They walked in a ribbon through the forest, step after step threading the world together like a slow, deliberate stitch. Birdsong tapered off into a chorus of smaller things: the click-click of beetles over dry bark, the high, insectile violin of crickets hidden in the moss, a sudden rustle that revealed nothing more than a parade of ants hauling a leaf twice their size down a root. Sunlight slanted through the canopy in fingers, touching motes of dust and turning them into a scatter of slow stars.
Elias moved with the awkward care of a man still learning the balance of a bandaged leg. The damp morning had left shallow puddles in the trail. He misjudged one, his foot landing with a soft, obscene splash, and his weight tipped forward.
"Ayah—" he hissed before the word fully formed, his voice half pain, half surprise. The cold water licked against the cloth at his calf and the ache flared.
Daren was already there, the same hulking shadow who had been an anchor for them through danger. He reached a hand out without hesitation. "You alright?" he asked, hoisting Elias by the wrist as if it were the most natural thing to do.
Elias gritted his teeth and forced a grin that wasn't honest. "Thanks—ha, haha," he lied, wobbling to his feet and brushing at his cloak as if scolding the earth for its treachery. He stamped at his boots to fling away the water and mud.
Lyra, walking a pace ahead, turned with a mock-annoyed smirk. "Honestly, Elias. I'm getting sick of having to resuscitate you on every puddle." Her voice was playful but carried the kind of warmth that belonged to people who had seen the worst of each other and still stuck around.
The forest around them answered with life. Dragonflies, iridescent, darted above the path and snapped the light into a thousand shards. A hedgehog — small, bristled — rolled across a fallen log, and a pair of bright beetles scuttled in a gladiatorial duel over a mushroom cap. Mosses of a dozen textures spread like an old carpet; tiny, cup-like fungi glowed faintly in places where the canopy thinned. When the wind threaded through the trees it carried the green, resinous perfume of pines and the faint sweetness of wildflowers, and their steps turned the path into a soft, living rustle.
They fell into easy conversation, the sort that pushes hours into a pocket of quiet companionship. Daren made a dry remark about moths trying to play gladiator with a lantern of sunlight. Lyra made a joke about adopting the hedgehog as the team mascot and dressing it in miniature armor. Elias, still damp and sheepish, contributed a story about an embarrassing childhood fall—something small, oddly human, that made them laugh until their ribs hurt and the forest around them shimmered with the sound.
After a while the trees thinned, and the land stretched into a ledge. The path opened abruptly onto the lip of a cliff. Before them the world dropped away — an immense throat of empty air that swallowed sound and depth alike. Mist clung to the fall's mouth like breath. Far below the abyss, green patched the rock face and a roofline winked: a small cluster of buildings, a village wedged against the foothills like a secret someone had left unfinished.
Elias's voice burst out before he could temper it. "There! A village!"
Daren scanned the spread with a quick, experienced eye. "Good. We only have to cross this ridge, then walk down. The village is in the basin beyond." He turned toward the path that led around the cliff's lip and his face hardened into that serious expression he wore when plans had to be made.
The passage across was narrow. Not wide enough to walk two abreast, not wide enough to swing a sword with comfort. On their left was the void — a yawning blackness that hinted at height in a way that made Elias's knees feel thin. On their right the rock rose in a brutal sheet, slick in places from seepage, spotted with tenacious lichens and small clusters of yellow moss. The only safe way across was single file, each foot carefully chosen. The path was barely more than a ledge, enough for a single pair of feet and nothing more than a couple of knuckles of space.
Lyra cupped her hands and peered over the edge, her usual bravado muted by the sight. "So we want to get to the other side, or we want to admire the scenery until we starve?" she asked, half teasing and half real.
Daren clapped both hands on his hips. "No choice. We go. Stick close, and don't look down if you can help it."
Elias felt his mouth dry. The cliff's silence had its own voice: a whisper that suggested how small their lives were, how fragile. He could not bring himself to glance left; the abyss felt like rude curiosity and he refused to indulge it. He fixed his gaze on the rock at his right: the rough pale face, the jutting stones to use as handholds, the tiny tufts of moss that promised traction.
"This is ridiculous," he muttered, though the words were to himself.
"You say that like it's new," Lyra replied. "We've walked worse. We've slept in worse. This is a walk in the park—if the park is on the spine of a sleeping giant."
They stepped out in line. Daren went first, a steady weight that made the cliff feel like a place that could be measured and understood. Lyra followed with a nimbleness that made the ledge seem less threatening under her boots. Elias came last, eyes trained on the rock, breath counted to steady the tremor that might become panic.
Each footfall was a conversation in itself: placement, balance, a tiny push against gravity and the inverse whisper of falling. Wind threaded across them, searing with cold, lifting loose hair and testing the fabric of cloaks. A screech somewhere far below cut the air and the rhythm of their steps for a moment; their muscles tightened and relaxed in the same motion, rehearsing survival.
Elias did not allow his thoughts to wander to what would happen if he slipped. He did not want the image—his head turning, an intake of cold air, the sudden, clean, stupid absence of sound. He kept his face turned toward the rock and mouthed counting words like prayers.
Halfway across the ledge he dared a thought. "I can't think about what'd happen if I fell," he said in a low voice to Lyra beside him. "It's worse than actually being scared."
Lyra's reply was soft, almost sympathetic. "Then don't think. Think of something else. Think of—what's the thing that makes you laugh the hardest? Remember it. Or think of Daren in a hat."
Daren made a face as if offended. "I refuse to be a joke ornament."
"Too late," Lyra said breezily. "You're ruining your dignity."
Elias let out a hiccup of a laugh that turned into a cough. The walk pressed on, the cliff's edge humming in his ears like a distant drum.
They were almost to the other side when Elias spotted the village in a new light. Not as a cluster far below, but now revealed more clearly—the barn roofs, a thin wisp of smoke, the small lines of paths between huts. For a dizzying moment he felt elation surge so fierce it made him dizzy: the sight of human habit, of warm smoke turning skyward, of an end to this dangling life.
Elias moved faster, eager, and tried to shift his weight to gain speed. As he stepped, the old ache in his calf shot sharp. It buckled under him like a treacherous hinge. He landed awkwardly, the pain jagging through the bandaged area. His body went lax and the ground seemed to tilt.
He stumbled. For a split second everything slowed—the tremble of the lichens, the wind's sharp touch, the small scrape of Daren's boot on the rock behind him.
Lyra laughed, the sound sharp and immediate as she leaned forward to be ready to catch him—but Elias's foot did not find purchase. He folded, legs giving, and instead of falling into the void he hit the rock with a graceless thump and rolled onto his side on the narrow trail. Pain flared and then blurred; he tasted the iron tang of blood at the corner of his mouth.
Daren's hand was on him in a heartbeat, rough and efficient. Lyra made a short, exasperated noise that somehow managed to be both scolding and relieved. "Honestly, Elias. You're a walking calamity."
Elias pushed himself up as best he could, cheeks hot with the embarrassment that burned brighter than the pain. Lyra and Daren's faces were close, the world narrowed to the three of them. Despite his fury at himself—at his body for betraying him now—he could not help the small heat that spread through his chest at their presence.
He steadied himself, inhaled, and then a grin that was part pride and part defiance spread across his face. "The village's there," he said, and made his voice louder than the lurch in his spine. "Down in the valley. We'll be there by night if we keep moving."
Daren craned his neck to look. The flat stretch of roofs indeed lay below, a smudge of smoke and a swirl of human life. He whistled through his teeth. "If this path keeps up, we might not make it until evening. The slope down is long and rough. We'll need to pick up the pace."
Lyra sighed theatrically, the kind of petulant sound that also held resignation. "Again? More walking? My legs are begging for a bed already."
Elias laughed, a little breathless. "We'll make it. We always do."
They gathered themselves and continued down the narrow trail, each step careful, each breath measured. The path twisted and swung like a slow metronome. On the other side of the cliff the village waited, patient as a harvest. At the tail end of the line the three of them moved as a cautious unit: laughing where they could, scolding gently where they must, and trusting each other enough to let one another be weak for however long weakness lasted.
When they reached a place where the path opened enough for all three to stand and look out, Lyra gave a long exhale and shook her head. "You're the worst showman," she said with a fondness as sharp as the wind.
Elias stuck out his chest just a little and stylized a bow, more for fun than for theatrics. "And you're the worst audience."
Daren rolled his eyes but smiled. "Let's go. Village first, then complaints later."
They moved on, the forest swallowing the whisper of their footsteps as if it were tying knots behind them. The day marched on; the village lay below, and the world felt, briefly and bright, like a place they might survive in.