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I have no idea who Vaast is, but I nod politely at the stranger. Her crimson eyes study me from a distance, and her fingers lazily play with the rings in her ears. She has numerous piercings in various sizes and shapes, not just in her ears but also in her nose, eyebrows, and lips.

“No,” Netharu’el answers for me. “She has other priorities.”

“Other priorities, Neth?” Acranta taps her fingers against the lone kapok tree beside us, shifting into its shade. “Come on, she’s joining, right?”

“Not this time. We haven’t even started combat training yet.”

“Oh dear.” Jelethia giggles, casting me a smug glance. “Might want to pick up the pace a bit, don’t you think?”

Then she steps up to Netharu’el, placing a delicate hand against his chest, a smile curling on her full, pouty lips. Her tiny crop top presses against him as she leans in.

And then she kisses him—a typical star elf greeting, nothing unusual.

Except she lingers. Too long.

Excuse me, but what exactly do you think you’re doing?

Get your long nails off my master.

“So, when are we finally having that dusk supper we discussed, Neth? Not to be that person, but isn’t it long overdue?”

“Perhaps,” he says, flashing her a smile as broad as hers.

Oh, come on.

She lets out a pleased, slight hum, her whole face lighting up. “Fabulous. So how about this dusk?”

“Dusk sounds perfect, my fair one.”

My fair one? I roll my eyes at Acranta, who shakes her head and mouths something I can’t quite decipher.

“Then we’ll meet at eredusk,” Jelethia purrs, her voice honey-smooth as she slowly and deliberately drags her fingers down Netharu’el’s arm. “Your hut or mine?”

“For Maevux’s sake!” I snap. “Keep out of our hut. Take it somewhere else.”

Jelethia gives a start, as if only now remembering she isn’t alone. “What’s your problem? Calm down, will you! Are you always this aggressive?”

“Oh, please. If aggression bothers you, perhaps you shouldn’t plan a romantic rendezvous with that elf. Just a friendly warning from one elf to another.”

Netharu’el’s eyes narrow, sharp as arrowheads. “Watch yourself, pale elf.”

Pale elf?

I step forward, shoving Jelethia aside hard enough to make her gasp, then snatch up the bow.

“Watch yourself!” she exclaims. “For all the fires!”

“What do you think you’re doing, Iszaelda?” Netharu’el’s voice is low, a quiet, dangerous growl.

I don’t answer. I turn and walk. Across the field, away from them both.

The blindfold slips from my fingers, landing in the dirt.

I don’t give it a second thought. I thought we were supposed to train today and that I needed to be focused.

His words, not mine. But no. He’d rather flirt. Why am I even surprised?

He’s probably just like Garalas. One of those elves. The kind who obsess over their looks and collect women like trinkets, discarding them by morning. Nothing permanent. Never permanent.

Not that I care. I don’t care. He can do whatever he fiery well pleases. But it irritates me. He tells me I need to be alert, trained, and focused, but the moment it suits him, he tosses me aside as if I don’t matter and indulges in whatever distraction he sees fit.

“We’re not finished!” Netharu’el’s voice cuts through the air. “Don’t you dare walk away. If you leave now, don’t bother coming back. Do you hear me? I don’t want to see you here again.”

Excuse me? Did he really just say that?

I don’t turn. Don’t stop. Fists clenched. Jaw tight.

Don’t look back. Don’t give in. Just keep walking.

Grass crunches beneath my feet. Sun scorches my arms. The heat presses down.

“You’re not as skilled as I expected,” he continues, begging for a reaction. “Might as well leave while you can.”

Nature magic, where are you when I need you? If only I could shut him up with a well-placed spell.

“Oh, Neth! How could you say that?” Acranta cries. “Zelda, where are you going? Hey, wait for me!”

No, no, no. You’re not coming with me.

I glance over my shoulder for just a spark. Netharu’el and Jelethia stand too close, pressed together. Her body molds against his, so tightly it’s a wonder they can still breathe. And he’s not stopping her.

Acranta has stepped toward me, her face lighting up when our eyes meet. I whip back around and break into a run.

I don’t want to be here. I need to be anywhere but here.

It’s late. The world drapes itself in nightfall, veiled in muted shades of granite and shadow.

I’ve been searching for hours, looking for Mistrani or any creature large enough to carry me. Anything. But I’ve found nothing.

I want to slip into another mind and escape while testing the boundaries Merediath set. To see if they truly hold.

All my belongings remain in the hut, but I have my new bow and the clothes on my back. That’ll have to be enough. I can survive on that.

I must keep moving. If my own master has cast me aside, what reason do I have to stay? I need to find Naeva and Akares.

Maybe I should start with the dwarven city. What was it called again? Gosk?

If I flew on a bird, would Merediath’s spell still be in effect?

Maybe I could slip past the border from above. Glide over Gorgoroth, beyond her reach. Or crawl beneath it, through an unseen passage carved into the earth. There must be a way around it, even if Merediath’s magic still binds me.

“Mistrani!” I call again, my legs swinging idly over the edge of a thick root.

I wait. And wait. And wait.

Leaning against the sturdy trunk of the kapok tree, I let out a slow breath. My body hums with exhaustion, and sweat turns to ice on my arms. Here, it’s still. Here, I could sleep.

I peel off a strip of bark, holding it up in the darkness and tracing its rough, familiar ridges. It looks just like the bark in Valeanrae, like the kind my mother used that day when she decided to mend the walls.

A tree elf would shriek at the sight. They take offense at even the slightest wound to a tree, taking their reverence to extremes and punishing those who dare to do it.

But sun elves aren’t so delicate. We don’t seek to harm, but a tree won’t die just because a sliver of bark is missing.

I smile and slip the bark into my pocket.

A small piece of home to carry with me, something that tethers me to the forest, the jungle, the earth. Even if it isn’t Valeanrae.

“Mistrani!” I call again into the night. Where are you?

If you leave now, don’t bother coming back. Do you hear me? I don’t want to see you here again.

His words slice through me, like thorns raking against my arms, like dagger points beneath my feet, waiting for the slightest misstep to drive them deep.

You’re not as skilled as I expected. It’s just as well that you leave.

The air catches in my throat. My breath stumbles. But I won’t let it break me. I must be strong. Keep moving forward.

What is Netharu’el in the grand scheme of things? A distraction. A detour. Someone I was forced to cross paths with on the winding road that was the Academy.

My priority is Naeva. I must save her. Nothing else matters.

I can’t allow myself to be weighed down by trivial emotions or succumb to the useless temptation of feeling small. I’m strong. No matter what Netharu’el says. And I should be grateful. I’m grateful that he’s helped me get back on track. That he’s made it easier to walk away.

I sigh. I know staying in Gorgoroth at night is a mistake.

I wonder what Netharu’el is doing. Perhaps he’s tangled with Jelethia in my bed, their lips locked, their hands wandering. Or worse.

The thought sends a shiver through me, colder than the chill of the night air.

As I close my eyes, my fingers tighten around the bark in my pocket. Just for a moment to rest while the night hums around me. The rhythmic chorus of crickets, the whisper of unseen creatures weaving their songs into the dark. When my eyes snap open, it’s abrupt.

I’ve slept. For how long?

I push myself up, scanning the shadows. Something woke me. What?

“Mistrani?” I whisper. “Is that you?”

I stretch my senses outward, searching. Life is everywhere, grasshoppers, ants, beetles, spiders—a crawling, buzzing mass.

But to my right, something blocks me. Something vast. Heavy.

Not a wall. A presence.

I drop down to the branch below. Then the next. Bark scrapes against my palms, cool and slick with lingering webs.

My feet touch the ground, cold earth pressing between my toes.

I push aside large philodendron leaves and step forward, slow, testing. The sharp tang of sap floods my senses.

I turn my head. Up. Down.

Something is there, blocking my awareness like a wall in my mind. It’s unseen and unnamed, and it infuriates me.

Then I hear it. The howling. Then I feel it. A low tremor pulses through the ground. I step back. Once. Twice.

Leaves whip against my face as I scramble up the roots and press myself behind them.

Then the world erupts, a thunderous rumble, wind whipping past, the earth shuddering beneath me. And then they come.

A blur of massive beasts tears through the night, their thick pelts rippling, tufted tails snapping like whips.

Fanoxes.

A rainforest-dwelling species, fox-like in many ways, yet towering, as large as elk.

Jagged teeth jut like fangs from their muzzles, their snouts long and sharp, their eyes wild. Their ears are pinned flat, and their darkened bronze fur is matted and worn.

A scream. A roar.

A fanox, wounded, maybe trapped.

I cling to the roots, pressing myself into the earth, trying to be invisible, to blend into the darkness of the forest, to be the darkness.

Not breathing. Not existing.

Thud.

Thud, thud.

I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

Thud, thud.

It crashes downward, obliterating everything in its path.

Fanoxes crushed beneath its weight, their screams sharp, their bodies snapping like twigs. Bones shatter. Limbs twist, mangled beyond repair.

Its claws are extended. Razor-sharp.

Its skin a map of scars.

Thud, thud.

And its foot…

Its foot fills my entire vision.

Thud, thud.