Four days had passed in Duskshade since the Frostborn scouts returned with Lirien’s lifeless body. Her death lingered like a shadow over the town, but none bore the weight more heavily than Brynn. Asher felt it too—the creeping toll of every loss. Each name etched into his mind like scars.
He jolted upright in bed, breath ragged, the remnants of his nightmare still clinging to him. His heart hammered against his ribs as his eyes darted around the small room. The flickering glow of the fireplace painted shifting patterns across the walls, its light falling on the worn, ancient furniture scattered throughout the room. A crooked chair, a chipped bedside table, the heavy wooden beams overhead—everything felt sharper, more vivid, as though the dream had leeched the color from his waking world.
“Just a nightmare,” Asher muttered, running a hand through his damp hair. The images of twisted corpses and endless rivers of blood refused to fade, curling at the edges of his thoughts like smoke.
A voice cut through his mind, soft yet insistent. Good morning, Champion, Aetheros greeted, her tone carrying the faintest trace of amusement. Another restless night, I see. But no matter. Today, you return to training.
Asher groaned, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. “Always so chipper,” he muttered.
Ah, my apologies, Aetheros replied, the amusement in her voice deepening. I know you despise it, but progress is undeniable. You’ve mastered fire. Now you must learn to command water and ice with the same precision.
“Ever the parrot on my shoulder,” Asher shot back, shaking his head.
And yet, you still need me, Aetheros countered smoothly, her voice fading like a whisper on the wind.
Sighing, Asher pushed himself to his feet. The wooden floor creaked beneath his weight as he crossed to the corner where his gear waited. He began dressing in silence, pulling on the supple leather underclothes of his armor. Each piece was worn but reliable, fashioned from the hides of deer hunted in the surrounding forest. The scent of aged leather mixed with the lingering smoke from the fireplace as he buckled the straps, the ritual grounding him.
He paused for a moment, his fingers brushing against the edge of his armor. The weight in his chest hadn’t eased, but he could carry it. He had no choice.
Outside, the faint sounds of morning stirred—footsteps crunching on frost-covered ground, the distant murmur of voices. The world moved on, even as shadows loomed closer.
Asher, now dressed and armored, stepped into the dining room of Brynn’s cottage. The air was thick with the faint smell of woodsmoke and the bland aroma of grits. Brynn and Vicky sat at the modest table, sharing a meager breakfast of coarse bread and watery grits. Supplies had grown scarce, meat and protein especially, and efforts were already underway to restock before the shortages became dire.
“Good morning, ladies,” Asher said, lowering himself onto the bench opposite them. The chair groaned under his weight. He glanced at the table, noting the untouched half-loaf of bread between them. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
Vicky looked up, her face brightening with a smile. “More training with Jorven,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “He says I’m improving with the sword. We’re also working on controlling ice. It’s… slower than I’d like, but I’m getting there.”
Asher nodded thoughtfully, tearing off a piece of bread. “Ice and water for me today as well,” he said, his voice measured. “It’s been easier than fire in some ways—less explosive, at least—but ice has been tricky. It’s like the Aether inside me resists it, like it doesn’t want to bend.”
Brynn’s spoon scraped her bowl as she stirred the grits absently, her eyes fixed on the swirling grains. “It’s the rage,” she said, her tone calm but cutting. “Rage drives the fire in you—it’s part of who you are. Ice is its opposite. It demands control, patience, balance.” She finally looked up, her sharp gaze meeting his across the table. “You’ll master it eventually, but it will never come easily.”
Her words lingered in the air, heavy with truth. Asher didn’t respond immediately, taking a moment to let the thought settle. Vicky broke the silence, her smile returning, though it carried an edge of encouragement. “Well, if you need a sparring partner, you know where to find me.”
Asher managed a faint grin. “Noted.”
Outside, the cottage creaked in the cold morning breeze, the promise of another long day stretching ahead of them all.
Asher now strode through the frost-laden streets, his breath curling into the air as he made his way toward the training grounds where Jorven and Vicky waited. The crisp morning light cast long shadows across Duskshade, but his thoughts were already on the task ahead—mastering the stubborn elements of water and ice.
As he passed the edge of the town square, a figure caught his eye. Elara sat perched on a jagged stone near the square’s boundary, her sharp profile framed by the cold light. Her dagger glinted with each stroke of her whetstone, the rhythmic sound of metal on stone breaking the quiet.
“Elara,” Asher greeted, slowing his pace. “It’s good to see you.”
She glanced up, her expression guarded but calm. “Hello, Champion,” she replied, her tone measured. “Good to see you up and about.”
But her eyes lingered on him for a beat too long, her hand pausing on the blade. Something unspoken flickered across her face—a hesitation that Asher recognized all too well.
He stopped, studying her carefully. He had grown close to his lieutenants, and he knew when something was amiss. “What is it, Elara?” he asked, his voice steady. “What’s wrong?”
Her gaze shifted, falling back to the dagger in her hands. She turned it slowly, the blade catching the light, before letting out a quiet breath. “It’s not just one thing,” she admitted, her voice lower now, tinged with unease.
“Elara,” Asher pressed, stepping closer. “Talk to me.”
She hesitated, the tension in her shoulders betraying her internal struggle. Finally, she looked up, her sharp eyes locking onto his. “You’re not yourself, Asher,” she said bluntly, the words cutting through the quiet like the edge of her blade. “Ever since Lirien… and even before that. The rage—it’s like it’s feeding on you. Growing.”
Asher’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, letting her continue.
“I know what you’re going to say,” she went on, her tone softening, “that it’s the Aether. That you can control it. But can you really? Lirien’s dead. You’ve been pushing yourself harder and harder, and every time I see you fight, it’s like…” She trailed off, struggling to find the words. “It’s like you’re teetering on the edge of something you can’t come back from.”
He exhaled slowly, his breath fogging in the cold air. “You think I’m losing control,” he said, not as a question but as a statement.
“I think you’re carrying too much,” she replied, her voice quieter now. “And it’s breaking you.”
Asher looked away, his gaze falling to the frost-covered ground. For a long moment, the silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken.
“You’re not wrong,” he admitted finally, his voice low. “But I don’t have the luxury of falling apart, Elara. Not now.”
She stood, her dagger still in hand, and stepped closer. “You think we don’t see that?” she asked, her voice sharpening. “That Brynn doesn’t notice? Or Vicky? We’re here, Asher. But you have to let us in—before that rage takes over completely.”
Her words struck deeper than he wanted to admit. He met her gaze, the worry etched into her face a mirror of the doubt he worked so hard to suppress. “I’ll be fine,” he said, though the words felt hollow.
Elara tilted her head slightly, her expression skeptical. “You don’t have to pretend with us, Asher. Not with me.”
He managed a faint, tired smile. “Noted,” he said, before stepping back toward the path. “We’ll talk later, Elara.”
Her eyes lingered on him as he walked away, her unease following him like a shadow.
As Asher walked away, his thoughts churned like a storm, sharp and unrelenting. What do they want from me? he cursed inwardly, his jaw tightening. I’m doing everything I can. How do they expect me to just shut off how this war… how these deaths are breaking me? His fists clenched as he walked, his boots striking the frost-covered ground with purpose. The only thing keeping me together is the rage…
His pace slowed for a moment as another thought crept in, softening the storm within. And Brynn. And Vicky.
The names settled heavy in his chest, pulling the edges of his rage into something quieter, something heavier. His stride resumed, but his expression grew solemn as the cold morning air bit at his skin.
They don’t understand, he thought, his anger giving way to frustration laced with guilt. Maybe they can’t.
As if sensing the turmoil within him, Aetheros’s voice rose in his mind, calm and steady. They’re afraid, Asher, she said, her words soft yet piercing. They saw something in you that few men possess—a rage so raw it shakes the very ground beneath you. It’s a force they can’t comprehend. A force most wouldn’t survive.
Asher’s steps faltered for a heartbeat, her words cutting deep, before he pressed on.
But listen to me, Aetheros continued, her tone firm but laced with reassurance. They don’t forsake you. They still stand with you, though they may not say it aloud. You must show them that you can harness the storm within, that you can master it without letting it consume you. Only then will their trust be whole again.
Her voice softened, carrying a weight of unshakable certainty. But know this, Asher—your comrades have not abandoned you. They still believe in you. Even now.
Asher exhaled sharply, the frost in the air swirling around him. Her words sank into the restless tide of his thoughts, quieting them just enough to keep moving. His mind, however, remained heavy with the weight of what lay ahead.
Asher’s walk was nearing its end. In the distance, at the far western edge of the village, he spotted Jorven and Vicky in one of the training yards. Their movements were a dance of precision and power, swords clashing with sharp, metallic echoes. Shards of ice spiraled around them in intricate arcs, morphing into water mid-air before splashing harmlessly to the ground. The sunlight caught the crystals as they shattered, scattering a kaleidoscope of rainbows that glittered around the two combatants. The sight held Asher for a moment, the beauty of it a rare reprieve from the weight in his chest.
They noticed him then, Vicky lowering her blade as she turned with a bright smile. “Asher! You made it,” she called, her voice carrying easily over the clamor of training.
Jorven gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable, though his eyes tracked Asher’s approach like a hawk sizing up its prey.
Asher stepped closer, his gaze flicking between them. “I wanted to see what you’ve been working on,” he said, his voice steady. “And I need the practice. My water and ice control still have a long way to go.”
Jorven’s brow furrowed slightly as he shifted his weight, his sword resting easily at his side. “Then let’s not waste time,” he said gruffly. His eyes narrowed as they locked onto Asher. “Vicky, step out. I’ll spar with him.”
Vicky hesitated, her concern flickering plainly across her face. She glanced between them, her grip tightening on her sword. “Master, are you sure—”
“I’m sure,” Jorven interrupted, his tone leaving no room for debate. “Step aside.”
Reluctantly, Vicky nodded, her worry etched into the lines of her face as she sheathed her blade and moved to the edge of the training ring. Her eyes lingered on Asher, a silent warning hovering unspoken in her gaze.
Asher squared his shoulders, stepping forward into the ring. He felt the weight of Jorven’s unspoken challenge settle over him like a heavy cloak. The air seemed to hum with anticipation as the two men faced off, the moment stretching taut like a drawn bowstring.
The moment Asher stepped into the ring, the atmosphere shifted. The sunlight filtering through the crystal shards from Vicky’s training seemed to dim, replaced by the weight of Jorven’s commanding presence. The older man stood like a sentinel, his blade steady in his hand, his expression as unyielding as stone.
“No holding back,” Jorven said, his voice low and firm.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Asher replied, his grip tightening on his sword.
Jorven moved first, closing the gap between them with shocking speed. His sword came down in a powerful arc, and Asher barely managed to deflect it, the force reverberating through his arms. The clash of steel rang out, sharp and echoing.
“Sloppy,” Jorven barked, pressing forward with another strike, this one faster and aimed lower.
Asher sidestepped, his boots skidding slightly on the frost-covered ground. He swung his sword in a wide arc, aiming for Jorven’s exposed flank, but the seasoned warrior deflected it with ease, countering with a thrust that sent Asher scrambling back.
“You fight like a man thinking too much,” Jorven growled, his attacks relentless. His blade flashed in the sunlight, forcing Asher onto the defensive. “The Aether flows through you, yet you hesitate. Use it!”
Asher gritted his teeth, feeling the heat of frustration rise in his chest. With a sharp exhale, he reached for the Aether within, summoning water to spiral around his blade. He slashed upward, releasing a torrent of liquid that surged toward Jorven.
Jorven sidestepped with ease, his blade slicing through the water like it was nothing. “Too slow,” he snapped, his tone cutting as sharply as his strikes.
The next exchange came faster, Jorven’s strikes a blur of calculated precision. Asher’s arms burned from the effort of blocking each blow, and his breath came in ragged bursts. He couldn’t keep up.
“Enough!” Jorven barked, stepping back just long enough to give Asher an opening—an opening that was clearly bait.
Asher hesitated, then lunged, driving forward with a surge of desperation.
Jorven’s counter came like lightning. His blade caught Asher’s mid-swing, twisting it aside, and before Asher could recover, Jorven slammed the hilt of his sword into his shoulder, sending him stumbling back.
The pain sparked something deep within Asher—anger, defiance, and the cold, biting resolve that had carried him through countless battles. His eyes narrowed as he reached for the Aether again, but this time, he didn’t call on water. He called on ice.
The temperature around him plummeted, frost crawling up his boots and spreading across the ground. Jorven noticed it immediately, his eyes narrowing as he shifted his stance. “That’s more like it,” he muttered.
Asher extended his hand, and the Aether surged through him like a tidal wave, cold and unrelenting. Ice erupted from the ground, shooting toward Jorven’s feet in jagged black spikes. The ice wasn’t like anything Asher—or anyone—had seen before. It was darker than night, its surface flawless and reflective, glinting like obsidian.
Jorven leapt back, but the ice was faster, wrapping around his boots and anchoring him in place. He swung his blade down, trying to shatter it, but the black ice held firm, unyielding even against the strength of his strikes.
“What is this?” Jorven growled, his voice tinged with surprise for the first time.
Asher didn’t answer. His entire body trembled, the strain of maintaining the ice pushing him to his limits. His breath came in sharp, visible gasps, each one carrying the chill of the Aether that coursed through him. His vision blurred at the edges, and his knees threatened to buckle.
Jorven’s eyes flicked to Asher, narrowing. “Impressive,” he admitted. Then, with a surge of effort, he drove his blade into the frozen ground, channeling his own Aether. A burst of force cracked the ice, sending shards flying, but even shattered, the black spikes remained harder than steel.
Asher dropped to one knee, his strength faltering. The black ice began to fade, melting into a dark, viscous liquid that seeped into the ground. Jorven stepped free, his boots crunching against the remnants of the frozen trap.
Vicky rushed forward, her face pale. “Asher!” she called, stopping just short of the ring as Jorven raised a hand to halt her.
“He’s fine,” Jorven said, his tone gruff but with a flicker of something almost like approval. He turned to Asher, who struggled to push himself back to his feet. “You’ve got power, but you’re reckless. You need control, or this will kill you long before any enemy does.”
Asher, still gasping for air, managed to glare up at him. “Noted,” he rasped, though his body protested even speaking.
Jorven stepped closer, his expression hard. “But that ice…” He glanced down at the faint scars it had left on the ground. “That’s something else entirely. Train it. Hone it. But never lose yourself to it.”
Asher nodded weakly, the words cutting through his exhaustion. The fight had drained him, but something deeper had awakened—a potential he hadn’t fully grasped before. Now, he just had to survive long enough to wield it.
As Asher struggled to his feet, the strain of the fight still weighing heavily on him, a voice slithered into his mind—a voice he hadn’t heard in some time.
“My ice,” the corruption hissed, its tone oily and insidious. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Black as the void, stronger than diamond. The longer I linger, the more you will see my touch seep into your precious Aether. It’s inevitable.”
A rasping, grating laugh followed, echoing in the recesses of his thoughts like nails dragging across stone.
Asher gritted his teeth, his head snapping up as he let out a bitter laugh of his own. “Shut up, you cowardly shadow,” he spat, his voice low but firm. “You may have tainted my power, twisted it, but you have no hold over me. As long as Aetheros is with me, you can’t take anything.”
The corruption’s laughter grew, a wild, mocking cackle that clawed at the edges of his resolve. “We’ll see, Champion,” it sneered, its words dripping with venom. “We’ll see.”
The voice faded, leaving a faint chill in its wake, but Asher’s defiance lingered. He exhaled sharply, his fists clenching as he steadied himself. The fight wasn’t over—not with Jorven, not with the corruption—but he would stand. He had no other choice.
After the sparring session, Vicky laid out a modest spread of buttered bread and cured meats for them to share. The atmosphere shifted as she returned, this time carrying a squat, dark bottle. A mischievous grin spread across her face as she held it high.
“I have a surprise for us!” she declared, uncorking the bottle with a satisfying pop.
The unmistakable scent of Duskshadian firewine wafted through the air, sharp and heady. Without hesitation, Vicky tilted the bottle back, taking a deep swig. Her cheeks flushed a deeper crimson, a mix of the firewine’s potency and her evident satisfaction.
She turned to Asher, the mischief in her eyes glittering like embers. Extending the bottle toward him, she teased, “Come on, Asher. Your turn.”
Her tone was light, but there was a challenge beneath it, daring him to loosen the grip on his ever-present reserve.
Asher grinned as he plucked the bottle from Vicky’s hand. “Alright, Vicky,” he said, lifting it to his lips. The firewine burned its way down his throat, leaving a warm trail that settled in his chest. He lowered the bottle, savoring the heat, before glancing around. His brow furrowed as he noticed Jorven was nowhere in sight.
“Where’s Jorven? Isn’t he hungry?” Asher asked, turning to Vicky.
She shrugged nonchalantly, her expression playful as she took the bottle back. After another swig, she let out a soft hum of amusement. “Maybe he doesn’t like the wine,” she mused, her tone light and teasing. “Or maybe…”
Vicky scooted closer, her movements deliberate yet gentle. She rested her head on Asher’s shoulder, her fingers brushing against his chest as she sought out the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Maybe he wanted to give us some alone time,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
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Asher froze for a moment, caught off guard by Vicky’s sudden closeness. Her head on his shoulder and her hand resting over his heart stirred something warm and familiar, but it was soon chased by a pang of guilt. The ghosts of Rachel and Delaney lingered, their absence a constant ache he couldn’t shake. Yet, it wasn’t just their memory that burdened him now.
He swallowed hard, his thoughts tangling over the secret he had kept from Vicky—the one he shared with Brynn just days ago. Equal feelings. Conflicting desires. It had been four days since his confession to Brynn, and there had been no time, no space, to make sense of it all. Now, with Vicky here, the weight of those unspoken truths pressed heavily on his chest.
Asher cleared his throat, breaking the stillness between them. His voice was quiet but steady as he said, “I’m glad we have some time alone, Vicky. There’s… something I need to talk to you about.”
As if sensing the shift in Asher’s demeanor, Vicky set the bottle down and carefully corked it. Her gaze softened, and she asked, “What’s on your mind, Asher?”
He hesitated, exhaling slowly. “Do you remember when you told me you always loved me… that you’d never acted on it?”
Vicky nodded, her cheeks flushing as she lowered her head. A nervous smile played on her lips. “Yes, I remember. And it’s the truth,” she admitted, her voice quiet but earnest.
Asher allowed a small smile to tug at the corner of his mouth. “The truth is, Vicky… I have the same feelings for you.”
Her eyes widened, and a radiant smile spread across her face. In an instant, she threw her arms around him, holding him tightly. Her lips brushed his neck, and he felt the warmth of her joy in her embrace.
But the heaviness in Asher’s heart didn’t relent. The sadness stirred again, tugging at the edges of his resolve. He placed a gentle hand on her back, his voice quiet and tinged with regret. “There’s more, Vicky.”
She pulled back slightly, looking up at him from the crook of his neck. Her expression shifted, her brow furrowing. “What is it, Asher?” she asked, her voice filled with concern.
Asher took a deep breath, steadying himself as he held Vicky’s gaze. His hand lightly rested on hers, grounding both of them in the moment. “Vicky,” he began, his voice low and gentle, “what I’m about to say doesn’t change how I feel about you. I need you to know that, first and foremost.”
Her expression flickered with curiosity and a hint of worry, but she nodded, encouraging him to continue.
He hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “You mean so much to me. More than I ever thought I deserved after… everything. But there’s something I need to be honest about.” He paused, searching her eyes. “Over the past few days, I’ve realized that my heart is more divided than I wanted to admit. I have feelings for Brynn, too.”
Vicky’s breath hitched, her eyes searching his face for meaning. Before she could respond, Asher leaned closer, his tone insistent but soft. “That doesn’t mean what I feel for you is any less real. It’s just… complicated. You both matter to me in ways I can’t fully explain.”
He squeezed her hand gently. “I didn’t want to hide this from you. You deserve the truth, Vicky—always.”
Asher exhaled deeply, the weight on his chest lightening ever so slightly. No matter how Vicky responded, he had spoken the truth, and with that, a small measure of the guilt began to fade.
When he glanced down, he found her gazing up at him, her expression a blend of curiosity and something unspoken. Her wide, searching eyes seemed to probe for the deeper meaning behind his words, silently asking questions she hadn’t yet voiced.
Vicky’s voice quivered with a mix of anger and pain. “How can you feel as strongly for her as you do for me? Asher, you’ve known me almost your whole life. You’ve known her for, what, three months? How did this even happen?”
Asher sighed, his expression softening as he met her gaze. His voice was steady, but the weight of his words was palpable. “Vicky, when I saved Duskshade the first time, Brynn was there. She helped me lock the Vein into place—the one that now feeds the lantern and protects everyone here. In that moment, when she stood by me, she connected to me in ways I didn’t think were possible. She saw everything—the grief, the failures, the parts of me I didn’t even want to face.”
He hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. “Before all this, before Rachel and Delaney, I never let myself think about you—or anyone else—in that way. I was married, and I was faithful to my wife. Those thoughts never even crossed my mind.”
His voice grew quieter, tinged with regret. “But when you weren’t here, when everything I knew fell apart, Brynn was. She helped me when I couldn’t stand on my own. She showed me kindness, and somewhere along the way, that connection grew into something more. I didn’t plan for it, and I never imagined I’d be in this position—torn between two people who mean so much to me.”
Vicky pulled back slightly, her brows furrowed as she tried to untangle her thoughts. “So… you never even considered me before?” Her voice was soft but carried an edge, a tremor of vulnerability cutting through the words. “Not once? All those years, and I was just… your partner? A friend?”
Her hands tightened in her lap, and she looked away, her gaze falling to the ground. “I get it, Asher. You were married, and you loved Rachel. You’re a good man—faithful, loyal. I respect that. But hearing this now… it’s hard not to feel like I was invisible to you all that time.”
She swallowed hard, her voice cracking slightly as she continued. “And Brynn… she was there when I wasn’t. I can’t fault you for that. But it hurts, Asher. It hurts to know that while I was carrying these feelings for years, you didn’t even see me. And now, just when I thought—” She stopped herself, taking a deep breath to steady her emotions.
Finally, she looked back at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m not angry at you, Asher. I just… I need to understand. Do you love her the way you love me? Or is this… something else?”
Asher’s shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He ran a hand through his hair, searching for the right way to answer. “Vicky,” he began softly, “I never saw you as invisible. You’ve always been so much more to me than just a partner or a friend. But back then, I… I didn’t let myself think about it. My world revolved around Rachel and Delaney, and I tried to keep it that way because that’s the kind of man I needed to be for them.”
He paused, his gaze earnest as he met hers. “When I lost them, I thought I’d never feel anything for anyone again. Then Brynn came into my life, and… she saw me at my worst. She reminded me what it was like to feel something other than guilt or pain. I didn’t expect it, and I didn’t plan for it, but it happened.”
Asher exhaled, his voice growing quieter. “And now, with you… you’re here, and everything I never allowed myself to feel for you is rushing to the surface. It’s overwhelming, Vicky. It’s confusing. I care about both of you deeply, and I don’t have all the answers. But I swear to you, what I feel for you is real.”
He hesitated, reaching for her hand but stopping short, unsure if she’d accept the gesture. “I just need you to know that this isn’t about choosing one over the other. It’s about navigating feelings I never thought I’d have again… and figuring out what to do without hurting the people I care about most.”
Vicky took a long, steadying breath, her fingers curling and uncurling as if trying to release the tension inside her. “Asher,” she said, her voice quieter now, “I’m not going to pretend this doesn’t hurt, because it does. I can’t just flip a switch and be okay with it. But… I do understand. I’ve seen the kind of man you are—loyal, thoughtful, carrying everyone else’s burdens before your own.”
She paused, her lips pressing into a thin line before she continued. “I guess I just need time to figure out what all of this means for us… and for me.” Her gaze softened, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “But I’m not giving up, Asher. Not on you, and not on us. You’re worth fighting for—even if that means I have to be patient.”
Her hand brushed against his briefly, a fleeting gesture that carried more weight than her words. “We’ll figure this out when the time is right. For now, just… be honest with me, okay? That’s all I need.”
She stood, picking up the bottle of firewine and giving him a small, tentative smile. “I think we could both use some time to think. But Asher,” she added, her tone steady and resolute, “don’t forget—you’re not in this alone.”
With that, she turned and walked away, leaving behind a lingering sense of hope despite the uncertainty.
Vicky’s steps were steady, but her thoughts churned in restless waves as she walked away. Her heart ached, caught between the love she had carried for Asher all these years and the sharp sting of his confession. He was everything she had dreamed of, and yet now, she felt like she had been thrust into a battle she hadn’t chosen—a fight for a piece of his heart. A part of her wanted to scream, to retreat, but another part burned with determination. If there was anyone who could help her untangle this mess, it was Brynn. Her jaw tightened as she adjusted her pace, her resolve hardening. She didn’t know what she would say when she got there, but she couldn’t keep these emotions locked inside. Brynn needed to hear her side of this—no matter how raw or difficult the conversation would be.
About thirty minutes had passed since Vicky left Asher, and she found herself striding purposefully across the camp. The firewine buzz still lingered faintly at the edges of her mind, but it was drowned out by the torrent of emotions swirling within her. As she approached the medic tent, the scent of herbs and disinfectant filled the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood.
Inside, Brynn was hunched over a makeshift workstation, the soft glow of aetheric lanterns illuminating her meticulous work. Her hands moved with practiced precision, grinding dried herbs into a fine powder before sprinkling them into a bubbling cauldron. The faint hum of magic intertwined with the earthy aroma of the concoction, and the faint glow of the mixture suggested it was meant for more than easing aches—it was a restorative potion.
Brynn glanced up briefly as Vicky entered, her sharp, assessing eyes betraying only a flicker of surprise before her usual calm returned. “Vicky,” she said evenly, wiping her hands on a cloth. “I wasn’t expecting you.” She gestured toward the cauldron with a tilt of her head. “Just finishing up a batch for the wounded.”
Vicky hesitated for only a moment before stepping closer, her gaze locking with Brynn’s. “We need to talk.” Her tone was steady, but the weight of her emotions made the words heavy. Brynn raised a brow, sensing the tension immediately, but she gave a single nod and set her tools aside, her full attention now on Vicky.
Brynn glanced up from her work, her brow furrowing with concern. “What’s on your mind, Vicky? Is something wrong? Are we expecting an attack?”
Vicky shook her head quickly. “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s about Asher… and how you feel about him.” Her voice wavered slightly, but her gaze was steady as she added, “Do you love him? Just be honest with me.”
Brynn froze for a moment, the unexpected question catching her off guard. She placed the cloth she’d been holding on the table and exhaled slowly. “I’m guessing Asher talked to you,” she said carefully, “and… told you how he feels.”
Vicky’s eyes dropped to the ground. She nodded, her voice low but firm. “Yes. And I won’t dance around it—I’m upset. I loved Asher long before he came here. I lost him once, and I gave up everything to chase him here. He was all I had back on Earth. My job… and him.”
She hesitated, the words catching in her throat before she pushed forward. “When I got here, I thought I could be his right hand… maybe more. I thought, in time, we’d have a chance. But then I saw you, and from the beginning, I worried I couldn’t compete. It makes sense, you know, that he’d fall for someone like you. You’re brave, kind, and you’ve been here for him when I couldn’t be.”
Her voice softened, and she hugged her arms across her chest as if to hold herself together. “Now he says he loves us both… and that he wants us both. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know how to feel. I just… don’t know what to do.”
Brynn took a deep breath, leaning back slightly against the table for support. Her amber eyes softened as she studied Vicky, the hurt etched in her features impossible to ignore. “Vicky,” she began carefully, “I can’t pretend I know exactly how you’re feeling, but I can tell this isn’t easy for either of us.”
She hesitated, her gaze dropping to her hands, which she clasped tightly together. “Yes, I love him. I didn’t mean to… it just happened. I wasn’t looking for this, and I didn’t want to hurt anyone—least of all you.”
Brynn’s voice grew quieter, tinged with guilt. “When Asher arrived, he was so broken, so weighed down by everything he’d lost. I saw that pain in him because it’s the same pain I carry. We connected in a way that felt… inevitable. But I never thought it would put us here, in this situation.”
She pushed off the table, stepping closer to Vicky. “I won’t apologize for how I feel, because I can’t change it. But I will tell you this: I respect you, Vicky. And I don’t see this as a competition. I don’t think either of us deserves to feel like we’re fighting for his love.”
Her voice steadied, a note of quiet conviction cutting through. “Asher’s trying to be honest with us, and that means we have to be honest with each other. Whatever happens next, I want you to know I’m not here to push you out. Maybe we can figure this out… together.”
Vicky crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her expression flickering between frustration and contemplation. She opened her mouth to speak but hesitated, the words catching in her throat. Finally, she let out a long, unsteady breath. “You’re right, Brynn. This isn’t a competition. But it’s hard not to feel like it is when my heart is screaming that I’ve already lost.”
Her voice softened, though a trace of vulnerability remained. “I know you didn’t ask for this any more than I did. And I see the connection you have with him—it’s real. That’s what makes this so hard. I can’t hate you for loving him, not when I see why he feels the way he does.”
Vicky’s gaze dropped to the ground as she ran a hand through her hair, frustration leaking into her tone. “I just… I don’t know what to do with all of this. How am I supposed to stand next to you, knowing that part of his heart belongs to you too? That I’ll never have all of him?”
She paused, then looked Brynn in the eye. Her voice was steady, but her vulnerability shone through. “But I’m not giving up. Not on him, and not on myself. I don’t know what it looks like yet, but I’m willing to figure it out… if you are.”
Brynn held Vicky’s gaze, her expression softening as she listened. She nodded slowly, her voice calm but sincere. “I’m willing, Vicky. This isn’t what I imagined either, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned from Asher, it’s that nothing about life—this world or the one you came from—makes it simple to love someone.”
She hesitated, choosing her next words carefully. “I don’t want this to be about who gets more of his heart. That’s not fair to you, to me, or to him. The truth is, we’re all standing in unfamiliar territory here, and we need to figure it out one step at a time.”
Brynn took a cautious step closer, her tone steady but laced with vulnerability. “You said you won’t give up, and I respect that. I wouldn’t expect anything less from someone like you. But if we’re going to move forward, I think we need to stop thinking of each other as rivals and start seeing each other as people Asher cares deeply about. That doesn’t erase the pain, but maybe it’s a place to start.”
She offered a tentative smile, her voice softening further. “And who knows? Maybe we’ll even surprise each other.”
Vicky studied Brynn’s face for a long moment, searching for something—perhaps sincerity, perhaps understanding. Whatever it was, she must have found it, because her posture softened slightly. She exhaled, a faint, wry smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe we will surprise each other,” she said, her tone lighter, though the weight of the conversation still lingered.
She took a step back, running a hand through her hair as if to shake off the lingering tension. “This isn’t going to be easy. For any of us. But Asher… he’s worth it. And if there’s a chance we can make this work—whatever that looks like—I’ll try.”
Vicky straightened her shoulders, her voice growing steadier. “For now, I think we’ve got bigger problems than figuring out our hearts. We need to focus on what’s coming, on what’s out there.” She gestured toward the tent’s entrance. “Asher’s lieutenants are probably waiting on us to figure out next steps. We should be there. Together.”
Brynn nodded, the faintest glimmer of relief in her eyes. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
As they stepped out into the cool evening air, the tension between them eased just slightly, replaced by the shared purpose of what lay ahead.
Vicky, Brynn, and Asher strode into Brynn’s cottage together, the small space dimly lit by the warm glow of an aetheric lantern hanging from the ceiling. Around the old, worn table sat Asher’s lieutenants, their gazes fixed on the map spread before them. The room was thick with the quiet hum of strategy and unspoken anticipation.
As the trio entered, every head turned toward them. The weight of their presence seemed to shift the atmosphere, filling the room with an unspoken urgency.
It was Elara who broke the silence, her sharp eyes flicking between the three of them. “Champion,” she greeted with a faint smile. “It’s good to see you.” Her gaze lingered for a moment, noting how closely Vicky and Brynn stood on either side of Asher. A glimmer of amusement flickered in her expression. “Something seems… different. Did something happen?”
Asher flushed slightly, his usual composure faltering just for a moment. “That’s not important right now,” he said quickly, his tone firm but not unkind. “What matters is what comes next.” He stepped toward the table, his hand resting on the edge of the map as he addressed the group. “With Duskshade secure and the Veinforged army aware of our victory here, we’ve bought ourselves time—but not much. They’ll regroup, and we can’t afford to sit idle. We need to decide on our next move.”
He looked around the table, his gaze meeting each of his lieutenants in turn—Kaelen’s measured resolve, Elara’s quiet curiosity, Garran’s unyielding strength, Malisya’s fiery determination, and Jorven’s steady focus. “I have a plan,” Asher continued, his voice steady, “and I’ll need all of you to make it work.”
Asher placed both hands on the table, his fingers splayed over the edges of the map, and leaned forward, his voice resolute. “The plan is straightforward. We take our forces and push through the forest, advancing step by step. Using the Aether Veins, I’ll enchant and install new lanterns along our path, ensuring the barrier moves with us. This will shield us from corruption and provide a safe corridor for our army.”
He paused, his emerald gaze sweeping across the faces of his lieutenants. “As we advance, I’ll shape the Aether itself to carve out a path—not just for us to move through, but one we can fight from. It will cleanse the corruption as we go, weakening the Veinforged’s hold on these lands.”
Asher straightened, gesturing to a dark mark on the map. “Our immediate goal is to clear the Gloamfields of any remaining corruption. Whatever festers at its heart must be destroyed. Once that’s done, we’ll push onward to the Red Wastes.” His voice grew heavier with purpose, the weight of his mission evident.
“The final objective is the Skyward Throne.” He tapped the map, his expression resolute. “Aetheros believes the key lies there. It’s the only way forward—and I must reach it. Whatever challenges await, we’ll face them together. This isn’t just about survival anymore—it’s about taking back our world.”
A heavy silence filled the room as Asher’s words settled over the group, each lieutenant absorbing the weight of the plan in their own way.
Kaelen Thorne was the first to speak, his tone calm but thoughtful. “Your plan is bold, Asher, and the lanterns will give us a significant advantage. But manipulating the Aether Veins like this… can you sustain it? The strain on you will be immense, especially over such a long march. If you falter, the barrier could collapse, and we’d be exposed.”
Elara “Whisper” Neryn leaned against the table, her sharp eyes scanning the map as if searching for unseen threats. “Kaelen’s right. It’s risky, and the Gloamfields aren’t just dangerous—they’re deceptive. Shadows move where they shouldn’t, and corruption twists the land itself. We’ll need scouts ahead of every step to avoid ambushes.”
Garran Veld’s voice rumbled like distant thunder. “The Red Wastes are a graveyard for armies, Champion. Once we reach them, even with your barrier, the heat and terrain will grind us down. We need supply lines and fallback points. If this is our path, we can’t afford to overextend.”
Malisya Corren smirked, crossing her arms, the faint shimmer of fire-Aether glinting along her twin swords. “You’re all acting like this is our first battle against impossible odds. The plan’s risky, sure—but what isn’t? I say we move forward and deal with what comes. Sitting still will get us killed just the same.”
Jorven, ever measured, finally spoke. “I agree with Garran about the logistics, but I trust your judgment, Asher. If Aetheros says the key is at the Skyward Throne, then that’s where we must go. Still… the Gloamfields will test us in ways we can’t yet predict. We should prepare for the unexpected.”
Asher nodded, acknowledging each concern. Before he could respond, there was a sharp knock at the door. A messenger burst into the room, clad in the dark blue and silver of the Azure Fang. His face was drawn with exhaustion, and his armor bore faint scorch marks.
“My apologies for the interruption,” the messenger said, bowing slightly, “but I bring urgent news.”
Brynn stepped forward, her brow furrowing. “What is it? Did you encounter our scouts?”
The messenger shook his head. “No word from your scouts yet. But I’ve been sent by Commander Dravyn of the Azure Fang. He’s leading an advance contingent here—he should arrive by sunrise. He wishes to discuss an alliance… and he believes he may have information about the corruption in the Gloamfields.”
Elara’s eyebrows rose slightly. “The Azure Fang, willing to share information? That’s new.”
Asher’s expression hardened, though he gave a slight nod. “We’ll hear him out. For now, we prepare. Everyone—make sure the troops are briefed and ready to move when I give the word.”
Asher dismissed his lieutenants with a nod, each of them moving with purpose as they filtered out of the cottage to relay orders and make preparations. Only Brynn and Vicky lingered behind, sharing a brief glance before following suit. The weight of the upcoming march and the new arrival sat heavily on Asher’s shoulders, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the opportunity the Azure Fang’s presence might bring.
By dawn, the camp was alive with activity. Soldiers packed supplies, checked weapons, and whispered nervously about the impending march into the Gloamfields. Near the outskirts of the camp, Asher stood with his lieutenants, their expressions a mix of curiosity and caution as they watched a column of Azure Fang soldiers approach.
The contingent was smaller than expected, but their disciplined formation and gleaming silver-and-blue armor left a distinct impression. At their head rode Commander Dravyn, his imposing figure accentuated by the heavy, ornate pauldrons that marked his rank. His steely gaze swept over the gathered forces, lingering briefly on Asher before he dismounted with fluid precision.
Dravyn strode forward, his boots crunching softly against the frost-dusted ground. His face was unreadable, but the faint scars tracing his jawline and the tired lines around his eyes suggested a man accustomed to war’s toll.
Asher stepped forward to meet him, his lieutenants fanning out behind him like a shield. “Commander Dravyn,” he said evenly, inclining his head in respect. “Welcome to Duskshade. I hear you bring news… and an offer.”
Dravyn’s lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “Let’s not waste time with pleasantries, Champion,” he replied, his voice low and commanding. “We both have battles to fight, and I’d wager we’re better off fighting them together.”
Asher’s gaze hardened, his voice calm but resolute as he addressed Commander Dravyn. “Before we move forward, I need to know that I can trust you. This isn’t just about agreeing on an alliance—it’s about following my command when the time comes. I need to understand the strength of your forces, the numbers you bring, and the skills your soldiers excel in. We’re facing a long, grueling battle, and every move will matter. You need to understand the gravity of what we’re up against.”
Dravyn met Asher’s gaze without flinching, the faintest shadow of a smirk playing at his lips. “Trust, Champion, is earned on the battlefield. Words won’t convince you, nor should they. What I can tell you is this: my soldiers are some of the most disciplined fighters in Aeloria. We don’t break ranks, we don’t falter, and we don’t retreat unless it’s part of the plan.”
He gestured to his troops, their silver-and-blue armor gleaming in the early light. “I bring fifty of my best. They’re not many, but each one can hold their ground against ten Veinforged. Their greatest strength? Precision. While your forces create the path, mine will exploit every crack, every weakness, and drive the enemy back before they know what’s hit them.”
Dravyn’s smirk faded, replaced by a hard-edged seriousness. “As for following your command—know this: I don’t throw my lot in with anyone lightly. But I’ve read the signs, and the tide is shifting. Aetheros whispers of what lies ahead, and I’ve seen enough to know that if you fail, we all fall.”
He stepped closer, his voice lowering. “You’ll have my soldiers, my sword, and my loyalty—for as long as you prove worthy of it. But let’s not waste time. What’s our next move, Champion?”
As dawn broke, the camp buzzed with activity. Soldiers fastened armor straps, tested the edges of their blades, and murmured quiet prayers to unseen gods. Packs of supplies were hoisted onto shoulders, and the air hummed with the tension of what lay ahead. Vicky moved among the ranks, ensuring everyone was ready, while Brynn coordinated the mages responsible for protecting their flanks. Asher stood at the front, his gaze fixed on the shadowed outline of the Gloamfields in the distance, their twisted treetops looming like dark sentinels.
By mid-morning, the army began its march. The forest swallowed them quickly, the canopy above thick and gnarled, casting the company into an eerie twilight. The air grew damp, and the scent of decay mingled with the faint, acrid tang of corrupted Aether. Shadows seemed to stretch and writhe at the edges of vision, and more than one soldier tightened their grip on their weapon, their eyes darting nervously.
Asher led the way, his lieutenants flanking him, their presence a steady anchor for the troops. His heart pounded with a mix of resolve and apprehension. He knew the dangers that lay ahead, but he also knew the plan—bold as it was—was their best hope.
They came to a halt in a small clearing, the blackened veins of corrupted Aether pulsating faintly beneath the soil. Asher knelt and placed his hand against the earth, the faint glow of his own Aether flickering to life along his veins. He closed his eyes, reaching deep, feeling the thrumming pulse of the world’s lifeblood below.
“It’s time,” he said, his voice steady but weighted with the enormity of the task.
Brynn stepped forward, her expression resolute as she knelt beside him. Her hands hovered over his, her own Aether igniting in a soft, shimmering gold. “I’m ready,” she said, her voice calm.
Vicky moved to his other side, her runes flaring to life, casting pale light onto the darkened ground. She placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch firm. “Let’s do this.”
Asher exhaled, his connection to the Vein deepening. He could feel Aetheros’s presence now, a vast, guiding force intertwined with his own. Pull it free, the voice whispered in his mind, steady and unyielding.
He gritted his teeth and reached further, his Aether coiling around the corrupted Vein like a leash. With a sharp pull, he yanked it upward, the blackened tendrils writhing and twisting as they tore free from the earth. A rush of energy surged through him, wild and chaotic, but Brynn and Vicky were there, their Aether mingling with his, stabilizing the torrent.
Together, they began to weave. Asher’s emerald glow, Brynn’s golden shimmer, and Vicky’s silver-blue runes merged into a single, pulsating current of pure energy. The newly-formed Vein shone brilliantly, its light piercing the gloom of the forest. It was unlike anything Asher had ever seen—a creation born not from the world’s natural order, but from their combined essence, a testament to their shared purpose.
Slowly, Asher rose, the Vein trailing behind him like a glowing thread, extending forward with every step he took. The forest seemed to recoil from its presence, the corruption retreating in its wake. The army followed, moving through the path of light and safety the Vein provided.
Each step carried them deeper into the heart of the Gloamfields, the darkness growing heavier, the air colder. But the Vein persisted, a beacon against the encroaching shadows, fueled by the strength of those who willed it forward.
Asher glanced back at Vicky and Brynn, their faces illuminated by the Vein’s glow. For the first time in days, a flicker of hope stirred within him.