5. Naera
Naera
The chain tugs—sharp, sudden.
Cold metal bites into my wrists, and I stumble after her through the frost-bitten woods. My hands are cuffed in front now, the chain gleaming like a threat between us. Every time I fall even a step behind, she yanks the tether just enough to jolt me back to pace.
Just enough to remind me who holds the leash.
I lift my head, forcing myself to meet her pace even as my knees threaten to buckle.
Selis walks ahead without a glance back, as if dragging me is no heavier than pulling a second shadow. As if she’s already forgotten I exist except for the weight of the chain in her hand.
Her cloak flares behind her with every stride, ragged at the hem, stitched with places where bloodstains refused to wash out. Moonlight clings to her like it knows her better than it knows the trees.
The chain rattles between us, too soft for how loud it feels.
A sound made for dogs. For prisoners.
For sacrifices.
I dig my nails into my palms and raise my voice through the ache in my throat. “You don’t need to do this. ”
She doesn’t turn. Doesn’t slow. Her voice drifts back like smoke. “Last one who told me that got their throat slit. You volunteering to be next?”
I blink. Swallow hard.
“I mean it,” I say, quieter. “Whatever they promised you… it won’t end the way you think.”
She chuckles—low and delighted, like I’ve told her a joke.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she drawls. “They promised me coin. That’s the only ending I care about.”
The way she says it—careless, certain—makes my stomach twist.
I look at her again. Really look. Her long braid swings down her back, thick and gold-pale, catching the moonlight in flashes. I’ve seen it before. In sleep. In too many dreams to count.
It’s strange, surreal—how familiar she is. Her walk. Her blades. Her smile like a sharpened edge.
Selis.
She’s a phantom pulled straight from my dreams. And I can’t help but wonder: Is this truly the woman Selene meant to send to me?
I should hate her.
I should hate the way she walks like the world owes her something. The way her eyes cut. The way she hasn’t looked back at me once, like I’m no more than a job she already half-finished.
But more than that— Selene, help me —I should hate how my gaze keeps catching on her. The way my traitorous gaze keeps tracing the braid down her back, thick and pale like a tether made of bone and gold.
She's terrible.
She's cruel .
She's beautiful in the way knives are beautiful: built for destruction.
Had I misread the dreams? Had I mistaken a warning for a calling?
No. No—I know what Selene pressed into my blood. She didn’t just want me to see this woman. She wanted me found .
Why?
I don’t know that yet.
But I feel it—like a thread pulling tight between us. Every time she yanks the chain, something tugs deeper inside me.
The chain jerks again, and I nearly trip.
I straighten.
I meet her pace.
"I know what you are," I say, my voice cutting the dark like a blade. "I saw you. In my dreams."
She snorts, tossing a glance back at me—amused, not threatened. Like I’m a child barking at thunder. "Oh? Do you now?"
"I saw your knives," I continue, refusing to drop my gaze. "I saw blood on your hands. Fire at your feet."
Her smirk stretches, slow and sharp.
"Good," she says, with a mockery of a half-bow. "Sounds accurate."
I stumble. My foot catches on a root half-buried beneath the frost, and I blink hard—eyes stinging, not from fear. Not only from fear.
From fury. From the cold burn of helplessness.
The woods blur at the edges, trees clawing at the moonlight, the silver chain burning at my wrists like a brand.
Selis moves like none of it touches her. Like she's immune to frost, to fear, to guilt.
Somewhere deep in my chest, something ugly and fragile curls tighter.
I know I should be plotting escape.
I know I should be praying harder.
I know I should hate her , wholly and cleanly.
And yet—
Yet there’s something wrong about this.
Something tangled and raw in the marrow of my bones.
Selene sent me dreams. Visions.
She sent me her.
She’s the one I dreamed of. Again and again, night after night—blades flashing, ash swirling around her, shrines cracking and smoke pouring from their ribs. A woman of fire, standing at the end of everything.
And Selene sent her.
Why?
As a warning? A punishment? Or something else?
I watch the way Selis moves—easy, dangerous, confident. She belongs to this savage world in a way I never have. In a way I never wanted to.
But I can't deny the pull.
Like standing too close to a cliff's edge and feeling the ground hum under your feet.
“Selene sent you to me," I say, softer now, the words slipping out before I can catch them.
I’m not certain if I’m trying to convince myself or her.
Her laugh breaks through the silence like a crack of thunder—rough and delighted. She tugs the chain just hard enough to make me stumble .
"I’m not your savior, little star," she says, wicked amusement curling in her voice. "I'm the one who cashes your bounty. You happen to be breathing until I get paid."
I glare at her back. My heart hammers so loud I swear the trees can hear it.
“You truly have no shame,” I snap.
She rolls one shoulder—lazy, catlike. Blood-warm in the cold night.
“Shame’s heavy,” she says. “Slows you down. I prefer coin. It spends easier.”
The trees thin around us, the frost crusting thicker on the ground. The night presses closer.
And I—I keep my head high.
Even as my wrists burn. Even as fear gnaws at my ribs. Because somewhere in the marrow of me, something ancient whispers that Selene didn’t send me a monster to be saved from.
She sent me one to walk beside.
So I follow her. Glowing. Bound. Still breathing. Still burning.
Because whatever this is—this storm wrapped in a woman, this cruel stranger with my goddess's name echoing in her wake—
It’s already begun.
And I was always meant to walk into it. Bound or not.
***
Selis finally stops when the trees thin into a shallow clearing, the ground here blanketed in old ash and frostbitten leaves .
Above us, the sky yawns wide and endless. Stars pinprick the black like they’re trying to tear through it. Cold. Watching. Unmoved.
Without a word, Selis drops her pack and kneels beside it, rummaging until she pulls out a thick, battered blanket. No flint. No kindling. No fire.
She shakes the blanket out once, then folds it roughly in half and throws it to the ground. The moonlight catches along the braid draped over her shoulder like a gleaming coil of rope—neat, deliberate, dangerous.
I hesitate where I stand, the chain tugging tight between us.
No fire.
I’d expected one. I’d looked forward to it—if not the warmth, then the small illusion of comfort. Safety. Normalcy. Anything to dull the edges of the cold gnawing at my bones.
“You’re not making a fire?” I ask, my voice thinner than I want it to be.
Selis lifts an eyebrow. “You’re used to being coddled, huh? You want a glowing beacon in the middle of nowhere?” she asks. “Might as well wave down every scout and monster in Velmora.”
“I can make a small one,” I offer, quietly. “I know how—”
“I know how too,” she cuts in, tone sharp as a pulled blade. “And we’re not having one.”
I press my lips together, the cold biting harder now that I know it isn’t leaving. My fingers curl around the edge of my cloak, trying to trap what little warmth I have left.
She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t speak. She just jerks the chain once—short, sharp—and points at the ground near her.
The command is clear: Sit. Stay.
I clench my fists until my nails bite my palms, but I move. I lower myself stiffly to the frozen earth, every joint aching in protest. I fold my legs beneath me and try not to shiver too visibly.
She doesn't speak. Just rises again, walks past me to a nearby tree, and wraps the chain around the trunk, locking it in place. With one sharp tug, she tests the tension, then glances over her shoulder.
“Tamper with it, and I’ll make sure you regret it,” she promises.
I don’t answer. She doesn’t need me to.
My limbs scream from exhaustion, but I keep my posture straight. I won’t fold. Not for her.
Selis drops onto her blanket just out of reach—close enough to watch, far enough that I couldn’t strike her even if I wanted to. She props her elbows on her knees, fingers dangling loose, knife gleaming at her hip.
Then she watches me.
Openly. Unflinchingly. Like she’s trying to decide if I’m a threat, a trophy, or a toy she hasn’t figured out how to break yet.
Her gaze rakes over me—my tangled hair, the tear at my collar, the dirt smeared along my cheek—and she doesn’t bother hiding the way her mouth twists. Not quite a smile. Not quite anything soft.
I lift my chin, refusing to look away.
If she expects me to beg, she’ll be disappointed.
“Comfortable?” she drawls finally, voice thick with amusement and something darker underneath.
I adjust my cloak slowly, with deliberate care, and fold my legs beneath me like I would before an altar.
“More than you deserve to know,” I say, letting the words land smooth and cold .
Her grin flashes—feral, lazy. “Good,” she says. “I’d hate to think I was inconveniencing my cargo.”
Cargo.
The word settles heavy in my gut.
I say nothing.
Silence stretches between us, taut and bitter. The woods breathe cold.
Selis leans back on her elbows, her body loose with confidence, head tilted slightly. Her knife glints at her belt, not brandished, just present. Inevitable. Like breath. Like death.
"You’re quieter than I expected," she muses aloud.
I close my eyes for a beat, steadying my breath.
Speaking won't save me. But silence might.
Still—still I can't stop the words from slipping free.
“What more is there to say?” I murmur.
Her smile sharpens, a blade unsheathed.
“You’re smart,” she purrs. “That’s good. Means you’ll last longer.”
I don’t flinch. Not visibly.
But inside, something cracks.
I stare into the darkness where the fire should be, trying to will my heart into stillness. Trying to pretend I don’t feel the frost creeping into my bones.
She’s a monster. I know this. She drags me like a carcass on a chain. She speaks to me like I'm nothing.
And yet—
Yet I keep glancing sideways, as if she might disappear when I stop looking. I can't stop tracking the slow rise and fall of her breathing, the way her fingers tap lazy rhythms against her thigh .
There’s a stillness in her that frightens me. Not like ice, but like a storm that already hit and left no wreckage untouched. She’s too calm, too complete in her cruelty.
And somewhere under all the fear and fury lodged beneath my ribs, a whisper of doubt claws its way free: Why would Selene send me visions of this?
Of her?
Of a woman who looks like a knife drawn by the gods and left to rust among mortals?
A woman who walks like smoke and speaks like sin and smiles like she knows the world owes her pain.
My gaze trails to the chain that keeps me tethered to the woods.
To her.
The message is clear: stay near, stay seen, stay mine.
I curl my fingers into fists, pressing my knuckles hard against the cuffs until it hurts. Until the sting grounds me. I stare into the blur of night and whisper the only prayer I know.
“Selene,” I breathe, so soft even the stars can’t hear it. “If this is your will… show me why.”