1. Lora #2
Behind me, the man’s ragged breaths tore through the silence.
I rounded on him. “You’re a sun wielder!”
“What?” Genuine confusion clouded his features as he staggered to his feet.
“Are you a spy? Did the Sun Kingdom send you?” I jabbed a finger toward the border of their dreaded domain, no more than a candlemark away through the twisted trees.
“No! No one sent me.” He shook his head, shutting his eyes. “At least… I don’t think so.”
Groaning, I pressed my palms to my forehead, pacing away from him. “But you have moon magic too. How can you have both? A moon and sun wielder—that’s—you’re—”
I turned to face him, struggling to find the words.
His brows drew together, something fragile flickering in his eyes. “I’m what?”
Impossible. Dangerous. Forbidden. My mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.
Everyone knew the disastrous consequences of moon and sun wielders combining their magic. But both types existing in one man—that was unheard of. Yet here he was, hazel eyes blinking at me, wide and confused.
Maybe he truly didn’t remember. Or maybe it was all an act. His torn blue-and-gray tunic suggested he was from the Moon Queendom, but it could easily be a disguise.
What if the Sun Kingdom had found a way to grant someone both types of magic? But then why would he so clumsily reveal his fire magic? A trained spy would have hidden his sun powers and used moon wielding to earn trust.
Besides, if they wanted him to infiltrate the Moon Queendom, why dump him in Blightlands? And how would they even have gotten him inside that miniature rift?
No, my earlier theory was still more plausible.
He must have fallen into the rift and created a pocket for himself.
Maybe being trapped inside had granted him the extra ability.
After all, the rift had been created by combining sun and moon magic.
Perhaps some of that power still lingered inside and had seeped into him.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.
He stood frozen, uncertainty flickering across his face as he waited for my reply. My judgment. What was he, really?
All anger drained from me, my shoulders slumping. “You’re an enigma.”
A breathy laugh escaped him. “No, you’re the enigma. The way you handled that… thing.” His eyes glittered with wonder. “It was amazing.”
I stiffened, not used to receiving praise. “I’m a monster hunter. It’s what I do.”
His smile widened, then faltered, worry creasing his brow. “I—I’m sorry about the fire. Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to—”
“No, it’s fine.” Turning away, I rubbed my temples, forcing my mind to focus.
He clearly had no idea what had happened to him or what to do about his dual powers. I had to bring him home and speak with Father.
But first, I had to take care of the ash-maw.
I crossed to the fallen creature. “I’ll take you to my village. Just give me a moment.”
Crouching, I pulled the knife from my belt and sliced into the hide.
At least I’d gotten my kill. An ash-maw, no less, one of the rarer rift-hounds. The merchant caravan would pass through Rootmere next week, and this would no doubt seal my victory over Corin. For once, I’d be the one rubbing triumph in his face.
Smirking, I carved the sharp horns from the creature’s skull. Leaving them attached would make it a nightmare to carry. Generations of hunters had perfected the art of field dressing and taught their children, just as my mother had taught me.
My chest squeezed as all-too-familiar images flashed through my mind—how she’d shoved me to safety while sun guards set her on fire.
I pushed the memories deep down as I sliced across the creature’s belly, spilling its stinking innards over the ground.
The man inched closer, peering through the trees. “This place is really creepy.”
My blade carved through sinew and muscle, and I pulled a few intestines free. “Yeah, and there’s more than monsters to watch out for. Outlaws, sky pirates, whatever lowlife scum you can imagine.”
“Sky pirates?” His gaze snapped to the twisted branches above.
“Mhm. They even have their own shady taverns hidden across Blightlands.”
A mournful howl echoed in the distance. Another rift-hound. The man’s eyes widened, darting toward the sound.
Black blood slicked my fingers as I yanked out the remaining worthless intestines. After rinsing my hands in a puddle, I hoisted the carcass onto my back.
“All right, stranger. This way.” I started down the path leading to the river.
“Erion.”
I paused, turning back. “What?”
“My name…” He blinked several times, as if dazed by the realization. “It’s Erion. It just came to me when you called me a stranger.”
I frowned. “Only your name?”
“Yes. It’s so strange.” He knocked on the thick trunk beside him. “I know this is a tree.” His fingers brushed over a bush. “And these are leaves.” He flung his arms out. “I know this is a forest.” His hands fell to his sides, shoulders sagging. “But I still have no idea who I am.”
My heart squeezed with sympathy, but suspicion still raced through my mind. He was a stranger, and I couldn’t rule out the possibility that this was all part of some elaborate ruse.
But what if it wasn’t? What would it be like to wake with no memory of who you were or the people you’d known?
Shifting the ash-maw’s weight on my shoulders, I offered a tight smile. “Erion. Nice to meet you. Like I said, I’m Lora.”
“Lora.” A bright smile transformed his features into something unexpectedly charming. “Beautiful name. It suits you.”
Heat surged through me, prickling my insides like sharp needles. Was he flirting?
Avoiding his gaze, I took the lead along the path. Flirty comments always made me awkward.
Sometimes I played along with handsome travelers passing through the village, knowing it would never lead to more than a hot night. But Erion wasn’t a passing traveler. I had no idea what to make of him, but I suspected he’d stick around, at least until we figured out what to do with him.
The boat waited where I’d left it, wedged between two gnarled roots jutting from the murky water. I heaved the carcass over the side and let it slide to the bottom, rocking the vessel.
“Get in the front.” I gestured to the narrow bow. “And stay quiet. Sound carries over water.”
Erion climbed in, water sloshing against the hull as the boat dipped under his weight.
I pushed us off and stepped into the stern. The swamp stretched before us, its dark surface veiled in mist.
Drawing on my moon magic, I felt the water beneath us—cool, dense, and stagnant with rot and earth. I gave it a gentle nudge, and the boat glided forward with barely a ripple. No splash to alert whatever else lurked in the treacherous forest.
Up front, Erion’s eyes darted between the swamp and me.
This man wielded powers beyond imagining, yet he clutched the sides of the boat like a child on his first river trip. He was so lost. Just like I had been the day Mother was taken from me.
She used to say the true purpose of hunters was to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.
Even though this man was a walking violation of everything I’d been taught, I couldn’t ignore the raw vulnerability in his eyes. The genuine confusion. The way he’d apologized when he thought he’d hurt me.
Whatever he was, whatever threat he might pose, right now he was just a terrified man who needed help.