Page 48

That We Didn’t Warn You

“ T hey’ve been here, see? I can spot the tracks. Look, Acranta.”

“Not to be that person,” Jelethia mutters, “but Bel’Akra, how are you this hyper?”

Darkness lies over us like a heavy shroud.

The jungle feels both empty and alive, filled with the hum of crickets and other insects.

Now and then, the full moon glimmers between the treetops, its light slipping through thin clouds only to disappear again behind shifting leaves, taking its strength with it.

Vines and hanging plants drape over everything.

There’s no clear path. We must push through clusters of greenery, lifting them aside to pass.

The jungle spills over us, weighing us down like a living mass.

It snags and tangles, trapping us in threads of vines, stems, and spiderwebs.

We constantly must help each other break free.

“We’re almost there,” Salahfar whispers, hands clasped behind his back.

“Almost where?” I ask.

He tilts his head slightly. “Ah, well. At Shimmerlake. And Ogroth.”

“Ogroth?”

“The volcano. Now tiptoe and try not to make any noise. You’re doing an excellent job—barely a sound. Not like you, Jelethia. Please, at least try.”

She pulls a face, twisting the rings in her eyebrow. “Oh, boo-hoo. Excuse me. You can’t compare me to a sun elf. Of course, I make noise. I weigh more!”

“Don’t get stuck on that. Just try. That’s all I ask.”

“I’m trying.”

“And for that, I thank you.”

“Shimmerlake?” I ask. “Doesn’t sound like a name dwarves would’ve given. And what volcano? Is there even a?—”

“ Named ,” Salahfar corrects.

I narrow my eyes. “Are you seriously correcting me? ‘Given’ is perfectly acceptable.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re mistaken.” He closes his eyes, shaking his head as he falls into step beside me. “According to the latest report from Rohas, one should always use ‘named’ when referring to places.”

I groan. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

“Ah, well, it’s of utmost importance that?—”

“Oh, give it a rest, Salahfar!” Jelethia cuts in. “No one cares.”

“Shimmerlake is part of Harg,” Acranta says, unfazed by the shift in conversation.

She drums her fingers against every tree trunk we pass, skipping between them.

“The lake stretches across all of Baraatien. It’s massive.

To keep track of which part we’re discussing, we have assigned different sections half-names. Makes sense, right?”

“All of Baraatien?” Salahfar arches a brow, giving her a light pat on the back, barely touching her before she darts off to drum on the next tree.

No one questions it. Strange.

“Sorry, Acranta, but you’re mistaken. It’s more like a tenth.”

She bounces up behind him, gripping his shoulders and jumping as if trying to climb onto his back.

“But the lake is enormous!”

“Give it up.” Salahfar shrugs her off. “Yes, yes, you’re right, Acranta. But Baraatien is larger. Far larger.”

“But—”

“What’s this volcano we’re heading to?” I cut in. “Is it active?”

“It is,” Salahfar replies. “But no one knows when it last erupted. It must’ve been ages ago, perhaps so long that the nauaris still roamed Sarador.”

“Salahfar,” Fax purrs.

“What?”

“You know, you’re kind of sexy when you get all worked up like this.”

“Give it a rest.”

Acranta giggles, and Jelethia makes a noise I can’t quite place, something between a snort and what I imagine a walrus would sound like.

“What?” Fax laughs. “Look at him. His biceps are practically gleaming in the moonlight. Delicious?—”

“Drop it, Fax!” Salahfar groans, shaking his head. But I catch the way the corners of his mouth twitch.

Acranta slings an arm around him, struggling to reach and beams up at him. “Fax and Salahfar, sitting in a tree…”

“You wish.” Fax grins, waggling his eyebrows.

Salahfar shrugs her off. “Alright, enough. Quiet now. Move carefully and stay silent.”

We move forward slowly. A thrill buzzes beneath my skin.

It’s been too long since I’ve done something simply because I wanted to, not out of duty, not for vengeance, not to wield a sword in endless training.

Salahfar leads, his jungle-green hair tied back in a low ponytail. His skin is deep, matte gray, and his ears are long and slender, sharper than ours.

Star elves have taller, more refined ears that curve up along the sides of their heads. Ours rarely reach that high.

“Stop,” he commands.

We freeze.

I don’t breathe.

“Ire,” he murmurs.

The leaves shudder, then part, peeling back like unfurling petals, revealing a clearing. A still, obsidian pool lies at its heart, cradling the moon’s reflection on its unbroken surface. The jungle shifts. The hum of insects rises.

I gasp, and Jelethia shoots me a sharp glance.

Five unicorns drink silently at the water’s edge. Four adults and a foal.

The foal, kelp-black. The others, white as sugar, pristine, their bodies shimmering.

Beyond them, the jungle splits apart, unveiling a colossal volcano. Its peak pierces the heavens and towers far above the treetops.

A pillar of smoke billows upward, twisting eastward, dissolving into the cloudy night.

Even from here, I can smell the earth’s unrest, the acrid bite of sulfur tangled with the damp fragrance of moss and water lilies.

The volcano murmurs in the distance, a quiet growl that makes the ground tremble beneath our feet. We sink to our knees, silent and breathless as the scene unfolds.

“This is amazing!” Fax exclaims. “Imagine riding one of them! It would be a nice change from those pumas. Do you think I can hop on before they take off?”

No one answers.

“Wow.” Acranta rests her elbow against my shoulder, whispering in awe. “Oh, this is… just wow.”

Her eyes are enormous, gleaming and round as orbs. Her face is open with childlike wonder, as if the world is revealing itself for the first time. Innocent and untouched by experience. She can’t have seen much of the world. Not like I have.

The unicorns’ horns are sharp, sturdy, and half the length of their bodies. Their forms are tall, easily one and a half elf-lengths from hoof to withers.

One rears up, neighing, front hooves striking at the air.

“Don’t forget to make a wish!” Fax calls out. “I wish my brothers will become apprentices next season so we can be Shadow Warriors together, just as we planned when we were kids.”

“Oh, right!” Acranta brightens, leaning her elbow harder against me. “I wish I could get my memories back.”

Jelethia snorts. “Memories and apprenticeships? Please. I wish for money. Tons of money. Baraatian dulems. Imagine everything I could buy.”

“What about you, Salahfar?” Fax wiggles his eyebrows. “Eternal love?”

“I need to think.”

“You overthink, fuddy-duddy. You need to live a little. Stop being so?—”

“Zel, what’s your wish?” Acranta nudges me into the bushes. “Quick, before they disappear!”

“I wish…”

Everyone falls silent, watching me.

Behind them, the unicorns play. Bucking, galloping, whinnying, splashing water into the night.

“I wish for Akares to die and for me to be the one to kill him.”

“Dark.” Jelethia smacks her lips. “Real deep. Talk like that, and people might mistake you for a star elf.”

“Are you from Aarilion?” Fax wedges between me and Acranta, sending a cascade of leaves over my shoulders, scratching against my back.

I nod.

“Do you have unicorns there?”

“No.”

“Dragons?”

“Absolutely not.”

He chuckles, his grin stretching wide, hair wild and tousled. “Then what do you have?”

“Snow.”

“Fantastic. So maybe you have snow horses?”

I blink. What?

“Get it?” he continues. “Like seahorses, but… snow?”

Jelethia sighs. “You’re painfully unfunny.”

“Better that than being difficult.”

“Like me? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Exactly, see? Loosen up a little.” He throws an arm around her and ruffles her hair.

She shrieks and squirms, twisting the heavy necklaces around her fingers and winding them tightly.

“I’m not trying to be that person, but I’m trying to enjoy the view here.

Go cling to your beloved Salahfar instead.

He looks lonely, doesn’t he?” I turn my focus to the unicorns, opening my mind to them.

This time, there’s no wall to push through.

I let my consciousness drift, light, weightless, brushing against theirs.

I don’t dive deep. I hover at the surface, gathering pieces of them all at once. Within moments, I know:

Their names—Eír, Fala, Glóni, Pollur, Njáll.

That they’re a family. That they return to Shimmerlake once every sun cycle. That Njáll’s hoof is injured. That Fala refuses to drink anything but the purest water, and Pollur killed a dragon last winter.

Fragments of memory reach me, fleeting thoughts and emotions.

I know I could learn more if I focused on just one of them and threw myself in completely.

But I choose to stay here, at the surface. The last time was intense enough.

“Last full moon, we went to Mirror Lake,” Acranta says, resting her elbow against Fax. Everyone sits close, a tangle of fabric, skin, and leaves. “But all we saw were monkeys and fanoxes. So dull. But at least we succeeded on our second try, right?”

Salahfar clears his throat. “It’s remarkable, truly. Unicorns are rare and mostly found in Vasvinennian.”

“Have you ever visited the volcano?” I ask.

“Of course!” Fax blinks. “Every cloudless full moon, they hold sacrifice rituals at the summit.”

“Sacrifice rituals?” I pull a face. “By whom?”

“The masters, some staff, and occasionally an apprentice or two.” Fax grins. “The first lunar cycle we were here, we spied on them and?—”

“It was crazy,” Acranta cuts in. “We were nearly caught, but Fax found a shortcut, and we managed to escape. Oh, Zel, you should’ve been there! Next time, maybe we should go again. Then you can?—”

“Why do they perform sacrifice rituals?”

“To strengthen their Arzakean, if you catch my meaning.” Fax gestures vaguely. “When you practice dark magic, you must forge strong bonds with the gods, especially the one you’ve chosen to follow.”

“So why did you have to sneak in? You practice Arzakean, don’t you?”

Salahfar leans in, the bushes rustling with the movement. “Here’s the thing. For most, praying on every cloudless full moon is sufficient, but if you want to harness extra power, attending the ritual is recommended. But you must be invited.”

Jelethia nods. “That’s right. Once you’ve taken part, you can’t skip the next one. You’re expected to keep attending. And if you ever leave this place…” She shrugs. “You’ll have to start performing your own.”

“Acranta, teach me something in Arzakean!” I exclaim.

“That’s dangerous for sun elves,” Salahfar cuts in immediately. “Unpredictable and risky. No one knows what could happen. You could get hurt or even die.”

“You don’t know that. I want to try.”

“So she has a death wish, too,” Jelethia mutters. “Charming. What do you even need Arzakean for? Don’t you have nature magic? Isn’t that enough?”

“It’s too weak for me.”

She snorts, running her fingertips along the rings in her ears, making them clink. “Well, don’t say we didn’t warn you.”