Page 75 of Dark Fate

Faderyn exhales deeply before speaking. "They may ask you to demonstrate your worth through knowledge, combat skill, or magical ability."

I can feel Dani exhale a weary sigh beside me—as if she's had it up to here with having to show everyone what she's made of since she gained her abilities.

Dani tips her head back with a playful glint in her honey-golden eyes. "Sparkle duty? Pssh, consider me the queen of glitterati," she retorts with a sass-laden grin.

Faderyn laughs, and Lucian chimes in with cheeky commentary, "Oh, sure. They'll flip their lid completely when they get a load of Miss Firecracker Fingers here."

Dani's all business with a dash of sass. "I'm gonna lay it all out—give them the full Blockbuster trailer of the doom that's about to RSVP uninvited to their magic cottage. But top of the to-do list? That stone. They've gotta have some information on where that gem's hiding."

I pull her in closer, savoring her warmth and sweet scent. "We'll get it, Angel," I whisper against her ear so only she can hear. "Do you feel it? The pull?" I need to know about her connection to that stone.

She gives a little head shake, firm and sure. "Tough to pin down, but there's this subtle pull—a sixth sense or GPS for the mystical, I guess. One thing I do know? We're headed in the right direction," she asserts with confidence.

Danica

32

Butts numbed to oblivion and sporting a second skin of trail dust, we haul our road-weary selves off at a clearing that unfolds like a scene from a painter's wildest dreams.

The Light Lands stretch out below, a mesmerizing tapestry of luminescent meadows that seem to glow with an otherworldly light. The forests whisper secrets on the breeze, their leaves glinting like shards of emerald glass in the fading sunlight. And the rivers—oh, the rivers—catch the last golden rays of the day and transform them into liquid gold, a stunning sight that almost hurts to look at.

"Here," Axilya declares with a sweep of her arm, "we make camp."

Rhyland, ever the chivalrous gentleman, is at my side in an instant, his strong hands lifting me out of the saddle with ease. "Easy there, Angel," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends heat through my body.

Of course, I'm about as graceful as a newborn giraffe, sliding down his muscular torso like a sack of potatoes. Meanwhile, Axilya's crew dismounts with an effortless grace that screams, "I could do this in my sleep." And here I am, legs wobbling like jelly after our marathon riding session.

As we set about pitching our tents, the diamond-dusted trees stand watch, their branches glittering in the twilight. The fireflies, not to be outdone, put on a show that would make Las Vegas proud, their flickering glow a well-choreographed dance number that fills the air with magic. And the flowers, oh, the flowers—they swing open in a standing ovation, their perfume notes mellowing the soul as they drift on the breeze.

I do my part, pitching in where I can, but mostly, I am lost in a state of pure awe. This is the deep magic of the Light Lands, untamed and pristine, a force so powerful it steals the breath from my lungs.

Dead center of the camp stands the granddaddy of trees, looming like a massive silent protector. Its roots sprawl out, doubling as nature's own seating arrangement, and the leaves rustle with the kind of hushed chatter that has me itching to eavesdrop on their ancient tree tales.

As the last tent peg is hammered into the soft earth, I take a moment to stand and soak it all in. The beauty of this place, the sense of belonging that washes over me like a warm embrace—it's a feeling I've never quite experienced before, a connection to something greater than myself.

As the night wraps its arms around us, we huddle up close to a campfire that pops and hisses, its flames flickering with a color palette that would make even the most vibrant rainbow turn green with envy. Axilya's crew of fae folks lay out a spread of fruits and veggies that practically have their own inner light show, each bite a fireworks display of taste—equal parts novel zing and déjà vu yum.

I'm all cozied up in my go-to spot, sandwiched between Rhyland's linebacker thighs, soaking in the double warmth from my personal heater and the crackling campfire. It's a moment of pure bliss, a respite from the chaos and uncertainty that seems to follow us wherever we go.

"How's my Angel holding up?" Rhyland murmurs softly, his breath tickling my ear as he plants searing kisses along my neck, heading southbound with a purpose.

It's classic Rhyland—thoughtful as the day is long, with that caring, mine-all-mine vibe wrapping around me like a snug comforter. His presence is a balm to my frayed nerves, a reminder that I've got him by my side no matter what happens.

But our moment of tranquility is shattered by an ominous rumble underfoot. Gentle tremors rapidly swell into thunderous quakes, sending the fireflies scattering in all directions. Their once-harmonious light show is replaced by a frenzied dance of panic, the insects darting and weaving desperately to escape the impending danger.

A monstrous roar shakes the air, deep and booming like the hunger pangs of a ravenous beast. It's a sound that chills me to the bone, a primal cry that speaks of violence and death.

"They're coming!" Axilya's guard shouts over the deafening din, his voice laced with a mix of fear and determination.

They? I quiz myself, mentally flipping through the Who's Who of potential enigmas, as hulking silhouettes crest the hill—gigantic stone-skinned monsters with arms thick as tree trunks, their every step shaking the earth beneath our feet. Trailing behind, serpentine horrors slither forward, a grotesque array of deadly claws and venom-dripping fangs announcing their ominous advance.

"Ogres!" Faderyn's alarm slices through the tension like a blade, his eyes wide with disbelief and dread.

"Everybody, battle formation!" Axilya's command rings out, her voice steady and sure as she draws a slender blade that shimmers like moonlight on water. It's a weapon fit for a queen, a symbol of her power and authority.

Rhyland and I spring into action, our muscles coiled tight and ready for battle. True to form, he muscles me behind his back, always playing the overprotective shield, his body a wall of muscle and determination between me and the approaching horde.

The ring of Erik's broadsword pierces the air as he rips it free from its sheath, the steel humming eagerly for blood. "Stay behind us, Little Huntress!" he barks, his voice a mix of gruff affection and steely resolve.

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