Sensing movement, I stir awake.

  Kiereth’s words from last night echo in my mind.

  Something worse.

  I snap upright—and collide with something solid.

  I narrowly miss her head, but our shoulders and chests knock together with a dull thump.

  “…Cat? Why are you—” I trail off, confused.

  A faint tapping answers me. I glance down as she pokes at the thin layer of crystal still clinging to my shoulder. I scoot back, a soft chuckle slipping out.

  “Curious?” I tease.

  The crystal breaks apart into a fine mist and seeps back into my skin.

  She nods enthusiastically.

  I smile back.

  “Easier to show than explain,” I add lightly. “Stick close to me and I’ll show you everything, alright?”

  The teasing doesn’t last.

  The look she gives me punches straight through my defenses—not her usual carefree grin, but something fuller. Relief. Gratitude. A happiness so raw it leaves me breathless.

  Before I can gather myself, she’s already tugging me along, fingers gently wrapped around my wrist.

  “’Ere y’are,” Veil says, handing Cattleya two mugs before turning to fill one for me.

  We huddle near the cooking fire, steam curling into the cold air. Breakfast is the same stew as yesterday, only heavier on the spices—everyone fighting off the chill.

  As I finish mine, I notice Cattleya tipping part of her stew into my mug.

  “You skipped dinner,” I say softly. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  She shrugs, unfazed.

  “Didn’t like the idea of Imo having less.”

  …Gods, Cat.

  Heat creeps up my cheeks.

  From the corner of my eye, I catch Veil watching us with a knowing grin. I shoot him a look and refocus on my food.

  Still—

  “If something happens today,” I say as I rise, “stay close to me. Okay?”

  “Mm.”

  Before long, the caravan is moving again. Same formation as yesterday. I drift toward Kiereth.

  “Did your goddess say when?” I ask quietly. “I just want to be ready.”

  He doesn’t look at me, but his smile softens.

  “Time is a construct of limited perception,” he says calmly. “The sun does not care for it. Nor the land. Least of all the goddess.”

  I wince slightly.

  “…Right. So—no.”

  We walk in silence for a few minutes.

  Unease settles in my chest.

  I glance back at Cattleya, calm and vigilant at the rear, gaze sweeping the horizon.

  I guess we wait.

  And then—just as Veil moves down the line handing out lunch—

  “Null-eaters!” Cinna cries, panic sharp in her voice. “They’re close—not here yet, but this vire signature… there’s no mistaking it.”

  Ulric raises his arm and lets out a sharp whistle.

  “Off the road! Tight circle!” he barks. “Civilians inside. Chariot—out with me!”

  The carts move at once. We converge beside him.

  “Worst timing,” Ulric mutters. “Talked with Lucius—they go for the weakest first. Drain them dry, get stronger.”

  He grimaces.

  “We’d be fine on our own, but—”

  I step forward.

  “So we keep them away from the caravaneers,” I say. “At all costs.”

  “That’s the idea,” Ulric replies.

  “I’ll go,” I say. “Me, Cat, and Kier.”

  He blinks.

  “You three hold the perimeter,” I continue, glancing toward Cinna and Veil. “Cinna’ll sense them early, and you two work too well together to let anything through.”

  Ulric studies me. Veil and Cinna exchange calm smiles.

  “What?” I tease. “Think we can’t handle it?”

  He scoffs.

  “Bloody hell. What’d I miss?”

  A firm slap lands between my shoulders.

  “Break ’em. We’ll hold the line.”

  He turns back toward the caravan, Veil and Cinna falling in beside him.

  I face the other two. Pride flickers in their expressions.

  “I have no idea what we’re walking into,” I admit lightly. “But I know we can do this.”

  We drop our packs and move.

  Cloak off. Armor bared. Sword at my hip.

  We jog—then sprint—toward the direction Cinna indicated.

  The sight ahead is wrong.

  A herd—but twisted. Vultures. Spiders. Boars. And towering above them, a Vesfel shape. All of them bathed in an unnatural golden glow, stolen forms worn like skins.

  Even Cattleya is tense now, jaw tight, hand resting on her hilt. She looks to me, waiting.

  I glance at Kiereth. Sorrow shadows his features, eyes fixed on the Vesfel.

  “I will pray for his soul,” he murmurs. “This was not the goddess’s will.”

  I nod to him.

  “I don’t know how you fight when it’s serious,” I admit.

  Then I turn to Cat.

  “So—take point.”

  Her sword slips free with a clean hiss.

  “No holding back,” I add. “We’ll make sure nothing touches you.”

  Her grin is pure, feral delight.

  “Go.”

  She launches forward.

  Kiereth and I are already moving behind her.

  Prim doesn’t need instruction.

  We stay tight to Cattleya’s flank, glued to her blind side as I draw Vire into my left hand—condensing, rolling it between my fingers until the crystal turns dense and responsive, warm with pressure.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  They notice us too late.

  Cattleya crashes into the pack like a thrown blade, her greatsword aimed straight for the Vesfel-shaped figure at their center—

  —and passes clean through it.

  No resistance. No impact.

  The creatures recoil, turning toward us in a ripple of distorted motion. I flick my wrist downward.

  Crystal erupts from the ground in an orange bloom, a jagged crystal lattice slamming up between us and them. They hit it in a frenzy of claws and fangs that aren’t really there, forms smearing and warping against the surface.

  It buys Cattleya just enough time to recover.

  She stares at the barrier for half a heartbeat—wide-eyed, delighted.

  “They’re not physical,” I warn. “Pure Vire.”

  I don’t need to focus my emerald eye to see it. They’re saturated to the core—barely holding shape at all.

  “This way,” Kiereth calls.

  We don’t question it.

  I pull back with Cattleya, keeping close, my shoulder nearly brushing hers.

  “Behind me.”

  Kiereth brings his hands together, almost prayer-like. The moment we settle into position, he steps forward and pushes one palm out.

  The wind answers.

  A compressed gust slams into the null-eaters, driving them back. Their forms stretch and buckle, one of them pinned against my crystal formation.

  It vibrates, unstable.

  I focus.

  The crystal detonates in a sharp orange flash—the shockwave shredding one of the creatures into fractured strands of light.

  I squint at that.

  “Hold them,” I call. “Just a moment longer.”

  I turn to Cattleya.

  “We can’t split up,” I say quickly. “Once the crystal is apart from me, it destabilizes fast.”

  She nods once—already braced.

  I reach for her blade.

  Vire floods into the steel, my own resonance threading along its edge. Jagged crystalline growths bloom outward, locking into place, reinforcing, sharpening.

  Her eyes light up.

  “I’ve never tried this with anyone else,” I add, unable to help the grin. “So—if something goes wrong—”

  She doesn’t wait.

  I sheath my sword, press in close behind her, my left hand already shaping another mass.

  “Thanks, Kier,” I murmur. “Take a breath.”

  Cattleya surges forward.

  The null-eaters respond as one, collapsing inward, merging into a tight, blinding knot of energy. Their shapes dissolve—no animals now, just light and geometry twisting over itself.

  Cattleya meets them head-on.

  Her strike cleaves through four at once.

  This time it takes.

  Their forms split cleanly, vire threads severed, unraveling in a spray of golden light—

  —but they don’t die.

  They bind together again, collapsing into two larger masses, angular and abstract, polyhedrons grinding against reality itself.

  I throw another barrier, angling it to cover Cattleya’s movements. The creatures slam into it, skidding, unable to break through.

  She plants her foot.

  Spins.

  The greatsword comes around in a wide, devastating arc, momentum carried through her hips and shoulders—

  —and cleaves one polyhedron clean in half.

  Too clean.

  The halves convulse, then erupt into tendrils that lash out, wrapping around her arms, her waist, biting into cloth and skin.

  Cat-

  Prim spikes—urgency flooding my senses.

  I draw and strike in one motion.

  One cut. Two. Three.

  Each slash severs a bundle of tendrils, crystal-edged steel shearing through vire with surgical precision.

  Cattleya collapses backward the instant she’s free, like something has been pulled out of her.

  “Cat!” Panic claws up my throat.

  “Focus,” Kiereth snaps—not unkindly. His gaze stays on the other polyhedron as the wind answers, a compressed gale striking so precisely that clean cuts trace across its form.

  “One thing at a time.”

  I breathe.

  I turn.

  My sword comes up.

  The remaining halves writhe before me, unstable, furious.

  I move first.

  Not straight in—around.

  I circle the polyhedron in a tight orbit, never letting it settle. My blade flashes, crystal-edged strikes shaving glowing facets away as if I’m carving light itself. Each cut is clean. Precise.

  And useless.

  The thing fractures, folds, reassembles—angles shifting, surfaces tightening, adapting.

  It isn’t weakening.

  It’s learning.

  I skid to a halt, boots grinding into the dirt as I force space between us.

  “…That’s not working,” I mutter.

  I exhale through my nose.

  Tendrils lash out toward me—too fast to dodge.

  I snap my arm up on instinct, crystal surging over my forearm in a dense sheath. Most of the tendrils strike it and recoil, screeching as if scraping glass.

  For a heartbeat, I feel it again—that same pressure Minnara radiated. Not pain. Not force.

  Presence.

  I sever the remaining tendrils with a sharp twist of my arm, crystal biting clean through them, and shove the sensation aside.

  Focus. Later.

  “Right,” I say, calm snapping into focus. “We need something it can’t recover from.”

  I sheath my blade.

  The crystal mass I’ve been nursing in my left hand responds as I squeeze—stretching, hardening, extending into a jagged weapon. At first it’s a club, crude and heavy. I refine it, sharpening the edge—

  —but I don’t stop there.

  I keep pushing. Let it flex. Let it move.

  I swing.

  The weapon elongates mid-arc, snapping outward like a living thing. It coils around the polyhedron, constricting, locking into place. I release my grip and step back.

  The crystal detonates.

  An orange bloom erupts inward, not outward—pressure collapsing on itself. The polyhedron doesn’t fracture this time.

  It comes apart completely.

  Golden light unravels into nothing—no recoil, no reforming, no lingering presence. The vire is gone. Burned out at the root.

  I turn sharply.

  “Kier!”

  He’s already watching, eyes narrowing as understanding clicks into place.

  “Take them out in one go.”

  He nods once.

  Eyes closed in brief prayer, his lips move soundlessly as his hands trace something unseen. The remaining polyhedron lunges—

  —and he thrusts his palm forward.

  Lightning answers.

  A screaming bolt tears down from the clear sky, striking the creature dead-center. Thunder cracks. White light floods the field.

  There’s no resistance.

  No struggle.

  The polyhedron vanishes outright, vire annihilated so completely the ground beneath it vitrifies, glassed by the heat.

  Silence crashes down.

  I straighten slowly as the last traces of crystal dissolve back into my skin.

  I scan the field.

  That was the last of them.

  “Cat—”

  I drop to my knees beside her, hands already moving, checking her over with frantic precision.

  Nothing physical.

  They went deeper than that.

  I focus my emerald eye and see it clearly now—gaps torn through her vire, pieces of her essence thinned and missing, eaten away.

  I draw in a shaky breath, then hoist her onto my back.

  And run.

  I can feel her breathing—faint, uneven. I pour as much of my vire into her as I can, stabilizing what remains, but I already know it won’t do much. I used to be able to heal. Once.

  That ability is gone.

  “Cinna!”

  I shout as the camp comes into view. They notice me instantly, rushing to meet us.

  We converge halfway. I lower Cattleya gently to the ground and step aside as Cinna kneels, eyes sharp, already tracing the damage with practiced focus.

  “She was struck,” Cinna says after a brief pause. “The drain is shallow. I can stabilize it.”

  I don’t look away from Cattleya. I clutch her hand, willing it to move. To respond. Anything.

  “Report,” Ulric says, voice steady as he comes up beside Cinna.

  Kiereth approaches a moment later, Cattleya’s sword in his grasp.

  “The danger has passed,” he replies calmly. “Had we understood their nature, we might have spared her this.”

  Ulric glances at Cinna.

  She nods once.

  He scoops Cattleya up with careful strength.

  “Ah—” The sound escapes me as her hand slips from mine.

  “We’re not moving again today,” Ulric says. “Back to camp.”

  I stay kneeling for a moment longer, mind lagging behind my body, eyes fixed on his retreating back.

  A hand settles on my shoulder.

  Kiereth.

  I suck in a breath, force myself upright, and follow.

  “You and me,” Ulric says over his shoulder, already moving. “Tarps. We’ll seal the wagons. Rain’s coming.”

  I can’t speak. I just nod.

  “She’ll be alright,” Cinna says gently, resting a hand on my arm as she passes. “I won’t leave her.”

  Back at camp, a bundle of tarps is pressed into my hands.

  I stare at it.

  Our packs sits near our wagon. Nearby, she lies unconscious, Cinna kneeling beside her, murmuring softly as she works.

  Ulric is already tying lines, efficient, practiced.

  Cat…

  I force my body to move.

  Prim aches as sharply as I do, but we work anyway. What should be simple turns clumsy, drawn out, each knot taking too long.

  At last, the covering is secure.

  The first raindrops strike the tarp with a dull, hollow sound.

  I cross the camp and kneel beside Cattleya once more.

  I barely register Cinna trying to say something comforting. I just reach out and rest my hand carefully atop hers.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have—”

  The words choke off.

  I grit my teeth. I won’t cry here. That would be… too much.

  So I sit in silence, holding her hand, waiting—hoping—to feel it move.

  Eventually, exhaustion takes me.

  And sleep follows.