Night settled over the broken plain, casting long shadows across the quiet camp. Lira slept first, exhaustion hitting her the moment she stretched out on her bedroll. Kael kept watch, sharpening his blade and occasionally glancing toward the ancient map spread across a flat stone. The faint ember-like glow still pulsed from its surface, as if it breathed.
Maelor sat a little distance away, staring into the fire too intently—almost listening to it.
Kael frowned. "You alright? You've been acting strange all evening."
Maelor didn't answer. Not at first. His gaze flicked behind Kael, then quickly back to the fire.
Too quickly.
Kael stiffened. "What? What did you see?"
"Nothing," Maelor said sharply. "Just… shadows playing tricks. Get some rest."
But Kael didn't move. He watched Maelor a moment longer, uneasy.
Behind him, the shadows shifted—
—but Kael saw nothing.
Only Maelor did.
A cold ripple of power slid into the camp like smoke. Maelor's breath caught. He rose to his feet, slipping a few steps outside the fire's glow, expression tightening.
Azhorael appeared beside him.
No sound. No flare of magic. Just a figure materializing from the darkness as naturally as breath forming in winter air.
Azhorael's voice was soft, cold, and amused.
"Your fledglings are oblivious as ever."
Maelor hissed under his breath, "Not here. Not now."
"Oh, relax. They cannot see me." Azhorael's golden eyes hovered on Kael for a mere second, thoughtful. "Or hear me. Or sense me. They are as blind to me as newborn pups."
Maelor crossed his arms, voice low and furious. "Why are you here?"
"To help," Azhorael said, smiling in that unhelpful way of his. "You found the map, yes? Then you'll need this."
He flicked two fingers toward the parchment. The glowing symbols pulsed brighter—no, they reacted.
Maelor's eyes widened despite himself. "…What did you do?"
"Revealed what was already there."
He leaned close, voice dipping into something ancient.
"The first realm lies where the map refuses to point."
Maelor's jaw clenched. "That's cryptic even for you."
"Yes," Azhorael admitted happily. "Deliciously so."
Maelor glared at him. "If you know something, say it plainly."
"Plainly?" Azhorael considered, as if trying to imagine such a thing. "Very well: Keep an eye on the girl."
Maelor stiffened. "Why?"
Azhorael looked down at Lira—still asleep, unaware—as though she were a puzzle he had been studying for centuries.
"Because the map didn't awaken for you," he whispered.
"Or for him."
His eyes flicked to Kael.
"It awakened for her."
Maelor's stomach dropped. "That's impossible. She has no—"
Azhorael cut him off with a raised hand. "Don't insult me, Maelor. The truth is the truth whether you're ready for it or not."
Maelor swallowed hard.
Azhorael stepped back, letting the shadows pull at him.
"Oh, and one more thing," he said lightly. "Do try to keep them alive. It would be… inconvenient if they died before the fun begins."
Then—
A blink.
A flicker.
A cold draft.
Azhorael was gone.
Maelor stood there alone in the dark, heart pounding.
When he returned to the fire, Kael finally noticed something was off.
"You look like you saw a ghost," Kael muttered.
Maelor forced his voice steady. "Just tired."
But when he glanced at Lira's sleeping form—and the faint glow still pulsing beneath her hand on the map—his stomach twisted.
Because for the first time, Maelor realized something he didn't want to admit:
Azhorael wasn't warning him.
He was telling the truth.
And now Maelor needed to figure out why the map had chosen Lira before Kael—or Lira herself—found out.