The forest at night was a different creature than the one Kaelen had seen in daylight. The trees seemed taller, their branches leaning down like skeletal arms. Wind threaded through the needles, whispering as though the woods carried its own language — a language meant only for the dead.
The Order had sent them on another task, this time not to test their swords but their ability to survive without them. "Forage, not fight," the instructor had said. "Learn what keeps you alive when blades fail you." That meant roots, berries, mushrooms — things Kaelen had only ever half-learned in village life. The twist, of course, was that this patch of forest was infamous for being cursed. Shadow-wolves prowled the deeper paths. Old stories said men went in and never came back out, their bones gnawed clean and their spirits trapped in the trees.
Kaelen adjusted the satchel on his shoulder and tried not to think about how much the forest resembled those tales. Seralyn walked ahead, bow ready though they weren't supposed to be hunting. Maeve carried a small lantern, the only circle of light between them. Deren, of course, complained.
"This is horse shit," Deren muttered, kicking at a root. "We're supposed to learn what's safe to eat, but all I see are mushrooms that look like they'd melt my insides."
Maeve smirked, brushing dirt from her hands after pulling up a tuber. "That's because they would. Pick the wrong one, you'll be shitting blood before dawn."
"Gods, Maeve," Deren grimaced. "You're lovely company, you know that?"
She shrugged, her lantern glow catching the sharp line of her cheek. "Better to know than to die ignorant."
Kaelen crouched, tugging a cluster of pale roots from the earth. They smelled bitter, acrid even, but he remembered villagers boiling them in soups. "These are fine if you cook them long enough."
Seralyn leaned over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. "And if you don't cook them?"
Kaelen frowned. "Then you'd wish you were dead."
Deren snorted. "Comforting. Truly."
They moved deeper among the trees, baskets filling slowly. The quiet between them was uneasy, the kind that grew from knowing something unseen was listening. The pines groaned, the ground crackled beneath boots, and now and then a bird shrieked before falling silent again.
It was Seralyn who broke it. "My father used to say this forest belonged to the Hollow Spire."
Maeve's lantern bobbed. "That's nowhere near here."
"Doesn't matter," Seralyn said. "The myths say its roots stretch under half the world. That the Spire feeds from the dead, and the dead whisper in places like this."
Deren whistled low. "Charming bedtime story."
Maeve shot him a glance. "Don't mock it. The Hollow Spire is older than the Order itself. If half the tales are true, it's where the gods first betrayed each other."
Kaelen felt a chill at the name. He'd grown up hearing stories of the Spire too, though in his village it was spoken more like a warning. Don't wander too far, or the Spire will take your soul. Don't speak lies, or the Spire will hear.
"Maybe it's just a ruin," Kaelen offered. "Stones don't whisper. Men do."
"Spoken like someone trying to convince himself," Seralyn murmured.
Kaelen didn't reply. Because she wasn't entirely wrong.
They foraged in silence for another stretch before the first howl tore through the trees. Low, guttural, too close. Maeve's lantern trembled in her grip.
"Tell me that was just the wind," Deren said, half a plea.
Seralyn was already drawing an arrow. "That was no wind."
The howl came again, joined by a second, then a third. Shadows flickered between the trees, shapes with too many eyes gleaming like coals.
"Shadow-wolves," Maeve whispered.
The wolves struck fast. The first lunged straight for Deren, who swore and barely managed to raise his short sword. Steel clashed against teeth that glowed faintly, like embers. Kaelen threw himself forward, roots scattering from his satchel, and slammed his shoulder into the beast. The two of them tumbled across the ground, Kaelen's sword scraping out of its scabbard just in time to ram into the wolf's ribs.
Another leapt from the brush toward Maeve. Seralyn's arrow cut the air, slamming into its flank. It howled, body twisting, but still barreled on. Maeve raised her free hand instinctively, a burst of raw light sparking at her fingertips — wild, uncontrolled — but enough to stagger the beast so Seralyn's second arrow could finish it.
Kaelen wrestled with the one atop him, teeth snapping inches from his face. He shoved his sword upward again, the blade catching bone, and with a final heave the creature went limp. He rolled aside, chest heaving, mud slicked on his cheek.
Three more circled them, growls rumbling. Deren planted his feet at Kaelen's side. "Fuck this. I thought we were supposed to forage."
"Less complaining, more fighting," Seralyn snapped, loosing another arrow. It struck true, dropping one wolf. The others lunged — and this time, the four moved as one.
Kaelen slashed, Deren parried, Maeve flared light to blind them, and Seralyn's bow sang again. Within moments, the clearing was still but for the panting of their breaths. Four corpses lay at their feet, already beginning to dissolve into shadows, leaving behind only the stink of ash.
Maeve lowered her lantern, her hand shaking. "They weren't supposed to come this close."
"Guess they didn't get the memo," Deren muttered, wiping his blade. He glanced at Kaelen, who was still on one knee. "You alright?"
Kaelen nodded, though his arms felt like lead. "Yeah. Thanks for not letting me get eaten."
Deren smirked. "Don't thank me yet. I might regret saving your ass."
Seralyn snorted, finally lowering her bow. "You two bicker like brothers already."
Later, they gathered by a small fire they managed to coax from damp kindling. The forest pressed around them, silent again save for the hiss of burning wood. They roasted the roots and tubers they'd collected, though the smell was bitter enough to make Deren gag.
"This smells like piss," he said, waving smoke from his face.
Maeve rolled her eyes. "Then don't eat. More for the rest of us."
He wrinkled his nose but didn't argue. Hunger always won.
For a long time, they ate in quiet, each of them nursing sore muscles. It was Deren, surprisingly, who broke the silence.
"You know, for a bunch of half-trained idiots, we didn't do too bad."
Seralyn raised a brow. "We nearly died."
"Yeah, but we didn't." He gestured with his half-burnt root. "That counts for something."
Maeve leaned forward, firelight catching her eyes. "It wasn't skill. It was luck."
Deren smirked. "Then may luck keep kissing us."
Kaelen chuckled despite himself. It felt strange — laughter in this cursed wood — but it lightened something inside him.
"Why are you here?" Seralyn asked suddenly, looking at each of them in turn. "The Order, I mean. Everyone's got a reason."
Maeve spoke first, her voice low. "My village thought I was cursed. Said the gods marked me for ruin when I started seeing sparks in my hands. The Order was the only place that didn't burn me for it."
Seralyn nodded once, then glanced at Deren.
He shrugged. "My old man wanted me to be someone important. Figured if I joined the Order, I'd either come back a hero or not at all. Guess he was fine with either."
Kaelen hesitated when their eyes turned to him. He thought of Lyra, of the village, of the library beneath the earth. But he kept it simple. "I didn't have a choice."
Maeve studied him but didn't push. Seralyn leaned back against a log. "Most of us don't."
Deren smirked. "Gods must get bored, shoving us around like pieces on a board."
Maeve's gaze sharpened. "Don't joke about that."
"Why not?" Deren said. "If they cared, why do villages burn? Why do kids like us get tossed into cursed forests to fight shadow-wolves?"
Maeve's jaw tightened. "Because the gods have plans we can't see."
Seralyn scoffed softly. "Or because they don't give a damn."
Kaelen listened, silent, firelight flickering in his eyes. He wasn't sure which side of the argument he believed — only that in the quiet of the flames, he thought of Lyra again, and of the kiss she had left him with before everything shattered. He pressed the memory down, keeping it his own.
The fire burned low. Their laughter — because somehow, there was laughter before sleep — echoed softly among the trees. For the first time, Kaelen realized they weren't just four recruits thrown together by chance. They were something more.
A team.
And that, he thought as the shadows of the forest leaned in, might be the only thing that kept them alive.