Chapter 22. Forbidden Training

The forest didn’t sleep.

Even when the camp did, when wolves curled into dreams, when guards slouched at their posts, there was always one place where the trees stayed awake. Where the air ran hot beneath the moss. Where something ancient pulsed just beneath the roots.

Neriah walked toward it long after midnight, alone.

The pendant beat steadily against her chest like a second heart, guiding her away from the firepits and rituals, beyond the watchposts. She didn’t bring weapons. The flame didn’t need them. And the one she sought wouldn’t be threatened by steel anyway.

He’d been following her for days.

She’d felt it in the corners of her vision. Caught glimpses between trees. She’d heard the way the forest changed when he was near—quieter, stranger, as if the woods themselves bent around his presence.

Tonight, she stopped running. Tonight, she called him out.

The clearing appeared without warning. The trees opened like parted lips, breathless