The forest seemed to swallow them whole.
Delwyn didn't dare look back, but she could still feel the fire at her back, hear the distant clash of steel and dying screams.
The Black Hounds were disorganised, still scrambling to contain the blazing wreckage of their supply tents and stampeding warhorses. But that wouldn't last. The moment Vale regained control, he'd send men after them—hunters who wouldn't stop until every last survivor was dead.
Her boots slammed into the damp earth, muscles burning as she pushed forward. The prisoners, a ragged dozen, struggled to keep pace, some limping, some barely upright.
Mira, the scout, kept to Delwyn's left, her breath ragged.
"Where—" Mira gasped, trying to keep her voice low. "Where are we going?"
Delwyn had no answer.
Because she didn't know.
She had spent her whole life tracking enemies, not running from them. Every instinct told her to turn back, to strike first, to carve through the bastards who had burned this camp to the ground.
But they were too many.
And right now, survival mattered more than vengeance.
Vaelor, a silent shadow at her side, made the decision for her.
"There's a ruin," he said, barely winded. "North of here. It's abandoned, but defensible."
Delwyn's brow furrowed. "You're just now bringing this up?"
Vaelor didn't slow. "I didn't think we'd need to hide in a cursed ruin tonight."
Mira stiffened. "You mean Eldermire?"
That made Delwyn pause—just slightly.
"You've heard of it?" she asked.
Mira's breath was coming fast, but her voice held real fear. "Everyone's heard of it. No one goes there."
Delwyn exchanged a sharp glance with Vaelor. He wasn't reacting.
Because he already knew.
Her eyes narrowed. "You seem awfully familiar with this place."
Vaelor didn't answer immediately.
Then—"I've been there before."
Delwyn studied him. The way he moved, determined but cautious. He wasn't just suggesting the ruins because they were convenient.
He had a reason.
"You want to tell me what's waiting for us up there?" she pressed.
Vaelor's jaw tensed slightly. "It's old. Older than Varfaún. And if the stories are true…" He hesitated. "Then Arrand isn't the first king to meddle in what lies beneath it."
Delwyn didn't like that answer.
Not because of the way he said it, but because of what she had seen back in the dungeons of Varfaún. The sigils carved into black stone. The whispers that still haunted her ears.
The things that should not have been there.
Mira, still struggling to keep up, glanced between them. "You two want to fill the rest of us in? Or are we just running toward something worse than the Black Hounds?"
Delwyn exhaled sharply, adjusting her grip on her sword hilt. "That depends."
"On what?" Mira asked.
"On whether or not you believe in ghosts."
Mira paled.
But she didn't stop running.
****
The night stretched on, dragging them deeper into the wilderness.
The more distance they put between themselves and the burning camp, the less frequent their stops became. The prisoners—exhausted, wounded, barely holding together—had no choice but to push forward, their bodies running on pure desperation.
Delwyn kept scanning the darkened treetops, her instincts screaming at her to expect an ambush.
Vaelor remained silent but alert, his body moving effortlessly through the shifting landscape. Even after hours of running, he wasn't slowing.
That was when Delwyn realised something.
"You're leading," she muttered under her breath.
Vaelor flicked a glance toward her. "And?"
"You said you've been here before." Delwyn narrowed her eyes. "How well do you know these ruins?"
Vaelor didn't answer immediately.
Then, finally—"Well enough."
Delwyn arched a brow. "That's not an answer."
Vaelor's mouth tugged into the ghost of a smirk. "It's the one you're getting."
Delwyn scoffed but let it drop—for now.
****
The landscape began to shift.
The trees grew twisted, gnarled, their roots thick and sprawling like veins. The ground became uneven, ancient stones breaking through the dirt, as if something had been buried here long ago.
The air… changed.
Colder. Heavier.
Mira slowed slightly, glancing at the terrain with unease. "I don't like this."
"You don't have to," Vaelor muttered. "You just have to keep moving."
Delwyn ran her fingers along one of the ancient stones as they passed. The markings were faint, eroded by time—but they were there.
Symbols.
Not like the ones she had seen in Blackreach's dungeons, but… not entirely different, either.
She didn't like it.
"Almost there," Vaelor murmured.
Delwyn looked ahead—
And then she saw it.
The Ruins of Eldermire.
A crumbling fortress, half-consumed by the forest. Its towers had collapsed long ago, its walls broken and overtaken by creeping ivy. But despite its decay, the structure still stood, looming in the early dawn light like the bones of a forgotten beast.
And beneath it…
The faint, distant glow of something deeper.
Something alive.
Delwyn exhaled slowly.
"Well," she muttered. "That's not ominous at all."
Vaelor's eyes flicked toward the deep shadows beneath the ruins.
"No," he murmured. "It isn't."
But he didn't stop walking.
And neither did she.