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Thalon was removing his armor and weapons by the fire when they barreled in, readying himself for a well-earned night’s rest. “Jumping into the ring so soon? You’ve got Guardian blood in you. Truly impressive.”

“Not according to the mighty prince.” She pointed to Garrik as he let go of her arm.

Garrik gritted his teeth. “Bed. Now,” he commanded before turning to Thalon. “See to it she stays there. I have business south.”

Thalon merely nodded and before anyone could say anything, in a storm of Smokeshadows, Garrik dawned away into the night.

“See to it she stays there,” Alora mocked into the empty night air, noticing the dark chuckle from the Guardian steps away. “I hope you stay there,” she grumbled and folded her arms, hoping sound traveled through whatever void he dawned through before she tore her tent open and slipped inside.

Blood rained. Dripping from the borders of her mind. A steady cadence, laced with the guttural screams of something vicious, longing to break free. The darkness called, a sound unlike the screams.

Alora felt it … trying to lure her, pulling her like a silver rope, coarse and demanding, wrapping around her flesh. Relentlessly, it coiled around her skin until she felt unevenground, forcing her to ignite a ball of spark and flames in her palm. White flames illuminated a familiar corridor. She could see the graystone tiles beneath her feet through the dancing light.

And the door.

The blackwood door that haunted her. Closed. Sealed off. With nothing but darkness crowding the cracks of the threshold, imprisoning the screams inside.

Alora felt her hand drop. The cold leather of her sword hilt groaned in her unrelenting grip. Then she was reaching. Reaching for the door, daring to clasp the doorknob, refusing the heart-shuddering panic that rippled down her spine as she turned it.

Stop.She tried to turn from the voice but couldn’t.Please.

The screams stopped.

A bloodied hand pierced through the unending darkness inside, reaching for her light, reaching for salvation. It gripped her wrist, pulling her into the darkness as it desperately called to her.

Help me.

It continued to pull her, luring her into the darkness, through the threshold. The desperate cries grew louder as the abyss inside the room fell darker. A true oblivion, endless and terrifying. Unending horror covered it, surrounded it, choked it enough that even she couldn’t breathe.

Alora raised her sword to the hand, knowing it wouldn’t stop pulling her in until she succumbed to whatever hell awaited deep inside. She felt the sword slowly plummeting in the air, ready to cut the hand away, ready to?—

Thunder cracked, shaking the ground beneath her boots.

Slowly, in a daze, Alora blinked. Surveying through the small spots of vision returning, a darkened tent appeared cast in the moon’s amethyst glow. Rain droplets tapped a rhythmic cadenceacross the canvas from the aftermath of what had been a raging thunderstorm.

And amongst the gentle calm, she felt a burning in her arm.

It was raised, she realized. Hovering in the air, slowly sinking down toward …

Jade.Sleeping soundly in her cot.

A quiet gasp, sharp as glass, scratched down her throat, and she lowered the sword to her side. Blinking rapidly until her body began to feel the blood in her veins and her mind could focus.

It wasthedream.

A recurring, occasional nightmare that haunted her sleep for the past three years. And when it did come, her tense muscles and shot nerves would force her out of bed, usually to peer out Kaine’s bedroom window as rain pelted the glass under a moon’s glow—like tonight’s.

Alora carefully dropped her sword on her cot and brushed through the canvas door, rubbing her trembling palms down her face, picturing Jade’s. Picturing blood dripping from the cot and her sword shoved through Jade’s chest as she listened to the squelch of mud beneath her boots. Imagined the sound of Jade’s blood being the liquid she tread through.

If she hadn’t woken—no. She wouldn’t think about that.

The water of a nearby barrel splashed against her burning skin. Over and over, Alora drenched her face, allowing the crisp flow to spur her mind fully awake and settle her nerves. Allowing it to wash away the screams still echoing inside.

Her fingers curled around the barrel edge, breathing deep, feeling her knees quaking when something rustled to her left. A rustling of fabric and small tinging of metal stirred her heightened attention. Alora slowly turned her head to see that Garrik’s tent was dimly lit when it hadn’t been before.

A shadow drifted across his canvas walls. By the muscled silhouette, he was toweling off before dressing. Her traitorous eyes traced that shadow, following how his muscles were perfectly displayed until the candlelight diminished.

Alora frowned, frozen in place. It had been an entire day since she’d last seen him. Since he dawned away after the competition. And she didn’t mind, because that festering resentment would’ve turned to boiling fury the moment she laid eyes on him.