Page 6 of Eluvonia
The moment we cross the threshold of the cave, I whirl, bow raised, an arrow already drawn back.
Silence.
The growl fades into the distance, but its weight lingers. My chest rises and falls too fast, my lungs burning from the run.
Bryn collapses against the cave wall, dropping the deer on the ground, his hands are braced on his knees, and he is sucking in deep, uneven breaths. His brother follows suit.
“Do you think it saw us?” Bryn whispers, barely audible.
Leynard doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze is locked on the entrance, his sword still raised, the tension in his body refusing to ease.
“Let’s hope not,” he mutters, his jaw clenching.
I force a breath out, trying to slow the erratic beat of my heart.
The deer’s weight drags at my arms as I help the twins haul it farther into the cave. The musky scent of it mingles with the damp stone and earth around us.
The forest, which once felt like a sanctuary, now feels fragile—too open, too exposed.
Like parchment against fire.
Chapter 2
AERIS
As I tread through the tunnel, the gritty stone floor scratches the soles of my bare feet. Each step is deliberate, a whisper against the silence. My breaths are slow and measured—a survival instinct bred from years of hiding. The damp, earthy scent of the underground clings to my skin, curling into my lungs with every inhale.
Torchlight flickers along the jagged walls, stretching shadows into long, twisting figures that dance and writhe like restless spirits.
We let the twins drop off the deer with the cooks while Leynard and I kept watch at the cave entrance. After an hour of silence, we decided to head to the cavern we call the war room to brief my father. I shouldn’t be going—I know that. But after what we just saw, there’s no way I’m sitting this out. He has to listen to me. Just this once.
Leynard walks beside me in silence, his gaze forward, his expression unreadable. He’s taller than me by a full head, hisshoulders broad with the weight of responsibility.
The leather of his boots scuffs lightly against the ground, a contrast to my near-silent movements. He carries himself with a quiet authority, a warrior trained and hardened by necessity, but I know him well enough to catch the tension in his jaw.
We step through the archway into the war room. The air here is thick—metallic. A large fire crackles in the center, its light casting long shadows over the crates of weapons stacked against the walls.
The scent of burning wood mingles with the iron tang of steel, a reminder of the battles fought and the ones still to come.
My father leans over a massive map spread across a worn wooden table, the edges curling from age and use. His gray hair, streaked with white, dangles in loose strands around his face, deep lines etched into his skin from years of war and loss. His pointed ears peek through, a subtle but undeniable mark of our Fae heritage. He wears his leathers—patchwork armor salvaged from fallen Dragon warriors—like a second skin. It’s worn, patched over too many times to count, but he wears it with quiet pride.
He deserves better. But he never complains.
His storm-gray eyes lift from the map first to Leynard, then to me. His gaze hardens. “Aeris.” My name is a warning, sharp and cold as the stone beneath my feet. “You know you’re not allowed in here. Leave.”
The words strike like a slap, but I refuse to flinch. My fingers curl into fists at my sides. “But we saw a Dragon—”
He cuts me off with a look, his stare like an axe coming down betweenus. My throat tightens.
“Leynard. Report.” His voice is iron, dismissing me as if I never spoke.
Leynard hesitates for only a fraction of a second before stepping forward. “We confirmed the sighting,” he says, his tone measured, steady. “Large. Close. It wasn’t just passing through.”
My father exhales slowly, his fingers pressing into the map, knuckles whitening. His silence says more than words ever could.
I bite the inside of my cheek, my breath coming fast and uneven. He doesn’t even acknowledge me.
Leynard casts me a quick, apologetic glance, the corners of his mouth tugging downward. I see it—the silent plea to let it go. But I can’t.
