The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke as Julia and Melissa made their way through the quiet streets of Ismay’s Landing. The revelry of the previous night still clung to them— Melissa was, once again, nursing a mild hangover, and Julia’s tolerance for nonsense was at an all-time low— but the day’s task was important.

  They needed weapons.

  The weaponsmith’s forge was near the market square, its presence announced well before they arrived by the steady clang of hammer on metal. The heat from the forge rolled out in waves as they stepped inside, the scent of burning coal and hot steel filling their lungs.

  Behind the counter, a stocky woman with short-cropped hair and arms like tree trunks glanced up, wiping soot from her sweaty brow. “Looking to buy, trade, or just stare?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Buy,” Julia said. “We need weapons.”

  The weaponsmith smirked. “Dangerous business you in?”

  “Hopefully,” Melissa muttered, already scanning the displayed weapons.

  Julia ignored her. “We need something practical. Two sets of daggers and—“ she paused, looking at Melissa, “—a bow.”

  Melissa grinned, already reaching for one of the bows on display. She tested the weight, drawing the string back experimentally before nodding in approval. “This one.”

  The weaponsmith studied her. “You actually know how to use that, or are you just hoping for the best?”

  Melissa rolled her shoulders. “I’ve had my share of lessons. Figured, once upon a time, I should know how to kill things from a distance.”

  The weaponsmith chuckled. “Smart.”

  Melissa picked up a dagger next, twirling it between her fingers. She tested the weight in her palm, then flicked it forward in a quick, efficient motion, stopping just short of an actual throw. “But these?” she mused. “These feel right.”

  Julia wasn’t surprised. Melissa had always had a sort of restless, simmering energy to her— anger and gay audacity, as she put it— and it showed in the way she handled a blade.

  Julia, of course, was more methodical. She tested each dagger carefully, weighing balance, grip, and edge sharpness. She had spent years fencing, practicing archery, martial arts— but swords were expensive as hell, and she wasn’t about to blow all their money on a weapon she couldn’t afford to replace. Daggers would do just fine.

  By the time they finished, they were lighter in coin but significantly better armed. Both of them had at least six knives, Julia had found a crossbow she liked, and Melissa had unstrung the shortbow for safer travel.

  She smirked at Julia, twirling one of her new daggers. “So when do I get to stab something?”

  Julia sighed. “Please don’t start something before we even leave town.”

  “I make no promises, my friend. No promises.”

  The morning’s ride was peaceful, the steady rhythm of hoofbeats carrying them away from Ismay’s Landing and into the rolling hills of Lolinglas. The road was well-worn but mostly clear, winding through stretches of green fields and dense clusters of trees that whispered in the breeze.

  Melissa and Julia shared a saddle, Melissa seated behind, her arms wrapped loosely around Julia’s waist. Gorgoloth, as always, clung to her back. “I hate this,” she muttered after a few hours of travel, shifting uncomfortably.

  Julia smirked. “What, being on a horse? Or being this close to me?”

  “Yes,” Melissa grumbled, adjusting her grip.

  Ahead of them, Rupert chuckled, glancing back from his own horse. “You get used to it. After a few days, at least. Tonight and tomorrow will be hellish.”

  “You get used to it,” Melissa shot back. “I prefer my feet on solid ground.”

  “Good luck with that,” Alina said dryly. “We’ve a long way to go, and if you want to walk it’ll be an experience trying to keep up.”

  Tevon, bringing up the rear, didn’t bother to comment, too busy humming a low tune to himself as he rode. Orri, Gunnild’s teenage boyfriend, rode in front of him, clutching his lute like it was the only thing keeping him from falling off.

  It wasn’t until early afternoon, with the sun hanging high and warm overhead, that they came across the ruined monument.

  It was carved into the side of the rock face, worn and weathered but still unmistakably deliberate. The remnants of figures and inscriptions were etched into the stone, their features long since eroded by time and neglect. The gaping mouth of a cave loomed nearby, dark and uninviting.

  Rupert pulled up his horse, nodding toward the ruins. “That’s a piece of history, that is.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Julia was already scanning the carvings with interest. “I wonder what it means.”

  Orri perked up at that. “My family’s been in Lolinglas for generations. I don’t know what the exact meaning is, but well.” He folded his arms. “Lolinglas was part of Milana for a long time. A semi-independent duchy since the beginning of the Tormevi dynasty. This is almost certainly older than that.”

  “Do you know what this area was like before the Tormevis?” Julia asked.

  “Nah. Not many people do. There were warlords and clans, though, and a lot of raiding.” Orri shrugged. “Maybe this commemorates one of them?”

  “And now Milana’s just… part of Iona, right?” Melissa asked. “And being eaten alive by the Mirrorwood Curse?”

  “Not all of it,” Orri said. “But a lot. The Mirrorwood is a big forest. Moorpond was the first city to fall to it— a lot of people were trapped in the chaos. Byfox was worse.”

  Rupert dismounted, ran a hand over one of the carvings. “Lot of ghosts in those lands,” he said thoughtfully. “Horrible stories from those who’ve been to the edges. You couldn’t pay me to visit.”

  Before anyone could respond, a low rumble of thunder rolled through the sky. Tevon looked up, frowning. “That came in fast.”

  Orri sighed. “Oh good. Rain. Just what I wanted.”

  Alina nudged her horse forward. “We should find shelter. It’s almost time to camp, anyway.”

  Melissa turned toward the cave entrance, raising an eyebrow. “Seems like the best option.”

  Julia hesitated. She didn’t love the idea of wandering into an unknown cave, but the storm was moving in fast. The wind was picking up, rustling the trees, and a new chill hung in the air.

  Rupert was already leading his horse toward the entrance. “It beats getting soaked.”

  Another crack of thunder sealed their decision. With little other choice, they led their horses into the shadow of the ruins, seeking refuge within the monument’s dark embrace.

  The storm howled outside, wind and rain lashing against the monument’s stone walls. Inside the cavernous space, the flickering light of their torches cast long, uncertain shadows. The air smelled of damp earth and old stone, thick with the weight of centuries.

  Melissa adjusted her grip on her dagger, eyes flicking around the space. “So, this isn’t creepy at all.”

  Orri snorted, unfastening his cloak and wringing some of the rainwater from it. “It’s just a ruin.”

  “For now,” Tevon muttered.

  The first sign that something was wrong came as a sound— a slow, deliberate scraping against the stone.

  Julia stiffened. “Did you hear that?”

  Another scrape. Closer this time.

  Rupert’s hand went instinctively to his sword. “We’re not alone.”

  Then, from the darkness beyond their torchlight, something moved.

  A figure lunged, half-seen in the firelight— thin but strong, moving with inhuman speed, eyes glinting, ears pointed. An elf.

  The feral elf let out a raspy yell, long-nailed fingers grasping a wicked-looking knife, reaching for the closest target— Melissa.

  “Shit!” Melissa barely twisted away in time, her dagger flashing as she struck out in defense.

  Rupert was already moving, blade singing as he swung at their attacker. The elf dodged, movements jerky but quick. They spoke in a language none of them recognized, their voice raw and furious.

  A survivor. An outcast. A lone hunter.

  Julia, heart hammering, recognized the signs now— a warped soul, someone who’d been alone too long, their mind twisted by isolation and desperation.

  The elf snarled, raising a hand. Magic crackled— a spell, unfinished—

  Melissa’s dagger struck first.

  The elf jerked, their breath hitching. Their mouth opened, but no words came out. Then, before anyone could react, the body began to crumble— their skin cracking like dried earth, splintering apart into a cloud of dust and dying magic.

  Silence.

  Melissa wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “What the fuck was that?”

  “A problem we don’t have anymore,” Alina muttered, sheathing her blade.

  Julia exhaled sharply, forcing her heartbeat to slow. “It’s over.”

  Orri had moved to retrieve his dropped lute when he froze.

  Because standing at the edge of the torchlight was a child.

  A small figure, wrapped in patchy, ill-fitting clothes, clutching a woven doll tightly in one hand. Their eyes— large, wide, and deeply unsettling in their familiarity— were fixed on the spot where the elf had fallen. They swallowed. Then, in a small, quiet voice, they asked: “Baba?”

  The dust hadn’t even settled.

  Melissa’s stomach dropped. “Oh, shit.”

  Julia felt sick.

  The child stepped forward uncertainly, hugging the doll closer. “Baba?” they repeated, their voice softer now, confused, like they didn’t understand why no one was answering them.

  Orri— who had been unnervingly quiet since the child appeared— slowly knelt down, setting his lute aside. His voice, when he spoke, was gentle.

  “Hey,” he said softly. “Hey, sweetheart. What’s your name?”

  The child hesitated, eyes flicking between them. Then, in a whisper, “Lylia.”

  Orri smiled, small but reassuring. “That’s a pretty name, Lylia. I’m Orri. I have a little sister I’d bet is your age.” He tilted his head, keeping his movements slow. “Baba’s gone, sweetling. I’m so sorry.”

  Lylia nodded once, solemn, clutching the doll tighter.

  Melissa wanted to throw up.

  Julia closed her eyes, swallowing back the sharp sting of guilt in her throat. The elf— the feral, desperate thing they had killed without a second thought— the elf had been Lylia’s parent.

  Rupert let out a slow breath. “Saints.”

  Alina ran a hand down her face. “So what do we do?”

  “We take her with us,” Orri said immediately.

  Tevon frowned. “To where? We can’t just—“

  “To Di’raz,” Orri interrupted. “There’s a temple there. They should have an orphanage.”

  Lylia didn’t seem to fully understand what was happening, but she looked at Orri now, uncertain but trusting.

  Julia exhaled, nodding. “Okay. We’ll take her to Di’raz.”

  Rupert glanced toward the storm still raging outside and sighed. “Well, we’re not traveling in that.”

  They set up camp inside the ruins silently, the weight of the night settling over them all.

  Melissa lay awake long after the others had drifted off, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of Lylia’s slow, even breathing.

  The unease in her chest didn’t fade.