Every year it was the same. Reality itself seemed to thin, wounded by tears in everything that made sense, letting some kind of madness threaten to seep through. A night of whispers, exceptionally vocal ones, and of cold drafts washing over him. Coming seemingly from nowhere, some trying to reach inside. Others were hot instead of cold, touches of fury and pure malevolence. So far, Caiden had always felt them recoil when they clawed in his direction, reeling like something that’d gotten burnt.

To everyone else, it was a time of celebration. They called it Samhain, a time to offer supplication to spirits of various types – and try to ward off the rest. Supposedly, the veil between worlds became unusually thin for just one night, allowing things to cross over.

Caiden had hated it his entire life.

Offerings were left on doorsteps and street corners to keep those spirits appeased. Sometimes people made up a spot at the supper table for a dead relative, just in case their soul showed up for that night to spend time with them. That was, of course, the positive assumption of what any visiting spirit might do.

Bonfires dotted the countryside, sending billowing smoke and crackling embers up into the night. From a high point, it almost looked like the world was on fire. To Caiden, the world felt encased in ice.

Like every other year, Caiden made very special plans for the night of Samhain. They involved him, an empty room, and multiple bottles of booze. And, this year, maybe a sleeping draught from his potion supply in case he got desperate enough. Not that sleep really helped, but at least no one would wonder at the way he acted. See him trying to cover it all up.

With a few bottles held between his fingers, he’d only just started up the stairs toward his chambers when Gwen had come running up behind him, saying they’d been called on another hunt.

Caiden had sighed then. He felt like sighing again right now.

“Samhain is great, isn’t it?” Gwen asked, grinning and excited, an electric beacon along the cold and oppressive road. “I’ve always loved it. Back home, we built our own bonfire and helped the village leave out offerings – I tried to make sure everyone had at least something by the doorstep, so they wouldn’t get snatched by a bodach.”

Caiden grunted.

“I can tell you’re just so happy to be out here, Caiden,” she added, throwing him a look.

He snorted. So she did notice.

“I take it your family didn’t have many Samhain traditions?”

“Not really.”

“Was that your family, or is that what it’s like in Redfield? I’ve always heard the Red Lands are just…” she gestured, “soldiers.”

Caiden grunted again. Her tingling curiosity irritated him right now. It shouldn’t have, but it only made it that much harder to focus. Even without it, he had a chill pricking at the back of his neck and the distant voices whispering over every hill – in every direction.

He hated when he couldn’t focus. When worse came to worse, focus was the only thing he could use to fight it. Tonight, it wasn’t working.

Gwen frowned at him, but she didn’t say anything more. That was all it took for Caiden to feel some relief – and to feel a bit like an asshole.

“There’re celebrations,” he said at length. “But I never took part. Too busy.”

She hesitated, then nodded.

Good enough, Caiden thought. Her curiosity still seemed to be riding double with him, trying to breathe down his neck, but at least it wasn’t quite as… heavy. Not that that made sense, but none of this ever did.

Usually, he’d tried to be busy, anyway. Other times, he’d just make himself scarce. Redfield had celebrations just like everywhere else, though it’d taken longer for those ancient Nordling festivals to reach as far south as there. Almost as long as it’d taken for Nordling bloodlines to do the same – the blood people liked to blame for Caiden’s height, given how he stood a head or so taller than even the average Northman.

Once, Caiden had tried actually taking part in the festivities for Samhain. It’d been a bad idea. Emotions running rampant, making him feel something at least two steps above outright drunk, confusing the hell out of him. Everyone around him was so energized, usually drinking way too much, and partying so hard that too much of it leaked over straight into him.

Overall, maybe it’d felt less like drinking and more like drugs. Some sort of happiness. Some wild enjoyment, filling the air so thoroughly, so inescapably, that it’d torn down whatever few defenses he’d struggled to build. It had all ripped right through him, filling him, giving him no option but to absorb it – to let it saturate him until he couldn’t hold it all and practically radiated it.

It’d felt amazing. Too good for words. At the same time, it’d scared the hell out of him. Felt wrong, almost violent, and he’d fought against that part of him that had wanted to feel it again – because the latter reaction seemed more logical to him, so that was the one he listened to.

After that one chance he’d given it, he tried to stay away, even if no other celebration ever quite compared to Samhain. The other holidays were bad enough, but they weren’t the shuddering sense of longing, the sadness and wrong that hung like cold draperies over the lighthearted happiness the celebrants radiated this night of the year.

None of that mattered now. At least, he hoped it wouldn’t go down the same way. They had a job to do, and that gave him somewhere to put his focus.

After riding down a few roads, some built with sturdy cobblestone paths for wagons, Caiden and Gwen arrived at a hamlet not too far from Castle Greywatch, which made him wonder sorely why the Venatori bothered sending two rookies out to handle this problem – whatever the hell the problem was. No one had told them much. Seemed like no one really knew.

A bonfire burned brightly here, right in the center of the quaint little village of straw-roofed houses and rolling hills of green, currently almost teal under the deep blue moonlight. The night was crisp and clear, leaving the hamlet well-lit under the sea of stars and the pale face of a full moon.

Tubs for apple-bobbing stood on street corners, as did people handing out candies, and offerings to the spirits lay on every doorstep. Most of the people, though, had gathered around the bonfire for the festivities: some roasting nuts, others wearing masks, and still more carrying strange lanterns of gourds and radishes carved into skull-like faces.

But the enjoyment Caiden usually felt from such festivities was gone here, lessened to a dim echo of what it should’ve been. Those who didn’t wear masks had grim faces instead, frowning and turning the instant the pair of Venatori approached.

“Venatori!” said a tall, well-dressed man, most likely the local lord. “Welcome – please, come, we must speak.”

Caiden and Gwen nodded and dismounted at once, but when Gwen took her horse’s reins, Caiden held out a hand to take them instead.

“I’ll hitch them near the inn,” he said, nodding toward a building a short way down the street. “Come find me when you’re done.”

Gwen blinked at him. “Now’s not really the best time to try out Samhain, Caiden.”

He huffed. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Alright,” she said with a shrug, handing him her horse’s reins. “You’ll be near the fire?”

Caiden nodded, and Gwen followed the local lord to the large house on a nearby hill.

The recent death hanging over the hamlet shouldn’t have made it easier for him to be here, but it did. On the road, the air tonight was cold – not just an ordinary cold of fall, but a biting, unnatural chill he knew belonged to Samhain.

Once he reached the bonfire, though, it helped. It warded off the worst of the lingering cold touch, ordinary and ethereal alike. Caiden didn’t say much, occasionally glancing up at the people still trying to relax and have some fun while the night lasted… even though the night was young. Too young.

“Are you here to help us?” one villager asked, cautiously edging closer to Caiden and practically craning his neck to get a look up at his face. He brought with him a wave of frosty fear that Caiden couldn’t ignore – not while everything was so… acute.

Caiden nodded, but asked, “What happened?”

“We heard hooves…” the man said, fidgeting briefly before reaching up to pull his carved radish mask off his face and letting it hang around his neck by a string, “then a scream, then the hooves again. But no one ever saw the horseman – we only have… suspicions. We think he killed someone.”

“It was dark,” a woman put in, a child clinging close to her side. “The horse must’ve been very fast; no one had time to leave the bonfire and go looking before it was already gone.”

Caiden rumbled a low hrm. “Which way did it come from?”

“South.” “North.” “Northeast.”

The villagers all paused, glancing at each other. Caiden’s scowl hardened.

“It’s hard to say – many of us were dancing,” the first man clarified sheepishly.

“Or bobbing for apples,” the third man muttered.

Caiden grunted, cut his eyes back to the fire.

But Gwen rejoined him then, giving his long, blue cloak a tug to get his attention as she crept up on him from behind. Caiden turned, arms folded tight over his chest, and Gwen nodded for him to follow as she led the way from the bonfire. Down a street and off to a side of the hamlet, to a house on a far, dark corner of the village.

No wonder no one saw the attacker: everything was shut tight. The windows, the doors – it looked quiet and empty. Gwen held up a key.

“No one’s been inside,” she said.

Caiden threw her a look, taking the key. “How do they even know someone’s dead?”

“Go easy on them, Caiden, they’re just scared villagers on Samhain night. They came out here to party.”

He huffed and approached the door, unlocking and throwing it open. Inside lay the body of a man, out of sight of the windows, sprawled out on the floor. Shock had frozen hard into his features. Caiden narrowed his eyes and approached the corpse, kneeling and carefully turning it over.

Still fresh. No blood, no wounds – not a single sign of what killed him.

“Nothing,” Caiden said, gently closing the wide eyes of the dead man. “Are they coming in after us to bury him?”

“Yes, he said they’d check behind us, once we made sure it was safe.”

“Right…”

She must’ve heard the edge in his voice, because she said, “Like I said, go easy on them. Are the people in Redfield brave enough to investigate things like this without calling a monster hunter first?”

“Redfield doesn’t have monsters,” Caiden said as he rose to his feet, turning to give her a long look. “We have other problems.”

“Everyone has monsters, sooner or later.”

He grunted. “Maybe.” He damn well hoped not. His family, what little he had, still lived there.

“Do we know which way the rider went?”

“Only one way it could’ve gone from here.” Stepping back outside, he jabbed his chin in the direction of the road leading east. “None of the villagers saw anything, so it didn’t go back through town.”

“Okay, so we track it down, right? That seems pretty simple. Simpler than walking corpses, anyway,” she added hopefully, with a forced little smile.

Caiden nodded, albeit doubtfully, and glanced at her. “Ready to ride?”

The road was a long one, and Caiden didn’t like it. The night pulled at him, made him tense. He drank dry his skin of ale and ate every bite from his pack. Every scrap of jerky and bite of bread, not that he usually bothered with actually biting it. Gwen kept side-eying him.

“Still hungry?” she asked, almost teasingly.

He huffed.

“I guess you’re one of those people who snack every evening. I couldn’t eat a bite right now if you asked me to.”

Caiden threw her a quick, inquisitive look. Gwen paused and blinked at him, but she shrugged and pulled a pouch from a saddlebag, passing it over to him.

“Thanks,” he said, pulling it open and fishing out yet another piece of jerky to eat. Or two pieces, which he only realized after they were in his mouth.

Gwen almost laughed. “Don’t choke yourself.”

He wasn’t really worried about that. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d choked.

And then he almost choked.

Not because of the food, but because he heard someone speak – someone who wasn’t Gwen. Someone who wasn’t human. This voice came from somewhere else, riding on a cold wind that rushed past him.

“Sebastian Miller!” the voice cried, whispering at first and pitching into a furious wail – one that, although distant, still managed to crawl under his skin and then back out again to drift into silence.

Caiden shivered and swallowed that entire mouthful of jerky, glancing around for any sign of where the hell that had come from – while Gwen’s confusion kicked up by his side.

“What’s wrong?” she asked promptly, maybe seeing just how much harder than usual his brow was furrowed.

But he only grunted, took a deep breath, and didn’t answer at first. When he finally did speak, all he offered was a simple, “Nothing.”

He was a shit liar and he knew it – no helping that. Lying wasn’t something he cared to be good at, anyway. He had no use for liars.

Still, it was enough to keep Gwen from asking questions. Less the dismissal and more his tone, from the frown and the look she threw him. He felt a sharp pang of something like hurt drift off her. It made his insides tie into a few knots. Caiden glanced at her – maybe she thought he didn’t trust her. Which wasn’t true – not entirely.

But he couldn’t trust anyone with this. And it was far from the only voice he’d ever heard. For his entire life, he’d been hearing voices. This was just one in a thousand – one in a million.

Caiden stayed so lost in thought that another of the many villages dotting the rolling hills came over the next rise almost suddenly. From here atop a tall hill, he made out great rows of apple orchards with buildings nestled here and there in their midst. In the center of it all lay a sizable town, but the night was so clear he made out a few other villages not too far off, dirt roads connecting them all.

Though still far from the next major town of Appledale, Caiden saw a village just down the hill greeting them with yet another bonfire and plenty of celebrations. These didn’t seem slowed at all. The town square was alight with festivities – and emotions drifted through the air toward them, prompting Caiden to halt his horse in its tracks.

Gwen paused and turned to him with an uncharacteristic crease in her brow. “Something wrong?”

“No,” he said, prompt as always, a dark scowl etched on his face – probably even worse than usual. She didn’t believe him this time either; he could tell that much. Not just from the look on her face, like she was trying to figure him out, but from the spurt of frustration that filled the air between them. Straining his bond with his partner was the last thing he wanted to do, but…

Caiden took a breath and tried to stay focused as they let their horses resume walking. They neared the bonfire, so he did his best to steel himself against the coming waves of emotion.

Two figures broke off from the festivities, interrupting Gwen’s next question that she opened her mouth to ask.

Venatori. These two weren’t villagers. Approaching them now was a tall and dark-skinned woman, likely from the Far South, a place that didn’t much mingle with the Achaean Empire. Behind her trailed a dwarf – one of the dvergar, a race Caiden knew next to nothing about. He had only ever seen a few in passing in Castle Greywatch.

“Greetings,” said the woman. Unlike the dwarf, she left her hood down, letting free her ponytail of dark, curly hair. “Nice to see some friendly faces.”

Gwen dismounted first, offering a smile and a handshake to the Venator woman while Caiden was still dismounting his own horse – and making sure the dwarf wasn’t under his feet. Probably rude of him to think but still a legitimate consideration.

“Gwen Vergil. This is Caiden Voros,” she added for him.

That made him merely have to nod again, which he appreciated. All his focus remained pinned firmly on trying to ignore the feelings drifting toward him from the festivities just a short way down the lane.

“I’m Kiya,” said the woman, before motioning to her dwarf companion, “and he’s Relgar.”

“Pleasure meetin’ you,” said Relgar, bowing his head low enough that his bushy blond beard almost touched the dirt, given he was about the height of a stump – at least, from where Caiden was standing.

“How’d another pair of Venatori end up out here?” asked Kiya, hands on her hips, drawing attention to the long steel sword she carried there. “Did things get worse when we weren’t looking?”

“Depends on what you’re hunting,” Caiden replied.

“We don’t rightly know. A local from near Appledale came riding up to Greywatch on a mule around twilight, shouting about someone being covered in blood, and we came down here to find everyone blaming it on angry spirits.”

“Covered in blood because…” Gwen shrugged, “they were hurt?”

“No, that’s the catch: just covered in blood, and he’s gone blind in one eye, but we have no way to know if that’s related. We found a gash on him, but that was just a cut, not something to cause bleeding like that.”

“Bein’ honest with you, it sounds like angry spirits,” Relgar put in. “But they got no reason to be angry, ‘specially not at this time of year.”

Caiden grunted, not sure how much he believed that.

Gwen glanced at him, but said to the others, “We were just west of here a few hours ago because someone reported a death. Said they heard horse hooves… Nothing else to go on besides that.”

While the three of them talked, Caiden got more distance between himself and the town square. Turning down a darker side-road, he made his way past various shops and houses, each one with some offering or another left at the doorstep or on a windowsill – sometimes both.

Didn’t take long before he ran across a small group of celebrants, with their own little bonfire in the middle of the street. They turned when he approached, some looking almost frightened. Samhain had a way of keeping everyone giddy and nervous. He knew that a little too well. Most of the bad feelings faded when one woman caught a glimpse of the silver glint of his brooch.

“You’re a Venator?” she asked. “Can we help you?”

“Yeah,” Caiden said, almost against his better judgment. “I’m looking for Sebastian Miller.”

A short-lived wave of confusion abruptly rolled off the villager, but she shrugged and said, pointing, “He lives just down this street here, third house on the left, right at the edge of town. If you’re looking for him, he’ll be there at home. He’s never liked Samhain – didn’t even come out to join us tonight.”

Caiden couldn’t blame this Sebastian, whoever he was. With a simple nod and some thanks, he headed in the direction she’d indicated. Edge of town again… just like in that other hamlet they’d left behind.

It certainly was an edge, given the light of not a single lantern or bonfire reached this corner of town. Now he left the fires so far behind that the unnatural chill crept back into him. Settled as a dull ache in his stomach and tension in his shoulders that he couldn’t dismiss.

Caiden’s hand wandered closer to a potion on his harness, with half a mind to drink it and sharpen his senses for the dark. His eyes adjusted quickly, given all the moonlight, but something told him that might not be enough.

The house itself also stood dark, not a single candle burning inside. Not even an offering at the door, either. Caiden’s scowl wore deeper as he cleared the small porch steps in a single stride and knocked on the flimsy wooden door.

Nothing.

“Miller?” he called, eyes flicking to the nearest window. Shutters open, just a crack. Enough to let in cool night air, and more than enough for anyone inside to hear him clearly.

Still no answer.

Nothing came from inside, either. No feelings, no emotions. If Miller was home like that villager said, something wasn’t right.

Caiden took a step back and checked up and down the empty street, then turned and took two steps forward – one right into the door, knocking it open with his boot. It’d barely taken any effort, as rickety as the creaking building was. It almost reminded Caiden of his childhood home, before he’d joined the Legion.

And there, in the middle of the floor in the kitchen, lay a body. Motionless – and, Caiden noticed when he stepped closer to inspect it, spotless. No wounds, not even any sign of illness – just a look of shock stuck on the man’s cold, lifeless face.

Exactly like in the last town.

Caiden stood and glanced over a few things in the room, looking for any sign of how or why this could happen. Footsteps came down the street outside. Gwen’s curiosity anxiously nudged its way into the room as she stepped inside to look at him.

He glanced back at her and nodded to the body. “It’s all the same.”

Kiya and Relgar made their way inside after Gwen. The first bringing with her concern and determination, the second a strange calm and resolve, almost like he already knew what to expect here. That made Caiden eye Relgar for a moment before returning his attention to finding any sign of the attacker’s passage.

“This is like the other one you two found?” asked Kiya, kneeling by the corpse to do the same inspection Caiden had performed moments before.

“Seems to be,” Gwen replied. “We can’t find any reason they’re dead, and he lived on the edge of town, he was quiet, not participating in Samhain…”

Caiden didn’t say a word as he brushed past Gwen on the way out, checking the dirt path just outside the house. No use for him to stand around listening to information he already had. Instead, he went to check around outside the building, and—

Hoof prints.

He saw them now that he wasn’t so focused on the house. With them came a pang of frustration that he’d overlooked them before. They were scorched deep into the dirt: large, round marks, as if the rider had stopped his horse here, near the door, directly facing the cottage.

Fine black and grey ash lined the prints. It smelled as if Caiden stood right by a still-cooling bonfire and not out on a porch, far away from them. The prints turned left, wheeled down the road and toward the south. When he put a finger against one of the scorch marks, it was still warm.

The creature had only recently passed this way.

“It just came through here,” Caiden said as he stood. “It came, stopped, and headed south.”

Gwen was there in an instant, coming out on the narrow porch, Kiya at her back, and Relgar lingering behind the two of them and looking thoughtful.

“Is that ash?” Kiya said, scooping some up to rub between her fingers.

“Could be from one of the bonfires?” Gwen suggested.

Caiden mounted his horse, which Gwen and the others had led along with them when they’d followed. “Don’t think so,” he said. “Not unless the horse walked right through it. The prints are still warm.”

“Hell-steed, perhaps? If it is one, it’s likely t’ be a demon, not a spirit,” Relgar said as he reached an arm up to Kiya, who pulled him up behind her in the saddle of their one large horse.

“Samhain does have a way of drawing out spirits, demon and fay,” Kiya muttered.

“Whatever it is, no one’s seen it,” Caiden said as he turned his horse to lead the way. “They’ve only heard the hooves.”

“So, we know it’s fast,” Gwen added.

Caiden nodded. “C’mon.”

He doubted they’d catch it, but he set his horse off down the road south, all three horses speeding to a gallop. As he rode, Caiden reached for that potion he’d considered before and drank it quickly.

It acted fast enough to help. Glancing at the road under their feet, Caiden saw more scorch marks – all fresh. Far ahead of them, some still smoldered under the moonlight, wisps of smoke curling lazily into the air. A few of the ashes still carried a faint orange glow and the taste of slowly fading fury.

Caiden didn’t like it. Felt wrong. Unnatural, like it didn’t belong here.

The horses began to slow, and still they saw no sign of the creature, only vast farmlands between here and the next town. They passed several signposts for other towns along the way. Beside him, Gwen grew steadily more uncomfortable, emitting worry and fear almost as strong as what Caiden had felt back in the mansion. Now that they were travelling at a more reasonable pace, Caiden had a chance to reach over and give her arm a gentle nudge.

That made her start, drawing her out of her deep worries to look at him and blink almost in alarm. Caiden huffed quietly at the confusion in her stare.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Why do you ask?” she said, still half lost in anxiety.

Right. “You’re distracted.”

She gave him a look. “You’ve been distracted too – all night.”

“Yeah. But you haven’t.”

Gwen frowned, like he’d cornered her. It took her a moment, but she said quietly, “I was born in Piera… but I grew up leagues from there, to the north, not far from where we’re headed. Where this thing is headed, whatever the hell it is. I… don’t have many friends there, but – I have a few, and I don’t think anybody would much notice if they went missing or didn’t come out of their homes.”

She looked at him again and paused – squinted at his eyes.

“You took a potion,” she observed aloud.

Caiden shrugged.

Gwen snorted. “Hope the bonfires don’t blind you.”

Kiya trotted her horse up alongside Gwen’s, slowing just enough for Relgar to hold out a handful of arrows with steel-grey fletching and arrowheads that almost matched, though they carried a faint hue of pale blue.

“I brought these in case we did fight the fay,” said Relgar. “Take these and split ‘em between the two of you. It’s cold iron; it’ll burn any angry spirit like nothin’ else in this world could.”

“I thought cold iron was outlawed, even for Venatori?” Gwen said, taking the set of arrows and counting out half to hand to Caiden.

“Aye, it was, but some of us made exceptions. If fightin’ monsters was fair, we wouldn’t all be carrying half a dozen potions, now would we?” he said with a chuckle.

Caiden took the arrows – and instantly felt something— everything in him recoil. It set the fire already burning in him stoking up to an inferno, made his hands shake, made him suck in a sharp breath. He had no idea why.

Hesitantly, he touched one of those blue-steel arrowheads – and pulled his finger away instantly. It felt like touching hot iron – certainly not cold – and it made his insides twist and tie themselves into knots more complicated than the tangle of an uroboros on a Nordling’s shield.

The sight of it, the touch of it, filled him with a strange primal anger and revulsion. He couldn’t carry this shit. He didn’t know what it was or why he felt this way, but he knew that much.

Gwen, on the other hand, seemed fine. She shrugged and slid the arrows into the quiver on her back, and Caiden ducked an elbow nearer to her to give her another nudge, handing his own cold iron arrows back to her.

“I use bolts,” he gruffed blandly, but judging from the side-eyes Gwen gave him when she took the arrows, she must have sensed something else in his tone. He probably should’ve tried to growl less.

“Or maybe you really care about your history lessons,” she said, like she knew something and suspected he did too. Maybe something more about the idea of this cold iron being illegal – but Caiden didn’t have any idea what she meant.

So he grunted and let that be the end of it.

Kiya, riding double with Relgar, had taken the lead by the time they made it to the outskirts of the next hamlet. This deep into the Empire, there were hamlets and villages and towns scattered most everywhere, often going unmarked on maps until the next major town, like Appledale or Piera. Though still far from either of those, Gwen’s apprehension continued to grow.

They came to a dip in the road, lined on either side with thick foliage, and seemed to walk directly into a cloud of worry and confusion. Just a few moments later, two more figures cloaked in blue arose from the brush like shadows rising from the earth itself.

They all halted their horses and met the eyes of the would-be attackers, both of whom had bows in hand. It took Caiden all of half a second to note the silver Venator brooches they wore.

“Four of you?” said one who Caiden recognized before he even spoke: Brennus, veteran Venator and a half elf. “We’ve already covered this area. Did someone summon more hunters?”

“We came from near Greywatch,” Caiden replied.

And Kiya added, “And we came from two hamlets south of that. Whatever’s killing people has already covered a lot of ground.”

Brennus threw his hood back and shook his dirty blond locks free. “It went through the countryside of Appledale tonight as well. That’s where we were hunting it.”

Caiden huffed. “You came all the way here from Appledale?”

“We did.”

“Tracking it?”

“No. Trying to pinpoint its next attack.”

“How long’ve you been waiting here?”

“Less than an hour,” said Brennus’s grey-haired partner, who gave a nod and said, “Henryk of Pikeston.”

“Caiden Voros.” He paused. “Neither of you saw it?”

“No. Voros,” Brennus squinted at him, “you’re with Vergil. Our newest recruits, yes?”

He rumbled quietly, got himself a look from Gwen. “That’s right.”

“Brennus is rearing up to pull his veteran badge again,” Kiya put in. “That is, if he had one.”

Gwen barely stifled a giggle.

“Veterancy isn’t a concern right now,” Brennus said calmly, outwardly unaffected – but Caiden could feel a sharp flare of frustration off him. “We need to share information. Tell me everything you know.”

“Right here, in the middle of the road?” Kiya scoffed. Relgar gave her a pat on the arm.

“Easy, lass,” Caiden heard Relgar murmur – another advantage of taking one of those potions. “Don’t need to start a fight already.”

“Yes, right here, right now,” Brennus replied, still collected. “We don’t have time for drinks at an inn.”

“Two dead,” said Relgar. “One missing an eye.”

Brennus nodded. “Ten dead total then, and four injured, counting the eye. How did you find your dead?”

Gwen hesitated but said, “Just… dead. No injuries, no illnesses, no signs of poison…”

“Indeed. We found seven others the same way.”

“And the others?” Caiden cut in. “How’d you find them?”

Brennus turned to him instead. “Flayed, all three, partially or completely. One almost survived, but he lost too much blood.”

“I’m standin’ by that it’s fay,” Relgar put in.

“Most of us know your hatred for the fay, Relgar,” Henryk remarked. “Not everything is fay.”

Now it was Kiya’s turn to pat Relgar’s arm as the dwarf growled in his throat and scrunched up his beard.

“Fay, demon, ghost – it doesn’t matter,” Brennus said. “We split up across this hamlet and we hunt for it, and we ask the locals if there’s already been a death. But lose the horses or you’ll spook it; that much Henryk and I discovered.”

“Fine,” Caiden said, “then let’s move.”

“Right behind you, Voros,” Kiya said promptly. “We might want to hurry, after all this very lovely time we spent pissing away in the middle of the road.”

He snorted. Quietly, but he did.

Taking the lead again, Caiden pressed on into the hamlet, Gwen, Kiya, and Relgar in tow. As they reached the next settlement, Gwen’s fear flared again: harsh, cold, and bordering on frantic. Caiden frowned and gave her another look as they dismounted and tied all their horses off at a small tavern’s hitching post on the edge of town.

“It’ll be fine,” Caiden said. Her eyes snapped onto him in an instant – the fear grew worse, only for half a second.

He knew it was stupid. He knew he wasn’t supposed to know what she was feeling. Right now, he just didn’t care about keeping that secret. Not when she felt this afraid.

Still, he grunted to get her attention and asked, “You ready to split up this time?”

She managed a tiny, nervous smile. “I’m ready… I think. I’ll take right?”

“Relgar has the north quarter. I’m taking south. Stay safe, you two,” Kiya said, giving them both a brief wave. “Meet you at the inn in an hour.”

“Understood,” Caiden replied, and he faintly heard Kiya and Relgar bickering in the distance as they prepared to split up as well. Gwen turned off shortly thereafter, walking down the path that circled to the right, and Caiden removed his crossbow from his back, loading it while he went left. He heard Brennus and Henryk approaching to cover still more of the little town.

Between the six of them, they would have every corner watched within a few minutes.

Turned out that still wasn’t enough.

As he walked, crossbow at the ready, Caiden heard it again: that voice, that distant wail brought to him on a frigid wind. A voice like all the others, and yet not. Louder, more powerful, enough so that he couldn’t try to drown it out with all the rest.

He heard it as clearly as if the speaker managed to ride past shouting it and whisper it in his ear all at once. And it called into the night, “Relgar Silvershield!”

For only half a second, Caiden froze. Son of a bitch.

Turning, he charged off to the north quarter of town where Kiya said Relgar would be. Running as fast as his legs could carry him, long strides eating the ground, clearing streets in a few bounds—

And it still wasn’t enough.

A crack split the air, like a whip but somehow deeper, meatier, ending with the gut-wrenching squelch of flesh and blood. The second Caiden heard it, he knew he was too late. That didn’t stop his run.

Hooves thundered just one street beyond him, on the other side of a set of houses. Wheeling, he went left, boots kicking up dirt at his precise turn to cut the creature off…

But there was nothing. In all that half a moment it’d taken him to charge down the alley, the creature was gone, leaving only another set of smoldering hoof-prints and eerie stillness in its wake.

The stillness told him again that no one else could hear that voice. No one came running, looking for Relgar… No one except Caiden, who silently traced those burnt hoof marks back down the street until he found him.

Relgar was flayed. Skin stripped from thick red muscle, blood painting the dirt and grass all around him, some spattered onto a nearby wall. The smell alone was enough to knock most men over, copper stench hanging thick in the air.

Caiden stopped a few feet away. He could barely recognize the dwarf, much less figure out what the hell the creature had done to him in such short notice. Ripping someone’s skin from their body took time, took precision. This was messy – and somehow accomplished in one quick, well-placed stroke, if the jagged tear marks and bits of flesh left behind were any indication.

Touching nothing, Caiden turned and left to find the others. He found Gwen first, told her, and together they went after Kiya. After they told her, she didn’t wait to gather Henryk and Brennus, taking off in the direction of Relgar’s body before they could even consider stopping her.

Not that Caiden had bothered considering it. With the rage and sorrow he felt in the air before Kiya ran, he knew there was no stopping her.

All five of them helped her gather Relgar’s body and his gear. Though Gwen clearly found it almost unbearable, silence reigned among them all for far too long. Maybe out of respect for the dead, maybe respect for Kiya’s loss… Maybe just a loss for words. Probably a combination of all of them.

They each filed wearily into the inn and took a table in the corner. Even the dim candles were enough to slightly bother Caiden’s potion-enhanced eyes, so he mostly squinted down at the table. Kiya finally broke the quiet.

“I’d been on eight hunts with Relgar,” she said, quiet and full of anger she barely contained. It threatened to spill into the room and try contesting the unnatural chill of Samhain – which now felt heavier than ever. “Good hunts, some taking days – weeks, even. Not once during that entire time did I ever see something take him by surprise.”

“It’s too fast for any of us,” Caiden said, picking up his tankard in one hand. He’d bothered to order a drink, even if no one else had. “I heard the hooves, chased it, but I never saw it.”

Gwen turned her silver dagger over in her fingers. “Not even a glimpse?”

“No.”

“Then we need to narrow it down,” Henryk said, crossing his gloved hands on the table. “We know it can kill without wounding, but it can also flay its victims.”

“Demons flay people, don’t they?” Gwen offered.

Caiden took another long swallow of his drink – and, pausing, stared down into the tankard before he said, “What monster speaks its victim’s name before it kills?”

Silence fell, sudden and harsh. He didn’t have to look up from that tankard to feel every Venator’s gaze lock on to him.

Brennus’s eyes bored into him maybe worst of all. “You heard the creature doing that?”

“Maybe,” Caiden answered, and he knew that instant he’d hesitated for too long. Confusion, concern, suspicion – a gamut of emotions swept up around him. For better or for worse, he left it at that.

“There is such a creature…” Brennus said, “but to think one has reached this realm somehow – that seems impossible. They’re rare, extremely so. Dark riders who carry their own head in their hands, call out the names of those about to die, either naturally or by intervening and slaying that person on their own. It’s said only the victims hear their names spoken before they die, but no one knows for sure.” He glanced pointedly at Caiden. “They are demons of another world.”

“The Underworld?” Kiya muttered.

“Perhaps, but that’s disputed. They’re thought to be fay, hence the cold iron arrows. But some think they could originate in Ginnungagap, Ahriman’s realm of pure shadow.”

“You’re talking about the Dullahan,” Gwen said almost suddenly, sitting up a little straighter.

Without a word during these revelations, Caiden had drained what little remained in his tankard. When he set it back down, he still didn’t have the only bit of information he wanted. Or needed.

So he said, “How do we stop it?”

“If we’re not sure it’s fay,” Henryk muttered, “then cold iron might not work.”

“That’d require us actually seeing it, too,” Kiya reminded darkly.

“We have to trap it,” Gwen said with a shrug. “There’s no other way.”

“How do you trap something that fast?”

“Well, Brennus said it’s a demon.” Gwen glanced at him for confirmation and received a tentative nod. “Or it’s likely a demon. Demons and some other spirits can be trapped in certain runes; that’s in all the stories. And once it’s trapped, all we have to do is banish it. A holy symbol, maybe some holy water, a prayer…”

“I want that to work, but it almost sounds too easy,” Kiya said, glancing at Brennus. “Would it?”

Brennus stroked the faint beard around his mouth. “Perhaps, if we get it there. If we make it attractive for the Dullahan. We’re missing our lure, our bait.”

Caiden huffed. That, at least, was simple.

“You said it finds anyone who’s about to die,” he said.

A pause. Brennus turned his amber eyes to him and locked them there. “Yes?”

“One of us drinks a poison, one we have a cure for, and that leads it into the circle. Impending death. It can’t resist being drawn to that, if you’re right. Then we lead it into the trap.”

“That borders on suicide,” Henryk pointed out flatly.

“Comes with the territory,” Kiya replied promptly, before she turned to Caiden and said firmly, “I’ll be the bait.”

He threw her a scowl. “No. Relgar was your partner; you deserve to help kill it.”

Gwen was staring at him already, before he even said—

“I’ll do it.”

Brennus nodded, Kiya sighed and looked a touch defeated but gave a nod, and Henryk hummed something that sounded like agreement. Gwen, however, let her jaw fall slightly loose before she sputtered.

“You could die!” she finally blurted. “The poisons we carry, they’re meant for using on monsters – back at the castle we have some so strong they almost work on freaking werewolves— there’s no way you’ll survive, even with an antidote!”

“I’m not taking one of those.” Caiden drew a vial from a pouch on his belt and handed it to her. “It’s a plant-based poison, meant for imbibing. Not World-Serpent venom.”

She just huffed and sputtered again for half a second, even while the other Venatori around them stood and began to leave, no doubt to prepare. Gwen turned the vial over in her fingers and frowned worse than he’d ever seen on her.

“I don’t like it, Caiden. I really don’t. This poison – it’s – I think this is what we use on feral beastfolk sometimes. It’s nasty as hell and it will kill you eventually.”

He only grunted, digging a syringe out of his pack and finding the antidote.

“Oh, gods.” Gwen grimaced. “You’re injecting it?”

“Only the cure. I was briefed on this one,” he added pointedly, plucking the vial back out of her fingers to return it to his belt. “Injecting the antidote gets me on my feet faster.”

Gwen sighed. “The poisoner prepared it like that so the beastfolk might not know how to cure it, since we’ve only ever used it on insane ones who wouldn’t think to work an antidote anyway, much less a syringe. Did he mention that part?”

The worry coming off her in waves almost turned infectious – almost. It wanted to make him start worrying, too, and he didn’t like that. But the fact that she kept sitting there and staring at him, feeling almost sick from fear, left him wishing that nobleman he’d once commanded armies with had been half the partner this young girl from Piera was.

“I’ve got a strong stomach,” he said as he stood. “I’ll be fine.”

But Gwen still wore that frown and still radiated worry that worked its way into Caiden’s spine like cold fingers.

She only muttered, “The stomach part, I can believe.”

Unsurprisingly, the poison tasted like shit.

Brennus dismissed Gwen’s original suggestion of laying the trap over a small river, saying that this ‘Dullahan,’ as an unknown sort of spirit, may not be able to cross the running water. They had to be sure they could catch it.

After some debate, they’d chosen to set the trap near the corner of the next town, since the it lay directly in the assumed path of the Dullahan. Seemed like the best option. So far, the creature tended to prefer shadowy outskirts to entering the heart of even a little hamlet.

Now Caiden stood just outside the rune circle, which the other Venatori had carefully drawn to Brennus’s exact specifications. The oily taste of the thick, viscous poison still lingered in his mouth. He swallowed a few more times, trying to get rid of it, staring down the road and wishing he’d thought to refill his skin of ale.

Right then, a canteen of something appeared in the corner of his eye, held up almost under his nose by Kiya. Caiden glanced at her and nodded gratefully, taking it and gulping down whatever was in it without giving it so much as a sniff. It was ale, not water – which he appreciated.

“You’re a real brave idiot to do this,” she said, slowly raising a brow at him while he drank. Gratitude radiated off her in a low sort of way, quiet and subtle, but certainly there.

He huffed, stopped drinking, and handed the canteen back to her. “A lot of people would define all Venatori that way.”

Kiya snorted out a short laugh. “That’s a good answer.”

Caiden shrugged halfheartedly, and he felt Gwen’s apprehension tug at more than a few muscles in his back, pulling them stiff. Her worry hadn’t faded – and maybe she’d noticed one of his hands shaking. He folded his arms, glancing at her over his shoulder.

She looked like she’d been caught in the act and quickly turned back to etching the rune in the dirt road.

Kiya glanced back at her, too. “Your partner trusts you, Voros,” she commented quietly.

Caiden arched a brow at that, but he grunted something low and affirmative… and felt some cold drops of sweat roll down his forehead. A weight steadily settled somewhere in him, heavy and covered in fuzz, like someone had stuffed a whole damn cat in chest.

Kiya kept talking, worry buried deep under composure and discipline she wore on the surface. Caiden could respect that.

“Some Venatori go through a lot of partners before they find the right one,” she said. “Brennus is one. He’s never had a partner he can stick with… probably because he’s a disagreeable ass.”

Breathing was a chore now, his lungs pulling hard to find enough air. Kiya put a hand on his arm, gave it a careful squeeze.

“Bet you noticed that,” she added.

Caiden didn’t answer at first. He only snorted and realized— “Trying to keep me conscious?”

“Hm, you saw right through me,” Kiya replied. When his eyes fluttered and he had to force them open again, she gave his shoulders a slight shake. “You want to move behind the rune?”

He grunted.

“Hell yes,” she said. “I’m worried we can’t move you otherwise.”

He blinked. Grunt? he intoned.

Kiya grinned at him, in contrast to everything he was getting from her in terms of emotions – the fear, the impatience, the adrenaline.

“You remind me of Relgar. That dwarf had a throat on him, could grunt like a bear that just wanted to hibernate… But if we’re being honest, I think you would’ve won in a contest.”

He huffed.

Kiya gave his right arm a careful, guiding tug. “Come on, just step around the rune.”

“Don’t step on it,” Gwen suddenly said. She’d gone to his other side at some point, to offer a tentative shove in the right direction and help guide his feet. Caiden wasn’t sure when. His vision started to cloud over almost as much as his mind.

Shit, he could barely walk. Maybe he knew less about the poison than he’d thought.

Helping him figure out where the hell his feet were supposed to go, Kiya and Gwen got him to the other side of the rune. Why hadn’t he been standing there in the first place? He’d probably meant to stand there to begin with. Forgot. Too much on his mind.

Too many voices.

They felt so much more acute now, ringing in his ears, passing in and out of him and trying to tuck themselves under his skin to stay there. Caiden shivered. Maybe it was from the poison. Maybe it wasn’t.

Maybe it was from the unnatural draft of cold that swept down upon him like a Northrim gale, a howling in his ears, filling his entire chest with the thunderous gallop of horse hooves. Somewhere far away – but not far enough. Getting closer. Every second, coming toward them.

He’d halfway collapsed at some point. He wasn’t sure when, but now he rested his shoulder against the side of a house, chest heaving, trying to focus and couldn’t.

Without thinking, he growled out his next breath in two simple words that managed to not get stuck in the jagged gravel that tried filling his throat: “It’s coming.”

The other Venatori didn’t ask how he knew or why. They moved.

In what felt like less than a second, they disappeared. Scattered, finding shadows and corners and tucking themselves away like the hunters they were, waiting for the first sign of their prey.

And they left Caiden there, leaning hard against that building, chest wanting to explode and head pounding hard trying to catch up with it.

The hooves grew louder, steadier, closer. Air around him growing colder – yet also hotter, like the unwelcome breath of a hungry predator wafting toward his neck, ready to rip his throat out. Hot as fire. Hungry and evil, such pure malevolence that it turned his stomach, set it writhing with nausea – and made him swallow again, choke that burning back down into his already full chest.

He smelled fire. Brimstone. It was almost here.

Hand shaking violently, Caiden reached to his side, where he’d strapped that needle for the second he’d need it, syringe already full. All he had to do was inject it.

With his hands shaking like this? It sounded like one of the hardest things he’d ever do.

Then the Dullahan appeared.

It rose up before him like it crafted itself from the shadows of the night – shadows that deepened at its approach. A tall horse the color of darkness, hooves glowing with some inner heat like the stones of a volcano, stopped just before him.

A headless man rode on its back.

The pitch-black clothes, tattered and streaming in his wake, hung over a seemingly ordinary body clad in equally as dark armor – up to the neck, which was cut like a stump, jutting from the chest with no skull attached.

Because the rider carried that skull, that head, by its own ragged hair. A head of cold, grey flesh pulled taut over the barren, meaningless grin of a skull, sockets empty and devouring all light around them like pits dug by Ahriman himself.

The horse huffed a gout of flame from its nostrils. The exhale stoked the fire in its own eyes like pits. Then the rider spoke, its voice filling the air, its jaws slowly creaking open to emit the name of they who would die next—

And it said, “Gwenevere Vergil!”

Behind it, Gwen had already appeared in the darkness, long pike in her hands. The plan had been to get the Dullahan into position, knock it off its steed and into their imperfect, rushed runic circle that should hold it just long enough.

The plan was also to do it together. But there was Gwen, charging too early, going in alone. About to get herself killed unless something changed, and fast, because that creature uttered no one’s name unless…

The Dullahan turned in an instant, wheeling its horse and lowering its head in its hand to raise its other arm instead. A human spine of yellowed bone hung from that hand, held like a whip.

When the time came, Caiden was meant to hold himself steady and carefully use that syringe on his arm. But now he slammed the needle into his neck – grimaced, growled – and injected the disgusting, lukewarm antidote into his veins, hoping like hell it’d work and work fast enough.

Not that it mattered. Right now, adrenaline would do.

Ripping the syringe free again and tossing it, he ran forward. Just as the Dullahan raised that bone whip. Just as Gwen ran to meet it with the pike raised. The human spine lashed out, cracking forward like lightning – and ripped through Caiden’s jerkin, his skin, trying to tear his flesh clean off and coming away with only a strip of it instead.

A swell of confusion filled the air, from Gwen and the creature alike. Pain seared into Caiden’s shoulder and down his back where he’d flung himself in front of Gwen to shield her from that blow that’d been aimed squarely at her chest, meant to take at least half her skin off.

Caiden staggered, grunted so loud it bordered on a yell, but he didn’t let it slow him down. The Dullahan’s steed reared again, flaming hooves kicking the air, lashing out for him and making him leap back. The headless horseman almost seemed alarmed – its confusion now replaced by steadily growing fury.

It turned the head it held toward him, empty sockets freezing the very air he breathed. He felt a pull. A tug. A foreign force setting hooks deep inside him, trying to drag something from his very being that was anchored hard and meant to stay. For half a second, it recoiled, reared as if in rage like it’d tried snatching an open flame – but instantly, it returned, more determined than before.

The other Venatori converged now, polearms at the ready, trying to drive back the Hell-steed.

It grew worse. Stronger, more insistent. Painful, agony spilling into every corner of his being. Still Caiden stood there, feet planted, unmovable. Ignoring the hot blood rushing down his back, his shoulder, his chest, spreading everywhere, crawling over his skin, spreading heat against his frigid sweat – covering him in a way that blood from one wound never should.

Gwen lunged with her pike. Plunged it hard into the Dullahan’s side. The rider fell from its horse, falling to the earth right in the center of that makeshift rune circle.

As suddenly as it started, everything stopped.

The pulling let go, the freakish spreading of his blood from his torn flesh abruptly stilled. Head spinning, Caiden fell to his knees, but he fell no further. He stayed there, finding his breath again, blinking and willing his vision to find focus.

Brennus and Henryk stood on either side of that circle, headless spirit and demon horse thrashing inside like they were trapped in a cage, the Dullahan’s half-decayed skull at its own feet. A terrible glow filled the runes, then a brilliant light—

Then Gwen appeared, blocking his view as she dropped to the earth in front of him, shaking even worse than he had when he’d let the poison run its course. Her fear was overwhelming, made of pure ice, a rush of horror that verged on breaking into hopelessness.

Only then did Caiden realize he was covered head to waist in his own hot blood.

“C-Caiden!?” Gwen sputtered, quickly checking him over with trembling hands that were afraid to touch him.

Kiya was at his side, quickly locating his only injury, even as her hands searched rapidly for signs of any more.

“I’m… I’m fine,” he managed to rumble more than speak.

Gwen let out some kind of half-broken squeak. That was the only word for it. Apparently she didn’t believe him.

“He is,” Kiya blurted quickly. “He is fine. I don’t know how, but he’s fine.”

There wasn’t much to clean up.

Once banished, the Dullahan – steed, decapitated body, head, all of it – disappeared, leaving behind only some smoldering ash… that Brennus collected like it’d be useful somehow. Caiden didn’t know. Didn’t much care at this point, either.

All he wanted was a drink.

Kiya and Gwen helped him with his wound, giving him just enough ointment and bandages necessary until he could arrange proper care. And, hopefully, a proper bath, instead of wiping off as much of the blood as he could on some pieces of cloth from his saddlebags.

As they rode out together, all five of them, Brennus suddenly spoke for what was maybe the second time since they’d banished the Dullahan. “That was reckless, Vergil,” he all but snapped. “Attacking too early could’ve ended this whole hunt and let the spirit escape.”

“She was worried about her partner,” Kiya snapped right back. “It was the right move.”

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t make it any less foolish or any less of a hindrance to the duty we have.”

“Partners,” Caiden said firmly, “watch each other’s backs. Gwen did her duty, for better or for worse.”

Gwen shifted in her saddle, but there was no mistaking the burst of pride coming off her then.

Brennus, a deep frown creased into the thin beard around his mouth, fearlessly met Caiden’s furrowed brow and glare made of sharp edges. “We don’t put ourselves,” said Brennus, “or our partners, above innocents. That is our duty, nothing else… No matter who we lose. If we don’t protect these people from creatures like the Dullahan, no one will.”

No one spoke. Nothing broke the silence – except the deep growl stuck in Caiden’s chest.

“I lost a partner to the same bullheaded determination to keep each other alive, Voros,” Brennus said at length, the hard edge of his tone blunted. “You’re a soldier, as I understand it? This isn’t war. You have to abandon the mentality of leaving no man behind. We aren’t an army. Our work is very different.”

“If we have to let someone die to do our job,” Caiden answered, “then we aren’t doing it well enough.”

Brennus set his jaw, but he said nothing. The smugness from Kiya indicated she likely agreed with Caiden, though Gwen seemed nervous to be in the center of this all.

Shortly after that, they each parted ways, one by one.

Kiya left first, taking Relgar’s body with her. “It was an honor working with such promising rookies,” she said with a smile. A sad one, and forced, but with genuine approval behind it. “Hope I’ll be seeing more of you two around Greywatch.”

Caiden and Gwen bid her farewell, watching her ride off toward the Iron Pikes to bury her partner at his home.

Brennus and Henryk went next, giving minimal words in parting. Caiden huffed, narrowing his eyes at Brennus’s back.

“I can see why he doesn’t keep partners,” Gwen remarked almost sheepishly.

Caiden turned to see her wearing a smile equally as sheepish as her tone. If she had gotten angry at Brennus and he’d managed to block it out, that was gone now. A hesitant sort of joy replaced it, gentle and warm like a hot meal… along with some leftover pride.

Caiden grunted something in agreement. But after a moment, he said, “He’s not wrong, Gwen. That was reckless. It could’ve gotten more than just you killed, and that thing could’ve escaped.”

She fidgeted with the reins again and frowned. “It was going to kill you. We already lost one Venator.”

“It hadn’t said my name yet. I wasn’t the one about to die.”

Gwen opened her mouth to retort – and paused, radiating genuine confusion. “I know that – it said mine.” She shivered in her saddle, probably at the memory. “But— wait. What do you mean?”

Shit. Only the one whose name was spoken could hear it. Brennus had said that – pointedly.

With a huff, Caiden flicked his gaze elsewhere. “Nothing. Only that you should stick to the plan and trust that the rest of us – and I - have everything under control. We can’t act out of fear, whether we’re doing something brave or something selfish. If we do,” he regarded her again now, “we’ll lose control of the battlefield.”

Brennus’s words came back to mind, and Caiden’s eye twitched.

“At least, that’s how this soldier would put it,” he added.

She frowned then. But, nodding, she said, “Alright, I’ll remember that. And I’m sorry.”

Gwen then fished into her pack and pulled out a handful of something, holding it out to him.

“Part of Samhain tradition,” she said with an innocent shrug. “Consider it an extra apology.”

Caiden huffed and held out a hand. Gwen dropped a small pile of candy into his palm: various little sweets, roasted nuts, and some gum.

“I can’t be your partner and not notice how much you eat,” she said. “I thought you might have a sweet tooth after all that poison.”

Caiden snorted quietly. A tiny smile tugged at a corner of his lips. “Thanks.”

Although he put most of the candy into a pouch on his belt for now, Gwen wasn’t wrong. He promptly started chewing a piece of gum that smelled of sugar and honey. It tasted a little like heaven after all they’d been through, especially with the smell of brimstone and blood, his own blood, still infesting his nostrils.

“So, I don’t guess this changed your opinion on Samhain… That thing probably couldn’t have gotten through to this world without it.” Gwen paused. “Still hate it?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Still do.”

“But you don’t hate the candy.”

With a quiet grunt, Caiden shrugged. Gwen snickered.

As they set their horses off down the road, Caiden realized chewing gum was just a tease. Because his stomach growled loudly enough to make Gwen start in her saddle, nerves still shredded from what had happened only a few hours ago.

Caiden just threw her a short, sideways glance and asked, “Want a drink?”

Gwen blinked. “The sun only just came up.”

He huffed dismissively. It wasn’t like they’d actually slept, and he tended to drink whenever he pleased. Which was often.

Gwen seemed to catch on, because she shrugged too. “Sure,” she said at length. “I guess we earned one.”

“Yeah,” Caiden answered, his voice low, as he let his eyes drift across the horizon toward the rising sun, spreading warmth and cleansing light over the bright orchards of distant Appledale. And the voices – the louder, more insistent calls of Samhain – steadily drifted away. Back into that restless, endless sea of whispers he always endured, fighting not to let it drive him mad.

Back to what he, and no one else, considered normal.

Quietly, he finished, “Yeah, we did.”