Page 6 of Touch of Oblivion (Woven in Time #1)

Wren

T he sun has begun a slow descent behind the rolling mountains in the distance, casting long golden tendrils across the scorched clearing. The peaks catch the last of the light like fading embers, and for a moment, the world feels split between ruin and beauty.

Despite the chaos I awoke to, I find a lightness filling my chest at the sight of the serene world that hasn’t yet been touched by battle. The ground hums through the soles of my feet once more, seeming to align with my appreciation.

“We need to go back to our factions now.”

Torryn’s voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp and grounding. My gaze flutters to him, and my heart presses tighter against my ribs at the sudden return of reality .

His expression is unreadable–stern, though not unkind–as he looks past me toward the horizon and back again.

“Our people will be waiting,” he adds, like he already feels the pull of responsibilities calling him back. “We will each be expected to provide answers of today’s outcome.”

Sylvin hums faintly beside him while rocking on his heels. “The tiresome duties of kingship. Nothing ruins a perfectly apocalyptic day like meetings and reports.”

Before I can stop myself, a soft chuckle falls from my mouth at his dramatics. Instead of the arrogant fae I’ve seen up until now, this feels like a peek at the real person behind the title. He doesn’t enjoy being a king.

Fascinating .

The world seems to still around me. Each pair of eyes turns to me. Not with suspicion this time, but with something stranger…sharper. Their gazes narrow with unspoken questions, as if they’ve just glimpsed something rare and wholly unexpected.

Sylvin is the first to recover. He straightens with a self-satisfied smile, flicking an imaginary speck of ash from his shoulder. “Well,” he drawls, lips curling with theatrical pride, “it seems I’m the first to make our little echo laugh. Do try to keep up, gentlemen.”

“It’s Wren,” I murmur.

“For the rest of them,” he counters with a wink .

“We’ll meet at our usual neutral command post in Denver tomorrow morning to determine next steps.

I will tell my people to let you through our territory,” Torryn says, his voice returning to that low, steady cadence.

I feel the weight of his responsibilities in his tone and the way he takes a deep breath.

He pulls a cigarette from his pocket and slips it between his lips, the silver lighter flicking open with a practiced snap.

I narrow my eyes at him, drawing his focus.

Our gazes lock, and for a moment, the noise around us fades. The golden eyes that once assessed me for threat now hold something akin to warmth.

His lips curve, just slightly, like he can already hear the protest forming on my tongue.

I shake my head, slow and deliberate.

“Worth a try,” he exhales and pulls it from his mouth, tucking it back into his pocket.

Sylvin tilts his head, glancing between us. Then he turns to me fully, his tone deceptively casual. “We should also take this time tonight to ask around about my little echo.”

I watch Riven’s gaze sharpen ever so slightly on the word my .

He steps forward, the weight behind his narrowed eyes intimidating enough to make Sylvin’s mirth fade away. “We’ll ask around about her,” he says, voice low and unreadable. “ Quietly . We don’t want too many people asking questions in return.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he gives this command of discretion.

His words are deliberate, shaped carefully around a purpose they all pretend is purely tactical. But it’s not…I felt the shift in the air the moment they offered their preferred versions of me. The underlying tension in every sentence since then, that isn’t about duty, war, or strategy.

It’s about taking possession of me. The shiny unknown.

I nod slowly, unsure of what to say. Perhaps someone will report a missing loved one. Maybe I’ll get lucky and be returned to my home.

Sylvin clasps his hands behind his back, chin lifted with an amused tilt. “So, the real question, little echo…” His voice curls with velvet arrogance as his gaze sweeps over me, eyes alight with intrigue. “Which of us gets the honor of escorting you?”

“It’s Wren,” I sigh, blinking back at his expectant expression, not because I don’t have an answer, but because I don’t understand why they think I owe them one. “Why do any of you assume I’d go with you at all?”

I may want allies, but I’ve yet to voice that to them, and their increasingly possessive assumptions don’t sit well with me .

My question catches them off guard. Even Sylvin’s smirk falters for a beat.

“I don’t know what I am,” I continue, my voice quiet but steadier now. “And neither do you. For all we know, I am human. I saw how the others trembled–how they screamed, and shoved, and ran to escape you. I was kicked in the ribs in their rush to survive.”

Riven’s eyes drop to my side, to the place where the coat hides my injury. His fangs press against his lower lip, elongated and gleaming. Fury simmers behind his gaze.

My fingers tighten around the coat again, the fabric pulling taut between my fists as I glance at the ground surrounding us.

“Even now, we’re standing among the dead. The aftermath of your cause.”

Torryn’s jaw ticks, but he doesn’t speak. None of them do.

“You might not be monsters,” I murmur, “but you’re not saviors either.”

A pause follows.

Then Riven steps forward, his eyes raking over me–slow and full of hunger. “You’re not human. I can guarantee that by the scent of your blood. You have magic within you.”

I don’t shrink beneath his stare, but something unsettles in my stomach–a hollow twist of instinct that warns me that not all fascination is harmless .

“She doesn’t have to go with any of us,” Torryn says next, voice low and rough, as if each word is drawn from the very core of him. “But she shouldn’t be left here alone. Not without supplies. Not in this state.”

Sylvin hums, recovering his composure with a flick of his wrist. “And certainly not with either of you . Little echo, obviously you should come with me. I’m the most civilized of the lot, and if anything dangerous does happen, I’ll at least make sure your death is memorable and sung of in our stories. ”

“I don’t have plans of dying,” I whisper, frowning faintly at his odd tangent.

Torryn’s eyes darken, golden irises sharpening like blades beneath his brow. “I really can’t leave you here alone. My instincts won’t allow me to, but I’m not sending you off with one of them if you’re not comfortable, either. You are welcome to come visit my pack for the night.”

“Because you’re the model of comfort in your weird dens,” Riven drawls, arms folding lazily across his chest as he leans ever-so-slightly closer.

His gaze drips down the length of my frame, slow and deliberate.

“She should come with me. I can offer her the most lavish accommodations. Soft beds. Silk. Everything she could ever need.”

The pressure coils in my chest again–dense, suffocating. It’s the same sensation I felt when they offered names.

I lift my gaze and find Azyric, still shadowed, still silent. He hasn’t reached for me. He hasn’t demanded.

It’s true that I can’t stay here alone, as much as I hate to admit to my codependency.

“If I have to go with someone,” I say quietly, “I’ll go with Azyric.”

The words cut clean through the argument. Three heads swing toward the shadow-cloaked figure who has shown he doesn’t want anything from me.

Azyric shifts at my announcement, straightening slightly and glancing back at me with a guarded expression I can’t decipher.

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Torryn says, glancing back with a frown etched onto his face. “He–”

“She’s made her choice,” Azyric cuts in, cold and calm, his eyes never leaving the trees beyond. “Let it stand.”

His voice slices through the space with a finality that startles me.

There’s steel in it. Not just indifference, but command. A challenge, almost, and he doesn’t even look at me when he says it. His eyes remain fixed on the distant forest again, as if daring any of them to contest what I’ve chosen.

I blink, a flicker of surprise rising in my chest.

I hadn’t expected him to defend the choice .

“You don’t even want her with you,” Riven scoffs, stepping forward. “You’ve barely looked at her since she arrived.”

Exactly.

The wraith is quick to respond in a clipped, cold tone. “If she’s with me, I can keep an eye on her.”

Something in the way he says it lodges in my chest and unease skitters down my spine.

His gaze flicks to mine for the briefest breath, a flash of silver through smoke.

Torryn breaks the silence first, dragging a hand through his hair with a weary sigh. “We’ll reconvene tomorrow. Each of us will ask the people we trust about Wren .”

He says it with emphasis, testing how the name feels in his mouth now that I’ve claimed it.

Sylvin clasps his hands together, his smirk returning like a mask sliding back into place. “Then it’s settled. We’ll meet at first light.”

A muscle feathers in Riven’s jaw and none of them move, despite the plan being firmly apparent.

They all continue to stare at me, as if waiting for something.

“I’ll be fine,” I offer quietly, hoping to lighten the tension and get us all moving along.

“She better be,” Torryn mutters, gaze hard on Azyric now. “Or you’ll be answering to all of us.”

I barely hold back my eyeroll .

Azyric doesn’t answer. He simply tips his chin and grunts.

Sylvin’s gaze shifts to me one last time, and the curve of his mouth turns knowing. “Try not to get killed in the meantime, little echo.”

“It’s Wren,” I mutter again, barely louder than the wind.

I’m not sure he really cares to hear me.

A hush settles between them, a final beat of stillness before movement returns to the world.

Torryn steps back from the group with a low breath, rolling his shoulders once as though shaking off the weight of restraint. Then his body begins to bend and break and reform. His bones stretch, realigning as fur emerges through his skin in waves, and within seconds, the man is gone.

In his place stands a massive, brown wolf.

Golden eyes blink once, the same eyes that studied me just moments before. The scars still cross his snout and lip in the same jagged path. The sheer size of him makes me take a step back, breath caught in my throat.

Then he turns, silent paws pressing into the ashy ground as he trots off toward the dark edge of the woods, blending into the surroundings.

Riven moves next. One moment he’s beside me grabbing my hand and pressing a kiss to the top of it, the next, he’s gone .

It happens so fast I barely register it.

Just a blur of motion and wind stirred in his wake, like the world skipped a second and left nothing but the echo of his passing behind.

Sylvin sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before gesturing vaguely at the horizon. “Fine, I’ll walk, like a peasant. What’s thousands of miles?”

Azyric is quick to retort. “The fae have portals. Use one. Don’t pretend you’re walking anywhere, just to gain her sympathy.”

Sylvin’s eyes flick to mine one last time, ignoring the wraith. “Don’t let the shadow king lure you too deep into the dark, Wren.”

“It’s…” I murmur again, almost reflexively now, before I stop myself.

He said Wren.

He offers a smile before turning and striding toward the mountains with a languid grace, like he truly doesn’t want to return to his duties and is choosing not to use a portal.

I’m left with the shadowed observer who remains unmoved for a beat longer, gaze scanning the sky, the trees, the unseen. When he speaks, it’s quiet and controlled. “This is my land, but we will travel by shadow to our stronghold in the bordering state.”

Before I can ask what that means, his long gait quickly eats up the distance between us. He reaches out with one hand, his fingers brushing my wrist. The contact sends a jolt through me that isn’t entirely fear.

I’m not quite sure how to process this new feeling.

He leans in, shadows brushing my shoulder as his breath fans across the shell of my ear.

“I noticed your hesitation when we mentioned winning this war.”

My breathing halts for a moment at the subtle accusation.

“Don’t think for a second that you’re fooling me.”

The world folds inward, swallowed by shadow before I can take another breath.