James forced himself onto his elbows again, his fingers sinking into the rain-soaked mud. His body trembled, not just from exhaustion but from something different, something wrong under his skin. It didn't feel like him anymore. His muscles felt like coiled steel beneath his skin, taut and ready to explode like they were waiting for the next fight.

  Pulling his hands from the mud, he looked down at his fingertips. For the briefest moment, the color shifted. His skin's warm tan drained away, leaving behind something pale, silvery, and metallic before snapping back to flesh. James flicked his hands away, flinging mud into the air.

  What the fuck?

  His vision swam, then sharpened, like it was trying to see every raindrop, gust of wind, and distant shift in the trees. He could hear the storm breaking against the rocks, the whisper of water carving through the stone, and the distant creak of a tree bowing beneath the wind. The world was too intense, too vivid. His hands shot to cover his ears as he slammed his eyes closed. Overwhelmed with the world, it began to spin.

  I feel like I'm going to puke.

  And beneath it all, his heart still pounded, his lungs still burned, and the raw ache in his chest hadn't faded. These sensations grounded him, pulling him back to himself.

  I did this for them—Edwin and Max. I will save Max.

  James grabbed at his stomach. There was a pain there, a hunger deeper than anything he had ever known. It curled low in his gut, a gnawing, empty ache, demanding and insistent, not just for food but for something more. The blonde woman's words flickered through his mind.

  "You still have to feed the healing. It'll eat at you, devour you, while it stitches you back together."

  James swallowed against the rising nausea. So many things clicked into place, like how he could always eat twice as much as anyone else and how he was always hungry. It had been his power, and now it would eat him.

  James licked his lips. A taste lingered there, spice, heat, a breath of warmth in the freezing storm. James furrowed his brows, and his fingers brushed against his mouth. He could still feel it there, her kiss, his first kiss, fierce and unyielding. The scent of her teased his nose.

  James clenched his fists. Slamming them into the mud. Fighting down the new feelings.

  Focus. Focus. Focus.

  And yet, the thoughts lingered. How she had moved. How she had grinned through the fight, laughing in the chaos. She had treated him like prey and toyed with him, but there had been something else beneath it. Was it a challenge? A game?

  Gods above, had she been flirting with me? Did she have a name? Of course, she has a name. What was her name? I should've asked for her name. Focus. Breathe, like Edwin taught. But that smile... Fuck.

  James exhaled sharply and shoved the thought away. Slowly.

  His gaze caught the fort in a crash of lightning, its dark walls alive with movement. This froze the fire in his veins, calmed the beat of his heart, and focused his thoughts. James took more controlled, steady breaths.

  Max is waiting.

  James pushed himself to his feet. He had to eat soon. Had to find something before his own body ate itself instead. He took the first step forward.

  James pressed forward, his boots slipping against the wet stone as thunder rumbled through the mountains. Deep and primal hunger gnawed at him, curling in his gut like a starving thing. The scent of rain filled his nose, the world narrowing to the path ahead, the slick rock beneath his feet.

  "Eat, little seed." James froze.

  The voice was no longer just a whisper curling at the edges of his mind but complete, solid, tangible. It didn't slip through him like smoke. It settled inside him, inside his bones.

  The storm surged around him and in a flash of lightning. She was there.

  She stood at the edge of the path, bathed in silver light. Her gown, sheer as mist, clung to her lithe frame like woven moonlight. Her skin was pale and luminous, too perfect to be real. A thick braid of silver-white hair fell down her back, bound in intricate twists. She looked over the valley below, hands hanging loosely at her sides. Before turning to level those eyes like the night sky on him.

  James staggered back, nearly dropping to a knee as his boot slipped. The Sister only smiled, soft, loving, and absolutely terrifying.

  "Look at you, my little seed," she purred, stepping forward. The rain didn't touch her. The wind didn't move her hair. She was beyond them, beyond this world. And yet, she was here. "Already growing into a sapling."

  Before he could react, her arms surrounded him, pulling him in tight.

  Like Miss Silvia used to. But where Miss Silvia had been warm like a hearth fire, a mother's embrace.

  The Sister was cold. Not frigid, not biting, but crisp, like the breath of the night air, the stillness of the sky before dawn.

  James' chest tightened. His body responded before his mind. He shoved her away. She let him go easily, tilting her head, her expression unreadable.

  "Are you not happy with me?" she asked, playful, teasing, as she reached for him again. Her fingers glided through his hair like a lover's touch.

  James batted her hand away.

  "Would you stop that?" His voice was rough, breathless. "I still don't trust you."

  Silence.

  Then—

  She threw back her head and laughed.

  It started small, a breath of amusement, but grew into something vast and wicked, rolling through the mountains like a coming storm. And so did the Sister. Her form stretched and expanded until she towered over James, three times the size of the Cyclops that had rampaged through Oakwood. The air crackled around her, thrumming with power, warping reality itself.

  James barely had time to flinch before she grabbed him with her massive hand, locking him in her powerful grip. She moved fast as light, slamming him against the mountainside with no more effort than pinning a moth beneath her palm.

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  James gasped, struggling against her grip, but his arms were pinned to his sides. Her eyes consumed him. They were not just black; they were endless, a sky without a horizon, an abyss filled with stars. His mind screamed, trying to process it, but it couldn't comprehend what he was seeing.

  And then she spoke.

  "I am the Sister."

  The mountain shook.

  "I am the night."

  The storm bowed before her.

  "I am the very moon in the sky."

  James' ears rang, his bones shuddering beneath the weight of her voice.

  "And you do not trust me?"

  The air trembled, and the pressure vanished. James was kneeling, his face over a reflection of himself. His hair was matted to his face, his eyes were silver instead of blue, and his skin flickered between something metallic and his usual rich tan. But he still him. Then, for a split second, lightning flashed, and he saw her. Superimposed over his own face, a perfect reflection, then it was gone. His breath came fast, sharp gasps. He shoved his fingers through his hair and gripped at his arms, feeling his skin turning metallic under his touch, then normal.

  I am me, I am me, I am me.

  "Fine." Her voice was soft now, dangerous. A whisper on the wind. "Let me show you a little trust in turn."

  The Sister disappeared, and James felt alone in his mind for the first time in a long time. The mountain stood silent. The wind howled. The rain poured. His chest rose and fell, his breath ragged, his mind spinning.

  A rustle. To his right. James turned, heart still hammering, and saw them.

  Two white rabbits, wide-eyed, frozen just off the path. Their ears twitched, their bodies tense, ready to flee. James' hand moved before he could think. The dagger was in his fingers, already leaving his grip.

  Thunk.

  The blade buried itself deep into the chest of one rabbit. The other bolted, disappearing into a crack in the rocks. James exhaled, slow and shuddering. His shoulders sagged as he scooped up the kill, the hunger in his stomach rejoicing.

  He made camp in a small outcropping, coaxing a small fire to life. Flint against the steel of the dagger, shielding the little flame as best he could, whispering words of encouragement as best he could.

  "Come on, come on, you can do it," James whispered. Finally, it caught the damp wood and tender. He jumped for joy, nearly stomping out the fire in his enjoyment. James sat about cleaning and gutting the rabbit, tossing aside the innards far from camp so as not to draw unwanted guests in the night. Never had cooked rabbit smelt or tasted so good. James ate the whole thing, going as far as snapping the bone to pick at the marrow inside. He curled against the wall of the outcropping and pulled the rags of his cloak tight against the worst of the wind, and it howled cruelly at him. The dying flames of the fire were slow and hypnotizing as his eyes grew heavy.

  I'm coming, Max. I'm coming.

  The morning came with sunlight. The storm had not ended, but small shafts of light pierced the ever-present gloom here and there.

  We'd be looking for a rainbow if I had been back home.

  But he couldn't see any now, just the fort ahead; he pulled the small compass from his pocket, the needle still firmly fixed on the fort.

  James crouched low, pulling his tattered cloak tight around his shoulders. His breath came in slow, measured gasps. The damp earth clung to his boots as he moved. He was careful to step where the mud wouldn't suck at his feet, where the stones wouldn't betray him.

  The fort loomed ahead. It wasn't ruined like James expected. He had seen ruins before, old, crumbling things reclaimed by time and nature, stone choked by vines and roots, walls sagging from years of abandonment.

  "We sneak in, you climb, grab a few, and we're out before anyone knows." He could see the orchard wall and Max's toothy grin.

  Focus.

  This was not one of those places. James pressed himself against a boulder, peering out from behind the slick, rain-worn stone. His stomach sank.

  The trees had been cut back, their stumps jutting like broken teeth, leaving the land around the fort bare and exposed. The sun had once more retreated behind dark clouds, but the rain had not fully returned; it was just a heavy drizzle against his skin. There was no cover, not even shadows to hide in.

  The walls were wrong. Not old or weathered, but thick solid stone.

  Made of a dark, almost black rock, it looked like wet charcoal, polished and seamless in the rain. There were no cracks or missing mortar, and it was as if the wall had been carved from a single massive slab. Someone had been reinforcing it, shaping it into something meant to withstand a storm or a siege.

  Gods above, how am I going to get in?

  His fingers curled into fists as he rested the back of his head against the rock.

  Max is in there.

  Lightning split the sky, illuminating the fortress for a fraction of a second. James' stomach lurched. He had nearly lost the meal from the night before, acidic bile stinging the back of his throat. Something hung from the walls. No, it was not hung. It was impaled.

  James sucked in a sharp breath. His boots slipped slightly on the rain-slick rock as he moved, pressing harder into the boulder and shielding his eyes against the rain. Slowly, he inched forward, eyes locked on the distant spikes that jutted above the gates. There were bodies. At least ten of them. James swallowed hard. Searching over each of the grotesque corpses.

  Please don't be Max, don't be Max.

  James hugged the rock, pressing himself as small as he could against it before moving. He darted from stump to stump, praying the rain and the gloom would cover him. The wind howled through the clearing, drowning out his footsteps, but he still counted every movement, every shift of his weight.

  Faster, Faster, Shit.

  He dove into the mud. It coated every inch of him. As a light panned over where he had just been standing, his fingers brushed against the hilt of his stolen dagger. The black leather was still slick with rain and mud, ready to throw it and to shatter the light if needed. His fingers flexed as another bolt of lightning split the sky.

  James rolled, diving to another stump. He was getting closer now. The bodies were Imperium. Their armor, or what was left of it, was marked with the insignia of Light. Bloodstained and tarnished but still unmistakable, it was emblazoned with the Imperial Sun across chest plates and tattered cloaks, and their gauntlets were fitted with the steel plating that marked their rank.

  Not just soldiers.

  James could see officers, not just sergeants and lieutenants, but at least one captain. None had their swords strapped to their sides, their hands hanging limply, swaying in the wind. James' stomach churned. These people had fought and died for it. He saw it in the armor, black bruises, and gaping wounds. James wanted to look away, sick rising in his throat, but he couldn't.

  The rain ran down their bodies, streaking fresh rivulets of dark blood through the rust and filth. Their faces had been left uncovered, contorted in expressions of agony, defiance, or fear. The spikes driven through them were thick and jagged as if brute strength had forced them through flesh and bone. James didn't know how he knew, but he knew they had been alive when shoved onto those spikes. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

  These weren't just warnings. They were trophies.

  Thunder rolled across the mountain, shaking the ground beneath him.

  James pressed closer, his body tense, every muscle wound tight. He needed to see. Needed to know. Then he saw the red hair.

  James stopped breathing.

  His gut plunged, ice sinking into his veins. Another step forward, fingers gripping the stump hard enough to hurt. Wood cracked under his strength, splinters trying to dig into his skin. His vision blurred against the rain, his pulse hammering against his skull.

  Not Max. Please, not Max.

  His breath came quick and ragged. He reached out, fingers barely brushing the top of the stump. Ready to pull himself up for a better view.

  The light panned towards him, forcing him to duck down.

  The wind shifted.

  The scent of rot and old blood rushed toward him.

  James gagged, his hand snapped to his mouth, biting down on his knuckles to keep from puking.

  His heartbeat roared in his ears.

  They're going to see me.

  The light moved past him, and he snuck another glance. The red hair was too long, and the body shape was all wrong, curved in the hips and chest. He let out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes against the sight. That corpse was clearly a woman. His hands trembled, his body going cold, as the panic drained.

  Not Max.

  James' whole body tightened. There was something in the wind. A rhythmic booming. Like the beating of drums.

  "He's needed for the ritual, Or at least that's what the buyer says." The memory shot new sparks of fire through his veins.

  I have to get inside.

  His fingers brushed against the dagger again, this time holding it tighter. He moved to throw it at the light, blind them, and, in their panic, find a way in. Another flash of lightning lit up the fortress.

  The gates are open.

  Standing in the torchlight, a single figure with wicked curved horns atop a skull like a bull's. But in a way, that was all wrong, in a way his brain refused to comprehend. The creature's eyes were only a red, glowing void. Flickering like a dancing flame burned within. Shape Jagged teeth shone brightly against the torchlight.

  James' body went cold, his mind flickering back to a world tinged in blue, with no warmth or color, before snapping back to reality. The thing stood over half the height of the gate, too-long arms swinging a battle axe in the slow circling motion. Waiting. Those glowing red searched the field of stumps for something, for someone. With a single wave of fingers ending in wicked points, he heard its voice like a boom of thunder.

  "Close the gates. The ritual will begin soon."