Chapter 106

I went to help Mirri evacuate the villages.

When I wasn’t stepping people and supplies into the demesne, I was there - raising homes out of nothing. Walls from stone. Roofs from wood. Something sturdy enough to keep people safe, even if it wasn’t pretty.

At some point, Clo wandered through.

I didn’t see where she came from. I didn’t ask. I didn’t have the time. I was just… relieved she was alive.

Issa found me not long after.

“Crowhurst is here,” she said.

I stepped back to the keep.

We sat in the common room, across from each other in overstuffed chairs that had no business being this comfortable given everything going on.

“Iilvarion is on their way to meet you,” I said. “I’ve asked them to hold off for three days. That should give me time to defuse this situation before it turns into a massacre.”

Crowhurst inclined his head slightly, taking it in.

The room around us felt… different than it had a few weeks ago.

Lived in. Ours.

The walls were no longer bare. Pieces of Earth - paintings I’d loved, recreated in my demesne - hung beside the children’s work. Issa’s paintings were stunning, easily the equal of anything I’d ever seen back home. Lilae’s were simpler - bright, messy, full of joy.

Tapestries lined the stone, woven by Serah, Tib, and Mak. The walls themselves had been painted. Torvek’s small wooden carvings sat on shelves. Leatherwork from Elarion and Ashlara rested nearby. Even the ferals had left their mark - strange color choices, bits of bone worked into crude shapes, rough smears of paint that somehow fit.

It wasn’t just a keep anymore. It was a home.

“What about the Myrddin?” Crowhurst asked.

“We don’t know that they’re coming,” I said. “Not for certain. I don’t know much about Chronomancy, but I’m assuming the future isn’t fixed. That’s why Barrowford was watching - trying to steer things toward a better outcome.”

I exhaled slowly. “With you and Iilvarion holding back, that leaves Arvellia and the Iron Nation to deal with. Can you slow them down at all?”

“I’ve sent Rookhaven to speak with the queen,” he replied. “Though based on what you’ve said I’m not optimistic.”

“Anything more direct?”

He shook his head. “Not without risking engagement. We could disrupt the terrain ahead of them - mud, obstacles, rough ground - but their scouts would see it coming. They’d either avoid it or we’d **** a confrontation.”

I nodded. Figures.

“So what’s your plan?” he asked. “You might withstand a siege from the orcs - for a time. Arvellia’s mages, however, will tear these walls apart.”

“That was my concern as well,” I said. “We’re evacuating the villages now. After that… I need to figure out what to do with the Bloodchildren.”

His posture shifted - sharper now.

“You have Devourlings here?”

“Yes,” I said evenly. “We’ve raised six. They’re grown now. But more are showing up every day. I don’t know why.”

I leaned back slightly.

“They’re gathering near the keep. Twenty or so in the forest. Wild. Aggressive. But so far, no incidents. Our kids have been… managing them.”

A shadow passed the doorway.

“Hey, Nim?” I called.

The shadow paused, then stepped inside.

He filled the room.

Six foot six, broad enough that the doorway seemed to protest his presence. His shoulders brushed the frame as he entered. His hair - dark, thick, already growing out again despite Mirri cutting it just days ago - fell messily around his face. His rose-colored eyes caught the light, nearly blending into his ruddy skin.

He wore a brown leather jerkin, Ashlara’s work - tooled with the image of a lion across the chest. Matching pants. Barefoot, as always - the ferals all seemed to hate shoes. His claws clicked softly against the stone as he moved.

“This is Master Crowhurst,” I said, gesturing to the man across from me.

Nim looked at me. Then at Crowhurst. Then back to me.

Crowhurst, for his part, stared like he was watching a tiger baking a cake - dumfounded, concerned, fascinated.

“Have you seen the others?” I asked.

“No,” Nim said. His voice was low, steady.

My brow tightened. I didn’t like that. They’d been gone too long.

“Please check up on them,” I said. “Make sure they’re okay. I saw Clo about an hour ago, but no one else.”

He nodded once and turned, ducking back through the doorway.

“Thank you,” I called after him.

“How did you-” Crowhurst began.

“I raised them,” I cut in. “Like children.” My gaze didn’t waver. “They’re different. Yes. But they’re still children. They still deserve care.”

There was a beat of silence. “Now,” I said, leaning forward slightly. “Back to your question…”

* * *

I sent Mirri to bed sometime after midnight. She was exhausted - running on fumes - and no amount of stubbornness was going to change that.

I didn’t have that luxury. I worked through the night, stepping back and forth between the villages and the demesne, moving people, supplies, livestock - anything that needed to be saved. I built shelters as fast as I could shape them, carving homes out of stone and will, making sure no one was left exposed.

By the time the sun crested the horizon, I was hauling the last of the supplies into place.

I was exhausted.

And nowhere near done.

The ferals had all returned. That helped.

Vel and Thae reported in - another dozen Bloodchildren had arrived during the night. The largest surge yet. I still didn’t know why they were coming. Only that they weren’t stopping.

Serah and Ashlara were still gone. I didn’t like it. But they’d left on their own. Not taken. Not chased. I had to trust that they were ok.

I spent the morning and into the afternoon reinforcing the keep. Walls thickened. Stone compacted. Weak points filled. I dug a wide moat around the perimeter, reshaped the ground to funnel movement, reinforced the gate as best I could with what I had.

Anything. Everything. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter.

We could rebuild. The demesne would keep us safe from almost anything.

Almost.

I didn’t know if the Myrddin could **** their way in. I had to assume they could. So I prepared that as well.

The demesne shifted under my will. The goblin village, the crops, everything near the entry point - I moved it. The land itself bent and flowed, lifting and sliding like something alive. When it settled again, it rested atop a distant hill, miles away from where it had been.

Nothing broke. Nothing fell. Dishes stayed neatly on shelves. Goats remained penned. Not a single structure collapsed or cracked.

The goblins… didn’t enjoy it. A few staggered. Some sat down hard, clutching their heads as the world moved around them. But they were alive. That was what mattered.

I stepped back out and climbed the watchtower.

Night had fallen. Cold air drifted lazily through the open space, carrying with it the scent of distant smoke. Clouds moved slow and soft overhead. The moon had begun to wax - thin, but growing.

From up here, I could just make out the faint glow of fires on the horizon.

The hordes.

They’d be here tomorrow. Arvellia was still hidden behind the southern hills.

I felt the spike of Faith a heartbeat before it happened.

The air tore.

Sparks swirled - bright, violent, like something ripped from a forge. A portal split open, crackling, and she stepped through.

Zelmyra.

Heat followed her. The sharp, metallic scent of worked iron filled the air.

She stood there like she owned the space - hip cocked, hand on her waist, steel corset gleaming as it lifted and shaped her body into something deliberately provocative. Her lips were painted deep red, her eyes shadowed in violet, and her long crimson hair was braided high before spilling down her back.

“There you are, handsome,” she purred, her gaze dragging over me with open hunger. “You’ve been hiding.”

“I’ve been busy,” I said flatly. “Trying to stop a war.”

She waved that off like it was nothing. “Wars happen. This thing with the gods - that’s the problem.”

“Wars matter when they’re marching on me,” I shot back. “And we may have Myrddin showing up any day now.”

Her expression twisted - frustration, anger, something deeper flickering beneath the surface.

I sighed. “I don’t have time for this shit. Get it over with.”

She moved in a blur. A burning brand flashed into her hand and slammed into my shoulder.

I hissed, pain lancing through me, ripped it free, and drove my fist straight into her nose. There was a sickening crunch.

She stumbled back, hands flying to her nose as blood spilled between her fingers.

And then she laughed. Bright. Wild. Delighted.

She tilted her head back, letting the bleeding slow, then looked at me again - grinning through blood-slick teeth.

“Pain for pain,” she said. “Tell me again.”

“A chronomancer looked into the future,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “A Myrddin corrupted him. He talked about armies. ****. A lot of it. Then the Myrddin spoke through him - said the slayer would suffer and the world would be theirs again.”

“What happened to the husk?”

“I burned him,” I said. “Before it could spread.”

She went quiet, thinking.

“The gods have returned,” she said abruptly, completely changing the subject. “Vaelis. Athryx. Lunythera,” she continued. “All seen recently. But Vaelis was… different. She didn’t remember our last conversation. And she didn’t want to talk.”

I frowned. “The goddess of gossip didn’t want to talk?”

“No.” Zelmyra shook her head. “And Athryx didn’t care about my debt.”

“Based on what you said last time, that shouldn’t be possible,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair.

“It means they’re not themselves,” she said, frustration bleeding into her voice. “They look the same. Sound the same. But they’re not the same. And I can’t trust them - they won’t share pain.”

“I can’t blame them for that part,” I said. “But the rest… yeah. That’s a problem.”

I exhaled. “I can’t deal with it right now. Give me a few days. I’ll stop the war, then I’ll help you figure this out.”

“I need your help now.”

She stepped in close - too close - pressing herself against me, her voice dropping into something soft and **** and dangerous all at once.

“I need you to speak with them,” she murmured. “Then share pain with me. I need to know. Something is wrong.”

Her lips hovered just shy of mine. Her breath was hot against my skin.

I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her back. “I will help you,” I said. “But you need to give me time. Unless you’ve got a way to stop three armies.”

She opened her mouth.

“Peacefully,” I added. “No ****. No mutilation. No burning people alive. No creative interpretations.”

She pouted.

“I didn’t think so.” I rested a hand on her shoulder, gentler this time. “I know this matters. And I will help you. I just… can’t do it right now. Okay?”

She nodded.

For a moment, she looked smaller. Younger. Fragile, even - despite the blood, the steel, the heat still radiating off her.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

* * *

Morning broke.

The thin clouds from the night before had thickened into a low, heavy ceiling, bleeding a slow, cold rain over everything. The sun fought to break through, but never quite made it - just a dull glow behind the gray.

The bailey was quiet.

Then the ferals appeared - one after another, stepping in rapid succession, energy crackling through them. They looked… excited.

“Did you all learn to step?” I asked.

“I taught them,” Vel said, a note of pride in her voice.

I smiled and pulled her into a quick hug. “I’m proud of you,” I told her. Then I looked at the others, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “I’m proud of all of you. You’ve grown into incredible people. People I respect. People I care about.”

I let that sit for a moment. “You’re my pack,” I said quietly. “And I couldn’t be happier.”

The moment passed. “The Iron Nation is on its way,” I continued, my tone hardening. “Arvellia isn’t far behind.”

Their attention sharpened.

“I need you to do a few things for me. Go out and find the other Bloodchildren. Bring them to the demesne.”

I looked to Vel. “If they can handle your warg friends, take them there. If not, find somewhere safe. Keep them away from the goblins. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

She nodded.

“When that’s done, I need you guarding the demesne. Protect the pack. Protect the goblins. Don’t let anything get through.”

I exhaled. “I’m going to stay here. Try to talk to the armies one last time.”

I gave a small, humorless huff. “It probably won’t work. They seem pretty set on killing each other. But I have to try.”

I hesitated, then added, “one more thing.”

Their focus snapped back to me.

“There’s a chance the Myrddin show up. I know you haven’t seen them before. They’re… not like anything else. Black. Like ropes. They move fast. If they touch you, they take control. They’ll make you do things - hurt people. Hurt the pack. And you won’t be able to stop it.”

My voice dropped. “Do not let them touch you. And don’t let them touch anyone else.” I held their gaze. “They’re hard to kill. So don’t try to fight them head-on. Avoid them. Protect each other. Do you understand?”

They nodded - slow, serious.

“Good.” I took a step back. “Go find the other Bloodchildren. Get them to the demesne.”

They moved without another word, slipping through the gate and into the rain.

I watched them go. And hoped they wouldn’t run into anything they couldn’t handle.