Chapter 40: Paths of the Forsaken

The sun barely pierced through the heavy clouds as Liria and Dastan finally emerged from the cursed depths of the Ghostwoods. A vast stretch of barren land unfolded before them, a stark contrast to the darkness they had just left behind. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, and the wind carried a biting chill, whispering through the grass like unseen spirits bidding them farewell.

For a long moment, neither spoke. They simply rode, the rhythmic thuds of their horses' hooves filling the silence between them.

"Where are you heading?" Dastan finally asked, breaking the quiet.

Liria's gaze remained fixed ahead. "Aberdale."

Dastan turned slightly in his saddle. "What's in Aberdale?"

She hesitated before answering. "It's where my mother came from. I need to know more about her… about my ancestors."

He nodded slowly, as if weighing her words. "And after that?"

"I don't know yet." Her voice was firm, but deep down, uncertainty gnawed at her.

Dastan let out a short breath, almost a scoff. "I suppose this is where we part ways, then."

A lump of unease settled in Liria's throat. Parting ways—it was inevitable, yet the thought made her chest tighten. She had been alone before, but traveling with Dastan, despite their complicated connection, had given her a sense of security. And now, stepping away from that felt like stepping into an abyss. But she had no choice. She had to be strong. She had to keep moving if she ever wanted to avenge her mother.

"Just ride straight to Sarcus," Dastan instructed, his voice softer now. "Once there, buy yourself a map. It'll guide you to Aberdale."

She swallowed the doubt creeping up her spine and nodded. "Alright. Goodbye, Dastan."

Without another word, she spurred her horse forward. Dastan did the same, turning away from her path, each galloping in separate directions. The further she rode, the heavier her heart became. She wanted to turn back, but she didn't. She couldn't.

Dastan, too, found himself glancing over his shoulder more than once. He watched as Liria's figure grew smaller against the horizon. A gnawing unease settled in his chest. Was she truly ready to travel alone? What if she was hunted again? What if she was captured? What if he never saw her again?

He clenched his jaw. It wasn't his place to care. He was an assassin. A free man. Clinging to someone—protecting someone—was never a part of his nature.

And yet, something inside him wavered.

… … …

Liria pressed forward, her pulse steadying as the initial fear of riding alone melted away. In its place, a new fire ignited within her. Her grip on the reins tightened, determination hardening her resolve. She had spent too long being afraid. That time was over.

Instinctively, she reached for her pendant, the small golden chain with heart-shaped ruby she had been wearing since she left the castle. The moment her fingers curled around it, a strange sensation rippled through her body. A shiver—not of cold, but of something far deeper. Power. It surged within her, warm and electric, curling around her veins like an unseen force awakening from a long slumber.

She gasped, nearly dropping the pendant. What was that?

A whisper of wind brushed against her ear, carrying no words, yet speaking volumes. It was as if something—or someone—was trying to reach her.

… … …

By the time she reached Sarcus, the sky had turned a dusky shade of orange, the last remnants of daylight slipping behind the rooftops. The town bustled with merchants packing up their stalls, travelers securing lodging for the night, and guards making their rounds. Liria kept her head low, her cloak pulled tightly around her shoulders as she guided her horse through the crowded streets.

She rented a small, dimly lit room in an inn at the town's edge. It was modest, but safe enough for the night. She secured the door and pressed her back against it, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Tomorrow, she would set off for Aberdale.

But tonight, she needed to prepare.

… … …

The morning sun painted Sarcus in soft gold, but Liria wasted no time admiring it. She made her way to the bustling market, blending in among the traders and travelers. Her first priority was a map. A tanned, wiry old man selling parchment and ink eyed her as she approached.

"A map, miss? Where to?" His voice was raspy, likely from years of haggling.

"One that covers all the realm," she replied, keeping her tone even.

The man hummed, rifling through his collection before unfolding a large, detailed map. "This one here should do. Thirty silvers."

Liria frowned. "Twenty."

"Twenty-five, and I'll throw in directions to the best route."

She considered for a moment before nodding. "Fine."

With the map secured, she moved on, purchasing a loaf of bread, a pair of sturdy trousers, a man's shirt, and a dark cloak. She wanted to draw as little attention as possible on the road. Before leaving, she found a weapons stall and picked up a small but sharp dagger, tucking it securely beneath her cloak.

As she walked back to the inn, she reviewed her map. Aberdale was at least a week's journey, and the safest route would take her through several small villages. If she avoided major roads, she could decrease the chances of running into trouble.

At least, that was the plan.

But fate had other ideas.

… … …

That night, as she rested in her room, something jolted her awake. A noise. Faint but distinct—the sound of metal scraping against wood.

She shot up, heart hammering in her chest. Silence followed.

Then—

A shadow shifted beneath her door.

Someone was outside.

Liria's hand darted to her dagger. Her breath stilled as she listened, every nerve in her body on high alert. The door creaked ever so slightly, as if someone was testing it.

She had locked it. She was sure of it.

But locks could be picked.

The silence stretched, suffocating, her grip tightening around the dagger's hilt.

Liria sprang to her feet, bracing herself. She had no idea who was on the other side, but one thing was certain—

She wasn't safe.