Chapter Thirty-Seven
“So what’s the plan? We don’t have long,” Ryder asks. His arms are crossed—matching the tight line of his brows—as he leans against a desk in Ziek’s war room.
The weapons I saw when I first woke up are nothing compared to these.
Every wall is covered in armour and steel: swords, knives, hammers, arrows.
The fact that these are made from the Hollow itself makes them even more terrifying.
The room feels less like a place and more like a heartbeat—steady, prepared, and bracing for war.
“I know.” I slide onto the desk beside him.
“Let’s go over what we know,” I say, looking from face to face. “The Siphon is keeping all the infected at that abandoned warehouse off Moon Forest.”
Ryder frowns. “But why the warehouse? It’s been abandoned for decades.”
“I looked into this.” I pull out the Soldark from Astra Nova and set it between us.
Its glow flickers faintly, as if listening.
Ziek’s jaw falls every time he sees me use my Star Gifts.
I don’t know what was more surprising to him, the fact that I was worthy of the gem’s power, or that I am made of Moon and Sun.
“When Ziek”—my eyes catch his across the room—“mentioned that parts of the Hollow have thinner veils, it got me thinking. What if the Hollow isn’t the only place like that? What if there are spots in Palidonia where our powers are stronger?”
I turn to Ryder, whose eyebrows are raised.
“Remember the temple outside the Shadow Realm? I heard voices there, like someone was trying to talk to me… like the barrier between our world and the Other Side was thin. I didn’t understand it then, but after talking to Ziek…
” I inhale, the realisation still settling.
“That must’ve been my Mourna Gift responding to it. ”
I lift the Soldark between us.
“So I asked the Soldark. And it turns out the warehouse sits right on a fault line between our world and the Other Side.”
River’s eyes widen. “So that place is like a gateway to the Other Side?”
“Exactly. If Nyxos gets enough energy in that precise location, he’ll be able to tear through his realm easily and escape into ours.”
Ryder exhales sharply. “So we have to get him away from there.”
“And keep him away,” River adds.
“How do we do that?” One of Ziek’s men asks, his brown skin shining in the low light of the tent.
Silence stretches while we all think, tension humming in the air.
“It doesn’t like fire,” Nala says suddenly, snapping all eyes to her. “What if we create a wall around it? Like a cage of fire.” Her gaze flicks to a thin woman in the crowd. “Lina—do you think you could make something flammable enough for that?”
I study Lina as she nods. Her long raven hair is plaited and threaded with tiny flowers that sway as she steps forward. “A group of us can harvest sap from the smoak trees,” she says. “We can have it ready in a few hours.”
“That could work. Thank you,” I tell her, and she smiles softly.
I turn back to the room. “Lightworkers— your first priority is turning the others. Once they’re free, they can help us recover everyone else.” I pause, pulling the small tub of shimmering blue powder from my pocket. “And for everyone else… Ziek showed me this.”
Nala leans in, her eyes narrowing at the swirling powder. “What is that?”
“Powder from the lightning flower,” I explain. “You all use it to stun prey—but I figured, since the Siphon couldn’t cross the Sea…”
Before I can finish, River presses a quick kiss to my forehead—and Ryder straightens, arms uncrossing, with surprise flickering across his face.
“You’re a genius,” River says. His cheeks flush as his gaze flicks from me to Ryder, then down at the floor.
I hold the powder out. “If we dip our weapons in this, we’ll actually stand a chance. Using our Gifts will only make it stronger.” Worry glints in River’s eyes as the truth settles over him—this fight will be without our power. Without the one thing that usually keeps us alive.
Ziek’s villagers, however, barely react. Their abilities have slept by choice for years; they’ve learned to live, hunt, and defend themselves without their Gifts. Steel and instinct are second nature to them.
They’ll have no trouble fighting with weapons.
Nala’s smile sharpens with determination. “I know how to draw him out…”
***
Lina sends a group out into the Hollow to harvest the flammable sap.
The Hollow itself feels like an armoury—Bloomblades growing like wildflowers, deadly trials coiled in shadow, whole trees that burn hotter than dynamite.
Sometimes I wonder what other sharp, waiting things are buried beneath its soil, and whether they’re asleep or simply watching.
It feels wrong to just sit here, waiting for them to come back.
We offered our help—of course, we did—but they declined with gentle insistence, reminding us that rest and food would serve us better than hovering anxiously at their heels, urging us to bathe in their basins to scrub away the filth of the Hollow.
But no amount of washing could ever cleanse this place from my mind.
The memories cling to me—I know they will until the day I die—like shadows that live between the trees, always just behind me.
Still, it felt good to wash. To let the hot water ease the ache in my bones. When my feet finally warmed through, the relief was so sudden, so complete, that a tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it.
Now I sit alone in the tent, limbs heavy after the brief but necessary soak. The silence presses against my ribs, a weight I can’t quite adjust to, no matter how I shift or breathe.
The tents are warmer than I expected, the heat from the outside fires seeping through the fabric and painting the interior in a soft marmalade glow.
For a fleeting moment, I let myself sink onto the bed.
The mattress dips beneath me, and some tight corner of my chest loosens.
Only a little. Because the instant my thoughts drift toward what waits for us—what I must do—my heart kicks hard, as if trying to outrun the future.
I clasp my hands together and stare at them, trying to find something familiar in the shape of my own fingers.
But even in the dim amber light, the strange energy braided through my veins pulses with a faint, unnatural shimmer, like threads of a foreign moonlight stitched beneath my skin.
It feels… wrong. Not painful—just wrong, the way wearing someone else’s clothes might feel: close enough to fit, but never enough to belong.
As if my body knows this power isn’t truly mine. As if it’s waiting to reject it. Or worse—waiting for the moment it changes me into something I won’t recognise.
I draw a slow breath, but the air seems too thin, my thoughts too loud. Waiting shouldn’t feel like this. But it does. And the longer I sit here, the heavier the truth settles over me:
Rest isn’t the same as peace.
Not tonight.
“It’s chicken and rice.”
Ryder says as he ducks into the tent, the flap falling shut behind him and muting the distant crackle of the campfires. He’s holding two bowls—white meat, plain rice, steam curling into the cool air. The scent is mild, comforting, but my appetite is scarce.
He pauses when he sees me sitting still on the edge of the bed, hands splayed on my thighs as if they belong to someone else. The tent’s soft, orange glow makes the veins beneath my skin pulse faintly, threads of strange power weaving and unweaving like it doesn’t quite know if it should be mine.
Ryder’s expression shifts—concern first, then something quieter. Something only meant for me.
“You didn’t eat at all earlier,” he says gently, setting the bowls on a small crate. “Asha… you need the strength.”
I try to smile, but it feels thin. “My stomach disagrees.”
His eyes move over my face, reading every flicker, every hesitation. Ryder has always seen more than I want him to.
He steps closer, slow, deliberate, like approaching a frightened creature. “Can I sit?”
I nod, and the cot dips as he lowers himself beside me. Our knees brush, just barely, but it’s enough to set every nerve trembling. The warmth of him seeps through the space between us as though he’s a small flame, steady and grounding, where everything inside me feels unmoored.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. Outside, someone laughs. A pot clatters. The wind rolls low across the camp. But in here, it’s just Ryder’s breathing and my own ragged attempts to match it.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.
“I know.” My voice cracks like thin ice.
“I can feel it in my bones… everything we’re walking into.
And this power—” I glance at my hands, flexing them as the strange energy coils along my fingers like restless smoke.
“It doesn’t belong in me. Part of me is afraid it’s going to tear me apart before we can save everyone. ”
Ryder reaches out, hesitates, then gently takes my hand in his. His touch is warm, calloused, unmistakably real. The contrast makes my breath hitch.
“Asha,” he says, low and earnest, “I’m right here. I’m not letting anything take you. You saved me, you took the serum from my veins like it was nothing… You’re stronger than you think.” His eyes consume mine. “I’ve just got you back, I’ll be damned if I lose you again.”
His thumb strokes across the back of my hand. A small, steady motion. A promise.
It melts something in me—something tight, something knotted. My shoulders sag, the breath leaving me in a shaky exhale as I lean into him without thinking. Ryder goes still only for a heartbeat before his arm curves around my back, pulling me in, holding me like I won’t break.
The closeness is intoxicating. His scent—pine, smoke, warm metal—wraps around me. His heartbeat thrums steady beneath my cheek. I didn’t realise how cold I’d been until now.
“I hate sitting here,” I whisper, “waiting… while the others are out there.”
He tilts his head down, his breath brushing the top of my hair. “They know what they’re doing.”