The silver-haired woman remained perfectly still, save for the ice-blue Koras pulsing from her hand. Her face betrayed nothing—no fear, no gratitude. She simply watched them, calculating, her fingers wrapped around her sword hilt.

  Riven gripped his own blade tighter, the violet glow of his eyes intensifying as he stared back at her.

  "Wait, wait," Lya moved between them, her hands extended outward like a barrier. She took a careful step toward the woman, her voice softening. "We don't want to hurt you. You were badly injured. We just helped you."

  The tension hung in the air for several heartbeats. Then, with deliberate slowness, the silver-haired woman lowered her blade—not sheathing it, just resting its point against the wooden platform. Her free hand moved to her stomach, fingers probing where the fatal wound had been. Her eyes flicked downward briefly, assessing the damage, or rather, the absence of it.

  "Who are you?" Her voice matched her demeanor—cold, precise, devoid of inflection.

  Lya's shoulders relaxed slightly at the question, a cautious smile warming her features. "I'm Lya," she said, then gestured to the giant. "That's Aron." Her hand moved toward Riven last. "And that's Riven."

  Riven made no effort to soften his expression or lower his sword. His violet eyes remained fixed on the woman, tracking her every minute movement.

  "What's your name?" Lya asked, maintaining her gentle tone.

  The woman's gaze shifted from Lya to Aron, assessing each briefly before landing on Riven.

  Her eyes locked with his—ice-blue against violet. The weight of her gaze unsettled him, like she was looking through him rather than at him.

  Riven felt a peculiar discomfort under her scrutiny, a sensation he wasn't accustomed to. He'd stared down slave masters and monsters alike without flinching, yet this woman's cold assessment made him want to shift his weight, to break eye contact first. He resisted the urge, keeping his gaze steady despite the unease.

  After what felt like an eternity, she looked back at Lya. The silence stretched uncomfortably, tension rebuilding with each passing second.

  Finally, her lips parted. "Elea." The single word dropped into the silence like a stone in still water.

  The simple introduction seemed to release a collective breath none of them had realized they were holding. The woman—Elea—lowered her shoulders slightly, the ice-blue Koras fading from her palm. Riven felt his own muscles unclench in response, though he kept his sword in hand.

  "You should sit," Lya suggested, gesturing toward the small fire that still burned at the center of their platform. "The night's getting colder."

  Aron nodded in agreement, his golden eyes reflecting the firelight. "Food helps recovery," he said simply, offering one of the meat skewers he'd prepared.

  Riven watched with thinly veiled irritation as Aron extended the offering to Elea—the same Aron who had practically inhaled most of their food supply before he could even blink.

  So she gets special treatment?

  With deliberate motions, Riven reached for his own skewer, stabbing it into the remaining meat with unnecessary force. He met Aron's eyes as he did so, his eyes narrow with a 'don't you even think about it' look.

  They settled around the fire in an uneasy circle, Elea positioned where she could see all of them at once. She accepted the food with a slight nod, eating with precise, economical movements that matched her overall demeanor.

  Lya leaned forward, her natural warmth seeming to push against Elea's coldness like sunlight against ice. "So, Elea... are you the only survivor, or did others manage to escape or survive?"

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  "It was a true massacre out there," Aron added, his deep voice somber. "But we saw your group—what was left of it. How could you all have been killed like that?"

  "That's right," Lya continued, her eagerness for information evident in her leaning posture. "You seemed numerous and strong, with several Harmonized."

  Both Lya and Aron looked at Elea with open curiosity, their expressions inviting elaboration.

  Elea continued eating her meat methodically, her expression unchanging as she considered their questions. After a pause that stretched uncomfortably long, she finally spoke. "The battle did not go as planned, and we ended up getting killed." Another pause. "I am the only survivor."

  The brevity and coldness of her response hung in the air like an unwelcome guest. Lya opened her mouth to press further, but Riven cut her off, his patience finally snapping.

  "Then why did you attack me?" he demanded, arms crossed over his chest.

  Elea turned her head toward him. "I mistook you for an enemy." Her gaze flicked briefly to the black armor he now wore. "But I was wrong. Just a thief."

  The dismissal in her tone stoked the embers of Riven's irritation. Under normal circumstances, the accusation of theft wouldn't have bothered him—survival had priority over morality in his book. But something about her manner—the utter lack of gratitude, the implied superiority—grated against his nerves.

  To Riven, it felt like an insult. They had saved her life. Lya had drained herself to heal wounds that should have been fatal. And this woman couldn't muster even the barest acknowledgment of that debt?

  He turned to Lya, a forced smile stretching across his face. "Why did you heal her anyway? Did we not have enough problems?"

  Lya ignored Riven's pointed question, turning her attention back to Elea. Her smile remained, though it had dimmed slightly at the edge. "You should be feeling much better now. Everything should be healed, but still be careful not to overexert yourself tomorrow." She gestured to the side of their platform. "I had to remove your armor to treat you. We placed it over there."

  Elea turned her head toward the corner where the pieces of her silver armor lay neatly arranged, the crown emblem on the breastplate catching what little firelight remained.

  Her expression softened slightly, and she inclined her head. “Thank you.”

  "Did you do this alone?" Elea asked, her eyes returning to Lya.

  "Yes, yes," Lya nodded. "Well, Riven carried you all the way up here, and I healed you. You were seriously wounded in the stomach—I had to use most of my Koras to heal you completely."

  Elea's gaze drifted toward the fire, the flames reflecting in her ice-blue eyes. "I see," she said after a moment. "Interesting."

  Riven watched her closely, something about her reaction setting off warning bells in his mind. Interesting? What was interesting about being healed from a fatal wound? She sounded like she was calculating something they didn't yet understand.

  Lya hesitated, clearly wanting to ask more questions but uncertain how to navigate Elea's brief responses. Her enthusiasm wavered in the face of the silver-haired woman's coldness.

  She glanced at Riven, who offered nothing but a tight-lipped stare that clearly said: I told you so.

  Aron, however, seemed oblivious to the tension. As he smothered the remains of the fire with careful movements, he continued his questioning. "Did your group know which way to go? What kind of place is this, and how do we get out?"

  Elea remained silent long enough that Riven wondered if she'd simply decided to ignore the question. Her eyes remained fixed on the dying embers, her expression unreadable in the fading light.

  "No," she finally said. The single syllable hung in the air between them. Then, after another pause: "Not really."

  A sharp edge of frustration began to fray Riven’s patience.

  What was this woman's problem? She couldn't even provide basic information that might help them all survive? Either she knew nothing useful—which made her a liability—or she was deliberately withholding information—which made her a threat.

  Ice Princess has a problem with speaking, or she just doesn't like us. Look at her face—nothing.

  Like talking to a statue.

  The fire died completely under Aron's careful ministrations, plunging their shelter into near darkness. Only the faint starlight filtering through the blood-red leaves provided any illumination, reducing them all to dim silhouettes against the night.

  "I'll keep watch," Elea announced suddenly, her voice cutting through the darkness with unexpected clarity.

  "That's fine," Lya replied, the outline of her head tilting slightly. "Just wake one of us when you're done, and he'll take over. You need to rest too, after all."

  Without responding, Elea rose to her feet in a fluid motion that betrayed no hint of her recent injuries. She moved to the edge of the platform, finding a spot that gave her both distance from the group and a clear view of the forest below. Her slender silhouette settled against the trunk of the tree, sword across her lap, a solitary sentinel separated from their small circle.

  Riven leaned back against a thick branch that angled upward from the platform, leaning his back along its length. Nearby, Lya was already lying down on the platform, preparing to sleep. Aron found his own spot.

  But Riven wouldn't be sleeping. Not with her keeping watch. He didn't trust her.