The pinewoods were thick with shadow.
Chris moved between the trunks like a ghost, breath shallow, muscles taut. Mira walked beside him, hood drawn, boots soundless on the underbrush. The sun was a sliver above the horizon, setting the edges of the world aflame. A single ray fell across the ruined trail ahead, lighting dust in the air like drifting embers.
They had been on the run for two days since the outpost burned.
Since the Seeker arrived.
Chris didn't sleep that first night. He just sat in the dirt while Mira kept watch, staring into the flames, trying to push the memory of that silver-masked figure from his mind. The girl who moved like smoke, who shattered the gate with a single gesture, who looked him straight in the eye without saying a word—and nearly killed them both.
Now, in the silence between tree limbs, every snapped twig felt like a blade to the spine.
"Still nothing?" Mira whispered.
Chris nodded. "She's tracking us."
"You're sure?"
"I can feel it. She's like… a shadow that doesn't belong."
They came to a clearing. A circle of standing stones ringed with broken lanterns and wind-bent grass. In the center was a shallow firepit, cold and scattered. Someone had camped here not long ago—Rebels, maybe. Or worse.
Chris knelt, touching the ashes.
Still warm.
Mira glanced at him, then drew her dagger and backed toward the trees. "We should move. Now."
Chris turned—but he was already too late.
A gust of wind ripped through the pines. Not natural wind—something deeper, heavier. The leaves screamed. A figure stepped from the forest's edge, black cloak curling like smoke around her. Her mask gleamed silver. One hand rested on the hilt of a short, obsidian-bladed saber.
The Seeker.
She said nothing. Her head tilted slightly, studying Chris as if she were examining a weapon in a case. Then her eyes flicked to Mira.
"You should not have run," she said quietly. Her voice was young. Almost uncertain. "They would have spared you."
Mira bristled. "Spared us? You burned the outpost to the ground!"
The Seeker's mask tilted again. "You chose to hide her."
"She's not your property," Chris snapped, stepping forward.
The Seeker's gaze settled on him.
"I remember you," she said. "You're the one who moved faster than he should have. Emberborn."
Chris's muscles clenched.
"You shouldn't exist," she added.
"Yeah," Chris growled, "I've been hearing that my whole life."
Then he moved—fast. Faster than most human eyes could follow. But the Seeker was ready. She pivoted, not back, but forward, stepping into his path, blade arcing toward his ribs. He twisted, dodged, and brought his fist up like a hammer.
They clashed—flesh against metal, speed against training.
Chris felt the vibration of her blade strike through his bones. She danced away, cloak flaring, mask unreadable. He heard Mira behind him, summoning her flame into her hands, but he barked, "No! Keep moving!"
"She'll kill you—"
"I said move!"
Mira hesitated only a moment, then vanished into the trees, fire trailing like sparks behind her.
Chris turned back to the Seeker, chest heaving.
"You don't want to kill me," he said. "You don't even know why you're here."
"I was ordered to retrieve her."
"You think you're loyal," Chris said. "But they're using you."
A flicker of something passed through her eyes. Confusion? Pain? He couldn't tell.
She struck again.
They fought in a blur—each strike of her blade met with raw power from Chris's fists, each dodge met with bone-jarring blows. But Chris was growing tired. The Seeker never hesitated. She moved with a cold precision that only came from years of training—or brainwashing.
Chris saw an opening and took it—grabbing her wrist and hurling her into the standing stones.
She didn't cry out. She hit the ground and rolled, mask cracked slightly at the chin. She looked at him—not with rage, but with a strange, mournful expression.
Then she whispered, "I'll find her again," and vanished into the trees.
Chris stood still for a long moment, fists clenched, blood running from his knuckles.
Then he turned toward the trail.
Mira was waiting.
"She let you live," she said.
"No," Chris said softly. "She's just not done yet."
They walked on.
Far behind them, deeper in the woods, the Seeker crouched beside a pool of still water, fingers touching the fracture in her mask.
She said nothing.
But her eyes were no longer empty.
They were confused.
And afraid.