The sky above Reed was a patchwork of green light and storm-gray clouds, the kind of sky that whispered promises of disaster. He dangled upside down, his ankles wrapped tightly in what he could now identify as a bioluminescent vine. It pulsed faintly, the same eerie light green he’d seen in the fungal growths dotting the forest floor—a hue that hinted at something older, more dangerous, and far less forgiving than the wasteland’s usual threats.
“Yeah,” he muttered to himself, blood rushing to his head. “I’m definitely rethinking some choices.”
The forest around him was alive in a way that defied logic. The trees were ancient, their bark twisted and veined with glowing sap. Mushrooms clung to their bases, faintly humming with energy. There was nothing welcoming about the scene; it radiated menace, as if the forest itself were deciding whether Reed was worth saving.
He let his mind wander, trying to ignore the pounding in his temples. It wasn’t the first time he’d ended up like this—trapped, vulnerable, completely at the mercy of forces he didn’t understand.
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He could almost hear Drennavar’s voice as he thought back. The grizzled scavenger had found Reed as a scrawny kid with a quick hand and quicker feet, stealing to survive in the skeletal remains of a city long forgotten by anyone who mattered. Drennavar had seen something in him—potential, maybe, or just the raw instinct to claw his way out of a bad situation. Either way, the old man took him in, taught him how to fight, how to track, how to survive.
“Rule number one, Reed,” Drennavar had said, his voice gravelly as he handed Reed his first knife. “If you don’t trust the ground you’re standing on, you’re already dead.”
Reed’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Should’ve remembered that one.”
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His thoughts drifted to the scavenger gang Drennavar had built around himself. They weren’t family—not in any traditional sense—but they were something close. Reed had fit into the group like a puzzle piece, finding a place among the rough camaraderie and unspoken rules. Laura had been there, too—sharp-tongued, commanding, and unrelenting.
Their “arrangement” had been as casual as everything else in the gang: no strings, no promises, no illusions. It was just survival. And in a world where death came as easily as sleep, the gang’s free-use relationships were a way to hold onto something human, however fleeting.
Laura’s laugh echoed faintly in his memory, sharp and teasing. “You’re thinking too much, Reed. That’ll kill you faster than a raider’s blade.”
Then there had been Jenny.
Reed remembered the first time he’d seen her: moving through the wasteland with cautious precision, her eyes scanning every shadow. She’d been too clean, too prepared. She didn’t belong out here, and that made her a curiosity. He’d followed her, watching from a distance, not for survival or strategy, but because he’d wanted something fleeting, a distraction from the emptiness of his days. Just a one-night stand—or so he’d told himself.
It wasn’t long before she’d stumbled into trouble. Cannibals. Reed had watched the ambush unfold, hesitating for just a moment before deciding to intervene. His rifle cracked in the still air, and by the time the dust settled, the cannibals were dead and Jenny was alive.
Barely.
Her arm had been mangled beyond saving. Reed hadn’t wanted to do it—but he’d done it. The memory of the knife biting through flesh and bone, the sound of her screams, still haunted him. But she’d survived, and that had to count for something. Right?
When she’d recovered enough to speak, they’d struck a deal. He would help her get to Bunker 4 in exchange for the promise of a potential reward. It was simple, transactional. And yet, it had felt like more. Her determination, her fire—even as she adapted to life with one arm—had made him respect her in a way he didn’t expect.
The wasteland had thrown everything at them: mutated beasts, and the twisted remains of cities that seemed to have minds of their own. The Danger Zone had been the worst—a place teeming with Voidspinners, their metallic limbs clicking with eerie precision. He remembered the cocoon tightening around him, the suffocating strands of web pinning him down. It was Jenny who’d saved him, her knife slicing through the sticky threads as she dragged him to safety. She’d gotten them both out alive.
He’d lost count of how many times he’d redressed her wound, checking for infection, using what little supplies they had. It had become a routine, a strange sort of intimacy forged in blood and necessity.
And then there had been the kiss. It had come out of nowhere, a fleeting moment by the campfire when the weight of their journey had pressed too heavily on them both. He’d kissed her back, his defenses slipping for just a second.
But then she’d lied. Her mission wasn’t what she’d said it was. The map wasn’t even hers. When the truth came out, Reed had felt the sting of betrayal, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected. He’d always kept a Plan B in mind, knowing the wasteland rarely delivered on promises. It wasn’t that he had no choice—there were always choices. But in the heat of the moment, with the weight of the lie pressing down on him, taking the maps and leaving her behind felt like the cleanest path forward. Or so he told himself.
That trail had led him here—tracking Laura and Elias’ caravan, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he could make sense of it all. Or at least find a way to forget Jenny and everything she represented.
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And now he was here, hanging upside down from a tree, caught in a trap because he’d made an “educated” guess about a shortcut. He let out a bitter laugh, the sound raw and self-deprecating.
“Hell of a ride, huh?”
The vines pulsed again, and Reed’s amusement faded as a faint rustling reached his ears. Something was moving in the forest. Something that wasn’t human.
“Great,” he muttered, his hand reaching instinctively for the knife strapped to his belt. Or rather, where the knife should have been.
“Ah, crap.”
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They stepped out of the shadows with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly. Their figures were tall and wiry, cloaked in leather, bark, and fur, adorned with glowing accents that looked like veins of bioluminescent sap. Their eyes, a vivid, unnatural green, glowed faintly in the dim light, casting eerie reflections on their angular faces. For a moment, Reed thought they weren’t human at all—mutants, perhaps, or something worse.
Reed squinted through the wavering green light of the forest, his head pounding from the rush of blood pooling in his temples. The world was upside down, literally, and his vision swam as the faint glow of the vines holding his ankles seemed to pulse with an unnatural rhythm. He tried to focus, blinking against the disorientation, but what he saw only deepened his unease.
One of them—the leader, he guessed—stepped forward. Their presence radiated authority, and they carried a staff carved from the same luminous wood as the vines that bound him. The runes etched into the staff glimmered faintly, alive with some kind of energy Reed didn’t recognize.
Reed opened his mouth to speak, but the leader—tall, wiry, with an air of quiet menace—raised a hand. The vines tightened around Reed’s ankles, sending a jolt of pain up his legs.
“Outsider,” the leader said, their voice low and resonant, as if the forest itself spoke through them. “You tread on sacred ground.”
Reed grimaced, forcing a crooked grin despite the pain. “Sacred? Look, I’m just passing through. Didn’t mean to—”
“Your intent is irrelevant,” the leader interrupted, their glowing eyes narrowing. “You’ve trespassed in the heart of Atra’s domain. The balance must be restored.”
Another of the figures—a woman whose glowing tattoos spiraled up her arms—stepped forward, examining him with an unsettling curiosity. “He carries a weapon,” she said, her tone almost clinical. “Steel and rust. No connection to the Tree.”
The leader tilted their head, considering Reed as if he were an insect pinned to a board. “No connection,” they repeated softly. “Yet... the stain of chaos lingers.”
Reed’s grin faltered. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you let me down, we can—”
The leader slammed the staff into the ground. The runes etched into it flared brightly, casting the clearing in stark green light. Reed’s words died on his lips as a wave of energy rippled through the vines, sending a sharp, searing sensation through his body.
“Silence,” the leader said coldly. “Your fate will be decided at the circle.”
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Reed stumbled slightly as they dragged him into the heart of the village, the vines around his ankles having been replaced by rough bindings around his wrists. He couldn’t help himself as his eyes darted around, taking in the surreal beauty of the place.
The structures weren’t built so much as grown, their walls and roofs shaped from living trees that wove together in intricate patterns. Bioluminescent fungi clung to the trunks, casting a soft green glow that bathed the village in an unearthly light. Stone circles etched with runes dotted the open spaces, their faint hum resonating in Reed’s chest. It was beautiful, sure, but it also felt like stepping into a fever dream.
“Well,” he muttered under his breath, his lips quirking into a crooked grin, “this is cozy. Kinda like a high-end glamping spot. You all take reservations?”
The sharp jab of a spear butt in his side silenced him. The warrior escorting him—their tattoos glowing faintly beneath their skin—scowled but said nothing. Reed raised his bound hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, no jokes. Got it.”
They led him to the center of the village, where a massive tree towered above everything else. Its bark shimmered faintly with veins of light, and its roots twisted and turned, forming a natural dais. At its base stood the shaman he’d met earlier, their staff planted firmly in the ground. But the figure who truly commanded attention was the woman standing beside them.
Reed’s breath hitched involuntarily. The woman was naked, or at least close enough that it didn’t matter, but there was nothing overtly sexual about her presence. Her body was painted with intricate designs that spiraled across her skin, accentuating her curves and drawing the eye to her chest and lower abdomen. She wore a belt of woven vines and crystals, but it did little to cover her. Instead, it seemed to emphasize her as a symbol—an embodiment of fertility, life, and creation.
And yet, it didn’t feel vulgar. Her presence was commanding, regal, even natural. The way she held herself—tall and proud, her glowing green eyes steady—made it impossible to see her as anything less than a force of nature.
The shaman struck their staff against the ground, the runes flaring briefly. “Kneel,” they intoned.
Reed hesitated, glancing at the woman and then back to the shaman. “Uh, no offense, but I’m not really the kneeling type.”
Another jab from the warrior’s spear made the decision for him. He dropped to his knees with a grunt, muttering under his breath, “Tough crowd.”
The woman stepped forward, her painted skin glowing faintly in the soft light of the village. When she spoke, her voice was calm yet resonant, each word carrying an unshakable authority. “You have trespassed on sacred ground and disrupted the balance of Atra’s domain. For this, you must be cleansed.”
Reed’s mouth opened, a quip on the tip of his tongue, but he thought better of it. Instead, he cleared his throat. “Cleansed, huh? Is this gonna involve glowing sap or…?”
Before he could finish, two of the warriors stepped forward, their glowing tattoos casting faint patterns on his face. With quick, efficient movements, they stripped him of his gear—his jacket, his shirt—leaving him bare-chested. The cool air prickled his skin, and he felt the weight of their judgment in every motion.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Hey, hey,” Reed protested weakly, his bravado faltering. “Could’ve just asked for a jacket check, you know?”
The shaman ignored his words, raising their staff. A faint green mist began to seep from the base of the tree, swirling around Reed’s knees. It smelled earthy and sweet, with a sharp tang that made his head swim. The mist climbed higher, coiling around his torso and limbs, seeping into his skin. Reed’s vision blurred, and his heart pounded as the world tilted.
Images flashed through his mind—a sprawling tree with branches that reached the heavens, rivers of light coursing through its veins; figures cloaked in shadow, their faces obscured; the sensation of soil beneath his fingers, warm and alive. A voice whispered through it all, deep and resonant, but he couldn’t make out the words.
When the mist receded, Reed gasped, his chest heaving as he blinked at the figures around him. The world seemed sharper, brighter, as if the green glow of the village now pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
The woman—the leader, he realized—regarded him with an expression that was equal parts curiosity and judgment. “The cleansing is complete. You will serve until the balance is restored.”
Reed wiped his face with a shaky hand, trying to shake off the lingering disorientation. “Serve? What, like a village handyman? I’m not exactly great with houseplants.”
The leader’s lips twitched, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “You will assist where needed. You will rebuild what was broken, nurture what was harmed. Only then will your debt be repaid.”
Reed let out a slow breath, his usual bravado dimmed by the strange energy still coursing through him. His mind wandered, unbidden, to Jenny—to the look in her eyes when he’d left her behind. A pang of guilt tightened in his chest, and he grimaced, forcing himself back to the present. “Guess I’ve deserved that,” he muttered under his breath, before adding louder, “Alright. Guess I’ve got some work to do.”
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Reed stumbled behind the warrior leading him through the forest, his hands still bound and his usual smirk dimmed by the ache in his muscles. He noticed how the younger villagers stared at him from a distance, their glowing eyes filled with suspicion. Whispers followed him wherever he went, words he couldn’t quite catch but whose tone carried unmistakable disdain.
At one point, a child—perhaps emboldened by Reed’s lack of weaponry—darted close enough to throw a handful of dirt at him. The warrior escorting Reed snorted but didn’t stop it, and Reed merely shook his head, spitting dust.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Real warm welcome. Love what you’ve done with the place.”
The warrior jabbed him forward with the blunt end of a spear, muttering something about keeping quiet.
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Reed’s first assigned task was gathering luminous fungi from the base of the massive tree roots. The task seemed simple enough, but the villagers overseeing him treated it with an almost sacred reverence. One of them—a young woman whose glowing tattoos pulsed faintly—pointed sharply at him when he plucked a mushroom too roughly, scolding him in a language he didn’t understand.
“Hey, I get it,” Reed said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Gentle with the glowy mushrooms. I’m not trying to break your sacred salad bar.”
She frowned, clearly unimpressed, and muttered something to another villager. Reed sighed and kept working. Despite his sarcasm, he followed their instructions with surprising diligence. His hands moved with care as he placed the fungi into a woven basket, his sharp eye noticing which mushrooms glowed brighter and seemed healthier.
By the time he finished, his overseers exchanged glances, their suspicion not entirely abated but tempered by curiosity.
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Later in the day, Reed was led to the edge of the tribe’s domain, where the protective runes etched into stone markers had begun to fade. The warriors explained—using a mix of gestures and broken phrases—that his job was to clean the stones and re-carve the runes with a crude tool they handed him.
“Let me guess,” Reed said, turning the tool over in his hand. “This is the part where I accidentally summon an ancient evil, right?”
No one laughed. Reed shrugged and got to work.
Despite his earlier jokes, he quickly fell into a rhythm. Scraping away moss and debris revealed intricate carvings beneath, their glowing lines almost alive. As he traced over the runes with the tool, the stones seemed to pulse faintly, the light growing stronger. Reed noticed the change but said nothing, his mind turning over the implications.
By the time he finished, the border seemed subtly different—stronger, more cohesive. The warriors watching him exchanged surprised looks, one of them muttering something that included the word “Zhivra.” Reed caught it and raised an eyebrow.
“Zhivra, huh? That your word for ‘handsome devil,’ or…?”
The warrior scowled, gesturing for him to move on.
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That evening, Reed sat near the edge of the village, resting after a day of labor. His shirt, still missing after the cleansing, left his skin exposed to the cool air. He watched as villagers moved about, their glowing tattoos creating a mesmerizing dance of light in the twilight.
Through the day’s work, bits and pieces of their words and gestures had started to make sense. The woman he now knew as Astraia—their leader—had a presence that commanded respect, her name spoken in hushed tones that carried both reverence and awe. The shaman, Kaelthar, was a different story. Where Astraia’s presence was warm yet firm, Kaelthar’s felt like the weight of the forest itself—rooted, watchful, and unyielding.
Reed leaned back, letting the cool night air settle over him as he turned their names over in his mind. Astraia, Kaelthar. They fit, in their own strange way. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever connection he was building here, tenuous as it was, would demand more from him than he was ready to give.
He didn’t notice Astraia approach until she was standing beside him. The first thing he registered was her scent—a mix of forest and earth, with a crisp, almost refreshing note that cut through the cool night air. It was subtle but unmistakable, grounding yet oddly invigorating, like the first breath of dawn after a storm. Her presence was as commanding as ever, and Reed straightened instinctively, his mouth already opening for a joke. But something in her gaze stopped him.
“You worked hard today,” she said, her voice calm but probing. “Harder than I expected.”
Reed shrugged, leaning back on his hands. “Not much else to do when you’re the guest of honor. Figured I’d earn my keep.”
Astraia tilted her head slightly, studying him. “You don’t seem like the type to follow orders without complaint.”
“Oh, trust me, I complained plenty.” He smirked, but it faded quickly. “Just... figured it’s better than sitting around feeling sorry for myself.”
She didn’t respond immediately, her glowing eyes scanning his face. Finally, she said, “You’ve surprised me today. Perhaps there is more to you than I expected.”
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The next morning, Reed found himself at the edge of the tribe’s territory, tasked with repairing the protective wards carved into ancient stones. The warriors who led him there spoke little, their glowing tattoos faintly pulsing in the dim light of the border. They handed him simple tools and gestured at the faded runes, their meanings lost on him but their importance clear.
Reed knelt by one of the stones, scraping away layers of moss and debris. The runes beneath were intricate, glowing faintly as he worked. Despite himself, he found the task oddly satisfying. His sharp eyes noticed where dirt clogged the grooves and where cracks disrupted the patterns. Without thinking, he adjusted the lines, reconnecting broken flows and clearing channels for the energy to run smoothly again.
When he stepped back, the stone glowed brighter than before, its light casting a faint aura that extended to the nearby trees. The warriors exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of surprise and wariness. One of them muttered something in their language before disappearing into the forest, likely to report back.
By the time Reed finished the last stone, the entire border seemed subtly transformed. The once-dim defenses now pulsed with a renewed vibrancy, as though the forest itself had come alive in response. Reed wiped his hands on his pants, glancing at the warriors. “Not bad for a day’s work, huh?” he said, earning a grunt in response.
It was later, as the sun began to set, that Astraia approached him. Her expression was calm, but her glowing eyes held an intensity that made Reed stand a little straighter. Without a word, she gestured for him to follow, leading him toward the edge of the village and into the depths of the forest.
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The cave lay at the edge of the village, its entrance framed by twisting roots that seemed to part just enough to allow passage. Astraia led Reed inside, the soft glow of the lantern highlighting the intricate patterns painted across her skin and the commanding curves of her form. Her movements were fluid, almost regal, and Reed found it impossible not to notice the way the bioluminescent glow from the cave walls seemed to catch in her hair and eyes, giving her an almost otherworldly aura. The faint glow of the forest lingered here, making the space feel like a living entity. The air was cool and still, the silence broken only by their soft footsteps.
As they moved deeper, the carvings came into view. Reed stopped, his breath catching. The walls were alive with imagery—figures and symbols etched with meticulous detail. Glowing lines of green and gold traced the shapes, depicting sprawling trees, rivers of light, and towering figures. In the center of it all was a scene of creation: Atra, Ka’os, Shura, and Zhivra weaving the world together with their powers.
Reed’s eyes moved over the carvings, taking in the intricate patterns and the vivid, almost surreal glow. One figure stood apart from the others, its form etched in jagged, chaotic lines. It carried no weapon, only its hands, which seemed to hold both destruction and renewal.
The silence between them was heavy, but not uncomfortable. Astraia stepped closer to one of the carvings, her fingers brushing lightly over the grooves. Her presence seemed to amplify the reverence of the space, her painted skin and the symbolic curves of her minimal attire blending seamlessly with the cave’s ancient glow. She looked less like a leader and more like a living embodiment of the myths carved into the walls.
Reed took a step back, letting the cool stillness of the cave settle over him. His usual sarcastic commentary felt out of place here, swallowed by the gravity of the imagery surrounding them. He simply breathed it in, his mind turning over the unspoken questions the cave seemed to ask.
“It’s beautiful,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual.
Astraia turned to him, her glowing eyes locking with his in a way that made the air between them feel heavier. The soft light of the lantern accentuated the strength in her jawline and the graceful lines of her form, her presence both grounding and disarming. “This is the story of our world,” she said, her tone calm but layered with meaning. “It reminds us of who we are, and why we must protect the balance.”
Reed didn’t reply immediately. He looked back at the chaotic figure etched into the wall, his gaze lingering. There was something unsettling about it, yet he couldn’t look away. His chest tightened with a feeling he couldn’t name.
After a long moment, Astraia spoke again. “You’ve done well so far, but the balance is not yet restored. There is more to do.”
Reed nodded slowly, the weight of the day pressing down on him. “Guess I’ll see it through, then.”
Astraia placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch light but grounding. “Good. Chaos has its place, but so does purpose.”
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As they emerged from the cave, the cool night air met them, carrying the faint hum of the village’s glowing energy. The forest seemed alive in the darkness, its bioluminescent lights pulsing faintly. Waiting near the path back was the shaman, their staff planted firmly in the ground.
The shaman’s glowing eyes narrowed slightly as they regarded the two of them. There was no mistaking the tension in their stance, the way their fingers gripped the staff tighter than usual.
“You lingered long,” the shaman said, their voice low and measured.
Astraia met their gaze without flinching, her calm demeanor unshaken. “It was necessary.”
The shaman’s expression didn’t soften. They glanced briefly at Reed, their disapproval plain. “He is not yet one of us.”
“Perhaps not,” Astraia replied, her tone steady but carrying a faint edge. “But he is here, and the balance demands his presence.”
Reed shifted awkwardly under the weight of their gazes, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “You know, if this is about me borrowing the glowy shovel thing earlier, I’ll give it back.”
The shaman’s frown deepened, but Astraia’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles. She turned back to the shaman. “His work speaks for itself. Let that be enough for now.”
The shaman exhaled sharply through their nose, their grip on the staff loosening slightly. Without another word, they turned and began walking back toward the village, their robes flowing around them like shadows.
Astraia glanced at Reed, her expression unreadable. “Come,” she said simply, leading the way. Reed followed, the weight of the cave’s imagery and the shaman’s disapproval lingering in his mind as they returned to the heart of the village.
Instead of leaving him at the edge of the activity as she had before, Astraia guided him toward a larger structure near the center of the village. It was shaped from living wood, its walls bending and twisting as though grown specifically for this purpose. The warm glow of bioluminescent fungi lit the interior, revealing an open, communal space. Hammocks hung between sturdy beams, and woven mats covered the ground. A faint hum of conversation filled the air, but the room quieted as Astraia entered with Reed at her side.
Reed felt the shift immediately. Heads turned, glowing eyes watching with mixed expressions. Curiosity, suspicion, amusement. He caught snippets of whispered words, but their meanings were lost on him. Still, one thing was clear: their leader’s attention on him had not gone unnoticed.
Astraia moved through the space with her usual unshakable grace, her painted skin catching the soft light. She stopped at an empty hammock strung low between two posts, gesturing for Reed to take it.
“Here,” she said, her voice calm but final. “You’ve earned a better rest tonight.”
Reed raised an eyebrow, glancing at the hammock. It was a significant improvement over the barn-like place where he’d slept the night before, surrounded by hay and the occasional scuttling creature. He gave her a small nod, dropping his usual sarcasm. “Thanks.”
Astraia inclined her head slightly, her glowing eyes lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary. Then she turned and walked away, leaving behind a faint trail of her scent—that mix of forest and earth, with a crisp note that made Reed’s chest tighten involuntarily. The quiet conversations around the room resumed, though the occasional glance still flicked his way. He noticed how some of the tension in the villagers’ faces eased. If Astraia was fine with him, they seemed willing to tolerate him.
Reed lowered himself into the hammock, the woven material cradling him far more comfortably than he’d expected. He stared up at the twisting beams of the commonhouse, his mind drifting in its usual restless way.
Laura. Jenny. Astraia?
He let out a quiet breath, his lips twitching into a faint, ironic smile. Women in his life had always been a complicated knot. Ever since his teenage years, Laura had been a constant. Their relationship was never about romance or love—at least not in the traditional sense. She was part of the gang, a partner in survival. They shared food and bed together for years, a natural extension of the communal life they lived. It was practical, uncomplicated.
Jenny? He winced, shifting slightly in the hammock. He really didn’t want to think about her. That was a knot too tough to untangle just yet. The kiss, the lie, the betrayal—it all still felt too raw, too heavy to confront.
And Astraia? He chuckled softly to himself, the sound barely audible. Well, if he was reading it right, he’d stepped into something that promised to be quite entertaining. Her calm authority, the way she moved through the world with a confidence that made everyone else bend around her—it was a presence he couldn’t ignore, even if he tried. And that scent. He closed his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. Whatever this was, it was going to be interesting.
The hum of the commonhouse settled around him, a low, rhythmic backdrop to his thoughts. For the first time since arriving in this strange village, Reed felt a flicker of something he hadn’t expected: comfort.