They didn't stop moving anymore.
Not really.
Even when they paused, it wasn't rest. It was delay. Calculation. A moment stolen from something already closing in. Arden felt it long before Riven spoke. The air had changed—not heavier, but tighter, as if the space itself had folded inward, leaving less room to breathe, to think, to exist.
Riven slowed. Imperceptibly. Just enough.
Arden's eyes flicked to him. "What is it?"
He didn't answer at once. His gaze swept the jagged terrain, slow, deliberate, mapping invisible threats like he could see through stone. Finally, his voice cut the silence.
"They're multiplying."
Her stomach dropped. "What?"
"The hunters," he said. "They weren't alone."
A pause.
"They called others."
Arden's throat tightened. "How many?"
Riven didn't look at her. "Enough."
Not an answer. Worse.
Her pulse climbed. "So… what do we do?"
"We move."
He stepped forward, each motion precise, purposeful. Not random. Never random.
Arden followed, matching his pace, though every step tore through her. Her ribs burned. Her shoulder flared. Her legs dragged as if the canyon itself resisted her weight. Exhaustion crept in quietly—relentless—and this time, it didn't let go.
The canyon appeared without warning.
One moment the terrain stretched in jagged slopes and broken ridges; the next, it narrowed. Walls of blackened stone rose steep and unforgiving, cutting off the sky until only a thin strip of gray remained. No escape. No side path. Just a knife-edge corridor carved from ash and rock.
Arden slowed.
"No," she muttered.
Riven didn't stop. "This is the only path."
"It's a trap."
"Yes."
She stared at him. "And we're walking into it?"
"We're already in it."
The words settled like a weight she couldn't lift.
She looked back. The way they came was gone—not physically, but it felt that way. Closed. Watched. Claimed.
She exhaled, then stepped forward.
The canyon swallowed sound.
Footsteps echoed faintly, distant, as if the world had been compressed. The faint scrape of stone under her boots vibrated against her ears like a warning.
Arden's head throbbed—not from pain, but from pressure. Too much to track. Too many angles. The hunters. The terrain. Riven. Herself.
And beneath it all—
Lunaris pulsed. Steady. Patient. Threading through her veins like a heartbeat.
Focus. Refine.
Vaelor's voice returned—calm, measured.
"Refine."
Arden clenched her jaw. "I am focusing."
Not enough.
Her steps faltered.
Her breathing tightened.
Not enough—
"Stop," she whispered.
Silence answered.
Then—something else.
Break them.
The voice was wrong. Not Vaelor. Deeper. Heavier. It didn't guide. It demanded. Arden's fingers twitched. "No," she said sharply.
Riven glanced back. "What?"
"Nothing."
His gaze lingered a moment—suspicious—before he moved on.
But something had shifted.
Not distance.
Something else.
A subtle change in the air.
Too many angles. Too many presences.
"They're here," she said. Something moved in the shadows. Not enough time to react… and yet it made her stomach clench.
Riven didn't respond. He already knew.
An arrow cut the silence. Fast. Precise. The wind whistled as it passed close, stinging her ear.
He moved—barely—and it missed him by inches.
Another followed, from the opposite side.
Then a third—higher, from an angle Arden hadn't tracked.
Her breath caught.
"Multiple positions—"
"I see them."
Riven stepped forward into it. Never retreating. Never hesitating.
The canyon erupted. Hunters dropped from above. Scouts emerged from carved ledges, hidden, prepared, relentless. Too many. Far too many.
This wasn't a test. This was a hunt. And they were the prey.
A blade flashed from her left. She turned, blocked, countered—barely. Too slow. Another strike came from behind. She twisted, pain flaring through her ribs, dagger catching the blow but forcing her off balance.
Another arrow whistled past—too late—grazing her arm. Sharp. Burning.
Her breath broke.
Too many.
Too fast.
Focus.
Vaelor's voice cut through the chaos.
Refine.
Her movements sharpened—slightly. Not enough.
Another attack. She barely avoided it. Her foot slipped. Stone cracked beneath her—too perfect. A trap.
She jumped back, heart pounding. Barely. Again. Chest tightening.
"I can't—"
You can. You must. Break them. Vaelor's tone hardened.
Then—
The second voice surged. LET GO.
Arden flinched. Another strike—barely blocked. Her arm shook. Vision blurred. The tang of blood and stone filled her senses. Her mind fractured under the pressure. She wasn't going to die because she wasn't strong enough. She was going to die because she couldn't hold everything together. Not the fight. Not herself. Not them.
Then—
Riven stumbled. Small. Almost nothing. But enough. A blade slipped through his defense, cutting his side. Deep. Not fatal—but real. Blood darkened his side against the ash. Arden's world narrowed. Everything else vanished. Sound. Movement. Chaos.
All she saw—was him.
Bleeding.
Because she wasn't enough. Because she hesitated. Again.
Her chest tightened. Her breathing slowed. Wrong.
Hold. Vaelor's voice sharpened. Maintain control.
The other voice surged. LET GO. Closer. Louder. Overlapping. Arden's fingers moved without thought, reaching for the satchel. Her grip closed around Lunaris.
The pulse answered instantly. Stronger. Heavier. Different. Her breath caught. Something shifted—not outside, but within. A faint vibration of power, deeper than she had felt before, hummed through her bones.
Vaelor's voice strained. Hold.
But it wasn't alone anymore.
LET GO.
The voices overlapped. Arden's grip tightened. Her vision fractured—no longer controlled. Wild. Unstable. Wrong.
The silver light surged—then twisted. Darkened. Something beneath it—older, waiting—finally answered.
And the light… turned wrong.