Abraham stared at the bridge in awe. It was massive nearly twice the width of a carriage, wide enough for two large carriages to cross side by side. The view was breathtaking: a great, shade giving tree stood before the bridge, its scent fresh and clean, while along the riverbanks grew thick rows of trees and tangled branches. The sight left Abraham spellbound, as if he had truly stepped into a world of magic and untamed beauty.
But their moment of wonder didn't last. Just as they reached the middle of the bridge, a scream for help tore through the air.
They rushed toward the sound and found a wrecked convoy their carriage smashed to pieces, several people injured. As they drew closer, a deep, bone-shaking roar rolled across the bridge, growing louder with every step they took.
Then they saw it. An agrora but not like any they'd seen before. Its body was that of a giant tiger, but a pair of wings sprouted from its back.
Ashrel was already moving, sword drawn, sprinting toward the wounded travelers.
"Get back, you savage beast!" he shouted, throwing himself at the creature. But the fight quickly turned against him the agrora could fly, and it moved with the speed and ferocity of a lion. His blade found its mark once, drawing blood, but the moment he tried to strike for its head, the beast wrenched itself aside with a beat of its wings, twisting free of the blow.
While Ashrel kept the agrora occupied, Abraham and Belfin worked to pull the survivors clear a man, a woman, and their child lay near the wreckage. Two other children huddled nearby, barely conscious, shaking with fear. Abraham reached for them, dragging them free one by one.
Then the agrora noticed him.
It turned in the air and dove straight for Abraham. Ashrel saw it happen and reacted instantly, channeling salir magical energy into his blade. His strike tore into the creature's wing, but the impact sent its massive body hurtling sideways, straight toward Abraham. He managed to shove the child out of harm's way before the agrora slammed into him, and the force of it threw them both boy and beast over the edge and into the raging river below.
"NO! ABRAHAM!" Ashrel's voice cracked as he screamed.
But it was too late. Abraham had already vanished beneath the surface, swallowed by the current.
Ashrel ran for the edge, ready to dive in after him, but Belfin caught his arm and held him back. He shouted a warning the river was in the grip of a flash flood, its current far too violent. If Ashrel went in now, he'd be swept away too, and then there'd be no one left to find Abraham at all.
"Stop, Lord Ashrel!" Belfin's grip tightened. "If you get pulled under, no one searches for Abraham. No one. We stay calm. We follow the river from the bank that's how we find him. If you drown out there, all of this is for nothing. Think!"
The words cut through Ashrel's panic. He forced himself to breathe, to think.
"Belfin help the wounded. Get them safe, then continue on. I'll follow the river myself and search the banks for Abraham."
"Wait. Let's search together," Belfin said.
"No. Look at them, Belfin they need you more right now. I can find him on my own. Trust me. I have a way." Ashrel's voice left no room for argument.
Belfin hesitated, then relented. "Alright."
He turned back toward the injured survivors while Ashrel bolted for the riverbank and began to run.
He searched without stopping, driven by a fear that gnawed at him worse than any wound that he might never find Abraham at all. Mile after mile he followed the water's edge, but the river was too wide, too fast, and gave up nothing. He tore through thornbushes and low branches without slowing, without caring. His skin split open. His clothes shredded. Blood ran freely down his arms. None of it mattered. He kept moving, kept searching and still, no sign of Abraham.
•
Morning broke bright and clear. Prince Aedrin's convoy moved at an easy pace — the king had ordered them to set out early precisely so the young prince could take his time seeing the wider world.
They were still within the borders of Valethyrn. After a long stretch of travel, the road led them into forest country. Unlike the manicured woodlands of the royal gardens, this wild forest was something entirely new to Prince Aedrin, who had never ventured far beyond the kingdom's walls. He was captivated towering trees crowded close together, the air cooler and cleaner, and the scent of wet leaves after rain filled him with a strange, quiet comfort.
"What do you think of the forest, Your Highness?" Beren asked.
"It's incredible. Nothing like the forests back home," the prince said.
"Of course not," Beren said with a grin. "This one's tended by nature. Not by gardeners."
Aedrin couldn't resist he climbed out through the carriage window and pulled himself up onto the roof, settling there to breathe in the fresh air.
"Careful, Your Highness," Diplomat Halven called up, alarmed. "If you fall and get hurt, it becomes a very serious problem."
"Relax, Halven. I'm fine," the prince said, unbothered. "You worry too much."
Beyond the forest, they came upon a village quiet, but bustling with life. The prince's carriage drew curious eyes and warm smiles from the villagers as it passed. Unlike villages farther out, the settlements here in Valethyrn still felt safe, well guarded, close enough to the capital to be protected. Aedrin swelled with pride at the sight, certain his kingdom had done right by its people never once realizing he was still deep within Valethyrn's borders, nowhere near the truth that waited beyond them.
The journey wore on for nearly a week by carriage, until at last the convoy reached the border region, where the pace slowed further. Inside the carriage, the prince watched village after village roll by each one peaceful, each one smiling and he began to wonder if his father's warnings about the agrora attacks had been exaggerated. Maybe the kingdom really was as safe as it looked. Maybe there was nothing to fear at all.
Then they crossed into Worin.
A handful of soldiers still stood watch at the border, but the deeper the convoy pushed in, the more the land seemed to change. A village came into view the first true village of Worin and Prince Aedrin, still riding high on the warmth of the journey so far, leaned out and offered a bright, hopeful smile to the people they passed.
No one smiled back.
Instead, cold, wary stares followed the carriage through the streets.
Aedrin sat back, confused. Why were these people so different? Just days ago, every village they'd passed had greeted him with laughter and open arms. What had changed?