19. Aryn
Aryn
Cato hasn’t met my eyes since we left the cave this morning. Instead, he’s been throwing me sideways glances and flexing far more than necessary, swinging his machete with extra flair like he needs to remind me what a big, strong, manly man he is.
Maybe I should have left it alone. I could have ignored the way he stared, pretended I didn’t notice how his breathing sped up every time I looked in his direction.
Humans have lived so long with their limited senses that they rarely consider there are more ways to communicate than words and the most obvious body language.
Cato has no idea I could hear how fast his heart raced when I stepped closer, or how it immediately settled when I touched him.
He thinks I don’t realize we spent the night wrapped up in each other.
The silence between us is a welcome retreat right now, because despite my outward confidence, my thoughts are…
tangled. My head is jammed with scribbled and scrawled excuses about why it was fine to seek comfort, but logic is quick to push that sort of thinking aside.
This isn’t the time or place to be playing with attraction.
We won’t do anyone any favors by getting distracted.
So instead of continuing to egg him on, I let him flex and grunt and scratch at his beard. I allow him to posture like a godsdamned Nu’vak in rut, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
Everyone else chatters cheerfully around us, the shorter day of travel and solid sleep giving us all a much-needed boost of energy.
The further north we go, the less snow covers the ground, and I welcome the faint warmth of the sun on my cheeks.
Animals are becoming more plentiful, and we’ve seen more signs of life.
Faint boot-shaped footprints mark the snow in places, well-worn paths have been cleared of overhanging branches, and the dirt is packed tight from frequent use. Smoke curls from distant fires.
Along with the signs of life come quieter signs of death—or at least evidence that this world isn’t as vibrant as it once was.
The landscape has been reshaped by shifting weather in ways time alone could never manage.
While this stretch always had fewer trees than the ancient forest we left behind, what remains has thinned into scattered groves.
Pale-barked trees with silver leaves shimmer even in the slightest breeze, but they’ve lost their former luster.
Many look stunted, their branches twisted in unnatural directions as if they grew through pain.
Low shrubs with dark, waxy leaves and clusters of white berries line the path.
Colors that were once vivid and alive have dulled, like the land itself is slowly losing its fight to survive.
We pass the first abandoned settlement shortly after midday.
A cluster of stone-and-timber homes sits off the trail, roofs partially caved in and windows dark.
Walls have crumbled in places, and wild grasses have overtaken what were once neat garden plots.
A broken water wheel leans beside a dried-up streambed, now nothing more than a nesting spot for flying creatures and insects.
I slow my pace and scan the dilapidated village for any signs that someone might still live there. Reflective eyes meet mine from inside one of the darkened doorways, and a neon-orange sundarok pokes its head into the light, forked tongue flicking over scaled lips.
“What the fuck is that thing?” Cato breathes beside me.
I glance over my shoulder to find him staring at the creature. Anatomically, it’s closest to a lizard, but the size of a large dog with scales that shimmer like oil on water. “A sundarok,” I explain.
“Well, never thought I’d see a real-life dinosaur, but here we are,” Cameron drawls, deliberately positioning himself behind Ronan.
“He’s kind of cute,” Lillith says with a shrug.
Taryn makes a quiet, panicked sound in the back of her throat. “Honey, please don’t try to pet it.”
“Are they dangerous?” Cato asks.
The creature bares its teeth in warning, revealing a mouth full of needle-like teeth capable of slicing straight to the bone.
My injured shoulder twinges at the memory of similar teeth chewing through muscle.
“Everything here is dangerous in some way,” I answer.
“But they aren’t aggressive. Leave them alone and they’ll do the same. ”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Cato mutters.
We put more distance between ourselves and the village before stopping to eat.
It hasn’t escaped any of us that our supplies are steadily dwindling, though the impromptu khraelyx roast yesterday helped ease some of that pressure.
A few of the plants we’ve passed are producing berries or melon-like fruit, but I’m not familiar enough with these newer variations to risk eating them.
Clomping footsteps sound from the road, followed by the unmistakable murmur of voices. “Pull your hats low,” I hiss to the humans. “Cover your faces.”
Three sylvaren trot into view, with deep navy-skinned riders. Aidresh, from the look of them, though their complexions look darker under the orange sky.
“Whoa,” one of them murmurs. The lead sylvaren halts and tosses its head, exposing the elegant length of its neck as its long mane swishes.
They are taller and more slender than Earth horses, with long, powerful legs and split hooves built for these rocky mountain trails.
Velvet-covered antlers branch from their skulls, growing longer and more intricate as they age.
This one appears to be younger, and is covered in white markings that form patterns that almost look like ice across its body.
The riders survey our group, taking in the unusual mix of races traveling together.
Back in my time in Elyra, it wasn’t unheard of for our people to mingle in villages and towns, but here in the wilds we may stand out.
Ronan, Lillith, and I already make an odd trio, and if they spot the varying shades of beige and deeper tan among the humans, it could draw attention.
Instinctively, I shift to better cover Cato and tilt my chin toward the riders. “Good day,” I call out in our language, the words rolling off my tongue as if they had never left it.
They tilt their chins back warily. “Good day. We don’t see many travelers in these parts anymore.”
“We are merely passing through,” I answer.
“There’s not much around here worth passing through to,” they reply, gesturing at the dead space around us.
I nod, exchanging a quick glance with Ronan. “Indeed. We travel to Maelithryne.”
Their eyes move across my face before their shoulders loosen. “You are a long way from home, Dreven. And on foot.”
My pulse spikes at the response. There was no flinch at the name, no immediate argument that Maelithryne no longer stands. It’s indirect confirmation that the walls remain and the village still lives, even if I have no idea who inhabits my former home now.
“We are,” I agree. “It has been many years since I last traveled this path. Are there any trading posts along the way where we might replenish our supplies?”
They hesitate, their eyes lingering on the three humans with their heads bowed. For a tense few seconds, I worry they’ll demand to see who we travel with, but the desire to avoid trouble ultimately wins over curiosity.
“There’s a village called Thralune a couple days’ ride from here—more, since you’re on foot. Follow the road and it will lead you straight to it.”
“We thank you for the information, friend,” I say. “Safe travels and clear skies to you and yours.”
They stare a moment longer before raising a hand in farewell, then tug the reins of their mounts and continue down the road.
“Well, that’s… promising,” Ronan says as he stands and shrugs his pack over his shoulders.
“It is,” I agree, then recap the conversation with the others.
“Yeah, but there’s only one problem,” Cameron adds, folding his arms over his chest. “We can’t exactly hide the three of us forever. We’re going to be seen eventually, especially once we reach civilization.”
I purse my lips, glancing between him, Cato, and Taryn. “We need to stop at the trading post. Bypassing the opportunity to replenish supplies would be foolish. Two of us could go in while the rest stay hidden—”
“Not a chance,” Ronan cuts in.
“You could stay with Cameron—”
“And have two other humans to distract me from keeping him safe? It’s not happening, Aryn.”
Cato plants his hands on his hips, fingers toying with the blade at his side. “Thanks, big guy, but I don’t need you to hold my hand. Protection is the whole reason I’m here. I can take care of myself.”
“We’ll have to reveal ourselves eventually,” I point out. “It’s not like we can reach Maelithryne or the capital without exposing who they are.”
Cameron huffs. “Right. Sounds like a wonderful conversation. ‘Excuse me, do you remember that madman of a horned leader from a century ago? The one that ripped holes in your world and cursed this place with eternal winter? Well, motherfucking surprise—here we are, products of his little flirt with the apocalypse.’”
“While I would phrase it a touch more diplomatically than that,” I say, fighting my grin, “we have to be honest about our intentions at some point. It just hadn’t occurred to me that we might need to do so before we reach the Vaelor.”
Ronan rolls his lips between his teeth, glancing in the direction we’re headed. “Our kind aren’t known for being the most reasonable.”
I shake my head. “You’re comparing an entire population to the soldiers you’ve been around for so long. Not everyone is so bloodthirsty.”
“Are they all arrogant?” Cameron asks. “I swear to the gods, every monster I meet has extremely high opinions of themselves.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “Not all of them, though some are quite… fond of themselves.” Ronan flips his hair dramatically and glares.
“We have plenty of time to consider our plan, but we need to get moving again. Daylight will burn out before we know it, and we need to make up for the time we lost yesterday.”
Everyone reluctantly agrees, tossing ideas back and forth as we shoulder our packs and start walking.
I try to focus on the conversation, but my mind keeps drifting back to the Aidresh rider’s words about home.
Until now, I had desperately hoped Maelithryne might still stand, but I hadn’t dared truly believe it.
Now my imagination runs wild, painting pictures of a homecoming filled with familiar faces—embraces, connections, family, and the chance to reclaim what was stolen from me so long ago.
For a moment, I let myself hope, and that is a dangerous thing.