Amriel's consciousness slipped into a swirling kaleidoscope of colors and half-formed shapes.
Once more, she found herself in a body not her own—though one not entirely unfamiliar to her. This had happened before, these strange dreams that felt more like memories from another life. The body she inhabited moved with a warrior's grace, each step precise and deliberate. In these dreams, she was stronger, more certain.
In fact, she'd grown rather used to walking in this form. The weight of the twin swords at her hips felt grounding, almost comforting—an extension of herself rather than mere weapons. The feel of supple leather armor against her skin was a welcome change from the flea-infested and tarnished rags that clung to her emaciated frame in the depths of the Dreadfort. Here, when the sun shone, she could feel its warmth upon her face, even if the lungs that drew breath were not truly hers.
He was there in every dream. Always off in the distance, a silhouette standing atop a ridge or between ancient trees, watching her with eyes that seemed to glow like embers in the twilight. Always waiting for her, patient and eternal as the mountains themselves.
She felt drawn to him, pulled by an invisible thread that tugged at something deep in her core—something older than memory, more primal than thought. Each time, she would walk toward him, her heart pounding with anticipation and a strange sense of homecoming she couldn't explain. Each time, she would whisper a name that felt like it had always lived in her throat, waiting to be spoken.
And, as always, he vanished like morning mist as she drew near, dissolving into particles of light that scattered on the wind. The dream would slip away, leaving her grasping at fragments that dissolved between her fingers like sand.
But this time was different. As a voice called her name—a name she couldn't quite place but knew as intimately as her own heartbeat—and the walls of the dream faded away like stars dissolving at dawn, Amriel woke not to the cold, dank walls of the Dreadfort.
Instead, it was the soft rustling of leaves and the distant calls of woodland creatures that welcomed her back to consciousness. Not the endless screams and maddened arguments of her cellmates that had become a macabre lullaby over twenty-seven days.
The scents of damp earth, pine sap, and wildflowers filled the air, a stark contrast to the dank, oppressive atmosphere of the Dreadfort with its perpetual stench of human misery. She had no sense of how long she had been unconscious, only that she was no longer trapped within the suffocating stone walls that had nearly become her tomb.
Lying still with her eyes closed, Amriel absorbed the feeling of the ground beneath her—a surface soft and yielding, a far cry from the unforgiving cold of the dungeon floor. She realized she was lying on a bed of moss and fern, the cool softness cradling her aching body like a mother's embrace. Every muscle in her frame ached with a bone-deep weariness, but it was a clean pain, honest in a way the suffering of the Dreadfort had never been.
A gentle breeze brushed across her skin, weaving through her matted hair, as though nature itself were cradling her in its embrace, offering solace and freedom. Against her neck, her father's iron ring still hung, its weight a constant reminder of who she was and what she carried. In the Dreadfort, it had been her only tether to sanity. Now, in this moment of rebirth, it felt like a promise.
As the sounds of the world slowly filtered into her awareness—rustling leaves, the distant calls of thrushes and jays, the gentle burbling of a nearby stream—Amriel stirred. Her cobalt eyes fluttered open, immediately squinting against the dappled sunlight that filtered through the canopy above. The light pierced through in golden shafts, illuminating flecks of dust and pollen that danced in the air like miniature constellations. After so long in near-darkness, even this filtered forest light was almost painful in its beauty.
Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes, not from the brightness, but from the sudden, overwhelming gratitude for something as simple as sunlight. She had begun to fear she would die without ever seeing it again.
The ancient trees loomed over her, their gnarled trunks and twisted limbs like silent sentinels standing guard. Oak, ash, and elder—the sacred trinity of the old forest—their bark rough with lichen and moss, their roots diving deep into soil that seemed to pulse with life. High above, their branches swayed gently, leaves rustling in a language older than human speech.
Amriel pushed herself up slowly, wincing as her muscles protested, still weary from her ordeal and the mad dash through the Dreadfort. Her body felt alien to her now—too thin, too fragile, like a dried autumn leaf that might crumble at the slightest pressure. She could feel the remnants of fear and uncertainty clinging to her like a shadow, but as she breathed in the freshness of the forest, a sense of cautious calm began to settle within her.
As she glanced around, her heart raced, taking in the lush surroundings. Ferns unfurled their delicate fronds in spirals of vibrant green, their tips still pearled with morning dew. They contrasted beautifully with clusters of wildflowers scattered across the forest floor—violets with their heart-shaped leaves, bluebells nodding gently in the breeze, and tiny white star-shaped flowers. She knew all their names by heart, and took comfort in their familiarity. Pale yellow and blue butterflies drifted lazily from bloom to bloom, unbothered by her presence.
There was no mistaking it, she was in the Vhengal Forest. Home.
A gentle breeze drifted past her, carrying with it the mouthwatering scent of roasting meat seasoned with wild herbs. Her stomach clenched violently, then growled with such ferocity it was almost painful—a visceral reminder of the near-starvation diet of watery gruel and stale bread that had been her sustenance in the Dreadfort.
The thought of real food—hot, savory, abundant—nearly brought her to tears again. She swallowed hard against the sudden flood of saliva in her mouth, trying to compose herself. To show such weakness before whoever had rescued her—or captured her, for the possibility still lingered—would be dangerous.
Slowly turning around, she faced a fire crackling at the center of the forest clearing, flames dancing playfully in a ring of carefully arranged stones. Smoke spiraled upward, curling lazily into the air like a wisp of dreams, before disappearing into the canopy above.
In front of the fire, a man sat with his back to her, leaning forward with deliberate, focused movements as he slowly rotated a rabbit suspended on a green wood spit over the open flames. The savory aroma of the roasting meat mingled with the earthy scents of the forest, creating an enticing symphony of fragrance that made her lightheaded with hunger.
She hesitated at the edge of the clearing, studying him. Broad shoulders tapering to a narrower waist. His posture was relaxed but alert, like a predator at rest.
Amriel glanced down at herself, suddenly conscious of her appearance. Her prison garments hung in filthy tatters from her frame, stained with sweat, blood, and worse. Her arms were mottled with bruises in various stages of healing, and her fingers were cracked and raw. She felt a flush of shame creep up her neck, followed immediately by anger at herself for feeling it. She had survived. There was no shame in that.
Amriel moved cautiously toward the fire, her bare feet whispering against the soft forest floor, each step deliberate as she approached. As she drew nearer, the figure turned to face her, revealing a handsome face etched with both resolve and kindness. His deep emerald green eyes sparkled with recognition, igniting a flicker of familiarity in her mind.
"Welcome back to the world, Amriel," he said, his voice warm and inviting, like the sunlight filtering through the leaves above. The words wrapped around her like a comforting embrace, grounding her in the present moment.
In that moment, as his eyes met hers, recognition bloomed in her chest like a winter rose, surprising and undeniable.
Those eyes—deep emerald green, flecked with gold near the pupils. She knew those eyes, had seen them in her dreams and in that frantic moment in the Dreadfort.
Thalon.
Amriel froze, her gaze locked onto the man before her, unblinking.
At her sides, her hands moved restlessly, clenching and unclenching in an attempt to find something solid to hold onto in a world that had just been ripped apart. She could feel the weight of every thought in her head—every question, every fear. The silence stretched out heavily between them.
Dark, tousled hair fell just past his ears, framing a chiseled jawline and cheekbones that seemed sculpted by the gods themselves. His piercing eyes, like shards of emeralds, never left her face, watching her closely, though his expression was unreadable.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Amriel could hear the pulse of her heartbeat in her ears, the sound of it deafening in the stillness.
"It's good you're finally awake," he said, the words slipping out with a wry amusement that was almost disarming. "I was beginning to think I'd have to eat this all by myself."
Amriel's sharp cobalt eyes flicked toward the fire, where a rabbit slowly rotated on a spit, its skin sizzling and crackling in the heat. The smell—rich and savory, with a smoky edge—wafted toward her, an irresistible scent that made her stomach clench and growl loudly.
After a moment, the man sighed and his gaze softened. Turning back to the fire, he said "You must be hungry,"The words gentle, almost tentative. "I know I'd be if I'd been stuck in that place as long as you were." The crackling fire breaking the silence with a soothing, rhythmic hiss.
Amriel's stomach gave another insistent growl, louder now.
But when she didn't move, the man added, "I promise you, Amriel, that no one will force you to do anything ever again. Not ever." His voice steady and firm, "So, if I must eat this rabbit by myself, then so be it. But you can explain to Meeko why you refused to eat the lunch he so thoughtfully provided."
"Meeko?" Amriel's brows furrowed momentarily. Her feline companion had found them?
Perhaps that shouldn't be as surprising as she thought. The Vhengal was, after all, Meeko's home just as much as it was hers. If not more.
Then the thought crossed her mind, Meeko's here, and he trusted this man enough to leave me alone with him.
"He should be around here somewhere," The man continued as he leaned forward to turn this spit. The fire crackled and hiss, sputtering forth a small plum of smoke as the renders fat dripped down.
Amriel watched in silent horror. That fat could have been collected for mixing with herbs for one of her medicinal salves. The waste made her stomach twist in something other than hunger.
"From the way he darted off earlier, I suspect he's using nature's litter box." Thalon said drly, "Interesting name, I might add. That will get some laughs." The last part he added in a murmur that wasn't really meant for her.
Meeko, she was going to see Meeko again. Amriel's heart soared, and just as quickly sunk, "Simon…Niamah" She gasped. What trouble could her escaping the Dreadfort cause for them?
Would the King go after her friends?
Without another word, Amriel turned and bolted into the depths of the forest, her legs carrying her through the underbrush, heart pounding in her chest. She knew the Vhengal well enough. It wouldn't take long for her to regain her bearings. All that mattered now was reaching Simon, Niamh, and the girls before the Dreadfort could close in on them.