Chapter 22 – Azaria
AZARIA
The ride was mostly silent. The squad slipped into a familiar rhythm: Kael and Thorne trading jabs, Reyna and Zephyr arguing over the wind, Lyra riding beside Elias, both lost in their own thoughts. Quinton rode at the rear, silent since the war room.
By the time the sun dipped below the treeline, every muscle in my body screamed. Six days in the dark followed by two weeks of recovery hadn’t prepared me for a full day’s hard ride. My thighs burned. My lower back was a knot of fire. Even my hands ached from gripping the reins.
We found a clearing wide enough for a camp.
Everyone moved in practiced synchrony: packs unloaded, wards placed, the clicks of Thorne’s magic marking the perimeter, Lirael stringing runes through the trees.
I dismounted carefully, hiding the grimace when my legs nearly buckled.
I slipped into my tent before they could start the usual teasing.
Inside, the sounds of the camp fell away. I unbuckled my jacket slowly, every movement deliberate. My body ached, but the routine—armor, artifacts, black leather worn like a second skin—made me feel more solid, less breakable. I reached for my sword belt.
The tent flap rustled. “Don’t go out tonight.”
I froze. Dain stood in the entrance, broad frame casting a shadow against the lamplight, face unreadable. But there was something in his voice. Not a command or a question, but a plea.
I straightened, brushing the braid off my shoulder. “I’ll be all right, Dain.”
“I don’t doubt that.” His voice was low, steady, but threaded with an edge I rarely heard. “But this isn’t just a patrol. It’s those hounds. You heard Quinton. You don’t know what you’ll find out there.”
My jaw clenched. “I never know what I’ll find out there.”
“That’s not the point.”
I turned away, adjusting the strap on my bracer. Anything to keep my hands busy, to avoid the look in his eyes.
“Azaria.”
Just one word. But the way he said it—soft, frayed at the edges, carved from something deeper than fear—made me turn.
He met my gaze, and I saw it: the same look he wore after the first time I collapsed from pain. Please.
He didn’t say it again. He didn’t need to. I swallowed hard, tension tight in my chest. He never asked me for anything. Not once. I owed him this.
“All right,” I said, barely more than a whisper.
His shoulders eased, just a little. He didn’t smile.
Didn’t say thank you. Just nodded before slipping back into the night.
The flap closed behind him. I stood there, alone in the flickering silence, fingers clenched around the leather strap I hadn’t finished buckling, and wondered—if I wasn’t the one hunting the dark tonight… What would the dark hunt instead?
The final buckle on my bracer clicked into place.
Leather and steel wrapped my forearm; their weight settled over me, familiar and steadying.
The kind of armor that didn’t just shield, but transformed.
Put it on, and you became who you needed to be.
Tonight, despite Dain’s plea, I still needed that—needed to feel it, even if I wasn’t walking into the woods.
My fingers slid along the edge of my leathers one more time.
The captain assembled and locked down. And still, underneath it all, the echo of Dain’s voice lingered.
Please. I shoved it down and stepped out of my tent.
The camp was awash in firelight and steel, shadows flickering across the faces I knew better than my own. Zephyr, naturally, was the first to notice me; he always was.
“Well, look who decided to grace us with her presence,” he announced with a theatrical sweep. “Tell me, Captain, are the leathers painted on, or did you just pour yourself into them?”
Groans rippled through the squad. Reyna’s boot was airborne before I’d even made it to the circle, thumping into Zephyr’s thigh with satisfying precision.
“Dear gods, Zeph,” she said, exasperated. “Every time.”
I didn’t flinch. Just raised a brow and crossed my arms as I approached the fire, welcoming its warmth.
“You’re lucky I don’t deduct your rations,” I said coolly, gaze narrowing on him.
Kael snorted from beside Lirael. “You’d starve the bastard in a week.”
Zephyr flopped dramatically back onto his elbows, all wounded pride. “No appreciation for fine art around here.”
I rolled my eyes and dropped into the open space near Dain and Kael. My boots hit the ground, and Kael fixed me with a look. “You look like hells, Cap.”
“I feel worse,” I said flatly.
The banter rolled on, a little too bright, a little too loud.
They’d faced danger before—faced it with me more times than I could count.
This was how they coped. How we all did.
Reyna spun a wildly embellished story about sparring with Thorne.
Thorne deadpanned something about Reyna’s “unique” technique.
Elias sat in the corner, quiet but attentive, his gaze never missing a thing.
And Quinton… He hovered at the edge of the firelight, half-shadowed, hood pushed back just enough to catch the flames. For a moment, his eyes met mine—steady, unreadable, but never unkind.
The knot between my ribs loosened. My shoulders dropped. For a few precious heartbeats, in the warmth and chaos of firelight, in the company of loyalty and laughter—I could breathe again.
Something pulled me out of sleep. Not a sound or light. Not even the subtle shift in the air that sometimes warned of danger. This was something else.
It started deep, lower than my stomach, deeper than bone. A warmth that didn’t belong to me, blooming outward like a fever I couldn’t name. Not painful, not pleasant, but insistent.
I sat up in the dark, breath caught between asleep and awake.
The linens tangled at my waist, the night air cool against my cheek.
Outside, the familiar sounds of camp: the wards humming, someone turning in their sleep, a branch shifting in the breeze.
But underneath it all—this. A pull. Not from outside, but from within.
I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to find the source. A presence stirred beneath my skin—not defensive, or alarmed—more like an instinct, a knowing I didn’t have a name for.
Was it my magic?
I rose without thinking. Boots slid on, belt buckled, fingers brushing the hilt of my blade. I moved by rote, each motion practiced into silence. My artifacts pulsed gently against my wrists.
The pull grew stronger. Magnetic. Like a cord wrapped through my center, tugging with a rhythm that matched my pulse. I slipped out of my tent and started walking.
The world outside was pale and strange: bright moonlight, mist curling low over the ground in twisting ribbons. The air tasted metallic, like the aftermath of lightning.
I should stop. I should wake Dain. I should turn back. My feet kept moving.
The wards shimmered as I passed through them. They recognized me, letting me pass without alarm. A shiver crawled down my back. The warmth in my chest flared, pressing me forward.
Beyond the wards, the silence deepened. No insects.
No wind. Only my breathing, the quiet click of boot on stone, the whisper of brush against my coat.
And always, the warmth in my center—alive inside me now.
Not hunger or fear, but something older—something that had been sleeping and was now waking.
I blinked. The world shifted. One moment, the camp was behind me: distant but visible through the trees. The next, I was standing in a dense forest, moonlight swallowed by thick canopy overhead. Shadows pressed close on all sides.
How long had I been walking?
My artifacts vibrated faintly, still listening.
Everything else fell away. Camp, command, exhaustion, even Dain’s plea.
All that was left was darkness, the heat curling through my blood.
And the certainty, deep and undeniable, that something out there was waiting for me. A presence that knew my name.
I knew I shouldn’t. Knew I’d promised. But I couldn’t stop.
Each step was a surrender; each breath drawing me closer. To what, I didn’t know. But I followed anyway.