The journey to the Crimson Citadel continued in tense silence, the dirt path stretching endlessly ahead of them. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows through the dense trees. Each step felt heavier than the last.
Nick stirred.
A groggy breath escaped his lips as his body shifted against Silas's shoulder. His head throbbed, his muscles ached, but a dull awareness was creeping back into him. He groaned, lifting a shaky hand to his temple. "Put me down."
Silas exhaled through his nose but complied, lowering Nick carefully onto his feet. The moment Nick's boots hit the ground, his knees nearly buckled. He stumbled forward, barely catching himself.
"Take it slow," Elira said, stepping closer.
Nick blinked at her, confused. He recognized her. His gaze flickered to the cast on her right arm, then back to her face.
"Elira," she said.
Nick frowned. "Why are you here?"
She smirked. "I saw this as an opportunity for adventure, for exploring the world."
Nick frowned. "An adventure?"
She smirked. "Something like that."
Renn let out a dramatic sigh. "Well, if you're looking for an adventure, congrats. We're going to the worst place possible."
Nick's brows furrowed. "Where?"
"The Crimson Citadel." Renn shot a glare at Silas. "Because apparently, we don't like safety and would rather take a nice stroll into a cesspool of killers and slavers."
Nick's stomach twisted. "The Crimson Citadel? Why the hell are we going there?"
Silas, as usual, didn't react. "Eldenmere wasn't an option."
Renn threw his arms up. "Oh sure, let's all just blindly trust Silas, who conveniently left that part out until we were too far to turn back."
Silas kept walking. "Trust me."
Renn scoffed. "I trust that you're leading us straight into a death trap."
Nick's head still spun, but he was too tired to argue. Instead, he forced himself forward, his body still sluggish from exhaustion.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, they found a clearing to set up camp. The fire was slow to start, but eventually, flickering flames licked at the dry wood, casting warm, dancing shadows across the grass. One by one, they settled onto the ground, exhaustion taking hold.
Nick, however, couldn't sleep.
Nick lay on his back, staring at the dark canopy above, listening to the crackling fire and the slow, steady breaths of the others. He tried closing his eyes, forced himself to breathe evenly, but sleep refused to come.
A sound, soft and deliberate.
His eyes opened just in time to see a shadow hovering over him.
It was Elira.
His body tensed instinctively as he propped himself up on his elbows. "What are you doing?"
Elira didn't answer right away. She stood there, gaze flickering between his face and his hands. In the firelight, her expression was unreadable, somewhere between frustration and something else he couldn't quite place.
"You beat me," she finally said, her voice low but firm. She lifted her right arm, the cast stark in the dim glow. "And you gave me this."
Nick exhaled, already feeling the conversation weighing on him. "I wasn't trying to hurt you," he said. "I just wanted to win."
Elira's lips pressed into a thin line. "It doesn't change what happened," she muttered. "It was humiliating. Losing in front of the entire village? And to you, of all people?"
Nick tilted his head. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She scoffed, shaking her head. "You weren't even supposed to be in that fight. Some outsider who barely knew the rules, and somehow, you still—" She cut herself off, inhaling sharply. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that I don't tolerate losing."
Nick let out a quiet chuckle. "So, what, you came along just to get revenge?"
Elira met his gaze, unwavering. "Not yet."
Nick's smile faltered. "That's not creepy at all."
Elira ignored him. Instead, she reached for the hilt of her sword.
Nick stiffened, instincts screaming at him to move, but she didn't strike. Instead, she drew the blade halfway from its sheath, letting the steel catch the firelight before sliding it back in place. Her smirk returned, sharp and teasing.
"Relax," she murmured. "I said not yet."
Nick let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "Then why come with us?"
She glanced at the fire, her expression softening—just a fraction. "Because if I let you leave, I'd never get my rematch. You'd disappear, and I'd have to live with that loss forever."
That answer surprised him. He'd expected anger, maybe resentment, but there was something else in her voice. Determination, sure, but also a flicker of something closer to regret.
Before he could figure out what to say, she spoke again. "That said… I don't hate it here." She hesitated, rolling her injured wrist absently as if testing its strength. "Traveling with you all… it's been different. Maybe I don't regret coming along."
Nick studied her carefully. There was no smugness in her tone now, no challenge, just honesty. She wasn't trying to prove anything.
He almost smiled. "Well, I'm glad you don't completely hate me."
Elira rolled her eyes, but there was the slightest hint of amusement behind it.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
A sound broke their silence.
Both of them turned their heads sharply.
Nothing. Just the forest, dark and unmoving.
Nick swallowed. "Did you—"
Silas jolted up from where he lay. He had heard it too.
Renn, on the other hand, was still out cold, completely unaware.
Silas moved soundlessly, stepping closer. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Stay quiet."
Elira and Nick exchanged wary glances but obeyed.
Silas stiffened. A chill ran down his spine, instincts screaming at him to move, to react, but before he could take a step, a sharp prick struck the back of his neck.
His breath caught. His hand shot up, fingers fumbling against the object embedded in his skin. He pulled it free. A dart.
His vision wavered, the firelight smearing into streaks of orange and gold. The world tilted beneath him. He barely registered the muffled sound of his own body hitting the grass.
Nick and Elira were on their feet in an instant. Adrenaline surged through Nick's veins as he forced himself upright, his legs trembling beneath him. His eyes darted wildly into the darkness beyond the fire's glow. He felt exposed, vulnerable. Something was out there.
Elira shifted beside him, her grip tightening on her sword. "Did you see that?"
A shadow moved.
Nick's breath hitched. He nudged Elira, and she turned just in time to see him step forward.
A man emerged from the trees with the deliberate grace of a predator, dark armor clinging to his frame like a second skin. The dim light glinted off the steel of the sword hanging at his side. He wasn't in a rush. He wasn't worried. He knew he had already won.
Nick could feel his own heartbeat hammering against his ribs. His mind screamed at him to move, to act, to do, but his feet felt rooted to the ground.
Elira was the first to react. She drew her blade in a swift, practiced motion. She planted her feet, steadying herself for a fight.
The man was faster.
Before she could even swing, he closed the distance in an instant. A sharp movement, too fast to track, and the hilt of his sword slammed against her temple.
A sharp gasp escaped her lips before she crumpled to the ground.
Nick's stomach dropped. The air left his lungs in a rush, and for a moment, all he could do was stare at Elira's unmoving form. A sickening weight settled in his chest.
The fear kicked in.
He turned, his body moving on instinct. Run.
But it was already too late.
A heavy impact struck the back of his head. Pain exploded across his skull, a blinding white light bursting behind his eyes before everything went dark.
The last thing he heard was the quiet sound of leaves rustling around him.