When I woke, the sunlight was peeking through the clouds. I gasped and pushed myself on all fours, eyes scanning the infinite stretches of greenery in hopes of finding Orios. To see him laying on the soft grass—breathing—but it was still. Empty.

I coughed, spitting up blood onto the pale-colored stone, before standing upright. I first turned to look at the stretches of zhanzinite, gaping at the closed, perfectly intact ground. I shuddered and backed away, facing the Naymeadows again in hopes to find Orios crawling somewhere.

My wings ached—and when I forced them to retract back into my body, it felt like my blood turned solid and weighed me down. I limped toward our campsite, and when I saw the tent we had left gone, I sucked in a shallow breath.

The ring.

He was gone. My gaze lifted to the castle that was barely visible between the rolling hills and vast stretches of mountain, daring to take a few steps toward it before pausing. I couldn't go back. Especially if my ring was missing along with him.

He left—and though I had my doubts, I wondered if my magic struck so much volatile fear through his bones that he left willingly.

That he hated me.

I looked to the east now, gritted my teeth, and slumped to the town tucked beneath the mountain crests. The rain was light when I woke, but by the time I made it to the city gates, it was booming, windy, and powerful.

Strands of my silver hair whipped in front of my face, and I shivered as the icy rain tore into me. My shoulder blades felt like they had been shattered a million times over, and by the time I found a wooden post to lean on, I was ready to collapse.

Weak. You've become weak.

I scowled at the intrusive thought and heaved myself from the post. The guards hardly glanced at me, shaking and trudging along the beaten brick path, but I moved onward. The roads were slick with mud, and each time I moved to push myself faster, further, I stumbled over my own two slippery feet. I looked up at the sky and watched those looming gray clouds inch closer and closer. A bolt of lightning struck across the sky, quickly followed by the loudest clap of thunder I'd heard in a while.

I pulled my hood up over my head to protect my aching skin, boots stomping into the shallow puddles of muck as I shuffled between the crowds that scrambled to retreat indoors. By the time I made it to the outskirts of town, it was violently pouring down and soaked my clothes. I didn't care, though—all of the faces I passed were forgetful and blurry, each of the curses they threw at me were inconsequential, and every time I caught myself slipping in the mud I felt my head get light.

None of it mattered. Whenever I blinked, I caught sight of that boney, decomposing skeleton crawling from the crevice of the earth like it was destined to walk free. More than anything else, I recoiled at the memory of letting Orios slip between my fingers so carelessly. Those soulless voids of eyes bore into me like it was personal, and although I got rid of it quickly enough, I was shaken to my core.

The second my fingers wrapped around the cool, wet doorknob of my home, I threw myself into my dark cabin and slammed it shut. My eyes wouldn't open... my chest wouldn't stop heaving... I was crumbling. I was weak. I was wrong.

The magic was supposed to stop it.

I sucked in a shaky breath.

I was supposed to lead a new life, and never see them again.

I exhaled it shallowly.

It was supposed to be gone. That magic shouldn't still exist—

My blood stilled at the thought. Not only should the magic have ceased, but I should have. Unlike the untapped, yet controlled, flow of magic, I suffered from choice... from control. I chose this. Selfish.

I opened my teary eyes when I thought I had a handle on my breathing, but everything about me froze. My muscles tensed, and when I shifted forward, glass cracked beneath my boot. When I lowered my gaze, I saw one of my plates shattered across the floor.

Unsheathing my dagger, I pressed on toward the room I needed to check. I passed paintings that were clawed through, the canvas drooping toward the floor like a wilted flower, and when I banked into my dining room I saw more glassware thrown every which way. With eyes flickering to my desk, I bolted to it and scrambled through the forgotten papers and antiquated books.

It has to be here.

It wasn't. My diary was gone. My centuries of notes on these creatures were gone.

Tucked between the piles was mostly dust. These books were forgettable at best, and when I slammed my fist down onto the oak table, the house shook. For a moment, I wondered if it was a consequence of my strength, or if the thunder was booming so loudly that the world was aching with each daunting clap.

But, with ears that perked up at the sound of a delightfully vicious laugh, I turned on my foot and approached the bedroom door and opened it slowly. There was a murmuring voice intertwined with the shadows. I diverted my gaze to the furthest corner of the room, finding a man lounged in the chair with nothing but a dim flame ignited between his fingers. He grazed the light across a book with a shimmering glow, and the darkness danced across his tan features like a lost song.

His dark brown hair gave him a rakish yet unkempt look to him—his tousled hair was parted at the middle, stopping just above his ear. When his eyes lifted to mine, they radiated in the shadows. Power, fury, and contemptuousness.

And from here, I could see the wing-shaped ear that was oh-so telling of his lineage. Dragonborne.

"'...and with such a gentle hand, I often wondered what it would feel like to let myself free... if but for a night,'" his voice whirled around the room. "Tell me, darling, did you ever discover what those hands felt like? I haven't gotten that far in the story yet..."

"Who are you?" I breathed.

"Oh, don't worry," he cooed, "I am fine with the spoilers. Indulge me. Was it just one night?"

When he closed the book, it thumped before slipping through his fingers and smashing onto the floor. I winced, watching some of the loose pages slip out of the bindings and into the draft as he stood. Holding up my dagger, I held it toward him with an unwavering grip.

"Stop," I commanded with a certain vibrato in my voice that was unmatched by even the storm. "Who. Are. You."

An arched brow. A gentle swagger. A careless shrug. Eventually, he stopped at the foot of my bed and sat on the footboard, arms crossed over his chest before he sighed.

"I suppose it is of your character to forget a person like me," he drawled.

I blinked at him and glanced at the papers behind him. The apple of my neck bobbed with a nervous gulp. "You ransacked my home?"

"You're just as bright as I remembered," he cooed. It didn't take more than my glower to send him roaring with laughter. After shoving himself upright, he approached with taunting hands extended with palms faced out toward me. I held my dagger higher, and that cocky smirk faded to something darker.

"It would be wise to put the dagger down, Nessira."

I snarled with my teeth bared. "You will not speak that name," I bellowed.

The man cocked his head. There was something regal about him—and as he took a daring step toward me, I realized he was not fearful of me. I lunged at him with a swinging arm, my blade slicing nothing but the open air as he spun from my line of sight. I twisted on my feet and moved at him again, but slowed when I realized he wasn't where I thought he was. In fact, as my eyes shifted across the room, he wasn't anywhere.

Until he was. Before I had the will to respond, he had me against the wall—hands pressed above my head, dagger slicing into the meatiest part of my palm, and cheek smashed into the damn window. The storm outside vibrated against my skin.

I yelped, instantly releasing the grip on my weapon and letting it clank to the floor. "What do you want?" I seethed. "I have nothing for you, thief."

He let out a low, growling chuckle. "You think me to be a low-life thief? I know I've seen better days, but that offends me more than you know." I spat back at him, but he shoved me further against the wall and leaned into my ear. "Listen here, Nessira. I have your journals—and if you want to stop that pest problem of yours, then you better listen. And closely."

I stilled. He knew about it. He knew about them. "Who are you?" I repeated for the third time.

"You will come to Kyria before the sunset in three days."

"I will go nowhere," I challenged.

He snickered, the breath shooting down the side of my neck like a viper. "You'd rather spend your days as the king's errand girl? That is not the Nessira I knew."

Something in me snapped. I shoved my elbow back and into his ribcage, twisting on my feet and pushing a kick into his chest so forcefully that it sent him across the room. I snatched the dagger from the floor and approached him, clamping my boot over his wrist before he could reach for anything.

His eyes lifted up to me, a mischievous twinkle resonating between the infinite layers. "I'm not going to ask you again. Who the hell are you?"

"Caius, darling," he groaned and shifted. I applied more pressure to his arm and leaned down to press my dagger into the apple of his neck. "Knives are fun, indeed. I'd like to show you a few tricks with them."

I scowled. "How do you know who I am?" I pressed.

"You have your secrets, darling. Let me have mine."

Secrets. My face fell into an expressionless pit of anxiety. I had to end this—end him. He knew who I was, and that meant he knew what I was. My gaze flickered down to the dagger and thought about how it would feel to end a life again—

But, I had ended lives before. Recently, too. I'd ended the lives of thieves, assassins, and treasonous threats to the crown, but never had it felt so personal. As the king's mercenary, I held the power... men trembled when I tiptoed into their chambers and placed a blade to their throat. They knew they had met their maker.

This man, however, threatened me. He held all of the power, all of the information, in his hands. He knew I craved to know. That was exactly why he wasn't trembling beneath my presence.

So, I lifted my blade from his neck and backed away. He sat up with a wave of surprise that crashed over his face, rising to his feet at a snail's pace with hands out in surrender. I glowered at the gesture and nodded my head to the door.

"Leave."

"Meet me in Kyria, Nessira."

"I will do no such thing."

His lips slithered into a devious smirk, eyes darkening for but a moment. "Oh, but you will. I'd hate to see what happens to that seer of yours if you stand me up. Orios, was it?"

My mouth went dry. The way Orios' name dripped off his tongue was venomous, and by the time I felt the rage boil, Caius was gone.

And I was alone. I approached the torn pages of my diary and injured leather books, picking them up one by one before sighing. I knew that deep down, that man was full of it—he was bluffing and going off whatever little information he had—but my heart ached at the mere thought of Orios being dragged into this.

There was only one choice. If it meant my dearest, closest friend was safe, then I'd go wherever that wretched man told me to. Even if it was to the greatest depths of The Gate.