Chapter Thirteen: The Path Through the Ashwind Vale

The sky bled warm orange as the sun dipped behind the jagged hills, casting long shadows over the strange, remote village. The tribe's people, silent as dusk itself, had brought the children to a round, earthen hut near the center. Smoke curled from a central firepit, and thick woven mats softened the cold floor. Inside, the children were laid gently on bedding. Several women, dressed in dark robes adorned with bones and feathers, tended to their wounds with practiced care.

Siora had left without a word.

Aylea turned slowly toward Lyra, her brows tight with worry.

"Do you… know who they are?" she whispered. "Where are we?"

Lyra shook her head, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar carvings on the walls. "No. But… they don't feel like enemies."

Thalen, unable to bear the mystery, looked to one of the women kneeling near him and asked, "Who are you? Why did you help us?"

The woman met his gaze and smiled softly—knowingly—but said nothing. Her fingers moved in a silent blessing across his forehead, and then she returned to her work.

Later that night, after a meal of herb stew and strange root bread, Siora entered. The firelight painted flickers on her face, and she looked weary, though not defeated.

Thalen stood. "Where are we? Who are they?"

Siora looked toward the hut's entrance as if the wind might answer for her. "They are allies. That is enough for now. Rest. We leave at first light." She set an incense stick into the fire, letting the smoke coil into the air before stepping out into the night again.

The children, lulled by exhaustion, fell asleep to the crackling of embers and the distant rhythm of drums echoing across the Vale.

Morning arrived cloaked in mist. Siora summoned the children to a larger stone structure near the edge of the village. As they neared the entrance, they heard a man's voice inside—calm, deep, and steady.

"Daran, did Auren send a letter?"

The children exchanged glances. Auren. Their uncle?

Inside, they found Siora standing beside a tall, broad-shouldered man with silver at his temples and tribal tattoos winding down his arms. His presence was commanding, but his gaze softened when he saw the children.

"We're moving," Siora said firmly. "Finish your food quickly. We don't delay."

Thalen stepped forward, his voice shaking but determined. "I won't move until you tell us what's really going on. Who are they? Where are we? And who is he?"

Siora's lips pressed together. "Thalen—"

"I deserve to know!"

Before she could speak, the tall man stepped forward.

"I'm Daran," he said. "Siora's ex-husband."

Thalen blinked. "What?"

Daran continued, "We received a message from Auren. That you were in danger. He asked us to protect you and bring you back."

The truth struck harder than Thalen had expected. He stepped back in silence. None of them had known Siora had once lived among the tribes—let alone loved one of them.

The tribe moved as one.

They formed a living wall around the children, an unbroken ring of warriors and protectors. The children were placed in a covered wooden carriage at the center. Women of the tribe surrounded them next, humming low chants. Then came high-ranked warriors with black-painted faces, followed by a thick belt of middle and lower-ranked fighters. Daran walked near the front, alongside Siora, his hand on the hilt of a curved bone-handled blade.

As the procession moved into the wilds again, Lyra peered from a narrow window. All she saw were the tribe's people. A river of silence and strength.

Siora opened the carriage door and looked in. "Rest now, children. We've a long way to go."

That night, under a fractured sky, the caravan stopped by the mouth of an old forest. Fires were lit, meals shared, and watch rotations arranged.

The children lay within their carriage, wrapped in furs. The firelight glowed faintly through the small window.

Then Lyra heard it.

A voice. 

Soft. Male. Gentle like smoke.

"Come… he is waiting."

She stirred, her eyes open but unfocused.

"Come…"

She stood up.

Aylea, half-asleep, noticed and whispered, "Lyra?" No answer.

"Thalen," she hissed, shaking him.

Thalen sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What is it?"

"Look!"

Lyra was opening the carriage door. Her steps slow. Dreamlike.

"Lyra, wait!" Thalen leapt toward her.

At once, warriors surrounding the carriage stirred from sleep, their hands to blades. Aylea and Thalen tried to stop Lyra, but her body moved like it wasn't hers.

From another tent, Siora heard the commotion and came running with Daran.

"Lyra!" she shouted.

Lyra turned. Her eyes looked normal—but something behind them was not.

Siora reached her and took her by the shoulders. "Lyra. Look at me."

For a moment, Lyra didn't respond. Then her lips parted.

"I have to go. He's waiting."

"Who?" Siora asked gently.

But Lyra blinked, her breath hitching. The voice was gone.

"I… I don't know…"

Siora pulled her close, holding her as she trembled.

Daran placed a hand on Siora's shoulder. "The pull has begun."