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T he cold grip of urgency yanked Vivienne from sleep as Lewis shook her shoulder, his voice sharp with alarm.

“Viv. Viv, wake up. I think something’s wrong with the commander.”

Her eyes snapped open. The heaviness of exhaustion vanished, replaced by the jolt of dread clamoring through her veins. She was on her feet before her mind caught up with her body, stumbling toward where Owen lay nearest to the cave entrance.

His face was ashen, his skin slick with cold sweat despite the oppressive warmth of the cave. His breaths were uneven—rasping, struggling—as though each inhale fought against an unseen force pressing down on him.

“Owen?” Vivienne’s voice was soft, urgent.

No response.

She swallowed, reaching for his shoulder. “Owen.” Louder this time. Desperate.

A low, pained moan escaped him, barely more than a breath.

She knelt beside him, her hands shaking as her eyes adjusted to the dim glow of the cavern. That was when she saw it—the thick, blackened veins snaking up his arm, pulsing like living shadows beneath his fevered skin.

Her stomach plummeted. “Gods…”

Cirrus, who had stirred at the commotion, was suddenly at her side. His ice-blue gaze locked onto Owen’s arm, his expression darkening with the weight of realization.

“Shit,” Cirrus whispered, his voice tight. He gently rolled Owen’s arm, revealing deep puncture marks—marks that sent a cold wave of recognition through them all.

“The Zhalak,” Vivienne breathed.

Owen had been bitten. Poisoned.

Her hands clenched into fists. “Why didn’t you say anything?” she demanded, voice ripe with disbelief.

Owen stirred at the sound of her voice, his brows pinching in pain. His unfocused gaze fluttered open, barely able to hold her stare. “Didn’t… think it was that bad,” he muttered, his voice weak, slurred.

“How stupidly stoic of you,” Vivienne chided.

Lewis, who had been pacing near the cave’s mouth, ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “It’s got to be venom of some kind. And probably a vicious infection to go with it. The Apocrita stings were nothing compared to this.”

He was right. The bruised darkness creeping up Owen’s veins wasn’t just infection—it was something else, something alive, something invasive.

Vivienne pressed her palm against Owen’s forehead. His skin was scorching. A fever had taken hold, burning through him with a ruthless intensity.

“We have to do something,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “He can’t die. Not here. Not like this.”

Owen let out a weak, breathless chuckle. “Not… up to me, Vivienne.”

She shook her head, gripping his hand tighter. “You’re not allowed to die, Owen. You hear me? Permission not granted.”

Lewis dropped to his knees beside them, already pulling herbs from his pack, crushing them between his fingers, mixing them into a makeshift poultice. The scent of the damp herbs filled the air as he pressed the mixture against Owen’s wound.

Owen let out a strangled cry, his body convulsing as the pain ignited through him. Vivienne held him down, whispering reassurances even as her own hands trembled. Cirrus handed her a damp cloth, which she pressed to Owen’s fevered brow, willing the moisture to cool him, even if only slightly.

Lewis exhaled, his face grim as he wrapped the wound. “This isn’t enough,” he murmured. “The poultice might slow the spread, but it won’t stop it.”

Vivienne’s heart clenched.

Owen’s body shook violently beneath her touch, his lips parting in a whisper of agony.

She couldn’t lose him. She wouldn’t.

“Vivienne,” Lewis said, gesturing to the back of the cave, his voice strained with urgency. “There’s something else I need you to see.”

She hesitated, glancing back at Owen’s trembling form before rising to join Lewis. Cirrus remained, watching over the commander. Though there was nothing left to be done.

“What is it?” she whispered, stepping into the dim recesses of the cave.

Lewis motioned toward the far wall. “I found something.”

The cave narrowed into a tunnel, curving away into unseen depths. Cool air brushed past her skin, a stark contrast to the stagnant heat of their shelter. She paused, peering into the darkness—then jumped as a faint, golden glow flickered at her feet.

She turned, eyes widening as Lewis held up a piece of bark, its inner core glowing like molten embers.

“Well, I actually found two things,” Lewis said, voice tinged with wonder. “I stepped on this by accident—it glows. I’m calling it ignis bark.”

Vivienne stared at the piece in his hand. “Ignis bark,” she whispered, marveling at the faint golden light. “They stockpiled it here… where they knew they’d need it.”

Lewis nodded. “And that’s not all.”

He led her deeper into the tunnel.

“Whoa,” Vivienne breathed as faint carvings emerged in the dim light.

Lewis held up the glowing bark, illuminating the image painted onto the cavern wall—a moon, half-shrouded in shadow, and beside it, a flower.

Her stomach flipped.

“It’s the same one,” Lewis murmured, eyes shining with excitement. “The flower from the ruins. The one we’ve been looking for.”

Vivienne traced the delicate petals with her fingertips, her heart pounding. The same long, elegant bloom. This was it . “Do you know anything about these flowers?” she asked, breathless.

Lewis nodded. “Not the exact species, but the leaves—it’s part of the Noctilum genus.”

Vivienne’s brain raced, the roots of ancient languages filling in the gaps. “Noctilum—meaning ‘of the night.’”

Lewis grinned. “Exactly. It only blooms in low-light conditions, which explains why we haven’t seen it anywhere else.”

Her pulse quickened as she deciphered the surrounding text. Her heart lifted. “This part says the petals have healing properties.” Her breath hitched. “Lewis—this could save Owen.”

Then her eyes flicked further down.

Her stomach dropped.

Lewis noticed her expression shift. “Oh no. I know that look. What is it?”

Vivienne swallowed, forcing herself to read the final line again. “The flower… it only blooms under a full moon.”

Silence reigned.

Lewis’ hopeful expression faltered. “…Oh,” he whispered. “Oh, shit.”

The realization crashed over them both. The last full moon had been in the sky during the Harvest Moon Festival. The next one? Still two weeks away.

Owen wouldn’t last two days. Vivienne pressed her hands to the stone wall, her breath coming too fast. There had to be another way. Had to be something they could?—

A sharp, high-pitched scream ripped through the cave.

The blood in her veins froze. She and Lewis shared a look of dread and turned toward the sound.