Page 65 of Shackled By Shadows

Zander lifts an eyebrow at him but says nothing. I am still too tired to respond.

With a flick of Ash’s hand, the vortex opens, swirling the world into the familiar green-and-black shimmer I have grown accustomed to. One by one, we step through.

The shift in the air is instant. Gone is the golden warmth of the southern beaches, replaced by the harsh, biting chill of the mountains. This is the world I am used to: cold, unforgiving, and bleak.

Towering peaks loom above the small town we arrive in, their jagged, snow-covered forms casting long shadows over the land. Snowflakes drift lazily from the sky, slow and unhurried, so unlike the whirlwind pace of my life. The wind nips at my cheeks as I take in my surroundings.

The town itself was built from gray, unremarkable stone, dark and gloomy in a way that reminds me of Umberfall. But unlike that forsaken place, the buildings here are sturdier, built to withstand time and war alike. The skeletal trees scattered around the village stand twisted and bare, offering no comfort, no beauty, just the same eerie stillness that seems to settle over every place the war hasn’t completely torn apart. The people here were not spared entirely, but they fared better than most.

This is only the first of many villages we will pass through in our attempt to secure the alliance. I know my training with both Zander and Ash will continue here, but I push the thought away. My body still aches from the storm, and I can only hope I’ll have a few days to recover before I am thrown back into that relentless schedule of physical and mental lessons that always pushes me to my limits.

Oberon leads us through the town, his strides purposeful, until we reach the house where we will be staying. Thankfully, as with every place we have traveled to, clothes are waiting for me, thicker garments suited for the brutal cold of the mountains.

We move from one town to the next, met with nothing but cold winds and even colder stares. The villagers here are sour, unwelcoming, their wariness thick in the air. The brutal mountain weather mirrors the icy reception we receive, making every step toward the main village feel like a battle in itself. The leader there will have the final say on an alliance, but so far, every attempt to build relationships with the smaller towns has ended in failure. Hope is slipping through our fingers.

I still train with both Zander and Ash, though Oberon steps in occasionally. Things between us are . . . strange. Uncertain. He has let me in, just enough to make me feel the closeness before pulling away again. Every time we share a space, I feel the weight of something unspoken, something tense and fragile, teetering between us, a longing for something more solid than what he seems willing to offer.

Is he afraid of something real? Or did he simply decide it isn’t me he wants it with?

He lingers in my thoughts more than I want to admit, but I have no idea if I haunt his in the same way. Instead, he keeps up that dark humor I have grown used to teasing and taunting, always dancing just at the edge of closeness before retreating. Maybe it is a shield. Maybe he wants to keep me at arm’s length.

As we near the largest city yet, Dusk Haven, the streets grow denser with travelers, merchants, and wary-eyed strangers. Among them, a figure draped in a heavy cloak moves in the opposite direction, hood pulled low enough to obscure their face entirely. Something about them feels . . . off. Their steps are too measured, their presence almost unnatural in the way they wove through the crowd without truly seeming to belong.

I barely have time to process it before we pass them, the moment fleeting until, a few strides later, Zander abruptly slows. “Damn it, I think I dropped my coin pouch,” he mutters, already turning on his heel before anyone can question him.

I exchange a glance with Ash, but neither of us has the chance to speak before Zander disappears into the throng of people.

Minutes pass. Too many.

When Zander finally returns, he is composed, but something is different. He doesn't meet my eyes, and there is a tension in his jaw, a calculation behind his gaze that wasn’t there before. He strides directly to Oberon, lowering his voice but not enough that I can’t catch the edge in it. “We need to talk.”

Oberon stills, then gives a slow, measured nod. Without another word, they step away, disappearing into a shadowed alley.

I frown, a prickle of unease curling down my spine. Instinct urges me to glance back, searching the crowd for the cloaked figure, but they are gone.

When they return, Oberon’s expression is indifferent, but his words are sharp and final. “I need to leave.”

Ash scoffs. “What could possibly be more important than this mission?”

Oberon’s gaze is steady, his voice devoid of emotion. “The King is planning something. I need to make sure he doesn’t strike too close to home.”

I frown. “How long will you be gone?”

“As long as I need to be,” he replies, offering no further explanation.

Ash leans back, crossing his arms. “And what exactly are we supposed to do while you go put on your crown and play villain?”

Oberon doesn’t rise to the bait. His voice is pure command. “You continue on. I chose you for a reason. I know you’re capable of carrying out this mission with or without me.”

Ash smirks, but there is an edge to it. “So you do trust me not to get into trouble.”

Oberon only gives him a look before turning to me, his dark eyes softening just a little. “Trust in me, Lyra, no matter what you hear.” His voice is quiet, intimate, meant for me alone. A reminder. A promise. Or maybe a warning.

Before I can search his expression for more, he turns to the others, the sharp authority returning to his tone. “Keep her safe.”

Then, without hesitation, he steps closer, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of my head. The warmth of it sends a shiver down my spine, before I can react, before I can even part my lips to say something, his shadows coil around him like a living thing and swallow him whole.

He is gone.