Chapter 39: They Won’t Return

The remnants of last night's storm still clung to the walls of the treehouse, leaving the air damp and heavy with the scent of rain and earth. The soft rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds signaled the arrival of dawn, yet the lingering cold refused to loosen its grip.

Dastan was already dressed, his dark cloak draped over his shoulders, his swords strapped securely to his waist. He stood by the window, staring into the depths of the Ghostwoods, his expression unreadable. His fingers absently traced the hilt of his dagger as if lost in thought. Behind him, Liria lay curled beneath the worn blanket, her chest rising and falling in the gentle rhythm of sleep.

But not for long.

A quiet groan escaped her lips as she stirred, her lashes fluttering open to meet the muted light filtering through the canopy. She squinted, her vision still hazy from sleep, and then her gaze landed on Dastan.

"You're finally awake," he remarked, his voice sharp with impatience. "I was about to leave you behind if you didn't wake up soon."

Liria frowned, pushing herself upright. "Why didn't you wake me?"

Dastan exhaled through his nose and turned away. "Come on. Let's leave this cursed place."

She watched as he adjusted his gear, sliding a dagger into his belt and tightening the straps of his boots. Something about his tone gnawed at her. It wasn't just impatience—it was something deeper, something distant.

"Why did you save me?" The question slipped from her lips before she could stop herself. "You said you wanted the reward so badly."

Dastan stiffened, his hand pausing over his sword's hilt. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a sigh, he leaned against the wooden frame of the doorway, his gaze distant.

"You reminded me of my mother."

Liria's breath hitched.

"She died from a spider bite—the same kind that nearly took you," he continued, his voice quiet, almost detached. "She fought a fever for two weeks before she…" He swallowed hard. "Before she was gone. And when I saw you suffering the same way she did—so pale, so weak, I just didn't have the heart to do it. I couldn't take your life."

A lump formed in Liria's throat. "You mean… you spared me because of that?"

"You're lucky it didn't kill you. It's taken so many others." His voice was edged with something she couldn't quite place—bitterness, grief, maybe both.

Liria hesitated. "I'm sorry. I mean… about your mother."

Dastan let out a short, humourless chuckle. "That's okay."

A quiet stretched between them, heavier than the morning mist outside. The ghosts of the past had seeped into their present, and neither of them knew how to chase them away.

"How old were you?" she asked, her voice softer now.

"Ten."

The single word carried the weight of a lifetime of pain. Liria felt something twisted inside her chest. He had lost his mother when he was only a child, left to fend for himself in a world that showed no mercy. Compared to him, she had been fortunate. She had years with her mother—years Dastan never got.

Silence fell between them again as they prepared to leave. Liria could see it now, the brief flickers of sorrow in his blue eyes. His usually sharp and confident demeanour had softened, if only for a moment. She suddenly felt guilty for making him relive his pain.

"I didn't mean to drag up old wounds," she murmured as they walked toward their horses.

Dastan secured his saddle and glanced at her. "It's fine."

But it wasn't. And she knew it from his eyes.

He forced a small smile—one that barely reached his eyes. "I'm sorry about your mother. I really am."

The words shattered something inside her. The grief she had tried so hard to suppress rushed back, breaking past the walls she had built around her heart. Tears welled up in her eyes before she could stop them, blurring the world around her.

"I know you might not believe me," Dastan continued, "but I mean it. I didn't say it to make you feel better. I said it as someone who knows what it's like to lose a mother."

Liria turned away, blinking back her tears. "I suppose this is where we part ways. After we leave Ghostwoods"

She gripped the reins of her horse, steadying herself. "I can't thank you. I don't want to. Because you and your people killed my mother. But… for saving me at Whale's Shore, I'll say it. Thank you. But just for that."

Dastan said nothing for a long while. But his eyes flickered with something—pain, regret, perhaps even longing. Maybe, in another life, he would have ridden beside her. Maybe, in another life, he wouldn't have been an assassin, and she wouldn't have been a fugitive.

But reality was cruel.

"You know, the worst part about losing someone," he said at last, his voice quiet, "isn't that you won't see them again. It's not that you won't hear their voice or feel their embrace. It's not even that you can't tell them about your day or ask them what to do when you're lost."

Liria looked at him, her heart pounding in her chest.

"The worst part is when you realize they're gone. Truly gone. That no matter how far you travel, no matter how many realms you cross, they will never be there. You can search the world for them, but they will never be found."

His words cut through her like a blade, reopening wounds she had fought so hard to close. Her mother was gone. No amount of searching, no amount of longing, would ever bring her back.

She clenched her fists around the leather reins, her knuckles white. But no words came. What could she possibly say to that? What words could ease a pain that time itself couldn't erase?

There was nothing. Only silence.

Without another word, they mounted their horses. The Ghostwoods loomed behind them, dark and foreboding, but the nightmares they carried were far heavier than the shadows cast by the trees.

Together, but worlds apart, they rode into the unknown, leaving the past—and each other—behind.