Chapter 18: The Reluctant Pact

Mira and Elara cornered Alaric in the library the next morning, a cavernous room of oak shelves and dust motes dancing in sunlight. Maps spread across a table, their edges curling, marked with red ink where demons struck. "Kael's right," Elara said, tracing a route through the southern hills, her voice steady but urgent. "You're their target—the Greenheart's power draws them." Mira nodded, sharpening her sword with a whetstone, the scrape filling the silence. "We fight together, weed boy. No solo naps." Alaric groaned, flopping into a cushioned chair, its velvet worn from years of use. "Can't I just nap through this apocalypse? I'm not cut out for team projects."Elara handed him a sage bundle, its scent sharp and grounding. "No. You're our edge, Alaric—whether you like it or not." He sighed, vines—hundreds now—sprouting to grab a quill from a shelf, twirling it in the air. "Fine, but I'm complaining the whole time. This hero gig's a scam." Mira smirked, leaning against the table, her blade gleaming. "Wouldn't have it any other way, slacker. You're stuck with us." Elara's smile was softer, her fingers brushing his as she adjusted the map. "We'll keep you alive," she said. He muttered, "Great. More babysitters."