The forest was a bruise of fading light and deepening shadows, its canopy smothering the last embers of the sun. Dinadan sat astride Bracken, his dependable mule, while leading Thistle, who bore Aidric’s slumped and feverish form. The gelding’s hooves sank into the damp earth with each step, the muffled rhythm the only sound breaking the oppressive silence. Even the usual stirrings of the woods—birds, the rustle of unseen creatures—were absent, swallowed by the heavy mist coiled around the trees like a living thing.

Dinadan tightened his grip on Bracken’s reins, his eyes sharp as they scanned the darkness ahead. Without the chest’s unsettling glow, the gloom felt alive, pressing closer with every step. Aidric’s shallow breaths came like whispers, the lad swaying with the horse’s movement, his head lolling against Thistle’s neck. Dinadan fought the urge to check the boy’s pulse again, though the hollow pit in his stomach told him what he already knew—Aidric wasn’t getting better.

The absence of the chest gnawed at him. It had been the rational choice, leaving it at the Henge, tethered to ancient wards that promised security. Yet rationality felt like a poor excuse now, with Aidric burning up and the faint smell of damp moss and decay hanging heavy in the air.

Dinadan broke the silence, his voice a quiet grumble. “Perfect. No glowing relic, no cryptic wizard to explain things, and me, with my sparkling optimism, to navigate the darkest corner of Albion. What could go wrong?”

Thistle snorted, and Bracken tossed his head, the mule as restless as Dinadan himself. Aidric stirred faintly, muttering something Dinadan couldn’t catch. The knight leaned over, his tone soft but edged with frustration.

“Stay with me, lad. You hear? No fainting, no dying, and no glowing like some blasted beacon. Not tonight.”

The path twisted deeper into the woods, the mist thickening until it felt like wading through a dream. Then, there it was again—a faint rustle. Dinadan froze, the sound prickling at the edge of his awareness. Bracken halted, its ears flicking toward the source.

"Not again," Dinadan muttered, his free hand drifting to his sword. "You’d think Albion would let me pass in peace for once."

The rustling grew louder, and then the creature emerged. It was the same monstrous wolf from before—or perhaps its kin. Eyes like burning amber pierced through the fog, its hulking form low to the ground, sinews rippling with barely restrained fury. Its bone-like spines gleamed in the dim light, and a low growl vibrated through the ground beneath Dinadan’s boots.

"Well, aren’t you persistent," Dinadan said, pulling his sword free. "All right, let’s do this, then. But I’ll warn you—I’m in a terrible mood."

The wolf lunged, faster than Dinadan expected. He barely had time to parry, his blade scraping against one of the creature’s jagged spines. The force of the blow drove him back a step, his boots skidding on the damp ground.

Bracken brayed in panic, and Thistle reared, nearly unseating Aidric. Dinadan swore under his breath, darting toward the boy even as the wolf circled for another strike.

"Stay still, you blasted mule!" Dinadan barked, grabbing at Thistle’s reins. The wolf saw its opening and lunged again.

Dinadan turned, his sword flashing upward to meet it, but the creature never reached him.

A deafening screech ripped through the air, followed by a rush of wind that sent the mist scattering. A massive shadow descended from the canopy, striking the wolf mid-air and driving it into the ground.

Dinadan staggered back, his sword raised instinctively as the shadow resolved into a towering, winged form. A wyvern.

Its scales gleamed a deep, dark green, mottled with streaks of gold that caught the faint light. Its eyes burned with an intelligent fire, and its powerful tail lashed the ground as it snarled at the wolf.

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"Wyott?" Dinadan breathed, his voice tinged with both awe and exasperation.

The wyvern snapped its jaws, the sound like breaking stone, and leapt onto the wolf. The smaller creature yelped, struggling beneath the weight of its attacker. Wyott pinned it easily, his talons digging into its hide before he sank his fangs into its throat.

The wolf’s struggles ceased, its body slumping lifelessly to the forest floor. Wyott reared back, his wings flaring as he released a triumphant roar that echoed through the trees.

"Subtle as ever," Dinadan muttered, lowering his sword.

Wyott turned his blazing eyes on the knight, huffing out a plume of hot air that ruffled Dinadan’s hair. The wyvern tilted his head, almost expectantly.

"I don’t suppose this means Merlin’s close by, does it?" Dinadan asked, already knowing the answer.

Wyott rumbled low in his throat, a sound that could have been agreement. Dinadan sighed, sheathing his sword.

"Of course he is. And here I thought I’d have at least one moment of peace."

The wyvern stepped back, his massive frame retreating into the swirling mist. With a final, piercing screech, he took off, his powerful wings churning the fog into spiraling eddies. The forest fell silent once more, save for the rustling leaves stirred by Wyott’s departure.

Dinadan turned back to the horses, his movements brisk but controlled. Thistle was still trembling, but the mule stood still as Dinadan secured Aidric in the saddle once more.

"All right, lad," Dinadan murmured. "Seems we’ve got company waiting. Let’s see if Merlin’s as cheerful as his scaly friend."

Bracken snorted, as if in protest, but Dinadan pressed forward. The forest, though still ominous, felt subtly changed. The mist was thinner now, and in the distance, a faint golden light flickered.

Dinadan’s steps slowed as he approached the light. It wasn’t the cold, spectral glow of the Henge, nor the flickering eyes of a predator. This was warm and steady, a promise of safety—or a lure.

"Convenient," Dinadan muttered. "Too convenient."

Yet, with Aidric’s condition worsening and Wyott’s sudden appearance fresh in his mind, Dinadan had no choice but to follow. He nudged Bracken forward, leading Thistle and the boy into the light’s embrace.

The glow grew brighter, resolving into a lantern hanging inside the mouth of a cave. The hollow yawned out of the hillside, its edges jagged and blackened as though by fire. The air that drifted out was cool, tinged with damp earth and the faint tang of iron.

Dinadan dismounted and tethered the horses just outside the entrance. The animals shifted nervously, their ears flicking toward the cave.

Dinadan muttered, turning to lift Aidric from the saddle. The boy was too light, his fevered body limp in Dinadan’s arms.

“Don’t worry,” Dinadan said, though he wasn’t entirely sure who he was reassuring. “We’ll be safe here. Or eaten. One of the two.”

Stepping into the cave, Dinadan glanced around, his unease prickling at the edges of his exhaustion. Shadows danced along the stone walls, retreating reluctantly from the lantern’s light.

He laid Aidric down near the lantern, his hands trembling from the strain. The boy’s face was pale, his lips cracked, and his breathing faint. Dinadan crouched beside him, pulling a flask from his pack and dampening a cloth to dab at the boy’s forehead.

"Easy now, lad," Dinadan said softly. "You’re safe. Or as close to safe as it gets."

The boy’s face was ghostly pale, his lips cracked, and his breathing so faint that Dinadan leaned in close just to reassure himself it was still there. He crouched beside Aidric, dabbing at his forehead with a strip of cloth soaked in the last of the water from his flask. The lad flinched at the touch, murmuring softly, his words lost in the crackle of the lantern’s flame.

Dinadan sank back on his heels, scrubbing a hand over his face. The absence of the chest—its unholy glow, its weight, its oppressive presence—pressed against his thoughts like a knife. Staring at Aidric now, fevered and fragile, it felt like folly to leave it behind. The chest was still pulling at the boy, its reach stretching over the plain as though Albion itself wouldn’t let him go.

“Brilliant,” Dinadan muttered, his voice bitter as he stared at the boy. “Leave the cursed relic behind and carry the consequences instead. Couldn’t have gone the other way, could it?”

The lantern flickered as if in answer, its light dimming momentarily before flaring back to life. Dinadan scowled at it, as if the flame bore all of the blame.

He let his head bang back against the wall, his body heavy with exhaustion. Aidric stirred faintly, his lips moving, though no sound came out. Dinadan watched helplessly, his chest tightening at the sight of the boy struggling against whatever darkness gripped him. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint, uneven rhythm of the boy’s breaths and the restless shuffle of the horses outside.

“Well, Dinadan,” he muttered bitterly, “another fine mess. Let’s see how you bungle your way out of this one.”

The silence offered no answer, and Dinadan didn’t try to fill it. Instead, he watched the boy, his mind churning with doubts as the shadows stretched long into the night.