A tale of heroes and gods

The fire crackled softly between us. Its glow played across Aelira's face, making her look younger — softer — than the sharp edges she wore like armor. She sat with her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, gaze drifting somewhere past the treetops.

"Your footwork," I said, breaking the quiet. "That sidestep into the counter... clean. Precise. Someone trained you."

She snorted. "Of course they did. Nobles don't send daughters to the ring, but they make sure we know how to dance."

"Dance?"

"With blades. With words. With fake smiles at court. My family made sure I could survive a room full of vipers. Turns out, the wild's not that different."

I tilted my head. "You were really a noble? I thought that was just a running joke."

She gave a half-smile. "Lady Aelira Vaelorn of House Kelyrn. Third-born. No inheritance. No expectations. Just pretty enough to marry off, just sharp enough to manipulate."

I stayed quiet. Just listened.

"I hated it," she said softly. "The silks, the rules, the way they dressed you up like a trophy and called it duty. When I refused the engagement, I became a disgrace. My father disowned me. Said I could rot with the rats if I wanted to live like one."

"And you left?"

"I ran," she said. "Joined a smuggler crew. Learned to lie, to take a punch. The wilds may have teeth, but at least they're honest."

I looked at her again — not just as clever or fast — but forged. "You're not common," I said. "You're free."

She smiled faintly. "That's what scares them the most."

The fire popped.

Then — crashing branches. Sudden, violent.

We both turned.

A shape staggered out of the dark trees — huge, bloodied, barely upright.

"Helios!" I was already on my feet.

He dropped to one knee. Stonewake fell from his grip with a heavy clang. His tunic was shredded, his leg soaked in blood, his shoulder slashed open to the bone. His eyes, wild and desperate, locked onto me.

I ran to him. "What happened?!"

His bloody hand seized my arm.

"Are you hurt?" he rasped.

"No. I'm fine. We're fine. You made it back."

His body slackened. He let go. Slumped forward, barely breathing.

Aelira knelt beside us, her hands already on his wounds. "Twelve cuts — maybe more. He's losing a lot of blood."

"Twenty-three," Helios muttered.

"What?" I asked.

He coughed, spat blood, and forced the words out. "I counted. Twenty-three bandits."

Aelira swore. Quiet. Tight.

Helios looked up at me one last time. "Thank god you're safe."

Then his head dropped.

He passed out in my arms.