Chapter 58

We eventually moved everyone out of my demesne.

The goblins went first, once Reedwatch was rebuilt enough to hold them again. Many of them were relieved to return home - not just because the danger had passed, but because they no longer felt like guests living off someone else’s charity. Reedwatch was theirs. They knew its rhythms, its seasons, its soil. For all its beauty, my demesne had never stopped feeling alien to them - too clean, too quiet, few animals, no sun. Strange ribbons drifting through the air. Weather that behaved itself just enough to be unsettling. A place that bent to Will instead of habit.

The rest of us followed once Northwatch Keep was finished.

The children missed their fantastical rooms - but I did my best to soften the loss. Their favorite pieces came with us - ornate desks, fantastic beds, wardrobes, and clothes. Anything I couldn’t move, I recreated. The demesne wasn’t forbidden - we still grew crops there, hoping to pad the early spring with extra food, and they were free to return whenever they wished.

Life settled into a rhythm.

Ashlara led hunting parties, ranging far and wide, lending her strength where it was needed and her hard-earned knowledge of the wild where it mattered most. Mirri was happy as a clam, throwing herself headlong into motherhood for seven children. It was rocky and messy and loud, but the kids embraced her. Even Torvek, stubborn as he was, found a place to stand.

Serah became the quiet center of things. She taught the children when she could, helped the goblins where she was needed, and kept herself busy around the keep - always present, always steady. The house seemed calmer when she was in a room.

I stayed busy. I visited Elise and spent hours each day under her patient, incisive tutelage, learning faster than I ever had before. I ferried goblins to and from Reedwatch, carried hunting parties across long distances, hauled water, chopped wood, fixed what broke, and filled in wherever there was a gap - both at the keep and in the village.

My days were long.

But every night, I came home to a family. And that made all the difference.

* * *

Bright, razor-sharp ribbons of light tore through the air. Seth was shouting - my name, I think - but the sound was swallowed by the deep, bone-shaking thrum that filled the air. The tear in reality widened, stretching and roaring, threatening to unravel everything around us. I could close it. I knew I could. Mana surged through my veins, the spirits of the land pressing in around me, lending their strength to mine. I just needed time.

But Seth wouldn’t wait.

He looked at me one last time, his face set in that terrible, familiar way - resolved, unyielding, already gone. I begged him. I screamed. It didn’t matter. He turned away and stepped into the void. His body began to unravel, his voice warping and breaking as the space tore him apart.

My scream joined his-

-and I jolted upright in bed, gasping.

My chest heaved, my throat burned raw. Seth’s arms were already around me, solid and warm. Ashie and Serah hovered nearby, their faces tight with worry. I clutched Seth like I was afraid he might vanish if I let go, burying my face against him as I fought to steady my breath and blink the tears from my eyes.

The third time this week.

The third time I’d seen it.

And I couldn’t tell him.

If I did, he’d start searching for the tear immediately. He’d try to fix it - no matter how much I begged, no matter how many other paths there might be. That was who he was. He ran headfirst into danger, shouldering every burden without being asked, without counting the cost. I couldn’t let him carry this one. Not when I knew it would destroy him.

“Sorry,” I whispered once my breathing finally slowed. “Just a bad dream.”

No one said a word. Seth only held me closer, rocking me gently. Ashie and Serah watched, helpless, knowing better than to press.

I didn’t have visions often - but I knew them when they came.

Some people’s were hazy, symbolic, wrapped in riddles. Mine were not. Mine were sharp and real, full of raw emotion and broken flashes of what would happen. Incomplete, but unmistakable.

It had been vivid when I saw my father die by a human’s blade. I hadn’t known when - only that it would happen. Vivid when the great blizzard buried our home beneath snow higher than the roof. Vivid when Seth, Ashie, and I stood on the shore of the lake—Serah on one side, Yveth on the other.

That one hadn’t come true yet. But it would.

Grams always said the future wasn’t fixed. Visions showed what was possible - what was likely. Which meant I couldn’t tell him. Saying it aloud would only sharpen its edges, nudge him closer to the path I was trying to avoid.

My only hope was to find the tear first. To close it myself before the man I loved tore himself apart trying to do the same.

“I’m okay,” I said softly. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

“Are you sure, Mirri?” Seth murmured. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I shook my head and pressed closer to him. “Just hold me,” I whispered, “until I fall asleep.”

* * *

Seth dropped us somewhere to the west, I think. The snowcapped mountains loomed to the north, their peaks sharp against the pale sky. To the west, the plains rolled out toward the Iron Nation, washed white by yesterday’s snow and glazed with ice that clung to every blade of grass. We were at the forest’s edge, a crossroads not far off. The goblins had spread out to hunt and so had I.

A branch snapped.

I froze.

The forest went still - not the quiet of peace, but the quiet of waiting. Trees creaked softly in the wind. No birds. No small animals. Nothing breathing but me. Then a rustle to my right, low and uneven. I moved toward it, slow and careful, silently circling it. Labored breathing reached me through the trees. Steel flashed faintly ahead, nearly lost in the glare of snow.

A man came into view.

Arrows jutted from his breastplate - orcish fletching. Grath’kor Varnak’s colors. His head sagged forward, white hair falling to hide his face. A longsword lay across his armored legs, slack fingers barely touching the hilt.

He twitched, sensing me. His head lifted.

Chamberlin.

I was moving before I realized it, dropping to my knees beside him, hands already assessing the wounds. The arrows were deep, but not immediately fatal. Bad. Not hopeless.

His eyes squinted, struggling to focus. “A-Ashlara?” he rasped.

I nodded, my throat tight. I didn’t trust my voice.

“They’re coming,” he wheezed, his gauntleted hand closing around my arm - too weak, too light. “Kael. The Horde. I tried to warn-” His breath hitched. He coughed wetly, blood staining his lips. “When you didn’t come to Wolfsend-”

“I came, old man,” I said softly. “You weren’t there.”

“There’s someone-” Another cough tore through him. “-someone setting you up. I saw him. Not human. A god.”

“I know,” I said. “Brand. A god slayer.”

“No-” His breath rattled. “-someone else.”

A growl rolled through the trees behind me.

I was on my feet in an instant, axe in hand, scanning the forest. Bushes shuddered. Leaves crinkled. A blur of brown fur slipped between trunks.

Wargs.

The first reared up, massive and ugly - vaguely wolf-shaped. It was too thick. Too heavy. Nearly three hundred pounds of bristled fur and muscle. Its muzzle was short and blunt, eyes set wide, almost sideways.

I ignored it. A feint.

My axe swept sideways and caught another warg mid-leap, burying deep in its chest. I tore the blade free as a third lunged. Too slow to dodge, I caught it across the skull. Bone cracked. It dropped.

Chamberlin grunted. I spun and hacked down the warg that had clamped onto his leg, severing its spine as it tried to drag him away. Another hit me from behind - weight and teeth slamming me into the snow. I rolled free as more closed in.

Too many.

Another warg seized Chamberlin’s arm and started pulling him away - just out of reach. I counted shapes, movement, shadows. A dozen. Maybe more.

I hurled my axe, catching the one dragging him squarely. It collapsed, twitching. I followed through with my fist, driving it into the snout of another that leapt at me. Blood sprayed.

They kept coming.

What terrified me wasn’t the numbers - it was the way they moved. They boxed me out. Herded me away from him. Organized. Wargs weren’t supposed to fight like this. Not without riders.

But I saw none.

I dodged, rolled, reclaimed my axe, and cleaved another down. Still, two wargs hauled Chamberlin farther, slipping into a narrow gully. I sprinted after them, cutting down anything that came close, sliding down the embankment into a shallow stream.

Nothing.

No wargs. No blood trail. No Chamberlin.

I killed two more before the panic truly set in. Then I searched - upstream, down - knowing the creek couldn’t have carried a man his size, much less one in armor.

It didn’t matter.

My knees buckled. Tears burned hot and sudden. I’d lost him again.

This time I’d seen him. This time I’d touched him. And still I hadn’t been able to ask what mattered most.

Was it really him?

Last time had been an ambush.

My heart hammered as I **** myself upright. I turned and ran back toward the crossroads, every instinct screaming, praying - begging - that home was still standing.

* * *

I packed my bag with everything I could think of - wards, charms, food, water, things I prayed I wouldn’t need. Seth and Ashie had just left, which gave me a handful of hours before he’d return. I hoped it was enough time to find the breach and seal it before it could do any more damage.

I found Serah in the living room, curled on the floor with several of the children while she read from one of Seth’s books - something about treasure hidden on an island far from home. The kids were rapt, heads pressed close, eyes bright. I waited for a pause, then tugged Serah gently aside, out of earshot, and told her about the vision. About the tear. About Seth. About leaving her in charge for the day.

“No,” she said.

The word bore a finality I hadn’t expected.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” I asked, staring at her.

“I mean no,” Serah repeated calmly. “You’re not going off on your own.”

“The fuck I’m not,” I nearly shouted, but managed to keep my voice down enough that the children didn’t hear.

“Mirri, listen to me.” Her tone was firm, but not hard. “I understand why you’re scared. I understand why you want to protect Seth. And the rest of us. But you can’t just march out there alone.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but she didn’t let me.

“Lilae needs a mother,” she said. “So do the rest of the children.”

“She needs a fuckin’ father too,” I shot back.

Serah didn’t flinch. “Did you see me in the vision?”

I shook my head.

“Ashlara?”

Another shake.

Her voice softened. “Are you sure we weren’t there? What if we were, but you just didn’t see us? What if this isn’t something you can do alone?” She stepped closer and gripped my shoulders, firm and grounding. “We know what happens if Seth is gone. But we don’t know what happens if one of the rest of us is. Don’t go alone. We need you.”

I swallowed, the words lodging somewhere painful.

“Let your Grams know,” Serah continued. “Either she goes with you, or I do. But someone stays here with the kids. Brand is still out there, and we don’t know what he’s planning. Going alone just paints a target on your back.”

I wanted to tell her she was wrong. I wanted to grab my bag and leave anyway. This felt urgent—necessary—and every instinct in me screamed that time was slipping through my fingers.

But she was right.

If I rushed out half-cocked, convinced only I could fix it… how was that any different from Seth?

My fists clenched, nails biting into my palms. Then, slowly, I **** them open.

“Fine,” I muttered, scowling.

Gods, I hated when she was right.