James shifted the stones aside, his arms trembling, muscles screaming in protest, as the first beams of morning light crested over the horizon, painting the sky in rich hues of gold and pink. He sucked in a sharp breath—and froze.

  Max’s arms were wrapped around his waist, lending his strength and keeping James steady and upright. James hadn't even realized it.

  Slowly, Max released him, rising and stepping back. James barely managed to stay upright; his legs felt like jelly, and exhaustion swept over him in waves. But a weary smile pulled at his lips.

  "I think we did it," James murmured, clapping Max on the back.

  Max huffed a weak laugh, his familiar, stupid grin flashing despite the blood and bruises.

  "I think we did," he said, glancing over his shoulder. His grin faltered. "Uh... what are we gonna do about them?"

  James followed his gaze. The remnants of the enemy lingered at the edges of the ruined courtyard—guards in shattered armor, robed people peeking from behind broken walls, and collapsed doorways. Some gathered in uneasy clusters, others stood frozen, their gazes darting between the ruins of their ritual and the sky now washed clean of storm clouds.

  The morning air was warm, the last remnants of the storm fading into the dawn. A breeze rolled through the courtyard, carrying the scent of blood and wet stone. James looked up one last time at the setting moon.

  "Thank you," he mouthed.

  And he thought he heard something—soft as a whisper, distant as a dream.

  "We are in this together now, my little tree. Be on guard. My other siblings will take notice of you."

  James felt the kiss on his forehead—a whisper of cool, soft lips, a lingering touch—before the ghost of her image faded with the moon.

  Max kicked his boot.

  "So..." he drawled. "About all dem people?"

  James blinked, shaking himself from the haze. He looked again—not at the people who had tried to kill Max, but at the soldiers. At the men and women who had followed orders, the ones who were now lost, wounded, and uncertain. Their faces betraying an unease that James could feel.

  James stepped forward, climbed atop an enormous chunk of rubble near him, and raised empty hands.

  The moment he moved, tension rippled through the gathered people. Hands went to sword hilts. Others shifted uneasily. A few of the robed figures turned, ready to run.

  James’ voice rang across the courtyard.

  "Wait!" he called, keeping his tone firm, trying to project calm. "I'm not going to hurt you."

  Some hesitated. Others took slow steps forward, hands still resting on their weapons. James inhaled deeply—pushing through the exhaustion, ignoring the tremble in his bones.

  "Lay down your weapons," he said louder. "Turn from this place, and I won't pursue you. I don’t want to fight you."

  A murmur spread through the crowd. Some nodded or spoke in hushed tones. One guard stepped forward, hand tightening around the hilt of his sword.

  James summoned his own.

  Moonlight gathered at his fingertips, weaving into existence—a blade of pure moonlight. It gleamed like dawn itself, illuminating the bloodstained stones beneath him. He lowered it towards the guard, meeting the man's gaze.

  "Please, don't make me hurt you," James whispered.

  The guard stumbled back and dropped his sword. Other guards turned their weapons, clinking against the stone as they dropped them.

  "I just want to take my friends and go," James said. His gut wrenched. Panic rose in his throat.

  Where is Nera?

  His head snapped up, scanning the crowd. Searching the faces there. No were hers. She wasn’t there. His chest tightened.

  "Go," James bellowed, his sword glowing brightly as he raised it above his head.

  And they ran.

  The people, the soldiers—they scattered in every direction. Some fled down corridors, others disappeared into the hole in the walls or beneath the archways of the shattered fortress. No one stayed.

  James jumped down from the rock. His hand shot out to steady himself as his eyes blurred and his head felt fuzzy.

  "Max," he said, turning slowly. "I have to find someone."

  Max stiffened.

  "Ser Edwin?" he asked, voice almost hopeful.

  James looked away.

  "No," he admitted. His throat felt tight. "Someone else. A friend."

  Max watched him carefully. The realization flickered across his bruised face. He didn't push. His ever-present smile faltered before snapping back into place.

  "Okay," Max sighed, rolling his shoulders, wincing at the motion. He gestured toward the ruins. "Which way?"

  "This way." Then, he ran back through the archway James had come through—what felt like a lifetime ago. Retracing his steps and, hopefully, hers.

  James sprinted down the corridors, his boots pounding against the stone, his breath coming in sharp bursts. His eyes darted into wrecked rooms, searching—desperate for any sign of her. There was blood here and there, but it was dark, not the bright red of being fresh. There was also that black blood of the beasts. James knew he was on the right path.

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  Max tried to keep up. But he was falling behind. James heard it before he saw it—Max’s steps slowing, his breath ragged, his body faltering. Days of beatings and torture had left him weakened, every movement a struggle.

  "Max." James skidded to a stop. His voice wavered, torn between urgency and concern.

  Max managed a lopsided grin, but it was strained. He leaned heavily against the wall, his chest heaving.

  "It’s good," Max panted, waving James on. "Keep goin’."

  James didn’t move. He studied his friend. The way Max’s shoulders sagged, the exhaustion clinging to him like a weight. His body was fighting to keep up, but it was losing.

  "Can I try something?" James took a step back toward him. He could still feel it—the lingering power of the night, of the moon.

  Max arched an eyebrow.

  "Magic shit?"

  "Magic shit," James admitted, laughing despite himself.

  He touched Max’s shoulder, closing his eyes and reaching inward. Pushing his senses into Max. Searching.

  The bruises, the wounds, the breaks—he felt them all. His power slipped from him like the last silver light of the moon before the morning sun.

  Max sucked in a sharp breath. His posture shifted and straightened. The tightness in his chest eased, and his breath came in steadier and fuller pulls. The worst of the bruises faded from deep purple to a soft brown.

  Max blinked in awe. He made different faces, rolling his shoulders, testing the healing.

  "That’s—" He exhaled, shaking his head. His eyes flicked to James."That’s amazing. Whoa. Ya skin—it's normal again."

  James looked down. The rich tan of his skin had returned, the strange silver sheen finally gone.

  But—

  He reached up and plucked a strand of his hair.

  Still white as moonlight. James let out a slow sigh.

  "Not all of me came back." He laughed, turning back to the hall. "Let’s keep looking."

  The corridors twisted like a maze. They would turn town into a hallway only to find a dead end, forcing them to double back. The scent of wet stone and lingering blood clung to the air. James moved ahead, scanning each shadow, each doorway, searching. He couldn't remember had they come this way, would she?

  She has to be here. Has to be alive.

  "Ya, sure she didn’t just… get out on her own?" Max kept pace, his breathing still a little uneven, but the worst of his pain seemed to have eased. His boots scuffed softly against the floor, his voice low.

  James didn’t answer. He Couldn’t. The thought of her gone, or worse, unmoving, twisted something deep in his chest. A shadow moved at the turn to the next hallway. He rounded the corner.

  Leaning casually against the crumbling stone as if nothing mattered in the world. One shoulder propped against the wall, her golden hair matted with blood, a whole section looking as if it had been sheared off at the scalp. One eye was swollen shut, and her left arm was hanging limply at her side, her fingers twitching slightly. But she was smiling. A mocking, sharp-toothed grin.

  James stopped breathing. Her good eye flicked up to meet his.

  "Damn," Nera rasped, voice rough but still full of amusement. "I guess I lost that bet…"

  James felt his stomach drop. She let out a slow, pained chuckle, tilting her head slightly against the wall.

  "You know," she continued, voice still carrying that infuriating edge of teasing, "the one where you’d lose?"

  James ran to her, closing the distance in a heartbeat, his arms wrapping around her before he could stop himself.

  She let out a soft groan, more embarrassed than pained—but still, some pain. Her body stiffened at the show of affection, then relaxed into it.

  "I missed you too," she muttered, wiggling free from James' embrace with a wince, her dislocated arm hanging uselessly. "Guess you're Max?"

  Max snorted, crossing his arms.

  "Ain’t nobody else." He gestured toward her arm. "Need help with that?"

  "Nah, was just trying to shake your hand," Nera said, swinging the limp limb toward him. "It’ll—"

  A sickening pop echoed down the hall as her shoulder snapped back into place on its own. She snarled in pain, baring her teeth. "There it is."

  Without missing a beat, she punched James in the shoulder.

  He barely flinched, but she was already eyeing his hair, smirking, and punched him twice more.

  "You know, Silver was just meant to be a pet name," she teased.

  James huffed a laugh.

  "Ready to get out of here?" Instead of answering, James pulled her in again, this time dragging Max into the embrace, too.

  They stood awkwardly, bruised and broken, but together for the moment. James pulled away, panic rushing across his face.

  "The beast?" he asked, searching her face.

  "Dead. Duh." She said it casually, but a look darted across her face—too quick to catch.

  James narrowed his eyes. She shifted the weight of her sword on her back, rolling her shoulders. Then she pointed.

  "That's the way out."

  The path ahead was broken stone and scattered debris, the remnants of the hurricane still fresh in the air. The acrid scent of burned wood and blood mixed with the dampness of the fading storm, but the first touches of morning light were now higher over the horizon, casting long shadows in front of them.

  James took the lead, boots crunching over shattered rock and broken wood. Max and Nera followed, shielding their eyes from the light. Each seemed to stand straighter and walk more comfortably. As though the weight of the last day had been lifted off each of them.

  No one spoke.

  They passed through the massive gateway, the same one where James had been captured a day ago. Now, the gate stood wide open. Beyond it, the last remnants of the enemy were fleeing into the distant hills—small, scattered figures disappearing into the horizon.

  James' gaze drifted over the field of stumps. They looked like jagged teeth in the storm when he had arrived, hungry and waiting to devour him. But now, in the morning light, they looked different. Many had been ripped from the earth, leaving deep, cratered scars in the soil. Others lay toppled on their sides, roots reaching to the sky. This place was no longer menacing. Now, it just seemed sad. A life cut down before its time. Torn from the soil and the earth, James wondered if they would regrow, and if they did, what would that look like. He imagined it would be beautiful, the trees growing in uneven patterns, branches swaying in the breeze, nature reclaiming the fort once more.

  James stole a glance over his shoulder. The fortress loomed behind them, a husk of what it once was. The blood-soaked courtyard, the fallen tower, the echo of lightning melted into stone—it all sat heavy in his chest.

  For a moment, they lingered. Just watching the shadows. Drinking it in.

  Then, the warm morning air stirred, brushing against their skin like a long-forgotten kindness.

  And they left.

  Walking away with the rising sun at their backs. Its warmth was welcome after days of relentless storms. James breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the muggy morning air. It tasted cleaner beyond these walls.

  Max let out a slow sigh, rolling his shoulders.

  "Never thought I’d be walkin’ outta here alive," he muttered.

  Nera huffed a laugh.

  "Yeah, well, don’t get sentimental on me, Red," she said, adjusting the weight of her sword. "I’m still processing the fact that we’re walking out at all."

  "At least I got a souvenir." Max grinned, tapping his amethyst eye.

  "Oh, I got a few of those," Nera smirked, holding up a small, heavy bag. It clinked when she wiggled it.

  "Oh—can I see? I mean, can I look? Crap—um, what’s in the bag?"

  Nera just laughed. Not a mocking scoff or a dry chuckle, but a genuine, full-bodied laugh—rich and unguarded.

  James blinked. He didn’t think he’d ever heard her laugh like that before.

  Max joined in a moment later, his cheeks nearly the color of his hair. Then James was laughing too, the moment too much, too absurd, too unreal.

  The sound echoed through the ruins behind them, washing away the last echoes of screams and thunder.

  James gasped for breath, tears stinging his eyes, but he kept them on the road ahead.

  No more blood.

  No more deaths.

  No more monsters.

  Just the open path stretching before them.

  "I hope Oakwood’s okay," Max murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. "That was one hell of a storm."

  James swallowed, his heart sinking.

  "Me too. Sofia and Kurt were doing their best to stop the flooding when we left," he said, voice quieter now.

  Max studied him, and James knew what he was going to ask.

  "I know," Max said instead. His hand landed firmly on James' shoulder. They stood there for a moment, just looking out over the valley below. "Did he go out fightin’?"

  James sucked in the wet morning air.

  "Like a hero," he murmured. "Saving me again."

  The silence settled, stretching long and heavy between them. Before Nera shoved them, James grabbed out to Max for balance, and Max did the same. She grinned as they stumbled, hands on her hips.

  "Come on," she said, turning toward the road. "I could use a beer."

  They all laughed again—lighter this time.

  And for the first time in days, the weight of everything eased.

  Just enough.