Anemoi's heart hammered as he picked his way through the forest, the soft glow of sunset filtering between the trees. He tripped over a thick root, and Aerin reached out to steady him.
"Easy there," she said, her tone gentle. "Wincroft's just over that ridge."
He nodded, brushing dirt from his tunic. "I know," he panted. "My legs feel like jelly."
Aerin glanced back at the broken guard post on the hill. Anemoi's pulse ratcheted faster. "What if they're already on our heels?" he whispered.
She met his gaze steadily. "Scouts need time to track. At least a day—if they don't lose our trail first."
They crested the rise, and Anemoi let out a grateful breath. Below lay Wincroft Village: simple stone cottages nestled among rolling fields, a lone watchtower marking the kingdom's edge. Smoke curled from chimneys, lanterns glowed in windows.
Aerin pointed. "There—the Drifting Hearth. Bryn's shop. He'll help us."
They hurried down the cobblestone path to a small wooden door. Anemoi paused, heart pounding.
"Wait here," Aerin whispered, squeezing his arm. "Let me make sure it's safe."
She slipped inside, and Anemoi watched from the steps. Moments later, Aerin reappeared, her face relaxed. "He's sent his regulars out back," she said softly. "We've got it to ourselves."
They entered together. The shop was warm, smelling of dried herbs and honey. Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars of roots, petals, and powders.
Behind the counter stood Bryn, tall with kind eyes. He exhaled in relief. "Aerin, thank the skies you're safe. And you must be the young master." He gave Anemoi a polite bow.
"I'm Anemoi," he replied quietly.
"Welcome," Bryn said. "Rest here tonight. I cleared an upstairs room for you."
Anemoi and Aerin climbed a narrow staircase past a lantern-lit window. Inside, a cot with a thick blanket waited.
"Need a hand with anything?" Anemoi asked, glancing around.
Aerin shook her head. "Trust me," she said. "You need to lie down."
He sighed but walked to the window, looking out over the village. Children played by the well below. Anemoi's chest warmed with memory—he saw his mother's garden—and he raised a hand.
Softly, he whispered, and fallen leaves lifted into the air in tiny spirals. The children stopped, eyes wide as he guided the leaves into shapes—stars, birds, then circles spinning above their heads.
"Show me how!" one boy called, eyes bright.
Anemoi grinned. "Maybe next time."
Aerin appeared beside him, watching the children's delight.
"For tonight," she whispered, her voice warm, "we have each other."
Anemoi's chest tightened. He stepped forward and wrapped Aerin in a firm hug. "You're the reason I'm still standing," he said into her shoulder. "Thank you."
She hugged him back, hand resting gently on his back. "We'll get through this one day at a time," she murmured.
As lanterns flickered below, Anemoi lay asleep in the back room, his breathing deep and even. Aerin paused in the doorway, glancing at him with a protectiveness that tightened her chest.
She stepped into the apothecary's dim light, where Bryn was sorting fresh bundles of lavender. He looked up, concern in his eyes.
"It won't be long before they reach the village," Aerin murmured. "He's safe for now—atonce asleep, but the scouts are relentless."
Bryn exchanged a grave nod and picked up a small jar. "Smoke of rue and rosemary—this will help mask your scent. Take it with you."
Aerin slipped the jar into her cloak. She looked back toward the sleeping Anemoi. "I can't leave him," she said softly.
Bryn placed a steady hand on her arm. "And you won't. But you must stand between him and them. Hold your ground."
She drew a steadying breath. "I will."
She hesitated a moment longer, the weight of her choice heavy in the quiet room—then turned toward the door.
But their brief respite shattered with the distant crack of voices raised in alarm. Aerin's hand snapped to her dagger as she pressed herself to the wall. "They're here," she whispered, dread sharpening her voice.
Anemoi's heart leapt. He joined her at the window, peering down into the narrow street where torches bobbed and booted feet pounded cobblestones. "Scouts," he said, breath tight.
Aerin nodded. "We run now."
They slipped through the back door into winding alleys. Anemoi's footing was unsure on the uneven stones, but Aerin's steady presence guided him past shuttered cottages and quiet wells. Villagers stirred inside, blinds snapping shut with muffled thuds.
A shout rang out ahead. "There! The Valoria boy!"
Aerin glanced at Anemoi. "Keep moving."
He ran beside her, chest burning, as torches flared behind them. Around a corner, they burst into the main square. Anemoi's eyes widened as soldiers blocked the exit. Aerin stepped forward, raising her dagger in a protective arc.
"Go!" she ordered, voice firm. "Don't look back!"
Anemoi hesitated, torn between duty and fear. In that heartbeat, Aerin lunged, drawing the soldiers' attention onto herself. Steel rang against steel as she parried a thrust, buying him precious seconds.
Anemoi turned and fled past the Drifting Hearth, through fields lit by moonlight. Behind him he heard Aerin's defiant cry and the dull clash of metal.
He did not stop until the village lights were distant glimmers, and the ground beneath his feet gave way to the open sky. At the edge of the kingdom, the cold wind bit at his face as he came upon a sheer cliff. Below lay nothing but the pale, churning clouds.
Pursuers' voices drifted from the ridge. "He's trapped!" one called. "There's nowhere left to go, traitor!"
Anemoi sank to his knees, chest heaving. His vision blurred with tears and moonlight.
From the whispering wind came a single word—soft but clear: "Jump."
Above, soldiers gathered at the cliff's edge, torches painting their faces in harsh light. One spat over the ledge and sneered, "He jumped—what a coward." Another kicked a loose stone, watching it spin down into the darkness. "Hope he lands on his neck," he rasped, the torchlight glinting on his cruel grin.
Far below, word of Anemoi's plunge rippled across the Five Kingdoms. In the Iron Spire Confederacy's grand hall, engineers raised their travel mugs in a bitter toast, metal cups clinking as smug smiles crossed their faces—at last the path to unification lay clear.
In the Verdant Labyrinth, farmers bolted their shutters against the damp earth, the scent of moss and rain heavy in the air. Each whispered prayer carried on the wind, a hope that they would not be next.
Scholars in the Glass Basin Dominion barely lifted their quills, the soft scratch of pen on parchment resuming as they noted the event in their annals—another footnote in the endless march of history.
On the battered bridges of the Shifting Archipelago, merchants leaned on railings, already plotting new trade routes over the former Valoria lands, eyes bright with opportunity.
Deep within the Veiled Hollow Courts, a cloaked figure watched by a single lantern's glow, lips curving into a satisfied smile. "Let the plan unfold," the figure whispered. "The first piece is set."
Then, with a prayer on his lips, he stepped off the edge into the unknown.