Interlude

Loreli

“Sloppy,” Endrin grumbled, yanking his battleaxe from the back of the fallen rak, the wet crunch of bone barely audible over his heavy breathing. His lip curled, eyes scanning the corpse like it offended him just by dying.

“Sloppy?!” Loreli spun on him, a sharp flare in her eyes. “I don’t do sloppy, Endrin.” She held her chin high, her pride wounded more than her skin. “I just need to… adjust my strike on these—things.”

“Rakmen,” Misandrei cut in, her voice cold as the wind, moving past them with that effortless grace she always carried, her slightly curved sword slick with the strange dark blue blood the creatures bled. “These four were scouts,” she added, tone matter-of-fact as she wiped her blade on the frost-covered grass. “Which means there’s likely a camp nearby.”

“There sure are a lot of them, Garld never mentioned these,” Endrin grunted.

“General Garld,” Misandrei corrected, sharp as a blade, her eyes narrowing.

Endrin dipped his head, grudgingly respectful. “Apologies, ma’am.”

Loreli could feel her grip tightening around her own sword. Endrin, with his endless grumbling and barely concealed insubordination, was grating her nerves raw. It didn’t help that it was always him coming to her aid during these fights with the rakmen, his damned battleaxes swinging in to "save" her. Every time, he gave her that same smug look, like he enjoyed it. Like he thought she needed him. The bastard.

Loreli had always been the best. Always. Even from childhood, she’d left her brothers and even her father struggling to keep up, a natural born fighter raised in a military family that lived for war. Her speed was her weapon, her gift. When she was old enough to enlist, her father had secretly given her his most prized possession—a chip of aeristone he’d claimed in battle against Altarean raiders. It had been their little secret, the aeristone gifting her that extra edge. A rush of wind at her back, a gust at her side—just enough to make her faster, sharper, better.

It had been those skills that earned her place in the bloodshedder trainees. She was not accustomed to not being the best. Amongst the other bloodshedder trainees, she'd marked herself as untouchable. Superior. It wasn’t just her skills that set her apart, it was the certainty that she was meant to be at the top. She’d accepted Endrin’s mentorship then, along with Misandrei and whoever else would be willing to help her continue to be the best. She’d welcomed that help, but she never needed it. That was new. And she hated it.

The three of them had trekked west past Twin Garde for hours on the first day, searching for the Aeth icerafter, Ardy before Prince Daegan and his companions could find him. But it had been clear after a day of walking—the man was long gone. Likely scared off by Prince Daegan and that cursed bloodstone dagger of his. She'd felt its power—just once—when Daegan had turned it on her, a flash of sickening cold that had left her gasping, her strength torn from her in an instant. It had been the briefest moment, but the terror of it still crawled under her skin. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself not to dwell on it. It was more than enough to make a rat like Ardy flee.

Landryn wanted his brother dead. That was all Loreli knew, and all she needed to know. She wasn’t one to question orders. She trusted her commanders. Trusted Misandrei. That was the bloodshedder way—loyalty, strength, and precision. Let the nobles bicker about who sat on the throne or who stabbed who in the back. Loreli’s job was simple: find Daegan, kill Daegan. No questions. No second guesses.

Misandrei’s anger had been palpable those first few days, a constant heat at Loreli’s back as they trudged through the woods. They’d decided to head east, assuming that Daegan would likely attempt to return to Rubastre, now that he was aware that the bloodshedders were hunting him. They’d been trekking along the coastline for almost two weeks.

"Your mistake, your mess," Misandrei had hissed earlier, spitting out the words like a curse. Loreli hadn’t bothered to argue. There was no point. Misandrei blamed her for everything. For revealing where Ardy’s iceraft had been, for stranding them on the north side of the lake with no clear direction. And maybe she wasn’t wrong.

But the truth was, Loreli hadn’t been thinking straight. Not after feeling the effects of the dagger.

The memory of it crawled through her now like ice under her skin, made her shudder despite herself. That moment—when Daegan had turned the bloodstone dagger on her—had torn through her like a storm. All her strength, her speed, everything she’d ever relied on, gone in an instant. It was as though the air had been sucked from her lungs, her body betraying her as her limbs refused to move. For those few agonising seconds, she’d been helpless—paralyzed in fear she’d never admit to aloud. Even now, she felt the shadow of that weakness cling to her, a tremor in her muscles she forced herself to control.

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Misandrei hadn’t felt it. Not like she had. Maybe that’s why she could be so damn furious.

Loreli swallowed hard, her throat dry. She didn’t blame Misandrei for being angry. But she couldn’t let herself think too long on the dagger, on the terror it had left coiled in her gut. She had to stay sharp, keep moving.

They’d come across more of those strange creatures—the rakmen. Loreli still wasn’t used to their alien appearance. Their jet black skin, the movements of faint blue light along the paths of their muscles as they moved. Their enormous size. Big Joe had been the largest among the bloodshedder recruits and even he would’ve stood a head shorter than these things. Still, they were no match for the bloodshedders, who cut through them with ease, littering the forest floor with rak bodies in their wake. Although so far, they’d only come across small groups of the rakmen.

They continued west for days until they came upon what they were looking for. An iceraft. a pitiful structure of old wood barely holding together, stretching out over the frozen lake like a desperate hand. A small hut crouched beside it, as weather-beaten as the dock itself. Not exactly the outpost they were hoping for, but it was something. Unfortunately, the six rakmen standing guard at the hut thought so too.

Loreli crouched low in the underbrush, her breath misting in the cold. She gripped her blades tighter, their familiar weight an old comfort. Her twin swords had carried her through all of her bloodshedder training. To her left, Misandrei watched the rakmen with a predator's calm. Every movement from her commander seemed measured, perfect. It was no wonder the others looked at Misandrei like she was touched by the gods. Loreli had seen her take down whole squads of enemies in seconds. She was soulforged with aeristone too, like Loreli, but she wielded its power effortlessly. The wind always seemed to follow her, responding to every flicker of her thought, every strike of her blade. It was like the wind loved her.

Loreli’s grip tightened on her blades. She remembered when the wind had loved her too.

Endrin was soulforged with aradium, the power of earth and stone. Where Misandrei and Lorelie were precision, he was raw, brutal strength. He had more power in one hand than most men could hope for in a lifetime.

“Only six of them,” Misandrei murmured, eyes fixed on the rakmen. “We take them fast.”

Endrin’s grin was feral. “I’ll make it quick.”

Misandrei gave him a curt nod, then glanced at Loreli. “You stay with me. We’ll cut through them.”

Loreli’s heart pounded as they moved, silent shadows slipping through the snow. She could feel the aeristone’s power pulsing faintly beneath her skin, waiting to be called, to surge through her limbs and make her faster than thought. It was inside her now. That was what soulforging did, bonded the runestone directly to your heart.

But for some reason it was stubbornly out of reach, like a door slammed shut. Twin Garde, that cursed dagger—ever since then, her aeristone had been silent. The frustration gnawed at her, but she shoved it down, bury it for now. Like they’d buried the husk of a corpse that had been Jaz, their companion who’d fallen at Twin Garde.

Endrin struck first, his battleaxe arcing through the air with a heavy whoosh. The rakmen closest to them moved to intercept him quickly but the ground beneath the rakmen betrayed them first. Stone spikes shot up from the earth, skewering two of the creatures before they had time to react. The others howled, turning just in time for Misandrei to whirl into them, her blade flashing. The wind followed her, swirling around her movements like a dance partner, guiding every slash and stab. The rakmen were no match for her.

Loreli jumped into the fray, her twin blades flashing. One of the rak charged her, and she parried its strike, driving her sword into its chest. But it wasn’t enough. The movement should’ve been quicker, more fluid. Her body felt sluggish, slow. Without the aeristone’s speed, she was just… ordinary.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Misandrei carve through another rak, the wind howling at her side. It was effortless for her. Loreli’s stomach twisted with envy, the admiration she held for her commander tinged with frustration. Misandrei moved like a force of nature, while Loreli struggled to keep up.

Endrin let out a bellow, hurling a spear of stone at the last rak. The creature barely had time to blink before the spear pierced its skull, dropping it to the ground in a heap. The battle was over in moments, the snow stained with blue blood.

Misandrei wiped her blade clean, her breathing steady, not a single red hair out of place. She turned to Loreli, her eyes sharp. “We’ve secured the raft. We make for Urundock. We’ll take turns pushing the wind to guide the sail.”

Misandrei hopped easily onto the raft, Endrun coming up quick behind her.

“You’ll take the first shift, Loreli,” Misandrei, pulled the rigging on the sail, unfurling it as Loreli jumped in.

“I’ll take over at nightfall, and keep us moving while you rest,” Misandrei instructed.

Loreli froze. She felt the weight of Misandrei’s command settle on her, the expectation. She should have been able to do it. The wind had once bent to her will as easily as it did to Misandrei’s. But now…

Loreli’s mouth opened, but the words caught in her throat. She wanted to lie, to brush it off with a quick excuse, but lying had never come easily to her. She wasn’t like Vreth, who could conjure a lie on the spot with ease.

“I…” she started, but the lie wouldn’t form. It felt foreign, uncomfortable.

Misandrei’s eyes narrowed, and Loreli felt a pang of fear. Losing Misandrei’s trust was a risk she couldn’t afford, and the thought of falling from favour—and perhaps even losing her position—was terrifying.

“I can’t,” she admitted, the words bitter on her tongue. “Since Twin Garde… I haven’t been able to use it.”

Misandrei’s eyes flickered with something else then—surprise, maybe disappointment. But she didn’t say a word, only nodded, once, curtly.