Elara remained unconscious for two days.
Taryn had never been one to panic, but watching Elara collapse so suddenly had shaken her in a way she hadn't felt in years. At first, she crouched beside her, shaking her gently, calling her name, but there was no response. Elara's body was warm to the touch, her breathing steady, but she wouldn't wake.
This wasn't a simple fainting spell—Taryn had seen plenty of those in her time. No, something deeper was at play here. Something unnatural.
With every second they remained in the clearing, they were vulnerable. The hooded figures were gone, but that didn't mean they were safe. They needed shelter. Safety. Time.
Taryn exhaled sharply, clenching and unclenching her fists. She had made a promise to herself long ago to keep her magic hidden, to never use it unless it was life or death. And right now?
It was life or death.
"Damn it," she muttered under her breath.
She placed her hand on the ground, fingers splayed over the damp forest floor. A faint green light pulsed beneath her fingertips, and slowly, the roots of the nearby trees began to shift. They curled and twisted like serpents, weaving together to form a makeshift stretcher beneath Elara's limp form. Once it was sturdy enough, Taryn carefully adjusted her body, ensuring she wouldn't fall, and then urged the roots forward with another flicker of magic.
As she moved deeper into the forest, guiding Elara beneath the towering canopies, her mind raced.
Who was Elara, really?
Taryn had met many people—liars, thieves, warriors, nobles—but Elara was something else entirely. The way she had wielded that light, the way she had floated above the ground, the sheer power that had radiated from her…
Taryn had seen magic before. Hell, she had used magic before.
But that?
That was something different. Something primal. Ancient.
It unsettled her.
When she found a secluded clearing by a small, bubbling stream, she stopped. This would do. Another murmur of magic, and the branches above wove together, forming a thick canopy to shield them from the elements. The roots of an old oak pushed upward, creating a natural barrier behind them, offering some protection from wandering eyes.
Taryn let out a breath, brushing sweat from her brow as she turned back to Elara.
Still unconscious.
She sighed and sat beside her, pulling out a small dagger from her belt and idly twirling it between her fingers.
"What am I supposed to do with you?" she muttered to no one in particular.
The flickering firelight cast shadows along the contours of Elara's face. She looked peaceful, almost serene—so unlike the girl who had screamed in defiance just hours ago, blasting away enemies like she was born to do it.
Taryn had to admire that kind of power. She had spent years trying to forget her own.
Her fingers stilled against the dagger's hilt as old memories surfaced.
She hadn't always been a rogue.
Before she was Taryn the Wanderer, Taryn the Knife, she had been Taryn Voss—daughter of a noble family, heir to wealth and privilege. Her parents had been influential merchants, dealing in rare artifacts and enchanted relics. They had wanted her to be a refined lady, to marry well and expand the family's reach.
But Taryn had been born with magic in her veins, a gift—or curse—passed down from a bloodline long buried. She had discovered it young, accidentally setting fire to her mother's prized tapestry during a tantrum.
Instead of nurturing her gift, her parents had feared it.
"Magic has no place in our world," her father had said.
So they had hidden her away. Kept her secret. Hired tutors in the dead of night, not to teach her how to use magic, but to suppress it.
Control. Restraint. Silence.
She had followed their rules—until the night everything fell apart.
She still remembered the scent of smoke, the crackle of flames devouring her family's grand estate. The assassins had come without warning, cutting through guards like paper, leaving nothing but ruin in their wake.
They weren't just after wealth.
They had come for something more.
She had barely escaped, and only because, in her panic, she had unleashed her magic. The air had crackled with emerald light, and the assassins who had cornered her had fallen, lifeless.
She had run that night and never looked back. The name Voss had died in those flames.
For years, she had lived in the shadows, learning to fight, to steal, to survive. She had buried her magic deep, refusing to touch it, refusing to become the thing that had cost her everything.
But now, looking at Elara—at the sheer power that radiated from her even in unconsciousness—Taryn wondered if she had been wrong.
Maybe magic wasn't the enemy.
Maybe it was the key.
She let out a dry laugh and leaned back against the tree, watching the stars flicker through the gaps in the branches.
"You sure know how to make things complicated, Elara."
Another night passed, and still, Elara did not wake.
Taryn had almost given up hope. She had kept watch over her, tending to her wounds, making sure she was safe. She hunted when she could, bringing back small game, but her appetite was lacking. The longer Elara remained unconscious, the more uneasy Taryn became.
What if she didn't wake up?
What if whatever had happened to her had burned her out completely?
But then, on the dawn of the third day, something changed.
Elara stirred.
At first, it was barely noticeable—a twitch of her fingers, a flutter of her eyelids. Then, a sharp intake of breath as her eyes snapped open, wide and startled.
Taryn, crouched beside the fire, her knife in hand, immediately turned.
"Elara?"
Elara's gaze darted around wildly, disoriented, before settling on Taryn. For a brief second, her panic eased.
"Taryn…?" Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
Taryn let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"Well, well. Look who finally decided to wake up."
Elara blinked, dazed, struggling to push herself up. Taryn was beside her in an instant, hands hovering near her shoulders but not quite touching.
"Easy," she warned. "You've been out cold for two days. Whatever you did back there nearly killed you."
Elara winced, pressing a hand to her temple. "I… I don't know what happened."
Taryn studied her carefully. She wasn't lying. Whatever power had awakened inside her, she didn't understand it any more than Taryn did.
"Great," Taryn muttered. "So we're both in the dark."
Elara swallowed hard, glancing around. "Where are we?"
"Somewhere safe. For now."
Elara looked down at her hands, her fingers trembling. "I hurt people, didn't I?"
Taryn hesitated before answering. "You did what you had to do."
Elara didn't seem comforted by that.
Taryn sighed and stood, stretching her arms. "Well, I hope you've got some energy left, because we can't stay here much longer. Those guys aren't going to give up just because you zapped a few of them."
Elara's jaw tightened, a flicker of determination in her exhausted eyes.
"I… I saw him," she whispered.
Taryn frowned. "Who?"
Elara clenched her fists, her breathing steadying as she found her resolve.
"Him."
Taryn didn't need to ask who. The way Elara said the word made it clear. Whoever he was, he was the reason for all of this.
Taryn exhaled, running a hand through her hair before smirking slightly. "Well, guess that means we have some unfinished business, huh?"
Elara met Taryn's gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in her tired eyes.
Taryn smirked. "Well, princess, looks like you're stuck with me."
But despite her teasing, she knew they couldn't leave just yet. Elara was awake, but she was far from recovered.
Another day passed in their hidden shelter.
Elara slowly regained her strength, though she still tired easily. Taryn made sure she ate, hunted small game when she could, and kept watch over their surroundings. The hooded figures hadn't returned, but the silence of the forest unsettled her.
They talked, but never about what had happened.
Instead, their conversations drifted to meaningless things—Taryn complaining about how terrible roasted rabbit tasted without proper seasoning, Elara quietly admitting she had never learned to swim. Taryn told a ridiculous story about a drunk nobleman who once mistook her for a barmaid, and Elara laughed, the sound unexpected but warm.
For a while, it was almost… normal.
But beneath the lighthearted words, there was an unspoken understanding. They were avoiding the truth. Neither of them was ready to face it yet.
By the morning of the fourth day, Elara was strong enough to stand without help.
Taryn watched her as she stretched her arms, rolling her shoulders. "Feeling better?"
Elara nodded. "I think I'm ready."
Taryn studied her for a moment, then grinned. "Good. Because something tells me we've got a long road ahead."
As they gathered their things, preparing to leave the safety of their temporary shelter, Taryn couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.
Despite every instinct telling her to walk away, she knew she had already made her choice.
She was going to protect Elara.
No matter what it cost her.