The path they were following, more of a trail than a road, cut through a vast and shadowy forest of pines and acacias, stretching from the coast in the west to the Horn Mountains in the east. Since they left the road to Vallefrio behind, this was almost all they had seen around them—a continuous succession of wild trees and shrubs of all sizes and shapes, seemingly without end.

Though they marched without rest through the night and morning, they didn’t stop until Alaric felt they were far enough and hidden from potential pursuers. They finally halted in a small dip in the terrain, a natural clearing surrounded by ferns and thick-leaved bushes. They decided to combine breakfast and lunch, as it was almost noon when they stopped. Then, they would rest for a couple of hours. If Edel was right, they could reach her cabin by nightfall.

In truth, if they had taken a direct route west from Verdemar, they would have arrived in less than a day. But they would have needed wings to fly over the mountains. Although there were paths through the cliffs and ridges, they were treacherous and perilous, winding through the interior valleys. This southern detour was the safest and quickest route, all things considered.

Alaric freed Regino from his saddle, letting him graze among the tall grasses growing beside the large stones scattered across the area. The others did the same with their mounts and gathered in a circle under the shade of the trees, around a makeshift fire. All was quiet except for the crackling of the wood, the singing of blackbirds and finches, and the distant caw of seagulls, reminding them that they were nearing the coast.

Edel prepared the meal. It wasn’t plentiful but quite tasty—stewed meat with potatoes and carrots, accompanied by spiced wine, and some cheese for dessert. Afterward, Alaric allowed himself to relax for a while, leaning against the rough trunk of a tree. He closed his eyes and tried not to think of anything, letting the sounds of the forest and the scents of pine and burning wood carry him into the world of dreams.

He had restless nightmares, the kind you can’t remember upon waking but leave a bitter feeling. He must have snored loudly too, as he felt a few nudges in his side on a couple of occasions. Still, he kept sleeping. He was exhausted; all the accumulated fatigue hit him at once, and he lacked both the strength and the will to get up. More nudges. He grumbled in annoyance and rolled over on the ground. This time, whoever was trying to wake him shook him hard, even lifting him by the lapels of his jerkin.

“Wake up, Toothpick! Come on, we’re running late. We let you sleep longer because you looked like you needed it, but we must continue,” said a voice he took a moment to associate with Wart, such was his mental fog after the long nap.

“What time is it? Why is it so dark?” he mumbled with a dry mouth. The shadows had lengthened, and the sky glowed in a reddish tone.

“It’s sunset. Those couple of hours you wanted to rest turned into almost six. It’s nearly nightfall,” the young man replied with a grin.

“Seriously? Gods! You should have woken me. Now we’ll have to travel through this wild forest at night. And there’s not even a path.”

Alaric tried to get up hastily, but his body didn’t respond well. Edel approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

“Don’t worry about that. We’re closer than I thought, and I know the way well,” said the old woman in a reassuring tone. “Before the next day dawns, you’ll be able to sleep in a real bed.”

Alaric was not entirely sure about that. Edel’s cabin. It had been years since he last visited it, deep in this untamed forest. He expected to find a dilapidated shack. With no one living there to care for it, it would have surely succumbed to the wild nature of the area. The thought of sleeping among ruins didn’t appeal to him. What surprised him, though, was the confidence expressed by the old woman.

He stood up and began gathering his things, though much of the work had already been done for him. They had even saddled Regino again. He paused for a moment to observe his companions again. Wart and Zarinia were talking animatedly, with the kind of joy that comes from innocence and youth. He smiled nostalgically; it was an image that brought back memories of happier times. Edel was nearby, busy arranging her saddlebags on her horse but keeping a watchful eye on the pair, ensuring their affectionate gestures didn’t become too enthusiastic. She was a diligent chaperone.

Finally, he looked at Lysandra, who was saddling her beloved Panecillo. She seemed serious and exhausted, but she maintained her natural elegance and pride. If not for her dirty traveling clothes, disheveled hair, and tired expression, she could have passed for a rich courtesan. Perhaps even a queen. She had said little since she had found him arguing with her mother the night before. She probably hadn’t overheard their conversation, but she must have suspected it was something concerning. Suddenly, she turned toward him, meeting his gaze with her deep olive-green eyes. They held each other's stare for a few moments before she looked away, slightly flushed. He felt something stir inside him, a bubbling warmth, but he gritted his teeth and said nothing. He mounted his horse and turned to Edel:

“Very well. You’re leading the group now. Still, be careful of the branches and roots, especially once Sunno sets, and we’re left with only the light of the Ladies. There are too many trees casting shadows, and we’ll barely get any light.”

“Trust me, Alaric. I may be a wrinkled old woman, but my eyes are still sharp. Isn’t that right, Zarinia?”

The girl quickly turned at the sound of her name, surprised. Her head had been too close to that of the young blond. She gave a slight bow and smiled politely before quickly mounting her horse, while Wart tried to play it off as if nothing had happened.

They continued on their way under the night sky, which that evening had a purplish hue. Everything around them was dark and difficult to identify until it was near. The vegetation grew denser, so much so that after an hour, they had to dismount and continue on foot to avoid being struck and scratched by the branches above their heads.

Edel weaved between the trees and the massive granite boulders that seemed to define the path. Little was said, except for the occasional curse when someone tripped over a root or brushed their face against a low-hanging branch. The environment grew increasingly stifling. Even the horses were restless, frustrated by the difficult terrain. After nearly two more hours of travel, during which they made little progress, the old woman changed direction, leading them between two tall stones, like a pair of columns. As they reached them, Alaric noticed that they hadn’t been placed there by chance and that, despite the darkness, they seemed to be inscribed with some kind of symbols or writing.

Soon after, they encountered an immense wall of large rocks pressing against each other, covered in moss and lichens. At first glance, there seemed to be no way through, but Edel skirted the perimeter for about a hundred yards to the north until she found a hidden passage. It was hard to see at first, concealed behind a tangle of bushes, and narrow, just wide enough for a horse and nothing more. They passed single file through the narrow corridor that snaked between the thick wall and emerged into a circular clearing—a natural amphitheater about three hundred yards in diameter, completely enclosed by a wall of enormous granite formations.

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Even in the dark, Alaric noticed the sparse vegetation growing inside. Perhaps it was due to the enormous ancient pine tree standing in the center, whose crown silhouetted against the starry sky, towering over everything around it. He imagined that during the day, it cast so much shade that no other plants could grow beneath it. The ground was carpeted with a thick layer of dry pine needles, which crunched softly underfoot. It was a pleasant change after the long journey over rocks. The scent of pine was especially intense in this clearing, as the wind was much gentler than outside, and even the temperature was more comfortable. This natural fortress seemed to have its own microclimate.

They passed by the gigantic tree, and Alaric was stunned. They found themselves in front of a rectangular stone façade, two stories high, nestled between two of the towering boulders that formed the perimeter. A finely crafted masonry work, with a thick wooden door reinforced in the center and windows protected by wrought iron bars on either side. On the second floor, the arrangement appeared the same, except instead of an entrance, there was a small but elegant balcony with a metal railing.

“Not what you were expecting, was it?” Edel said, noticing his expression of astonishment.

“Not at all. When you said it was a cabin in the woods, I thought it would be…”

“The typical witch's hut everyone imagines—a shack of branches in the underbrush, covered in animal skins, with a roof of straw and moss. I like people to think that. It’s another security measure. Unintentional, but effective.”

“I see. Though it’s more of a cave, really.”

“And quite a cozy one. And deep. Unfortunately, we’ll probably have to clean up quite a bit of dust after all these years. I just hope the termites haven’t gone after my poor furniture.”

Edel pulled a large iron key from the small pouch at her waist and inserted it into the lock. However, it didn’t open. She placed both hands on it, grunted with the effort, and began muttering unintelligibly.

“Is it a magic door? Do we have to say a password or something?” Wart asked innocently.

“Oil,” Zarinia replied.

“Oil? That’s a weird password.”

“No, it needs oil,” the girl sighed. “That door hasn’t been opened in years. Help her push it, please.”

In the end, it took both Wart and Alaric’s combined strength, as the wood had swollen from the humidity. It was a tremendous struggle to open it. After several pushes, creaks, groans, and curses, they managed to leave it ajar. A faint gust of air reached them from inside, smelling a bit musty and stale. They followed Edel into the darkness; she seemed to know exactly where she was going. She approached a small opening near the entrance, muttered some words, and a spark ran along the walls, hissing and lighting the oil in all the lamps in the room. Finally, they could see where they were.

The room was large and rectangular, with thick wooden beams supporting the upper floor. The walls were half made of stone, but the rest, toward the back, had been expertly carved directly into the rock. On one side was a large fireplace, crowned by a mantel where old copper candelabras rested. It would need to be cleaned and inspected before lighting it, as the floor in that area was covered in pine needles that had blown in from outside.

They left footprints on the tiled floor through the thin layer of dust that had accumulated after so many years of abandonment. The furniture was covered with large linen cloths to protect it, though underneath, one could make out a couple of rocking chairs, an armchair, a table with benches, and several bookshelves lining the walls. A wooden staircase by the entrance led to the upper floor, where the bedrooms likely were, and a rustic stone archway opened into what must have been the kitchen.

“A truly pleasant home. Almost a small palace,” Alaric thought. More than one wealthy city merchant would have paid a fortune to own a place like this. They uncovered the furniture while Edel bustled around with a broom and buckets of steaming water. To their surprise, the place had a system of greenish copper pipes that provided hot water. The old woman mentioned that it came from deep underground. It wasn’t very good for drinking—too much lime—but it was a luxury few could enjoy: a warm bath at any time.

Upstairs, they prepared some beds with straw and dry pine needles, setting aside one of the rooms for the women and another for Wart and himself. While the rest tidied the house, he allowed himself a bath in the large bronze tub in the room next to the kitchen, which opened to the outside through a small window of thick glass. He closed his eyes and let the heat soothe the tension in his tired muscles. Although the water had its own smell, somewhat sulfurous, it didn’t mask the scent of whatever the old woman was cooking nearby at that moment. She hummed cheerfully, and he could hear her bustling around the kitchen, clattering pots and opening and closing drawers and cupboards. He even got to use a fragrant soap bar the good woman had brought in her luggage. It smelled of wildflowers.

He was about to fall asleep, embraced by the pleasant warmth, when he heard the faint sound of the door to the room opening. The steam from the water formed a dense fog in the small room, but he could make out the faint silhouette of Lysandra backlit.

“Excuse me, I thought you were done,” she said, a bit flustered.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ve lingered here too long. It’s been a while since I’ve enjoyed a bath this much. I’ll be out in a moment.”

Lysandra began to close the door as if to leave, but she didn’t shut it completely. She hesitated for a moment, then entered and closed the door behind her.

“Forgive me again, but no one will hear us here. I beg you to tell me what you were discussing last night. I’ve been thinking about it all day, and the more I dwell on it, the worse the thoughts that cross my mind.” She took a step toward him, her voice full of concern.

“As I said, your mother should tell you. It’s a family matter. Though it affects us all, it’s something you must resolve between the two of you.”

“I want to hear your version,” Lysandra insisted, taking another step closer.

“My version?” he replied, somewhat irritated. “The only thing I know for sure is that my friend has been imprisoned. We’ve risked our lives more than once for that damn medallion. The guardian hides secrets that put us all in danger. And now I have no choice but to walk right into a trap. Honestly, I would have preferred never to have met you or your problems.”

Lysandra stopped at his words. He could see her expression through the mist, the mix of emotions crossing her face—pain, sadness, and a hint of anger. His words seemed to have hurt her more than he had anticipated.

“I’m sorry your life has worsened since our first meeting,” she murmured, her voice tight with emotion. “If I could go back and undo so many things, so many mistakes. I’m sorry, Alaric. Truly.”

Lysandra stepped up to the edge of the tub. At that distance, he could see she was wearing a thin linen nightgown, loose, and due to the humidity, it clung to her skin, revealing the shapes of what it covered. She realized her clothes were more revealing than she had intended and that she had gotten too close. After all, Alaric was naked, though the foam managed to conceal something. She pulled back, embarrassed. He took her hand.

She hesitated for a moment. She looked at Alaric again, a majestic gaze—of power, of confidence. She loosened the cord tightening the garment around her neck, allowing the nightgown to slip down her body, revealing herself entirely. Alaric took in her slender figure, pale, slim, and tall. The fatal wound below her chest, now only a memory in the form of a whitish scar. Lysandra stepped into the tub beside him. They embraced. They kissed. She turned around, resting her back against his chest. Her skin was cold, smelling of sweat and the dust of the road. But he didn’t care. He pushed her hair aside and embraced her from behind, kissing her neck. He caressed her breasts, feeling Lysandra’s skin goosebump beneath his touch. His hand moved to the scar, brushing it gently. Then, it continued down to her pelvis, his hand sliding over the hair there. He teased her vulva softly. She let out a faint moan. He could feel the excitement, the hardness growing between his legs. But they did nothing more. They remained in each other’s arms, silent. Simply enjoying the touch of their bodies, sharing that moment—that momentary island of peace, surrounded by dark clouds of reality on the horizon.