Page 37 of Dark Fate

I've been sobbing myself to sleep, a constant nausea turning in my gut. It feels like I'm stuck on replay, reliving those dreadful days when the Shadow Brotherhood had him in their grasp. And through this ceaseless torment, Erik has been my rock—fortifying me, standing unwavering by my side, and never throwing in the towel once.

I'm acutely aware of my own mood shifts, too. It's like I'm stuck in a perpetual storm of PMS, my temper teetering on a knife's edge, sharp and ready to snap. Each little annoyance is magnified, and my patience wears as thin as morning frost under the rising sun—my fuse shortening with every moment Rhyland isn't by my side. It's a struggle balancing the aching void with the fiery temperament that seeks to consume me.

Wincing with effort, I gain my feet, lurching stiffly toward my boots. So intensely focused on my screaming body, I nearly bash straight into Erik's solid chest, suddenly filling the tent flap.

"Good morn, Little Huntress..." His thundercloud eyes crease gently, taking in my messy, barely standing state. "I take it rest did not come easily?"

I make a sound halfway between an exhausted laugh and a whimper. "Respect the grind—just another thrilling installment of 'Dani's Epic Quest Bootcamp from Hell'..." Strong coffee, I need you now!

Erik guides me toward fireside cushions, and a steaming mug of magic awaits. Mystical caffeine—bless this steadfast vampire!

"How. Where…? Thank you!" I chant, making an immediate beeline for the steaming pot nestled in the glowing embers. "Where in the seven realms did you find this?" The bitter scent teases my nose—blessed caffeine!

I practically choked, gulping that first scalding mouthful before I remembered to breathe.

"Faderyn brought it to me. A supply wagon dropped off goods this morning." Erik tells me.

Sweet mercy, it's been days since blessed bean juice graced my un-caffeinated system! I hug the battered tin mug tightly, not caring that my tongue now feels blistered.

Erik indulgently passes the honey pot without comment to tame the hot brew.

I sigh blissfully after a second; a more cautious sip cuts bitterness with honey's mellow sweetness. "Heaven..." I mumble into rising steam, not caring about straight-up mainlining liquid energy despite disrupted sleep.

I spill my troubling dreams of beshadowed Rhyland into the weighted stillness between us. Erik's thoughtful silence proves more unnerving than any words as ominous tendrils of my dream threaten to make real nightmares of us all...

Erik toys with an arrowhead from the nearby table, giving me long, quiet moments with my coffee and jangled thoughts before speaking gingerly."These worries hounding your dreams bode unwell, Little Huntress," he begins awkwardly.

Hardly Mr. Sensitive with emotions at the best of times...now he visibly fights discomfort over last night's shared visions.

Me either, big guy.

I wave aside mention of blurry dream images, still crowding too near for comfort. There is no sense of rehashing what I saw far too vividly—those inescapable chains of shadow and horror twisting Rhyland away from himself.

Erik clears his throat, pressing onward despite the stricken look flashing across my face. "If Rhyland remains severed from your light—you— much longer, his inner corruption shall rise unchecked and consume him."

His grave words spark new panic. With a shaking hand, I set down my half-finished coffee, my stomach rebelling. "How long?" My cracked voice pleads hoarsely. "How long does he have before...before—" I cannot speak the haunting dread aloud.

Erik's broad shoulders slump under some unseen weight. He rubs the back of his neck almost sheepishly. "Truthfully, no one fully comprehends the intricacies of bonded pairs, even amongst my kindred. Each pair is different." He takes a bracing swig from a leather flask, silver gaze turned inward. "The union runs deeper than mere blood or convenience. When two souls entwine so profoundly across the centuries...well..." Erik shrugs. "Let's just say prophecy and gods themselves likely played matchmakers between you and my eccentric brother, Little One." Wry humor briefly touches his mouth before fading.

My tolerance for all this mystical mumbo-jumbo is stretching like bubblegum on a hot sidewalk—pretty much non-existent. Rhyland scratches an itch that's real talk; no need for poetic frills and frothy words.

I huff, jabbing a spoon into the honey pot more forcefully than necessary, the sticky sweetness plopping into my almost empty cup of coffee. "Cut the soulmate baloney," I mutter with a frown. "You said the clock's ticking on him, so give it to me straight—what's the countdown beforeRhylandpulls a 'dark side' conversion?"

Erik blinks at the obscure reference but gleans the gist: " It's impossible to predict precisely. It depends on the pair's unique fortitude and bond strength."

I grit my teeth, reigning in a fury and that spark of power that's itching to jump out. "Great, thank you, Prince of Vagueville—just what I need while Rhyland's over there on a ticking time bomb. Give me something I can actually work with," I snap, my impatience boiling over. "Spell it out for me. What the hell does 'bond strength' even mean? Our psychic hotline’s been nothing but static and crossed wires recently, and trust me, it's anything but amusing."

Erik runs a hand through his silver hair pensively. "Communicating is but one manifestation of the partnership. I speak rather of your souls' alignment—the depth you anchor one another's essential spirits." His intense stare bores into mine. "Tell me true, Little Huntress—even now, does some central piece of yourself yet cling to my brother across whatever divide?"

My breath catches in my throat as the realization hits, a clear note in the cacophony of panic and anger. There's a connection, a lifeline to Rhyland that's been steadfast amidst the chaos... but I can sense it, worn and stretched thin, edges fraying from the relentless stress and decay. The earnest depth in Erik's question echoes the persistent fear in the back of my mind.

Could it be true? Might our connection—this vital link—snap completely if we don't counter the forces tearing at it?

My fingers tighten reflexively around the cold tin mug, grasping for a tangible anchor. Words come out rough and raw, carving their weight into the heavy air around us."It's like... when all the noise falls away, this thread still pulls me to him. But lately, it's felt more like a raw nerve than a robust tether, you know?" My voice is a coarse whisper, a shadow of itself.

Tears, those traitorous indicators of the turmoil within, well up uninvited. I lash out at them with a fierce swipe of my hand, anger aimed at the vulnerability they expose. "It's as if something crucial is being eaten away, bit by bit, as we stay apart. It's agony—worse than anything I've ever known..."

My breath catches on, building grief and renewed helplessness. Sensing danger, Erik lays a cautious hand on my shoulder. "Correctly said. You are feeling what Rhyland is feeling, and that fundamental recognition, unseverable before death itself, sees mated duos through harrowing adversity."

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