The Paths Once Walked

Calen brought his hand to his eyes as the blazing light of the fires that burned around him cast shadows all about the village, the pearlescent moon hanging in the sky above. The smell of smoke and ash drifted on the air, thick at the back of his throat. Everywhere he looked, people ran about carrying buckets of water, screaming and shouting into the night. The noise rang in his ears, growing sharper and then dulling, as though his head was half submerged in water. He knew the voices and recognised the faces. Tach Edwin, Ferrin Kolm, Verna Gritten, Mara Styr… he was in The Glade. Panic set in. He tried to focus, settle his mind.

The last thing he remembered was leaning back against Valerys's scales as Erik and Vaeril took first watch. That's when he realised he couldn't sense Valerys. Couldn't feel the touch of the dragon's mind intermingled with his own. He'd fallen asleep. This was one of those dreams, the ones that felt real, so vivid.

A blood-chilling scream ripped through the night, sending shivers down Calen's spine, his heart thumping against his ribs; just as it had that night. This is the night the Uraks set fire to the village… the night that Haem and the rest of the guard drove them back into Ölm Forest. The night that… No. No, I don't want to see this again. Calen trembled, his hands shaking at his side. Please, no.

"Calen? What are you doing out here? It's not safe. You need to get back to the forge with the others. Dad will be looking for you." Another shiver rippled through Calen's body. He remembered those words as well. They were etched in the corners of his mind.

Calen turned to see Haem standing in front of him, a head taller with thick, broad shoulders. Streams of sweat carved paths through the dirt, blood, and ash that marred his face and matted his hair. He wore the deep blue of the town guard, covered by a leather cuirass with greaves and vambraces to match. He held his sword in his right hand; blood coated the length of its blade. He looked exactly as he had that night. Calen's heart twisted in on itself. Haem…Haem rested his hand on Calen's shoulder. He had blue eyes – like Vars. "Calen, you need to go help Dad, okay? You can't come with me. Go to the Forge. Dad and Tharn Pimm are there with the others. You'll help them keep Ella and Mam safe, won't you?" A soft smile touched Haem's lips as he nodded his reassurance. "They need you over there."

"Haem, we need to go. Now." Rhett Fjorn appeared by Haem's side, his sword gripped firmly in his fist, his face and armour tarnished with splatters of blood and dirt.

"Give me a moment." Haem clasped his other hand down on Calen's shoulder, holding his gaze. "I have to go. I'll be back before the morning. You'll look after Ella and Faenir for me, won't you? They're tough, but she gets scared too."

Calen could hear himself answering, saying exactly what he had said that night. "I'll keep them all safe. I promise."

But Calen knew now how hollow those words were. He hadn't kept Ella and Faenir safe. He had let them die. Just as he had let his mam and dad die. The empire had come to the Glade looking for him that day. Images of Inquisitor Rendall's blade plunging into Vars's chest flitted across Calen's mind. Farda Kyrana setting the house ablaze. His mother's screams. They had all died because of him.

Calen wanted to scream at Haem. He wanted to beg him not to go, but he couldn't. He had never been able to do anything in these dreams, only watch. The boy who stood amongst the burning buildings wasn't Calen. It was an echo of the past. Instead, he dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his now ash-coated face, as Haem and Rhett disappeared into the flames and flickering shadows. All around him, the village burned, and the screams and shouts of the villagers filled his ears. He should have argued that night. He should have gone with Haem. He was old enough to fight. He could have done something. He should have done something.

The world tilted and everything shifted, sending Calen's head into a spin. The houses, the flames, the people. Everything became a blur, like unconnected brush strokes of colour on a black canvas. Then, as quickly as it had started, it settled.

Dark streaks of green and brown surrounded him, a cold light shining from above. He was in a forest. Ölm Forest – he wasn't sure how he knew, but he could feel it. Nothing around him was solid. Everything seemed thrust into a constant state of motion, shifting and changing, slightly out of focus. It reminded him of being drunk on Lasch Havel's mead after a night in The Gilded Dragon. That feeling where nothing was quite as it should be, yet he still knew what it was.

The ringing of steel shrieked through the woods. Howling, clashing, colliding, and then everything shifted once more. All around him, Uraks and town guard crashed together. Massive creatures, laden with dense muscles and thick leathery skin, with weapons of blackened steel. Hazy streaks of red light trailed with every swing of the Uraks' blackened blades, matching the pulsating glow that radiated from their eyes. The ringing of steel sounded in Calen's ears. The crunching and snapping of bone, the screams of the dying, the howls of the fighting. This can't be real… I was never here. I didn't see this. Please… don't show me this…"Keep pushing them back!" Haem's voice echoed through the night. Calen watched as his brother carved a blood-soaked path through the monstrosities, his sword shimmering in the light of the moon that drifted through the forest canopy. He was a force of nature. Everywhere he moved, Uraks fell, the town guard gathering around him. "Drive them back to the Ridge!"

Calen's heart thumped in his ears, swallowing all other sounds. Again, everything shifted.

"It's a trap!" Rhett Fjorn's voice rang out, echoing endlessly. Red lights flickered, leaving streaks in the night as the Uraks descended on the town guard, blackened steel slicing through leather and skin, blood spraying. Rhett and Haem stood beside Durin and Almin Netly, Fritz's brothers, the rest of the town guard gathered about them. The Uraks crashed into the guard like a raging river. Calen watched as Almin's head was taken from his shoulders, and Durin's left leg was cleaved at the knee. It was a massacre. They never stood a chance."Fall back!" Haem's voice rang out. "Fall back!"

The guards tried to flee, but the Uraks cut them down as they ran, carving through them as though they were only playthings.

"Haem, we need to go!" Rhett called.

Calen's vision blurred and flashed. He looked to see his brother standing over the prone body of Durin Netly, his sword sweeping in glittering arcs of steel. Haem deflected a blackened blade to his left, then drove his sword up through the creature's chin, sliding it back out in a spray of blood. Two more of the beasts fell to Haem's blade before a black spear tip sliced his thigh, and he let out a howl. He drove his blade through the creature's chest, collapsing backwards as the spear tip was wrenched free by the dying Urak's grip.

"Haem!" Rhett's scream was so loud it sounded as though his throat might bleed. He charged towards Haem, his blade slicing through Uraks as he moved. A blackened steel blade plunged into his shoulder, another sliced at the meat of his thigh. He kept pushing. An arrow caught him in the calf, and he dropped to one knee, almost immediately dragging himself back to his feet and taking an Urak's head from its body. Rhett was within touching distance of Haem when a black spear burst through Haem's gut, blood spilling from the wound and out through his fingers. Haem dropped to his knees, swallowed by the mass of leathery skin.

"No!" Rhett charged but was sent careening into the base of a tree as a monstrously large Urak swiped his legs from under him. Rhett turned as he fell, moving to strike out with his blade, but the Urak slammed its foot down on Rhett's arm, the violent sound of snapping bones ringing clear in the night. Rhett's scream chilled Calen's blood.

The enormous Urak twisted its leathery fingers through Rhett's hair, hauling him to his feet. In its other hand, it raised a blackened steel sword, a glowing red gemstone set into its blade, pulsating with hazy red light. As the creature drew back its arm, Rhett's hand moved in a flash of steel. The beast howled, dropping its sword and clawing at its eye, where a steel pommelled knife now protruded. With a guttural roar, the creature launched Rhett backwards into the woods, sending him tumbling through the foliage. Rhett never left Haem. He went back for him. At that moment, Calen swore he could feel his heart bleed, tears burning his eyes. Vars had treated Rhett like a gutless coward. He had said things that could never be taken back. And Rhett had never once said anything in return. He had let Calen's dad unleash every drop of his pain and fury, while never arguing. But in the end, Rhett hadn't left Haem to die. He had been willing to give his life for his friend, without the slightest hesitation. He should have been treated like a hero. He should have been treated like a son.

Once more, the world around Calen shifted. Vibrant greens and reds flashing past Calen's eyes, everything blurring, a weightlessness setting in his stomach.

When everything settled, he was still standing in the forest, but the fighting was over. Corpses littered the ground, Uraks and humans alike, limbs severed, shattered bones breaking through skin. Blood mixed with the clay and dirt on the ground, pooling in hollows. There were no cries or moans, no calling out and wailing in pain. Only death. When Calen focused, the world became clearer, sharper, and he could see the faces of the dead. Almin and Durin Netly lay beside each other, crumpled in heaps. Lara Birwick was pinned to a tree by a spear through the right side of her chest, her gut sliced open, intestines piled on the ground before her, steam wafting. Juran Styr, Lina's older brother, was cleaved in half at the navel, his body splayed over a flat rock. Everywhere he looked, he saw the faces of those he knew. Faces he never thought he would see again. Men and women who had marched into Ölm forest that night and never returned.

A spluttering sound drew Calen's attention, and once more, the world shifted. He now stood amongst the bodies, only a foot from Almin and Durin. Another cough and a splutter. Calen turned to see Haem lying on his back, his fingers clasped tight to the wound in his gut, blood spilling through the cracks. Calen ran to Haem, crashing to the ground at his side.

"It's all right," Calen said, resting his hand atop Haem's, touching his left to his brother's cheek. Even though part of him knew this wasn't real, his heart pulled against him. "Please. Please, Haem, don't leave me."

But despite Calen's sobs, Haem didn't so much as turn. He lay there, his hand to his gut, spluttering, lifting his head to look at the wound. With a groan, Haem let his head collapse back down onto the bloodied earth. Calen could see him trying to speak, but every time he opened his mouth, blood splattered up over his lip.

"He is alive?"

"Yes, Brother-Captain. Though he is not long for this world."

Calen spun around, falling backwards on his arse at the sight of four warriors covered head to toe in smooth green plate. White capes hung from their shoulders, and the slits in their helms shimmered with green light. They're the warriors who had saved us at Kingspass, the ones who Haem fought beside.

The warrior at the front knelt beside Haem, ignoring Calen as though he weren't even there.

Words passed between Haem and the warrior, muffled to Calen's ears, then once more becoming clear.

The green-plated warrior leaned over Haem. "If we save you, are you willing to forgo your past life and everything that holds you to the person you are now? Are you willing to bear the Sigil of Achyron? To follow his creed and serve The Warrior until the day you are taken from this world?... Let it be known that if you take the Sigil of Achyron and betray his creed, the life will be stripped from your bones in the most painful way that you could imagine. It is not an easy cross to bear. Will you accept it?"

Calen watched as Haem choked, blood sprinkling from his mouth. "Yes."

Once more, the words became muffled, and time seemed to flicker. The man now held a strange piece of metal in his hand. It was the same greenish hue as the armour he wore, and it was wrought in the shape of a downward-facing sword set into a sunburst – the same symbol the warriors bore on the breast of their armour. He held the metallic symbol over Haem's chest, then pressed down. Smoke plumed into the air, and Haem screamed.

Calen tried to move, to leap towards his brother, but his body wouldn't respond. He was frozen in place. Everything shifted. The forest dissolved to an empty blackness, the echoes of Haem's screams reverberating in Calen's mind.

They saved him.

Calen dragged in a ragged breath of scorching air, the sun blazing in the sky above. Sand crunched under his feet as he climbed towards the top of the dune where Vaeril already stood, his green cloak flapping in the wind. Calen's legs felt as though they had been hollowed out and filled with lead, each step taking the effort of two. His muscles ached and burned, begging him to rest, and he could feel the blisters forming on his heels and the sides of his feet, the scratching of his boots against dried skin. The sand sank and pulled with each step, actively leaching the energy from his body.

They had spent at least a week marching as quickly as their bodies would allow, stopping only to catch their breath, drink, eat and sleep. Each day took more from them than the last, wearing them out, breaking them down, their tempers growing shorter. Since the N'aka had first attacked, more of the beasts had continued to stalk them. By day, the N'aka kept their distance, trailing a few miles from the group, prowling in the dunes. As Valerys soared, he had seen them in packs of three or four, watching, waiting. Every time the dragon swooped, they scattered into the dunes. By night, they came closer, their eyes glimmering in the perpetual half-light, a pulsating noise reverberating from their throats, like the sound a stone makes when it's skimmed across a lake. They never attacked. They waited.

As the group marched, Calen had spent almost every waking moment reliving the dream he'd had of The Glade. Of Haem. Going over and over it in his mind. Could it possibly have been real, or was he simply losing himself? Could it have been like the dreams Rokka spoke of? But of the past instead of the future. Calen cursed himself. He should have asked the old man when he'd had the chance. It didn't matter either way. Calen wasn't a druid. He wasn't even sure Rokka was. I'm going mad.He stopped for a moment, giving his legs much needed respite as he pulled his waterskin from the satchel strapped to his back, sighing in relief as the cool liquid touched his cracked lips. Replacing the waterskin, he called out to Vaeril. "Anything?"

The elf stood in silence, staring at whatever lay on the other side of the dune. In the past few days, the heat and exhaustion had gotten to them all. Tarmon and Erik's tempers had frayed on more than one occasion, and Vaeril had grown increasingly silent and withdrawn.

"Vaeril," Calen called out again, resting his hand on the elf's shoulder. "Is there anything…"

Calen's words caught in his throat as he looked over the other side of the dune. Shattered towers and broken walls of tarnished whitish stone pierced through the blanket of sand, the rotting corpse of a once great city. The longer Calen looked, the more he saw. The crumbled remains of homes, temples, and markets. Streets flooded with sand and rock. The ruined husk of what must have once been the keep.

As Calen looked out over the ruins of the city, everything shifted, just as it had in his dreams. His vision flickered, sharpening then dulling, tinting with a bluish hue.

"By the gods." Erik stepped up beside Calen, Tarmon at his side. "Calen, what's wrong with you?"

Erik's voice dulled, becoming muffled in the back of Calen's mind. Calen closed his eyes, shaking his head, burying his fingers into his scalp, a low ringing noise resounding in his ears. Stop it. Stop it.

As though responding to his thoughts, the ringing noise halted, yielding to silence. Calen opened his eyes, light and sound crashing over him.

He no longer stood at the top of the dune. Grass and earth lay beneath his feet, tall trees of vivid green spreading out on either side of him, the smell of fresh baked bread drifting on the breeze. Before him, the sun sprayed down over a city easily as large as Midhaven, ringed by enormous walls of white stone broken by flat-topped towers adorned with rippling banners of red emblazoned with a golden stag.

The trill of birdsong rang through the air, accompanied by the chatter and noise of a bustling city. Axles squeaked, children laughed, feet slapped against stone, hawkers and pedlars hollered, their voices blending into a cacophony of shouts.

Calen took a step forward, his jaw agape. What in the name of Elyara is happening? He looked out at the city, watching as flocks of birds swerved between the rising towers and streams of people marched through the enormous gates. It felt as real as his vivid dreams. Real enough to touch. But he wasn't asleep? How could this be a dream? A strange blend of worry and awe rushed through Calen's mind, spilling over from Valerys's. He could feel the air breaking on the dragon's scales as Valerys dove through the clouds above, watching the world through Calen's eyes.

But just as Valerys broke through the bank of clouds, the world shifted once more, flickering. Bone-chilling screams echoed, a shiver sweeping over Calen's skin. The feeling of awe that permeated the air twisted, warping into something more akin to pure horror, chilling Calen's blood, his throat tightening, his heart seizing. A wall of deep red, almost black, fire swept over the land, moving like a wave, hundreds of feet into the air, stretching as far as Calen's eyes could see. His vision went black, then flashed with images. Waves of sound battered his mind: screams, shrieks, howls. The dark fire crashing into the walls, sweeping over the city, unyielding, unrelenting. Elves screamed and shrieked as their flesh was burned from their bones, their souls stripped from their bodies. Calen dropped to his knees, the sheer abject grief clutching him in its grasp as thousands of lives were scoured from the world. Tears streamed down his face, an unabating ache clutching his chest. A sickly, oily sensation swept through the air, probing at the corners of Calen's mind, pushing, scratching, grabbing. Then it was gone.

Calen's vision flickered once more, and he was kneeling in the sand at the top of the dune he had been standing on, the ruins splayed out across the landscape before him, the fire gone. His shoulders convulsed; his gaze fixed on the city.

"Calen!" Erik dropped to the sand beside him, his hands clasping on Calen's shoulders, fingers wrapping around his cloak. "What's wrong?"

Calen could feel the tears still streaking down his face. In the back of his mind, he could still see the images of the fire. The death. The destruction. "I… saw something…"

"What do you mean? What did you see?" Erik pulled at Calen's head, trying to look into his eyes, but Calen just stared past him towards the city.

Valerys dropped from the sky, his white scales tarnished with a brownish hue, his shadow momentarily blocking out the sun as he spread his wings, cracking them against the air, sweeping clouds of sand into the spirals. A deep pain and sadness seeped from the dragon's mind into Calen's. Their shared soul ached. So many lives gone, snuffed out in an instant.

"I saw what happened here…" Calen's thoughts were jumbled in his head. Lingering remnants of the vision flickering through his mind. "That night… the night The Order fell… The fire from Therin's stories. It killed everyone…" Calen gripped Erik's forearm, bringing his left leg up, and heaved himself back to his feet along with Erik.

"Calen, for fuck's sake, you're not making any damn sense." Erik's fingers tightened around Calen's cloak, the irritation that had made its home in Erik's voice over the past few days returning. "How could you have seen it? That was centuries ago."

Calen rounded on Erik, tears still in his eyes. The emotions that swirled within him took over. "I watched them die, Erik." The screams echoed in Calen's mind. The shrieks as fire burned flesh and rent souls. "I…" Calen shook his head. "I can't explain it. But I saw it."

"Let go of him." Tarmon grabbed Erik's forearm, yanking his hands off Calen's cloak.

"Don't touch me," Erik snarled, squaring off against the Lord Captain, who was over a head taller than he was.

A deafening roar erupted from Valerys as the dragon leaned his head forward, a deep rumble resonating from his throat. Valerys broadened his chest, his wing spreading, lips pulling back in a snarl, exposing rows of alabaster teeth. Both Tarmon and Erik took a step back.

Calen stepped between Erik and Tarmon, placing Valerys at his back. "This place is getting to us all." Calen took a moment, battling the sorrow that lingered from the vision. He gritted his teeth. "The heat, the lack of sleep, the exhaustion, those gods damned creatures stalking us day and night. Take a breath. This place wants us dead. Don't make its job easier." He pulled his waterskin from his pack, tossing it to Erik. "Drink. We'll rest for a minute and go around."

"It's quicker if we go through." Erik gripped Calen's waterskin, the muscles in his hand tightening, his jaw clenching, his eyes fixed on Calen.

"Erik, I don't want to go through. Horrible things happened here." Memories flitted across Calen's eyes. Flesh peeling from bones, skin bubbling. "Unspeakable things."

"Why is that your decision to make?" Erik stepped closer to Calen. The tip of his nose was red and burned, a blister forming at the side of his nostril. His lips were cracked and broken, dried from the sun. Their moods had all been short as the Burnt Lands took their toll, but Erik's had been shortest. "This place is almost as bad as those damn tunnels. It doesn't end. And those things don't stop. They're just waiting for one of us to weaken. Waiting for this place to wear us down. I'm not spending another minute more here than I have to. This isn't where I die."

"Easy, Erik," Tarmon said, resting his hand on Erik's shoulder, grunting as he shifted the weight of his satchel. "We have seen our way through worse than this. If there are things in that city Calen fears, then we can go around. We can take an hour less sleep, make up the time."

"Get your damn hand off me," Erik snapped, swiping Tarmon's hand away, his tone changing from irritated to enraged in an instant. He turned, attempting to meet Tarmon's gaze, but the Lord Captain stood a head taller. "You're always there, aren't you? Standing behind Calen like a lapdog, brooding, waiting to do whatever he says. It's pathetic." Erik shoved Tarmon in the chest, catching the bigger man off guard, sending him stumbling backwards a step or two.

"You're one to talk." Tarmon cracked his neck side to side, dropping his satchels into the sand. "That's all you do," Tarmon said, pushing Erik back. "Talk, talk, talk. But every time your back's against the wall, you crumble. You're weak," he said, hitting his closed fist against his chest. "In here"—he tapped two fingers against his temple—"and in here. I need to stand behind Calen, as does Vaeril, because if it were only you at his back, he'd be dead already. You'd have died in those tunnels, shaking and weeping. Broken."

"You're going to protect him like you protected your king, are you?" Erik's voice dripped with malice. It was as though he were another person entirely. "Because that turned out so well."

"Watch your fucking tongue, boy." Tarmon's hand dropped to the pommel of his short sword. "Your father's name won't protect you out here!"

"Both of you, stand down!" Calen stepped between Erik and Tarmon, pushing them in the opposite directions. "What is wrong with you?"

Realisation flashed across Erik's eyes, a look of shock on his face, then it was gone. He glared at Tarmon, his jaw clenched. "I just want to get out of this place. We can go around, but we better make up the time."

Without another word, Erik stormed off, making his way down the side of the dune, the sand tumbling beneath his feet.

"Tarmon, I…" Even as Calen was speaking, Tarmon snatched up his satchels and walked past him, following after Erik, his fists clenched at his side, a cold look in his eyes. Vaeril followed after Tarmon without a word, only giving Calen a passing glance.

A low rumble resonated from Valerys's chest as the dragon lowered his head, his gaze moving between the others and the ruined city.

"I don't know," Calen said in answer to an unspoken question. Something was wrong with their family, something deeper than exhaustion and hunger. The Burnt Lands was getting inside their heads.

Valerys's head snapped to the left, and a jolt of awareness rippled through Calen. Calen let himself see through Valerys's eyes. Not so far away, only fifty or sixty feet from Erik, dark shapes prowled through the dunes, hiding amongst rock formations and patches of brittle thorny bushes, moving slowly and steadily – N'aka. It was as though the creatures could sense weakness.

"Fly low," Calen said, resting his hand against the ridge of horns that framed Valerys's jawline. "Make sure they see you."

A rumble of agreement touched the back of Calen's mind and Valerys lifted into the air. Calen would have much rather climbed onto the dragon's back and felt the cool touch of the wind against his cheeks, but Valerys was still weak from Kingspass, and something told Calen he would be needed on the ground. Had he not been there just then, Tarmon and Erik would likely have bled each other into the sand.

Letting out a long sigh, Calen set off down the side of the dune after the others.

"Here," Aeson called, rising to his feet and letting out a sigh as he cast his gaze across the ridge before him that marked the borders of the Burnt Lands, the sun unnaturally warm overhead. Sweat slicked his brow and dripped from the tip of nose.

Dann, Therin, and Baldon were spread out around him, while Thalanil and his elves searched even further along the ridge. They had spent hours looking for signs that Calen, Erik, and the others might have already entered the Burnt Lands. With each hour that passed, Aeson had grown more hopeful that they had beaten them to the pass. But now a sinking feeling took hold of his gut.

Therin and Dann were by his side in a matter of seconds, the latter on his knees, his fingers touching the claw marks indented in the dried clay.

"They've already entered."

Aeson nodded, his jaw clenching.

"What are we waiting for?" Dann asked, rising to his feet as the elves gathered around them, green cloaks flapping in the hot wind. "We finally know for sure that they have come this way."

Aeson didn't answer the question. He stared down at the claw mark, then up towards the ridge, grimacing as the sun's glare caught his eyes.

"We had hoped to cut them off before they got here. We can't follow them through," Therin said. "To enter the Burnt Lands is to forfeit your life. There is no crossing."

"What are you saying?" Dann took a step closer to Therin, but the elf turned his gaze to the ground. "Therin. What the fuck are you saying?"

"He's saying they're already dead." As soon as the words left Aeson's lips, his heart twisted and his gut turned. Erik.

"No." Dann shook his head, that same steel in his eyes that Aeson had seen in the tunnels. His gaze locked on Therin's. "No."

Dann turned and made to walk off towards the ridge, but Therin caught him, clasping his hand on Dann's shoulder. "Dann, going in there is a death sentence."

"And staying here is Calen's death sentence. He'd go after me, Therin. Don't tell me he wouldn't."

"What's done is done, Dann. He's already gone through. That can't be changed. Calen might be alive – they all might be. They might find a way to the other side. All we can do is hope. But if we go in there, we will die. There is no rescuing him."

"I'm going in," Aeson said, his voice firm.

Therin's brow furrowed in confusion. "Aeson, you know as well as any that you can't. We've tried before. We barely made it out alive. The Svidar'Cia warps your mind."

"My son is in there, Therin. I promised Naia."

"And what happens to Dahlen when you die in there?"

"I—"

"And what about the rebellion you've built? You hold fury at Calen for chasing after Rist when he should be here, yet you do the same thing."

"It's different!" Aeson roared, stepping closer to Therin, his fist clenched at his side. He hadn't felt his anger begin to rise.

"There is more at stake here than one man's life. That is what you said. It was true when you said it, and it's true now."

Aeson's blood boiled in his veins. He clenched his fist so tight his arm shook. No matter what decision he made, he'd be abandoning one of his sons. What kind of choice was that? What kind of cruel god would force that upon him after how much he had already lost?

Therin cupped Aeson's cheek. "We need to use our heads. Going in after them won't help anyone. If you walk in there, Dahlen will be left alone. Naia would never want that."

"So we abandon them?" The fury in Dann's voice mimicked that which burned in Aeson's veins.

"No, we trust them." The elf turned to Baldon, who stood a few feet away, his fur-covered head tilted in curiosity, his fangs glistening white. "Baldon, can you communicate with the Angan of Clan Fenryr on the other side, see if they can watch the edge of the Burnt Lands?"

"For the son of the Chainbreaker, my clan would cross into the void itself," the Angan said, bowing his head. "It will take some time, though. No son or daughter of Fenryr resides within your 'Burnt Lands', for fear of the madness. I will have to thread a thought chord around its edges and await a response."

"Please."

"It will be done, Silver Fang." Baldon inclined his head, then folded his legs where he stood, dropping himself to the ground, his golden eyes closing.

Aeson's breath trembled as he looked down at the Angan, then to Therin, then to Dann, whose face was carved fury. Aeson wanted to roar, he wanted to drag in threads of Earth and shake the ground. But instead, he simply stood there, staring down at Baldon.

Please. Please don't take him from me, too.