Dawn crept over the horizon with golden restraint, brushing soft light across the stone shelf where the party lay wrapped in scattered blankets. The air still held the scent of rain and minerals from the spring, and the first birdcalls echoed like gentle chimes through the trees. Steam still clung to the edges of the camp, curling up like breath from the earth itself.
Nyxia stirred first.
She blinked at the sky—now painted in hushed pastels—and slowly sat up. The blanket slid from her shoulders…
And then she froze.
Gone was the battered outfit she'd fallen asleep in.
In its place was something else.
Her armor had changed.
No—evolved.
It clung to her like a second skin of living shadow—black as voidglass, threaded with pulsing veins of deep violet that shimmered with her breath. It wasn't armor in the traditional sense. It was closer to a living relic, bound to her by unseen threads of will and memory, as if some hidden part of her soul had been allowed to breathe for the first time.
The top sculpted to her form with unnerving precision, framed in smoky metal and inscribed with whispering sigils. Straps curled behind her neck and traced down her spine, leaving much of her back bare to the morning air. The lower half clung with unapologetic elegance—high slits, rune-woven straps, and glimmering arcs of faintly glowing skin. Her tail slipped through a perfect gap in the back, the edges framed with voidlace stitching that pulsed faintly with breath.
Thigh-high greaves shimmered with embedded glyphs—silver fastenings etched with crescent moons and claw-marks. Between them, new tattoos—glowing, fluid—etched across her skin like living memory-scars.
Nyxia touched her chest. The armor thrummed—in time with her heartbeat.
Loque stirred beside her, ears twitching, head tilting with quiet acknowledgment.
A soft murmur left her lips. "What the hell…?"
That whisper was just loud enough to stir the others.
Perseus groaned, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. Then froze. His hand dropped. His eyes locked on her.
And everything in his expression collapsed into stunned silence.
"…By the Light."
Boo sat up next, her hair an absolute disaster of curls. She blinked once. Then twice. Then sat up straighter, the blanket slipping from her shoulders.
"Okay. Damn, Nyx."
Nyxia flushed, crossing her arms over her chest—which did absolutely nothing to hide what was now hugging her frame like sculpted shadow.
Eurydice turned from the fire, a clay mug in her hand. She didn't speak at first. Just blinked—then stepped forward, gaze sharpening.
"Is that… from the portal?"
"I didn't wear this last night," Nyxia murmured. "I—I didn't own this last night."
The voidstone ring at her hip gave a soft, subtle pulse. A heartbeat. Not dangerous—just present.
Miri crept closer, a slow frown forming across her face. "It looks… alive."
"It's a war crime is what it is," Boo muttered, squinting and fanning herself. "A very sexy war crime."
Perseus coughed, going completely red from collar to crown. "It's—uh. Practical. I think."
"For what, Perseus?" Boo grinned. "Void diplomacy? You gonna negotiate with her thighs?"
Loque chuffed, amused.
Nyxia shook her head, but couldn't suppress the smile pulling at her lips. Her fingers drifted to one of the glowing glyphs on her thigh—it pulsed in response, as if it recognized her.
Not cursed, Loque's thought-voice came, firm and calm. Changed. Marked. But not wrong.
She exhaled. Slowly. The armor didn't feel like corruption. It didn't burn or suffocate.
It felt like… honesty. The kind that clawed through fear and left something truer behind.
"…I'll manage," she said.
The rest of the camp slowly stirred with the usual rhythm of travelers who knew the value of daylight. Eurydice worked quietly near the fire, adding fresh honeybread to a hot skillet, the scent warm and familiar. She moved with practiced grace, like a morning rite. Miri sliced dried fruit for the mare, who chewed sleepily and occasionally nudged her for more.
Boo rolled onto her side, snagged a still-steaming roll between her teeth, and muttered something indistinct but delighted.
Steam curled from beneath the pot. A hint of tea—or something like it—rose with the mist.
The silence was warm. Comforting.
Until a sound broke it.
Wingbeats.
A rush of wind through the trees, mournful and heavy.
Perseus stood sharply, scanning the sky.
Then—through the breaking fog—the temple gryphon.
Its wings dipped low in a ragged arc before it landed heavily beside the wagon. One leg was wrapped in a familiar tattered banner, the same Eurydice had blessed before the battle.
The gryphon staggered. Shook itself. And then—stood tall again, panting but proud.
"Blessed Elune," Eurydice whispered. "He made it."
Perseus approached slowly, his hand resting against the gryphon's chest. The beast leaned into him with a low, relieved cry.
"You stubborn bastard," Perseus said.
Nyxia watched the moment from her seat. Something in her chest loosened.
The world had broken them a hundred times over. But this moment—this morning—held.
After breakfast, they began to pack.
Blankets folded. Satchels strapped. Boots tightened. The usual clinks and murmurs of travelers preparing for the road.
Loque stretched and padded to the perimeter, watching the woods with quiet vigilance.
They gathered near the wagon—six souls in uncertain stillness.
Until Boo broke the silence.
"We need a plan."
Perseus folded his arms. "We've been surviving. We need to prepare."
Nyxia's tail flicked. "We need space. Time to rest. And figure out what we've become."
Boo nodded, slower this time. "That's why I'm saying we split. Not forever. Just a month. We meet in Silithus."
Miri raised an eyebrow. "The sword?"
"The big ugly one. Can't miss it. I've been hearing whispers—rumors moving underground. Not just void anymore. Something new."
Eurydice glanced at the horizon. "You're sure it's worth chasing?"
"Nope," Boo said. "But I'd rather meet it standing."
A pause.
Then Perseus's voice, soft and certain. "A month's not long… unless you're waiting."
He didn't look at Nyxia. But she felt it.
She met his gaze.
"A month," she said.
"To heal," Eurydice added.
"To prepare," said Miri.
"To get my ghosts drunk again," Boo muttered, folding her arms.
Their shared laugh wasn't loud. But it was real.
And when they finally turned away—packing final gear, tightening straps, adjusting cloaks—
It wasn't goodbye.
Just not yet.