The grove outside the Sanctuary had long since fallen into silence. Only the faint rustling of leaves stirred in the stillness, and overhead, the moon spilled silver light across the balcony, bathing the carved wood in cold glow.

  Kaelthar sat near the edge of the platform, where the roots curved outward like the arms of an open hand. He’d wrapped his cloak tightly around himself, his staff resting against one shoulder like an old companion. His eyes were half-lidded, but not asleep—watching. Listening. Still.

  Sleeping was a luxury that only the select could allow themselves, and Kaelthar had not been one of them for a long time. He had been born into a secluded monastery high in the mountains, a place hidden from the world and guided by an ancient philosophy of balance and self-mastery. From the moment he could walk, he was shaped by the monastery’s strict routines—long hours of training, quiet meditation, and careful study. The monks taught that discipline was the path to harmony, both within oneself and with the world beyond their stone walls.

  But when had that harmony last existed? He wasn’t sure anymore. All he knew was that something had twisted the world into a shape he barely recognized, and it had started long ago. A slow, heavy breath slipped from him at the memory. The pain still lived in the center of his chest, raw even after so many years.

  The rival faction’s attack had come without mercy. They wanted the monastery’s secrets for themselves, and they struck with overwhelming force. Though the monks were skilled, they were hopelessly outnumbered. Kaelthar fought with everything he had, but in the chaos, he saw his brothers and sisters—his only family—fall one by one.

  They had been scattered across the monastery grounds, slaughtered like helpless animals, some of them staring up at him with wide, frozen eyes. His stomach tightened at the thought. He was a dragonborn raised to value balance above all things, to hold his composure even in the storm, but in that moment, he had never felt so helpless or so lost.

  The monastery had been his entire world, the foundation of his life. And then, in a single day, it was gone. Forever.

  The sound of a door creaking broke the quiet, snapping him out of the unwanted memories. Nirvanith stepped out from the main chamber, the shadows clinging to her as naturally as her cloak. Her pale eyes glinted in the moonlight, sharp and unreadable.

  For a moment, she just stood there, her gaze fixed on him.

  Then she stepped closer and stopped just behind him. Hostility and distrust were no strangers to Kaelthar. Most of the world had never seen anyone like him, and what people didn’t understand, they rarely welcomed. He had learned that lesson many times over, and Nirvanith was no different, even if her reasons seemed noble.

  “Ivy might trust you,” she said flatly. “But I don’t.”

  Kaelthar didn’t turn to face her. His fingers curled a little tighter around the edge of his cloak.

  “And if I get even a hint that you’re going to hurt her,” Nirva continued, her voice quiet but steel-edged, “I will not hesitate. I will kill you.” The silence that followed was long enough to stretch between stars.

  Finally, Kaelthar spoke, “I believe you.” He slowly turned his head, just enough to meet her gaze over his shoulder. His expression was calm. “I didn’t come here to win trust or to play games. I came because the corruption doesn’t wait for approval. And it is a problem we all have in common, do we not?”

  Nirva stepped in closer, her eyes narrowing. “What’s that to you? I’ve been wandering this forest for years, and I’ve never seen you—or anyone like you—here before. So tell me … why do you care?”

  “You have not seen any of my own because not many of us have been left to walk this world.” Kaelthar didn’t even blink. “My path has brought me here. And when there is nothing else left to trust, my path has never led me astray.”

  He knew his life had been a lonely one, shaped by long roads and quiet nights, but it was a life he had chosen—one he needed after the monastery had fallen. Purpose was all he had left to hold onto. And still, he reminded himself, he didn’t owe anyone an explanation.

  “Tell me,” he continued, “what do you see when you look at me?”

  Nirva hesitated—not because she didn’t have an answer, but because too many answers rose at once. “A weapon,” she said at last.

  Kaelthar gave the barest nod. “Then keep your blade sharp.”

  She held his gaze a moment longer., and then turned away, her cloak catching in the moonlight.

  “I always do,” she said, and slipped back into the tree. Kaelthar sat alone once more, the hush settling in around him again like fog. But this time, he didn’t close his eyes.

  * * *

  The soft glow of morning filtered through the great tree, casting golden threads across the wooden floor and gently waking the world inside. Ivy stirred beneath her blankets, blinking against the warmth that reached her face. She yawned and sat up—only to find herself trapped.

  Neeko lay sprawled across the bed, limbs stretched in every direction, his tiny body somehow occupying the entire mattress with defiant efficiency. A paw flopped across Ivy’s stomach. His tail draped over her shoulder like a sash. He snored once—adorably.

  Ivy sighed through a sleepy smile and gently untangled herself, slipping off the bed. For a moment there, it was so simple to pretend that the world around them wasn’t on the brink of destruction. For a moment, she allowed herself to believe that everything was truly alright. She was surrounded by her friends, wrapped in the comfort of the home she loved so dearly, and for that brief slice of time, she felt whole. There was nothing more she could have wished for. Her feet found the floor with a soft thud, and she padded barefoot to the edge of the room.

  The door to the balcony was slightly ajar, letting in the scent of dew and new leaves. Nirva stood there—already awake, and that was when the reality came crashing into Ivy. The memories flooded her like a merciless wave, and tightness found a way to hold her chest captive right then.

  Ivy stepped out quietly and joined her, the cool wood of the balcony pleasant beneath her toes. She followed Nirva’s gaze. Below, in the soft morning mist of the grove, Kaelthar moved through a series of slow, deliberate forms.

  Barefoot in the grass, staff in hand, his motions were fluid—graceful, but sharp, like each movement was carved from memory. He shifted from stance to stance with a silent discipline, the kind that came from years of repetition. There was no showmanship and no wasted energy. Ivy felt as if they had witnessed some sacred ritual right before their eyes.

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  Ivy leaned on the railing, brushing a loose braid over her shoulder.

  “He’s up early,” she said softly.

  Nirva didn’t look at her. “He never went to bed.”

  Ivy blinked. “Really?”

  Nirva nodded once. “Didn’t move from the balcony after you two turned in. Just sat there. Then started moving before dawn.” They watched in silence for a moment as Kaelthar shifted into a low sweep, his staff slicing through the mist.

  “I don’t think he knows how to rest,” Ivy murmured. “Same goes for you, Nirva. If I had to guess, I’d say you haven’t slept a blink, have you?”

  Nirva shook her head. “I haven’t. You may trust people more easily than I do, Ivy, but the world around us is a cruel place. And I would sooner die than let anyone take advantage of your softness. Until I am sure that we can trust him, I will not let him out of my sight.”

  A small smile tugged at Ivy’s lips. “Listen to you. When we first met … you could barely tolerate me.”

  Nirva’s shoulders tightened at the memory, as if the topic was far more uncomfortable than she wanted to admit. She glanced away quickly. “That’s not true. I just … didn’t understand you. Or your nature. But with time, I’ve grown quite … fond of it.” Ivy’s smile grew, warm and teasing, and Nirva rolled her eyes in response. “Oh, stop it, you,” she muttered, turning her attention back to the dragonborn.

  Nirva might have felt that Kaelthar didn’t entirely belong at the Sanctuary, but Neeko had once seemed just as out of place. In time, Ivy knew she would get used to the dragonborn, too—just as she did with every new soul who found their way to their refuge. As long as their intentions were pure, the Sanctuary welcomed them.

  That was one rule that would never change.

  Neeko came rushing out the door, clearly having woken up somewhere along the way.

  “What are we doing? Where are we going? What’s the plan?” he blurted out, the questions tumbling over each other as if he feared he might be left behind.

  Ivy softly shook her head as the odd little creature scrambled up her arm and perched on her shoulder. “You don’t need to worry, Neeko. We’ve only just woken up,” she said gently. She glanced between Nirva and Kaelthar—neither of whom looked like they had slept at all. “I suppose the answer to your question depends on who you ask …” she added with a small sigh.

  She stepped onto the long wooden staircase and began making her way down, still barefoot and blinking against the morning light. “Good morning, Kaelthar,” she called out to the dragonborn below.

  He finished the final sweep of his form, stretching through a few more movements without breaking their fluid grace. Only when he completed the last arc did he turn toward her.

  “Good morning, Ivy,” he replied. “I hope you slept well. And once again, thank you for your hospitality.” He gave her a slight dip of his head, a gesture full of quiet gratitude and respect. “I remained awake to keep watch over the area,” he continued. “The Sanctuary seems safe … but wickedness has a way of finding cracks to slip through. One can never be too careful.”

  Ivy, at his words, glanced back at Nirva with a small, knowing look, as if silently saying, “See? I told you.”

  Nirva stood firm, arms crossed, posture sharp and focused. “We need a plan,” she said, brushing aside Ivy’s brief moment of smugness. “We’ve rested long enough. It’s time we decide our next move.”

  Kaelthar dipped his head in agreement. “The boy is in Dravemont—if the information we’ve gathered is true. We should head there before it’s too late.”

  Nirva tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “And you think we should just follow that lead without question? No preparation? No research? For all we know, we could be walking straight into a trap.”

  “Nirva …” Ivy began, trying to calm her.

  But Nirva lifted a hand and shook her head, cutting her off. “No, Ivy. I’ve been thinking about this all night. This could be a ploy to draw us away from the forest—leave it unguarded, vulnerable. We can’t rush into something like that without considering the possibilities.”

  “You’re right,” Kaelthar said.

  Nirva’s head snapped toward him in pure surprise, as if the last thing she expected was for the dragonborn to agree with her. His calm gaze drifted across the Sanctuary, taking in every stone, every tree, every quiet breath of the place.

  “This is a valuable haven,” he continued. “A place worth protecting. The druids should remain here to guard it. I can travel to Dravemont and search for the boy on my own.”

  Nirva immediately crossed her arms over her chest, her stance tightening. “Absolutely not. That’s out of the question. You’re not going there alone.”

  Neeko raised his head from behind Ivy’s shoulder. “He doesn’t have to go alone. The tall one and I venture into the haunted woods, and the tree-people stay behind and whisper at rocks.”

  Nirva opened her mouth, ready to argue, but before she could get a single word out, Ivy shot her a firm look—one that clearly told her to hold her thoughts. Neeko might have been smaller than the rest of them, and far more unconventional in just about every way, but he was still a valuable part of their little crew. Ivy wasn’t about to let anyone dismiss him, not even Nirva.

  Kaelthar gave Neeko a long, steady look as well. “I’m not certain that improves the pitch,” he said dryly. “But Elrin may be the key to all of this. So, I suppose … the little one and I will take on this mission. We will find the boy and bring him back to the Sanctuary.”

  Nirva shook her head immediately, firm and unyielding. “No. You bring him to the edge of the forest, and we’ll meet you there. We still don’t know who this boy is or what connection he has to the corruption. We cannot risk anything. We’ve risked enough already, and I will not allow any mistakes from this point on.”

  Ivy’s shoulders slumped at that. She wanted so badly to remind Nirva that the Sanctuary was meant to be a refuge for all. In her mind, she could picture the boy—frightened, lost, desperate for the same peace the Sanctuary had given to everyone who lived within its protection. She understood that Nirva wanted to guard what they had, but Ivy hoped that someday, her friend would soften and realize that not everyone who crossed their path meant harm.

  Kaelthar glanced between Ivy and Nirva, then gave a solemn nod. “Very well. When we arrive, I will send Neeko to find you. We will meet away from the Sanctuary.”

  His reassurance seemed to ease Nirva slightly, though tension still clung to the air around them. Everyone felt it—everyone except Neeko. The little creature bolted across the ground and clambered up onto Kaelthar’s broad shoulder, settling there as if it were the most natural place in the world.

  “Off we go, then! Northeast trail? Fewer spiders. Probably,” he beamed, determined to begin the journey.

  Nirva observed them closely for a long moment and then let out a small sigh. “Take the ridge path,” she said. “Faster. You’ll make better time before the rot thickens.” Ivy stepped closer to her, letting her hand gently brush against Nirva’s in quiet approval. She understood what that gesture meant. This was Nirva’s way of offering support. And for Ivy, that was more than enough.

  Kaelthar rose to his full height, staff in hand. Without a word, he adjusted his cloak, settling it firmly across his shoulders.

  “If something goes wrong …” Ivy began softly, her voice tightening, “please come back. We can regroup, find another way. I don’t want to lose either of you over a mission neither of you chose.”

  Kaelthar’s expression didn’t shift. His resolve was already set, carved into him like stone. “We either bring the boy back,” he said, “or we do not come back at all.”

  Ivy’s breath caught in her throat, but she forced herself to nod. Neeko lifted a hand and gave a tiny salute to no one in particular. Nirva stayed still, her posture steady and guarded—except for her hand, which slowly reached for Ivy’s and clasped it, offering a slight, grounding squeeze.

  And with that, Kaelthar and Neeko took their first steps toward the unknown. Outside, the wind shifted, carrying with it the beginning of a new path.

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