Morning came without light.
The sky above the ledge was a dull, suffocating gray—no sun, no warmth, just a dim glow bleeding through layers of ash and smoke. The air still carried heat from the valley below, rising in slow, uneven currents that made the stone beneath Arden feel like it was breathing again.
She woke to pain.
Not sharp.
Not sudden.
But everywhere.
Her ribs ached with every breath, shallow and tight like her lungs refused to expand fully. Her shoulder burned where the creature had clipped her—stiff, swollen, wrong. Even her fingers trembled when she tried to move them, as if they no longer trusted her to stay steady.
For a long moment, she didn't move.
Didn't think.
Just existed.
Alive.
Barely.
Lunaris pulsed faintly in the satchel at her side.
Not strong. Not demanding.
Just… present.
Watching.
Arden swallowed, throat dry, and slowly pushed herself up.
The world tilted.
Her vision swam—
—and then steadied.
Across from her, Riven was already awake.
Of course he was.
He stood near the edge of the ledge, back turned, gaze fixed somewhere into the ash-choked distance. Still. Silent. Like he hadn't slept at all.
Arden let out a slow breath. "How long have you been up?"
"Long enough."
His voice was flat. No strain. No fatigue.
She hated that.
"I need a minute," she muttered, pressing a hand against her ribs.
"You don't."
Arden blinked. "What?"
Riven turned.
There was no softness in his expression. No sympathy.
"Get up."
She stared at him. "I just—"
"Get up."
The words didn't rise in volume.
But something in them pressed down harder than a shout.
Arden's jaw tightened. "I can barely breathe."
"Good."
Her eyes flashed. "Good?"
"If you can breathe at all, you can move."
Something sharp and angry twisted in her chest.
"You're serious?"
Riven stepped closer.
Not aggressive.
Not threatening.
Certain.
"If you stop, you die," he said, voice calm, almost detached. "Pain just tells you you're still alive."
Arden held his gaze.
For a second—just a second—she considered refusing.
Staying where she was.
Letting him walk away if he wanted.
But the memory of the valley—the creatures waiting above, watching—slid cold fingers down her spine.
She exhaled slowly.
Then forced herself to her feet.
Her legs nearly gave out.
She caught herself on instinct, breath hitching, vision flickering—
—but she stayed standing.
Riven didn't react.
Didn't offer help.
"Again," he said.
Arden frowned. "What?"
"You almost fell. Fix it."
"I just stood up."
"And you almost fell."
Her fingers curled. "You're impossible."
"Move."
They didn't leave the ledge.
Not yet.
Instead, Riven made her walk.
Back and forth.
Over uneven stone. Across narrow edges where one wrong step meant slipping into the smoke below. Through cracks that shifted under her weight.
At first, Arden focused on not collapsing.
Then on not limping.
Then—
on not looking like she was struggling.
It didn't work.
She tripped.
More than once.
Each time, she caught herself at the last second, heart lurching—
—but it was enough.
Riven saw everything.
"Too heavy," he said.
"I'm injured," she shot back.
"You're sloppy."
Her jaw clenched.
Another step—
her foot landed wrong—
pain flared up her side—
she hissed—
and stumbled again.
Riven's voice cut in immediately.
"You're reacting after the mistake."
Arden straightened, breathing hard. "Because I made one."
"You made it three steps earlier."
She froze.
"What?"
"You just didn't notice."
Silence stretched between them.
Then he moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
In one smooth motion, he crossed the distance and shoved her shoulder.
Not hard enough to hurt.
Just enough.
Arden staggered—
her foot shifted—
slid—
she twisted to recover—
and nearly fell off the edge.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as she caught herself, fingers digging into rough stone.
"What the hell—?!" she snapped, dragging herself back.
Riven crouched slightly, watching her feet.
"Your weight shifts before your step," he said. "That's where you lose balance."
Arden glared. "You could've just said that."
"You wouldn't have felt it."
Her breath came faster now.
Anger mixing with exhaustion.
"Do it again," he said.
"I'm not—"
"Do it again."
Her hands trembled.
Not just from pain.
From restraint.
But she stepped forward.
Carefully this time.
Too carefully.
"Wrong."
She stopped. "Now what?"
"You're thinking about every step."
"I thought that was the point."
"It's not."
Arden let out a sharp, frustrated laugh. "So I shouldn't think?"
"You should listen."
"To what?"
Riven didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he stepped beside her.
Close enough that she could feel the quiet tension in him—coiled, controlled.
"Your breath," he said. "The ground. The way your body shifts before you move."
Arden frowned.
"That's just instinct."
"No," he said quietly. "Instinct reacts."
A pause.
"Discipline chooses."
Something in the way he said it settled heavier than expected.
Arden swallowed.
Then stepped again.
This time—
she tried to feel it.
The uneven stone.
The slight tilt of her weight.
The way her ribs protested when she leaned too far.
It wasn't smooth.
Not even close.
But—
she didn't trip.
Riven watched.
Said nothing.
And somehow, that was worse.
It didn't take long for everything to fall apart again.
Her body gave in before her mind could keep up.
A misstep.
A shift too late.
Her foot caught on a jagged edge—
and she went down hard.
Pain exploded through her side.
Arden sucked in a breath, vision blurring.
"Again," Riven said.
She didn't move.
"Again."
"I said I—" Her voice cracked. "I need a break."
"No."
Her head snapped up. "Are you even listening?!"
"Yes."
"Then—"
"You're choosing to stop."
Arden pushed herself up, fury burning through the exhaustion.
"I survived before you," she snapped.
The words came out sharper than she expected.
Too raw.
Too real.
For a moment, Riven just looked at her.
Then—
"Barely."
Silence hit like a blow.
Arden's breath caught.
Something inside her twisted.
Not anger.
Not exactly.
Something worse.
Because he wasn't wrong.
She remembered the scavengers.
The chaos.
The way she lost control.
The way she almost—
Her fingers tightened.
"I'm still here," she said, quieter now.
Riven's gaze didn't soften.
"But not because you know how to survive."
The words landed clean.
Precise.
"And that won't save you twice."
They moved again.
Further along the ledge this time, where the rock narrowed into a jagged ridge that stretched out over the valley like a broken spine.
The ground there felt… wrong.
Unstable.
Arden noticed it immediately.
"Something's off," she said, slowing.
"Good," Riven replied. "Now move anyway."
Her eyes narrowed. "That's a bad idea."
"It's the only one you'll get."
She stepped forward cautiously.
The stone shifted under her weight.
Not much.
But enough.
Her pulse quickened.
"Riven—"
"Keep going."
Another step.
A crack.
Louder this time.
The ridge trembled.
Arden's breath hitched.
Her mind raced—
too fast—
too scattered—
danger—
fall—
death—
Lunaris pulsed.
Sharp.
Calling.
Just use me.
The thought wasn't hers.
Not fully.
Her hand moved toward the satchel—
Riven grabbed her wrist.
Hard.
"Don't."
She jerked. "I need—"
"No, you don't."
The ground split beneath them.
A section of the ridge collapsed, stone tearing away and vanishing into the smoke below.
Arden panicked.
Her body tensed—
Lunaris flared—
silver light flickering at the edge of her vision—
"I said don't!" Riven snapped, yanking her back.
He moved—
fast—
pulling her weight with his, shifting their balance just enough—
They stumbled—
the ridge cracked again—
then stabilized.
Barely.
Silence followed.
Broken only by Arden's ragged breathing.
Riven didn't let go immediately.
When he did, his grip lingered just a fraction longer than necessary.
"Not everything needs that thing," he said.
Arden stared at him.
Heart still racing.
"But it would've—"
"It would've made you weaker."
Her brow furrowed. "It saved me."
"It kept you alive," he corrected. "That's not the same."
The words sat heavy between them.
Arden looked down at her hand.
Still trembling.
Then at the satchel.
Quiet now.
Waiting.
Always waiting.
Night fell without warning.
One moment, the gray sky hung above them.
The next—it darkened into something deeper, heavier, swallowing what little light remained.
They didn't speak much after that.
Riven took watch.
Of course he did.
Arden lay down carefully against the rough stone, every part of her body aching, exhaustion finally dragging her under.
But sleep didn't come easily.
It hovered.
Just out of reach.
Her mind wouldn't quiet.
Too many thoughts.
Too many moments replaying—
her failures—
his words—
the way he moved—
the way she didn't.
Barely.
The word echoed.
Again.
And again.
Her fingers curled against the ground.
"I'm not weak," she whispered to the dark.
Silence answered.
Then—
No.
The voice was clearer this time.
Closer.
Like it wasn't coming from the satchel—
but from inside her thoughts.
You are becoming smaller.
Arden's eyes snapped open.
Her breath caught.
"Vaelor…?"
A pause.
Then—
I can feel it.
His influence.
The restraint.
The limitation.
The words slid through her mind like silk—
smooth.
Persuasive.
Dangerous.
Arden swallowed. "He's trying to keep me alive."
He is trying to make you less.
Her chest tightened.
"He's teaching me control."
He is teaching you fear.
The silence that followed stretched longer.
Heavier.
Then—
I can make you more.
The words lingered.
Tempting.
Promising.
Terrifying.
Arden stared into the darkness, heart pounding.
Above them, unseen—
something shifted in the valley.
Watching.
Waiting.
And for the first time—
she wasn't sure which voice she feared more.