The path winds like a pale serpent through the winter-hardened grassland. Liyen stops. Her boots crunch on frozen gravel. Before them, barely three stone's throws away, the road forks — and there, baked into the dust, stand the hoofprints of Tarin's horses. They lead right, down into a valley that gapes like a maw even in bright daylight.
"There," she whispers. Her finger does not tremble, but her stomach knots. "That is where the road leads."
Loran steps beside her. His breath steams in the cold. "And? What about this valley?"
Liyen swallows. The words cling to her palate like old honey. "There... strange things happen there." She feels her voice crack and hates herself for it, again and again. She whispers now, though no soul is visible for miles: "We should not go there."
"Stranger than in Yulong?" Loran's laughter sounds like shattering glass. Cynical. Exhausted. "After what we saw there..."
"Know your place in the Guild, Loran!" Tessa's voice lashes through the air. She steps forward, hands balled into fists, and for a moment Liyen believes the woman will slap him. "One more word, and you ride back. Alone."
Silence settles over the group. A raven croaks somewhere in the distance.
Then Tessa's shoulders sink. Not beneath Loran's gaze — beneath the weight of her own fear. She turns to Liyen, and in her eyes lies something worse than anger: pleading pain.
"Liyen." Her voice is soft now, almost brittle. "I believe you. By the gods, I believe every word you speak. But..." She draws a deep breath, and Liyen watches her struggle. "My husband is there. My two little sparks. They are already in that valley, and I..." A swallow. "I would understand if you did not come. You have already done more than anyone could demand of you. More than friendship should ever demand."
The words hang between them like frozen droplets — cold, sharp, ready to fall and shatter.
Liyen stares at the hoofprints in the dust. She thinks of Yaoming, lying somewhere in the woods, wounded, perhaps dying. She thinks of the three figures in the fog, of the Dark King's voice, of the cold fire in his eyes. She thinks of her mother, whom she will most likely never see again.
Then she thinks of Tessa, searching for her family.
"No." Liyen raises her head. Her voice no longer trembles. "I will not abandon you. Not now." She reaches for Tessa's hand, feels the rough calluses from sword and rein. "Together we are stronger. You know this yourself."
Tessa's face crumples. A sound escapes her throat — half sob, half laugh. She embraces Liyen so fiercely that the armor padding crunches.
"Thank you," she whispers. "My friend. My sister."
They separate. The wind whistles through the grass. Then they mount. Luobo snorts, tries to turn — eastward, toward safety — but Liyen guides him westward with gentle pressure of her knees. Into the valley.
"Tessa?" Liyen hesitates. Her fingers play with the leather strap of her quiver.
"Yes?"
"You come from Marenlor." The words come hastily, as if Liyen fears they might slip away. "Did you perhaps know a woman there? One who was called Mara?"
Tessa frowns. "Mara? No, I'm sorry. Marenlor is large — too large to know everyone." A fragmented smile. "Why do you ask?"
Liyen feels the heat in her cheeks. She had not planned this lie, but now it sits firm, sticky and uncomfortable. "Oh... I just thought... She was a heroine, I heard. A true heroine." Her smile hurts at the corners of her mouth. "I never had the honor to know her. Thought, if you knew her, I could... learn more about her."
The lie lies between them like a stone.
The fog grows thicker. They can barely see ten paces ahead.
Tessa studies her a heartbeat too long. Then she lays a hand on Liyen's shoulder — heavy, warm, full of unspoken understanding.
"I know no Mara," she says quietly. "But I know a heroine. She stands right here before me." Her fingers press gently. "And I am proud to call her my sister."
"Tessa..." Liyen shakes her head. "I am no heroine. I am only..."
"Oh, but you are." Tessa's voice grows hard, relentless. "You are a heroine, Liyen. Do you know what a heroine does? She enters a village — her village — without knowing if she will ever come out again." A step closer. "She saves friends... me... from death, though all hope seems lost. She leaves her own safety behind, her own wounds, to follow a friend who leads her into the abyss."
Tessa cups Liyen's face with both hands. Her eyes glisten.
"Heroes are not born," she says, and her voice thrums with passion. "They are made by the choices we make. And your choices..." She draws a deep breath. "Your choices are those of a true heroine."
Liyen wants to protest, but the words die on her lips. Instead, she feels something in her chest give way — not break, but open like a sealed door.
She embraces Tessa. Tight. Longer than necessary. Longer than the situation allows.
Behind them, Loran clears his throat. Awkward. Unwilling to disturb the moment, but impatient to move on.
"Then down into the valley," he says grimly. "Into the strangeness."
Liyen pulls away from the embrace. She glances back one last time, toward where the eastern road leads — back to Yaoming, back to safety.
But then — a movement in the fog. Right. A shadow, too large for a deer.
"Quiet." Liyen raises her hand. Both halt their horses. Listen.
Nothing. Only the wind.
"On," Tessa says quietly. "But faster."
Then she turns toward the valley and gallops. The wind carries a scent they cannot place: sickly sweet, putrid, like overripe fruit in an abandoned chamber.
"Yes," Liyen says. "Down into the strangeness."
And she takes the first step. And the conversation dies in the thunder of hooves.