39

  The following day marked their slow passage from the barren storm plains into gentler hills, where scattered villages dotted the land between Aurum’s outer roads. Their horses were weary, their supplies low, yet fortune smiled when they found a small farming hamlet. The people there, though cautious, were kind enough to lend them a carriage in exchange for coin and word of the crown.

  The group set out again with the morning light. Marco and Prince William rode ahead, reins in hand, keeping the horses steady, while Finn, Katherine, and Maxi sat at the back of the carriage. The wheels creaked over uneven ground, the rhythmic sound almost soothing after the chaos of the Redwind Bastion.

  Finn leaned against the carriage wall, pale but conscious now, his breathing shallow yet steady. Every so often, a grimace crossed his face when the wheels struck a rut. The rough travel reopened the ache in his abdomen, but he said nothing. Katherine noticed, her gaze soft and worried.

  “You should rest,” she whispered once, breaking her silence.

  “I’m fine,” Finn lied, forcing a faint smile. “I’ve had worse.”

  Katherine wanted to scold him, but seeing his fragile grin stopped her. Instead, she simply pressed his hand for a moment.

  Across from them, Maxi sat unusually quiet. He hadn’t cracked a joke, hadn’t hummed, hadn’t even asked for food. His usual spark had dimmed into something unreadable. He stared out the back of the carriage, watching the dirt path unravel behind them like a ribbon of the world they no longer knew.

  The lynx trotted beside them most of the day, its golden eyes catching the sunlight. Sometimes it would leap into the carriage, curl near Finn’s feet, then jump out again to vanish into the brush, only to reappear when they stopped. The creature seemed bound to them—especially to Finn—as though the pact that saved his life whispered through its veins still.

  They stopped at midday to rest by a stream, eating bread and dried fruit from the village. Marco and William stayed apart, talking in low voices about Aurum’s borders, about the strange forces rising near the old ruins. When they rejoined the group, the prince’s sharp eyes softened slightly upon seeing Katherine tending Finn’s bandaged side.

  By dusk, the sun had dipped low, and Marco called to halt under a great oak by the roadside. They set up a small campfire. Smoke curled into the dimming sky, and the warmth was welcome. For a while, silence reigned—broken only by the crackle of fire and the quiet murmuring of horses.

  Finn drifted to sleep first, his body still weak. Katherine sat near him, the firelight glinting in her eyes. Marco and William spoke briefly, then settled as well. Soon only Maxi was left awake, staring into the flames.

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  The lynx was gone from sight, likely hunting or wandering the perimeter. Maxi’s eyes, reflecting the fire’s dance, were strangely distant. Something pulled at him—curiosity, or perhaps something deeper. He rose slowly and walked toward the horses.

  One of the horses neighed softly as Maxi approached—the one carrying Marco’s pack. Inside that pack, wrapped in cloth, lay the Karit, that shimmered faintly even through its cover, as though alive.

  Maxi’s hand hesitated over it, trembling slightly. Then he pulled the cloth away.

  The moment his fingers closed around the hilt, a low woosh pulsed through the air, as if the weapon had inhaled. The campfire flared, flames bending toward the dagger. The very air seemed to twist.

  Marco’s eyes snapped open. He turned sharply toward Maxi. “No! Don’t—”

  Too late.

  The others woke as the ground shuddered. Finn jerked up, pain stabbing his side. Katherine gasped as a rush of wind burst from the Karit, rippling through the trees. The horses reared, neighing in terror.

  Maxi stood still, staring at the blade glowing in his hand. “What—” he started, but his voice was drowned by a shrill hum.

  “Drop it, please,” Marco said firmly, stepping forward.

  “This?” Maxi asked, raising it slightly in confusion.

  The Karit pulsed. A sudden wave of compressed air exploded from the dagger’s edge with a thunderous crack, slicing upward. The sound tore through the night as branches above them were cleaved clean off. Leaves and splinters rained down like hail.

  Everyone dove aside. The horses bolted, dragging the carriage several paces before stopping in a panic.

  “Sheesh!” Maxi muttered, eyes wide in disbelief. He dropped the dagger at once. The hum died instantly, the fire settling back into a gentle burn.

  For a few seconds, no one spoke. The forest had gone utterly still.

  Marco approached cautiously, his expression half relief, half disbelief. He retrieved the Karit, the small black scythe still humming faintly as if alive. Its curved blade shimmered like liquid shadow. Marco quickly wrapped it back in the cloth, the air easing the moment it was covered. “You’re lucky,” he said, his tone stern but calm. “If the Karit had taken hold of you, we’d all be dead by now.”

  Maxi swallowed, still staring at his hands. “I didn’t feel anything,” he muttered. “No whisper. No pull. Nothing.”

  “That’s what’s strange,” said Prince William, his eyes narrowing. “The Karit devours whatever touches it—it never spares anyone.”

  Marco paused, looking toward Maxi with a flicker of thought. “Unless,” he said slowly, “it recognized something.”

  The fire crackled, the night thick with silence. Nobody asked what he meant. The idea alone was too heavy.

  One by one, they settled again near the fire, though rest came slow. Marco stayed awake the longest, watching the faint rise and fall of Finn’s chest, listening to the rhythmic breathing of the others. Above them, the oak swayed in the breeze, its branches scarred and broken from the Karit’s sudden burst of power.

  By dawn, mist rolled over the plains. The lynx appeared once more, padding silently through the haze. Its coat gleamed with dew, its golden eyes sharp. It paused beside the sleeping Finn, nose brushing the cloth around his wound, then turned toward the wrapped scythe tied to Marco’s horse. For a long moment, it stared—then moved on.

  When the others awoke, the lynx was already waiting ahead on the road, tail flicking. It seemed to beckon them forward, as though guiding the way.

  They climbed back into the carriage and continued toward Aurum, the wheels creaking softly over damp earth. The world around them was quiet, but inside Finn’s veins, something faint still stirred—the last whisper of the lynx’s pact.

  It pulsed slowly, rhythmically.

  Like a second heartbeat.

  A quiet reminder that his bond to the wild was still alive… and watching.