstone descended and chose Rhydan, the Alpha’s son.

That was the cause of the light. And the cause of the chaos. Before anyone could truly grasp what had happened, all hell broke loose.

Rhydan’s warriors saw their chance and struck first, launching a surprise attack on Xareth’s men. Screams filled the air, steel clashed, and the ground trembled beneath the weight of battle.

Amid the chaos, someone shoved me hard, I stumbled and crashed to the ground, my elbow slamming against a jagged stone. Pain shot through me as a deep scratch opened, blood falling instantly.

Dazed, I lifted my head just in time to see Zevarion. He was surrounded, battling two of Xareth’s soldiers with a sword in his grip. He wasn’t trained like the warriors, not a soldier by birth, but gods, he moved with deadly precision, graceful and swift.

Still, worry twisted inside me like a blade. He didn’t belong in a warzone. I couldn’t bear the thought of him getting hurt. But we were losing. Xareth’s men soon gained the upper hand. They overwhelmed Rhydan’s soldiers one by one.

Even Rhydan, wielding the newly bestowed power of the Heartstone, couldn’t hold them back. He struck at Xareth, but it was raw, untamed power, and he didn’t know how to wield it. They captured him.

And with Rhydan restrained, the remaining fighters fell to their knees in surrender, choosing captivity over death.

“Bind their hands,” Xareth ordered, his voice calm, too calm.

His soldiers obeyed. I watched helplessly as Zevarion’s wrists were tied, his sword ripped from his grasp, he didn't resist. My heart ached at the sight.

“You will all come with me to Crimson Dusk,” Xareth announced.

He began handpicking the strongest of the captives, men and women both. Soldiers. Healers. Even those with no strength but eyes that burned with rebellion. They would be useful, somehow. I tried to reach Zevarion through the crowd, pushing past those in my way, but I couldn’t get to him.

Then Xareth turned toward the Alpha’s carriage, ornate and majestic, adorned in royal black and gold, and claimed it for himself. He tied his stallion to the front, adding it to the six already harnessed. The other carriages were loaded with stolen treasures: weapons, fine fabrics, gold, heirlooms, every last remnant of our shattered home.

As I stood there, stunned and silent, Xareth approached me.

“Join me,” he said, extending a hand.

I hesitated. But in the end, I took it.

He led me into the grand carriage, just the two of us. Outside, his men guarded the stolen riches and the bound captives. Crimson Dusk awaited. And I knew, nothing would ever be the same again.

I sat in the large velvet seat, facing Xareth. The carriage rocked gently as it rolled forward. He watched me intently, a calm, unreadable smile stretched across his face.

“You’re very beautiful,” he said.

I forced a faint smile and turned my gaze to the window, though it was too dark to see anything outside. Something about him unsettled me, the way he looked at me like he already owned me, but I couldn’t deny it: I found him dangerously attractive.

“What is your name?” he asked.

Only then did I realize I hadn’t spoken a word since the chaos began.

“Vireya,” I whispered. My voice came out dry and cracked, as though it had forgotten how to form words. Maybe it had, I hadn’t spoken to anyone in nearly two years.

“A beautiful name,” he murmured. His eyes drifted to my arm. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s just a scratch,” I said quickly. “It’s nothing.”

Without another word, he rose from his seat and crossed the small space between us. He knelt on one knee, gently taking my arm. I stiffened, but didn’t pull away. From the inner pocket of his coat, he produced a silk handkerchief, rich navy, embroidered in gold and tied it tenderly around my elbow.

As he worked, I watched him, his unusual features, the strange energy that clung to him like mist. There was something otherworldly about Xareth, something ancient. When he looked up and our eyes met, I flinched and quickly turned away. He smiled, returning to his seat without another word.

“Be comfortable around me,” he said softly.

The carriage fell quiet again, the only sound being the rhythmic clatter of wheels against the earth. My body began to relax against the plush cushions. My eyes grew heavy, the weight of exhaustion pulling at me. I tried to fight it, but sleep crept in like fog through a broken window.

I must have dozed off. As always, sleep offered no peace. The nightmare returned, vivid, merciless. I stood amidst a field of the dead, bodies piled around me, blood soaking the soil. My hands dripped crimson, and I could feel it, whatever had happened, I had caused it. I was the storm.

I jolted awake with a sharp gasp, my hands flying to my chest to calm my racing heart.

“You must have had a nightmare,” a voice said. Xareth.

For a moment, I had forgotten where I was. The sunlight filtered in through the windows, bathing the carriage in soft, golden light. It was morning. He must have laid me down while I slept, and covered me.

A strange warmth spread through my chest, part gratitude, part confusion, and something else I dared not name.

Xareth was already seated across from me, calm and composed, as if he'd never left that spot. A small wooden stool now stood between us, and on it sat a golden tray with a steaming bowl of soup, baked bread, and a crystal goblet filled with spring water. The scent of warm broth filled the space, stirring my empty stomach.

I blinked, confused. Where did this come from?

“You should have breakfast,” he said, gesturing toward the tray.

I glanced around. “Have we been riding all night?”

“Yes,” he replied, his eyes never leaving mine.

And then it hit me, the others. The warriors from my pack, the prisoners, Zevarion, they had been on foot this entire time. No rest.

My chest tightened. My poor Zevarion, had he eaten? Had he slept at all? The image of him, walking in chains through the cold night, haunted me.

“Is something wrong?” Xareth asked, his voice gentle.

“No... not really,” I answered, though my sigh betrayed me.

He tilted his head slightly. “Tell me.”

I hesitated, unsure if I should speak freely. But something in his tone compelled me to try.

“I... think I need a brook,” I said carefully. “To wash up.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, to my surprise, he nodded.

“Good thing we’re close to one. We’ll stop at the brook.”

I blinked at him, unsure if I’d heard correctly.

“You’ll stop... for me?”

He gave a half-smile. “Of course.”

It shouldn’t have felt like a kindness, but it did. And it unsettled me more than cruelty might have.

I lowered my gaze. “Maybe... the captives could also have some water. And rest. Just a little.”

My voice was barely a whisper, the request timid. I expected him to scoff or snap, but he didn’t.

“That’s not a problem,” he said.

I looked up, stunned. I gave a small nod, uncertain how to feel. My hands remained folded in my lap, untouched by the meal.

Soon, the carriage slowed. The gurgling sound of running water reached my ears. We had arrived at the brook. Xareth stepped down from the carriage first. His soldiers were already in motion, forming a perimeter. Without a word, he turned and extended a hand to help me down.

I ignored the gesture and descended on my own, my eyes scanning the crowd as soon as my feet touched the ground.

The captives had been gathered in a nearby clearing, the connecting chains gone, but their hands still bound. Some dropped to their knees, drinking from the brook like starving animals. Others remained too weary to move.

And then I saw Zevarion. His tunic was torn at the shoulder, dirt smeared across his skin, his wrists still bound in chains. But he stood tall, jaw clenched, eyes alert.

A breath I didn’t know I was holding escaped my lips. I took a step forward, longing to go to him, but Xareth was beside me, watching me closely.

“You care for him,” he said quietly, more a statement than a question.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

Xareth stepped forward, his voice rising above the murmur of the brook and the rustle of leaves.

“I’ll allow you all to drink and rest a while,” he announced, scanning the faces of the weary captives. “And not out of mercy, but because of Vireya. The girl you all seem to hate so much.”

His eyes lingered on them, dark with warning.

“But hear me clearly: if any of you try anything foolish, if anyone attempts to run or raise a hand against my men, your skull will decorate the front of my carriage.”

Silence fell, no one moved. Even the birds above seemed to pause their songs.

“I’m heading into the forest with a few of my men. We’ll hunt for tonight’s meal,” he said, his tone softening slightly.

“Okay,” I replied quickly, unsure what else to say.

He gave me a long look, one I couldn’t read, then nodded once. Two of his soldiers followed him, disappearing between the thick pines and into the whispering woods beyond.

The rest of his guards stayed back, watching the captives like hawks.

At last, I moved. My feet carried me swiftly over the uneven ground to Zevarion. He was kneeling beside the brook, scooping water into his hands.

I rushed over and crouched beside him, my breath catching in my throat.

“Zevarion,” I said softly, barely more than a whisper.

His hands remained cupped, suspended in midair. Slowly he turned to look at me, and when our eyes met, my heart cracked.

There was no accusation in his gaze. No hatred. Only exhaustion… and sadness.

“I promise you,” I blurted out, the words tumbling from my lips in a rush, “I’m not working with Xareth. I swear it. I would never…”