Before the Ashes Fall

The wind did not blow in the Exile Lands; it bit.

When Sarlas and Feris emerged from that narrow opening on the mountainside, the first enemy they faced was not the King's soldiers, but this brutal cold. As the sun set, the sky turned a bruised purple, and the temperature dropped rapidly.

The air filling her lungs was so clean and sharp that even breathing made her chest ache. She fixed her eyes on the vast valley stretching out before them. The trees... they were not the small green specks she had seen from the window of the Iron Tower. These were massive. Ancient trees, with trunks as wide as castles, reaching hundreds of meters into the sky.

"We cannot stay here," Sarlas said. His voice was loud enough to drown out the roar of the wind, but cautious. He took his hand off the hilt of his sword, Night's Breath, and checked the direction of the wind. "The smell of smoke is carrying here on the wind. If we can smell it, the predators in the valley can too."

Feris tore her gaze away from the horizon and looked at Sarlas. The peaceful expression on his face was gone. In its place, the alert soldier, looking for a threat behind every bush, had returned.

"Where will we go?" Feris asked. She had to shout so her voice wouldn't be lost in the wind. "It is dark everywhere."

Sarlas pointed to the treeline below.

"We must get under the trees. We are targets in the open. The forest will hide us."

Sarlas began to walk ahead. The ground was littered with slippery rocks and thorny bushes. Feris stumbled as she took her first step. After the smooth marble floors of the underground palace, the terrain of the wild was cruel and uneven.

But Sarlas did not stop and wait. He did not reach out a hand.

"You must walk on your own, Feris," he said, without looking back. His voice was harsh, but it came from necessity, not cruelty. "If I fall, who will lift you up? Learn to trust your feet."

Feris paused for a moment. The princess inside her wanted to be offended, but the exile inside her would not allow it. She gritted her teeth, pressed her boots firmly into the soil, and began to follow Sarlas.

Their march was silent. There was only the howling of the wind and the sound of stones crushing beneath their feet.

By the time they reached the edge of the forest, it was completely dark. When they stepped beneath the first trees—those massive shadows—the wind died down, but it was replaced by something more ominous: Sounds.

The cracking of branches. A howl coming from far away. And the rustling of invisible entities moving among the leaves.

"Welcome," Feris whispered to herself, looking at the trees. "This should have been my kingdom."

But the trees looked at her not like a queen, but like a stranger. A thorny branch caught her cloak and tugged at it, as if to say, "You do not belong here."

Sarlas suddenly stopped and raised his hand. "Hush."

They both froze.

Out of the darkness, two glowing yellow eyes appeared, fixed right on them.