Page 5 of Touch of Oblivion (Woven in Time #1)

Just like my reminder of my name, the other men ignore his words. Maybe they don’t even hear him through their haze of anger and bruised egos.

Torryn cuts in, his voice a warning growl. “This is a temporary ceasefire. Remember that when you’re spouting insults, Riven.”

Sylvin nods once, curtly. “When the war ends, we draw out our new borders after reclaiming the land we gave to humans and stick to them.”

“I, for one, can’t wait,” Riven agrees.

I barely suppress a groan at the annoyance they are stirring up within me.

Torryn lifts a hand to run it through his hair, pulling gently on the roots as he sighs. “I need a fucking cigarette.”

The word brings forth the image of something burning between his lips, and somehow I remember that it’s a bad thing.

“No, you don’t,” I counter before I can think my words through.

The three of them offer me looks of confusion.

Part of me wants to walk over to stand in silence with Azyric, but I know I need to take advantage of this moment to learn everything I can. However, maybe that starts with sharing what I do know.

“I’ve slowly realized that as I see things–like a tree, for example–or you mention them, sometimes things resurface in my mind. I know that cigarettes are bad for you, suddenly.” I end on a shrug, unsure of how else to explain it.

Their stares leave me shifting on my feet with discomfort. It’s time to redirect.

I look at Sylvin, my voice quiet. “If you’re not a shifter…then what are you? ”

His smile returns, distant and polished. “I’m Fae. Winter Court, to be specific. We have magic tied to the elements in our blood and silver on our tongues. We don’t lie outright–our kind can’t–but we’re very good at saying only what serves us.”

The word lands with soft weight. Fae. It hums through my chest. It’s familiar.

Riven shifts closer, pulling my attention.

His voice is smooth as he offers. “Vampire. I drink blood, yes. No, I don’t sleep in coffins. And yes, I can hear your heartbeat.” His eyes glint. “It’s been racing since we arrived.”

He smiles without kindness. A predator enjoying how its prey flinches.

But I don’t flinch, I simply breathe and commit their answers to memory.

Torryn, shapeshifter. Sylvin, fae. Riven, vampire.

I turn slowly toward the only one who hasn’t spoken.

He watches the treeline still, shadows coiling around him like tendrils of smoke.

“What about you?” I ask softly.

When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than the others. Less eager to be known. “Wraith,” he says. “Born of flesh. Molded by shadow. We learn to slip between.”

I don’t understand the complexities of what each man is, but I know what they say is true .

The words– fae, vampire, shifter, wraith –feel correct in my bones, even if I don’t know why.

Yet something still doesn’t sit right. They call themselves kings, and that doesn’t settle the same way within me.

The feel of my brows furrowing with my confusion pauses me for only a moment. I force my next question out before I can second guess it. “How long have you…been kings of this world?”

Torryn’s eyes flash gold. When he speaks, his voice is a low, rumbling growl. “Today marks the first day we claim this world as ours again.”

His words echo through me.

Today marks the first day we claim this world as ours again.

The ground beneath my feet shudders at that. None of them seem to react, but I feel it.

A low pulse, thrumming up through the soles of my feet, through my bones, through something deeper than flesh.

The tremor makes me feel like the ground itself doesn’t welcome those words. It resists them.

A warning.

I glance down, my toes curling against the ash-dusted soil.

I trust the earth more than their mouths, and I think it’s telling me they are not the kings of this world .

My gaze lifts and lingers on each of them, watching their stances. The cold calculation in Azyric’s eyes, the amusement fading from Sylvin’s, the way Riven stands too close, and Torryn’s quiet stillness.

I pull the coat tighter around my body and find my voice again.

“Why?” I ask quietly. “Why are you coming together to fight the humans?”

Once more the earth hums gently, like it approves of my question.

No one answers at first.

Riven steps forward, his voice sharper and more lethal than I’d heard it before. “Because they hunt what is superior to them.”

Sylvin hums, tilting his chin up. “Because they forgot their place. We existed first.”

Torryn’s jaw clenches. “Because the land we gave them in a thousand year-old treaty apparently wasn’t enough for them.”

A pause follows before Azyric turns to face me fully, seeming to float across the ground as all of his shadows retract to swirl at his feet.

“Because they started a war,” he says, the coldness in his tone settling over my heart like ice. “And for once…we intend to finish it.”

The wind stirs and the ash dances around us.

For the first time since I woke in this world, I feel the full weight of what surrounds me.

These men…they’re not just planning to survive a war. They’re planning to rise from the death of humankind with four crowns forged in ruin, reclaiming a world they say belonged to their kind to begin with.

I clutch the coat even tighter, knuckles aching with the force as I look between them, its borrowed warmth offering little comfort now.

If this is a war that decides the fate of the world…I don’t know whose side I’m on.