Page 48 of Shackled By Shadows

“We have a long journey ahead, and we don’t have time to waste trudging for days when we can blink from one place to another.”

I roll my eyes, but the air is already warping. Ash began making those circles with his fingers, and the world around us twists like ink bleeding into water. A spiraling void of deep emerald and endless black shimmers before me, flecked with twinkling lights like stars scattered across the midnight sea. It is beautiful, whatever it is. Terrifying but mesmerizing.

“B—but—” I grasp for an excuse, any excuse, to avoid stepping into that swirling abyss, but nothing comes.

Ash’s grin turns downright devilish. “So . . . are you walking this time, or am I going to have to carry you like Oberon did?”

“Don’t you dare,” I snap, stepping back on instinct.

“Well, up to you.” He rocks back on his heels. “But we need to get going. Your beauty sleep has already cost us precious time.”

I cross my arms, staring at the vortex like it might swallow me whole. Which, knowing my luck, it probably will. My stomach twists, but Ash, annoyingly unbothered, just watches me with amusement. “What if you close your eyes and hold my hand?” he offers, tone almost sweet if not for the mischief dancing behind it. “I’ll guide you, and you won’t even know you’re walking through it.”

I consider him for a moment before I exhale sharply. “Fine.”

Ash extends his hand without hesitation, and as my fingers wrap around his, he gives a reassuring squeeze before blindly leading me forward, straight into the swirling unknown.

The moment my feet touch solid ground, I stumble forward, my stomach twisting from the unnatural pull of the portal. The swirling darkness behind me seals shut with a final shudder, leaving me standing just outside the towering walls of Wraithmoor.

I straighten and brush myself off, but the words I was about to snap at Ash die on my tongue.

The fortress looms before me, vast and unyielding, its stone walls weathered by centuries yet standing strong as if daring time itself to break them. Mist clings to the high hills surrounding it, curling around the battlements, while jagged mountains loom beyond, their peaks piercing the morning sky. The air is crisp, laced with the scent of damp earth and the faintest trace of musk.

Ash steps forward, unbothered, and with a simple flick of his wrist, the massive stone doors groan in response. Dust and time shake free as the gates obey his silent command, creaking open just enough to reveal the world inside.

Even from the threshold, I can see the life within those walls. Soldiers move with a swift grace, their training silent but brutal, their steel flashing in the morning light. Smoke curls lazily from a forge deeper within, blacksmiths hammering weapons meant for war. Messengers hurry between buildings, their expressions grim and determined. The air is thick with the weight of purpose, every movement, every sound, a part of something bigger.

I swallow hard, my fingers curling at my sides.

This is no hidden refuge, no desperate band of rebels clinging to hope.

This is an army. A stronghold built not just to withstand but to fight. To win.

Ash lets out a low chuckle beside me. “Careful, Lyra, if you keep gawking like that, your face might freeze."

I snap my jaw shut and shoot him a glare, but I can’t deny the awe settling deep in my chest. I definitely am gawking.

Even the hills surrounding Wraithmoor are no mere landscape. They are a fortress in their own right, steep and treacherous, a natural barrier that would turn any invasion into a slaughter. Watchtowers stand like silent guardians along the ridges, their occupants no doubt armed and ready. Beyond them, the mountains stretch toward the sky, their jagged peaks swallowing the morning light, a reminder of just how isolated and protected this place truly is.

The only visible entrance is a winding, narrow path carved through the hills, a perfect death trap. Any army attempting to march through would be funneled into a choke point, vulnerable from every angle. I can already picture archers stationed above, hidden in the heights, waiting to rain death on anyone foolish enough to try.

Ash claps a hand on my shoulder, grinning. “Not bad, huh? We like to keep our guests feeling welcome.”

“How has this place never been found?” I ask, still turning in place, trying to take in every detail. A fortress like this should be a beacon on any map, yet it remains hidden, even as I stand right in front of it.

Ash smirks, pleased with my question. “Wards, of course. Like the ones on the cabin, but much stronger. This isn’t just some cloaking spell. Wraithmoor doesn’t exist unless it wants to.” He gestures toward the space around us. “To outsiders, this is nothing more than an empty valley, an illusion so perfect that even the best scouts would swear there’s nothing here. If they get too close, they find themselves turned around, wandering in circles without ever realizing it.”

I narrow my eyes, stretching my senses. He is right. Now that I focus, I can feel the pull of magic humming around us, layered and intricate, woven so seamlessly into the landscape that it feels like the air itself is charged. A familiar pulse, like the magic surrounding the cabin, but here, it was denser, more commanding.

“Wards this strong take power,” Ash continues. “A lot of power. They don’t just keep us hidden; they keep them out.” His voice dips slightly, a rare edge to his usual easy tone. “Only those whom the rebellion trusts can pass through. Otherwise, well . . . let’s just say the forest has a way of swallowing unwanted guests.”

I swallow, casting another glance at the towering walls, at the empty road behind us that suddenly feels far more ominous. “And what happens if someone does manage to break through?”

Ash’s grin returns, all sharp amusement. “Then they get to meet Wraithmoor’s other defenses. But let’s hope we don’t have to introduce anyone to those. Come along, we’re going to be late,” Ash says, grabbing my wrist and pulling me down a walkway through the center of the field toward a large, towering brick building.

As we grow nearer, Oberon appears in the doorway, stepping out into the open. My heart skips at the sight of him, his usual attire, black pants and a dark, fitted t-shirt, looking effortlessly perfect on him. Relief washes over me at the sight of him unharmed, especially after he was called away for “trouble,” as Ash put it, without offering any further explanation. I know Oberon can handle himself, but the way we left things makes seeing him again both a blessing and a curse.

My thoughts and emotions spiral as we approach him. I don’t know how to act around him after the night we shared. It still feels so raw, so real, and so unlike the polished façade Oberon usually wears. It is a side of him that I doubt very many people ever see.