The road stretched out westward beneath a sky heavy with clouds, the golden hues of the morning slowly giving way to the muted grays of the afternoon. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and distant rain, the wind stirring lazily through the open fields. Shadows stretched long beneath the rolling hills, their edges softened by the shifting light.
It was still beautiful here— the land sloping gently into meadows flecked with wildflowers, the forest standing quiet and undisturbed, leaves whispering in the breeze. The rivers ran clear, threading through the landscape like veins of silver, and the air was crisp, untouched by the creeping rot of the Mirrorwood. Birds still called from the trees, and the occasional fox or deer darted through the brush. On the surface, it looked like any other stretch of unspoiled countryside.
But despite its beauty, the land felt empty. Not dead. Not yet. But abandoned.
The villages they passed through bore the weight of quiet neglect— clusters of stone houses with thatched roofs, their walls softened by creeping ivy and the slow reclamation of nature. Some stood entirely hollow, their doors yawning open to the wind, their interiors scattered with remnants of old lives: a wooden cradle overturned in one corner, a rusted kettle still hanging above a cold hearth, a faded tapestry sagging from its nails. Window shutters banged softly against their frames, stirred by the wind, and in one home, a single chair remained upright at a dust-covered table.
Others, however, showed signs of recent passage. Not the careful mark of returning villagers, but the rough mark of transients— travelers, scavengers, and those who moved through these lands searching for something better. Fire pits long burned out, footprints in the mud where no others had been, makeshift barricades where someone, at some point, had tried to make a stand before moving on.
Melissa rode ahead of the group, her horse’s hooves kicking loose a small stone from the path. The sound of it rattling against the dirt too loud in the heavy silence around them. She sighed, shifting in the saddle as she eyed a half-collapsed barn just off the road— vines coiled through the rafters, half-swallowing the remains of an old wooden cart.
“Creepy, but not cursed,” she announced, adjusting her grip on the reins. “That’s a good sign.”
“For now,” Brenna murmured.
The wind shifted, stirring dry leaves across the road, carrying with it the scent of distant rain. The horizon pressed heavy against the sky, thick with something that wasn’t quite a storm.
Julia tugged a worn map from her saddlebag, smoothing it out against the pommel of her horse. The parchment was creased and softened from years of use, inked lines tracing roads and rivers and marking settlements that should have been there.
But they weren’t.
Her frown deepened as she glanced between the map and the land ahead— rolling fields sloping into dense thickets of trees. No ruins. No roads. No sign that anyone had ever built anything here.
“This is wrong,” she muttered, adjusting her grip. “This says there should be a village here, but—” she gestured toward the emptiness, “— there’s nothing.”
Brenna snorted, shifting in her saddle as she adjusted the strap of her pack. “Welcome to Milana. None of your maps are worth shit.”
Julia shot her a look. “Why?”
Brenna exhaled sharply, nodding toward the empty land stretching out before them. “Because the Mirrorwood isn’t the only thing that hollowed out this country,” she said. “Milana didn’t just fall to the Curse. There was also the Cleansing.”
She pointed toward the ruins of an old estate, its blackened remains barely visible beyond the trees. The charred bones of the structure were skeletal, crumbling stones wrapped in ivy, the windows hollow and dark. It had once been something grand— large enough to belong to nobility— but time and violence had worn it all away.
“The Cleansing didn’t just take the royal family,” Brenna continued, her voice flat and empty of anything but fact. “It wiped out entire bloodlines. Nobles, scholars, loyalists— anyone tied to the House of Tormevi. The people who survived? They left. And when the Mirrorwood came, there was no one left to fight for this place.
Annemarie listened in silence, her fingers tightening against the reins of her horse. She could feel it— the weight of what was lost here, lingering like a breath caught in the throat of the land itself.
Whoever had orchestrated this— they had not left ruins to be reclaimed.
Milana had been erased.
As they pressed forward, the roads grew rougher, the villages— abandoned and otherwise— fewer. The dirt paths that had once been well-traveled were now little more than uneven tracks, fractured by time and neglect. Weeds pushed through cracks where cartwheels had once worn the earth smooth. Trees loomed taller, their branches reaching over the road like skeletal fingers. The light was filtered into shifting patterns of gold and grey.
Annemarie didn’t need to think about where they were going— the pull was still there, steady, leading them ever westward. It curled deep in her chest, insistent yet patient, as if whatever force was guiding her knew there was no need to rush. She would come.
To Callista.
To whatever was waiting beyond.
The air changed as they traveled, though at first, it was subtle. A quiet shift, barely noticeable beneath the steady rhythm of their horses’ hooves. The scent of pine and damp earth gave way to something thinner, something dry and distant, carrying the faintest trace of rot. Not the stink of death— no, this was older. A lingering wrongness, a whisper of what lay ahead.
The Curse was not here, yet.
But it was not far off.
The land still bore the illusion of peace— rolling hills, scattered forests, and slow-moving rivers reflecting the heavy gray sky. Birds still sang in the distance, and the occasional fox watched them with wary eyes. But the silence between those sounds stretched too long. The wind carried no warmth. Even Gorgoloth, who had been content to skitter ahead, hesitated now. His many dark eyes scanned the horizon, sensing something that had yet to reveal itself.
The others felt it, too.
Melissa’s usual chatter had quieted, her hands twitching idly at the straps of her pack. Julia rode with one hand near her knife, her gaze flickering toward the treeline ever so often as if expecting movement.
Brandon said nothing, but his posture had changed— tense, braced, as though his body was already preparing for the inevitable.
Brenna only exhaled softly, adjusting her pipe between her fingers. “Not long now,” she murmured.
The road stretched ahead, empty. Waiting.
The campfire burned low, casting flickering orange light against the trees. Shadows danced along the trunks, shifting and stretching as the embers crackled. Their glow was barely enough to hold back the darkness pressing in from all sides. The night air was cool but heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth, lingering wood smoke, and the faint metallic bite of the distant river. A slow wind stirred the leaves, rustling them in uneven patterns— quiet, but never quite still.
Brandon sat cross-legged beside Annemarie, the firelight catching in his eyes as he worked, his fingers moving deftly as he tied a length of sturdy rope around his wrist. The other end was already fastened to hers, the rough fivers snug against her skin. He tugged at it once, testing the knot, before exhaling through his nose.
Annemarie watched him, her expression unreadable, though the tension in her shoulders betrayed her frustration. “This is stupid,” she muttered, shifting slightly against the slight pull of the rope.
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Brandon didn’t look up. “Tell that to the part of you that keeps wandering off in the middle of the night.” He tightened the knot with a sharp pull.
Annemarie scowled but didn’t argue. He wasn’t wrong. This had been the third time she had woken somewhere she didn’t remember going.
The first time, she had barely stepped outside camp, standing in the dark with bare feet and unfocused eyes. She hadn’t even known she’d moved until Melissa had nudged her awake, frowning, asking if she was sleepwalking.
The second time, it had been worse. Brandon had found her nearly half a mile away, standing in the middle of an empty field, underskirt damp with morning dew. He had shaken her awake, his voice tight with panic, hands gripping her shoulders as he demanded to know what the hell she was doing. She hadn’t had an answer.
They weren’t taking chances anymore.
The rope wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t meant to be. It was meant to stop her from waking up somewhere she shouldn’t— somewhere farther.
The fire crackled.
The night stretched wide around them, vast and waiting.
Melissa sat by the fire, watching her cousin carefully. She wasn’t just restless— she was agitated. Her fingers tapped against her knee, too quick, too erratic, a quiet rhythm betraying the energy coiled beneath her skin. Her eyes darted toward the horizon, not in idle thought but with intent. Like she was waiting for something. Even when she forced herself to stay still, Melissa could see it— the tension in her shoulders, the way she shifted every few moments, the way her breath came a little too fast for someone at rest.
It was subtle, but Melissa had known Annemarie her entire life. And she was not right. She was itching for something.
But for what?
The fire crackled softly, embers floating into the cool night air. The silence stretched between them, thick and expectant, until Melissa finally broke it. She tossed a twig into the flames. “You feel it, don’t you?”
Annemarie stiffened, just slightly. A tell. But she didn’t look up. “Feel what?”
Melissa tilted her head, watching her closely. “That pull. It’s not just bringing you somewhere— it’s making you want to go.”
Brandon, sitting beside Annemarie, frowned and glanced between them. “What do you mean?”
Melissa leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees, considering how best to say it. “She’s not just being called west. She wants to be there.” She hesitated, trying to find the right words, then gestured toward Annemarie’s restless hands. “Like— like she’s starving for something she doesn’t even understand.
Annemarie’s jaw tightened. “That’s not—” but she didn’t finish the sentence.
She knew Melissa was right. It wasn’t just a tug anymore— wasn’t just direction or fate. It was a need. Something deeper, something urgent. Something pressing against her ribs from the inside out, curling through her veins, whispering with every breath she took that she was meant to be moving. That every second she spent sitting still was wrong.
The bond wasn’t just leading her. It was consuming her.
Brandon exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “This is getting worse.”
Brenna, who had been lounging against a log, finally spoke. Her voice was calm, as if she’d expected this all along. “Of course it is,” she said simply. “You’re following a connection that’s been unable to close itself for years. The closer you get, the stronger it’s going to pull.”
Annemarie swallowed hard, staring into the fire. Deep down, she knew Brenna was right, too.
And a part of her— a part she didn’t want to acknowledge— wasn’t sure she wanted to fight it anymore.
The fire had burned down to embers, casting the camp in a dim, wavering glow. The once-vibrant flames had retreated into quiet, smoldering coals, their soft red light barely enough to hold back the vastness of the night. Shadows stretched long across the clearing, shifting slightly with the lazy flicker of heat.
The air was still, thick with the lingering scent of burned wood and earth. Somewhere beyond the trees, the wind stirred, rustling the undergrowth with a sound too quiet to disturb the silence. The distant call of a nocturnal animal echoed once, then faded.
Brandon was still awake, his back pressed against a fallen log, legs stretched out in front of him. The rope binding his wrist to Annemarie’s had become familiar by now, an ever-present tether between them. He had grown used to the rhythmic pull of her unconscious movements— the small shifts, the restless turning, the way she sometimes exhaled too sharply. As though something in her dreams unsettled her.
But tonight was different. Tonight, she wasn’t just shifting. She was muttering.
At first, the words were indistinct, lost in the quiet night. Brandon barely registered them, assuming she was simply dreaming. But then—
“I don’t want to go there.”
Her fingers curled into the blanket, gripping it as though holding herself in place. Her breathing was uneven, too shallow, too quick.
Brandon leaned in slightly, his voice low. “Anne?”
She didn’t wake.
“I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to go there.”
The words came again, faster now, her lips barely forming them. A whisper, but urgent. Pleading.
Brandon’s stomach tightened. This wasn’t Callista’s voice. It wasn’t some memory bleeding through the bond.
This was Annemarie. Her own, unfiltered thoughts, slipping free in the vulnerable space between wakefulness and dreams. She was fighting it. But she was losing.
Brandon reached for her, shaking her gently. “Anne. Wake up.”
A sharp inhale— then she jerked upright, her body lurching forward as though pulled by unseen hands. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, her breath catching in her throat.
For a brief, terrifying second, she didn’t see him. Then— recognition.
“Brandon?”
He let out a slow breath, his pulse still too fast. “Yeah. It’s me.”
She blinked rapidly, trying to orient herself, her gaze flickering around camp as though she expected the world to have shifted in her sleep. Her fingers flezed against the rope still tied to her wrist. “What—”
“You were talking in your sleep,” Brandon said carefully. “Said you didn’t want to go there.”
Annemarie stilled.
The fire crackled softly, the only sound in the space between them. Then, finally, she exhaled— slow, controlled.
“I don’t,” she admitted. Her voice was small.
Brandon’s chest tightened. “Then why are we?”
Annemarie closed her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Because I don’t have a choice.”
Brandon was quiet for a long moment, watching her in the dim firelight.
The way she sat— rigid, tense— like if she let go for even a second, she’d lose whatever fragile control she had left. The way her hands were tight in her lap, her knuckles pale, like she was holding herself together by force alone.
He swallowed against the instinctive urge to tell her she did have a choice. Because she didn’t. Not really.
Instead, he reached down and loosened the rope binding them together. The knot slipped free easily, the slack falling between them. But he didn’t move away. He didn’t need the rope to stay close.
“I don’t like this,” he said, voice low. “Not just— this place, not just the Mirrorwood, but this. The way it's pulling at you. The way you’re barely sleeping. The way you wake up and it takes you a second to remember where you are.”
Annemarie let out a slow breath, tilting her head slightly toward the sky. The stars were dim beyond the overcast clouds, barely visible between the twisted treetops.
“It’s different now,” she admitted. “At first, it was just a direction. A pull. Like something was waiting. But now...” she hesitated.
Brandon didn’t press her.
Finally, she met his gaze, and he hated what he saw there. Resignation.
“...now, I don’t know if I’ll come back.”
Brandon felt a cold, sharp pang in his chest. He reached for her hand before he could think better of it, his fingers closing over hers. She was freezing.
“Hey,” he said, his grip firm. “Let’s change that.”
Her brows furrowed slightly.
“We don’t just walk toward this thing blind,” Brandon said. “We fight it. We plan. We find a way to make sure you do come back. Because you’re not going at this alone, Anne.”
Annemarie stared at him, something flickering behind her expression— too raw, too much. She squeezed his hand once before pulling away, wrapping her arms around herself instead. “It doesn’t work like that,” she said quietly.
Brandon exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t care how it works. I care that you’re not walking into this just... accepting whatever’s waiting for you.”
Annemarie hesitated again, but the ways she swallowed, the way her fingers dug into the fabric of her sleeve— he was getting through.
Brandon leaned back against the log, watching her carefully. “So,” he said, keeping his tone even. “Tell me what’s changed.”
She didn’t answer immediately. But after a moment, her shoulders slumped slightly. “The bond isn’t just pulling me anymore,” she murmured. “It’s... expecting me.”
Brandon stiffened.
“I feel it. Like it knows I’m coming.” She shivered, drawing her knees up slightly and resting her chin against them. “Like I already belong to it.”
Brandon’s throat felt dry. “You don’t.”
Annemarie closed her eyes. “I hope you’re right.”
He stared at her, then at the dark treeline beyond their camp, at the way the shadows shifted just at the edge of his vision.
He wasn’t letting her go. Not to this.
Not without a fight.
