A long Night

The trio trudged along the dirt path leading toward Therion's family home—a sturdy wooden house nestled at the edge of the Whisperwood, where the trees loomed tall and the air smelled of pine and damp earth. The sun had barely risen, but the forest was already alive with the rustling of creatures unseen, their movements just shy of too deliberate to be natural.

Lyria kicked a pebble, scowling. "Remind me again why we're dragging this haunted scrapbook to the middle of nowhere?"

Ardyn, still holding the dormant diary, adjusted his grip. "Because if the Archivist is tracking its magic, we need to mislead her. If she thinks we're fleeing into the woods, she might waste time searching there instead of my home."

Therion smirked. "Plus, my old man's place is the last spot anyone would expect us to hole up. Even ghosts avoid him when he's in a mood."

Lyria shot him a look. "That's not comforting."

Therion shrugged. "Wasn't meant to be."

The Hunter's House

As they approached the house, the scent of smoked meat and cured leather filled the air. A rack of freshly skinned pelts stretched near the doorway, and the sound of a whetstone grinding against steel echoed from inside—steady, methodical, the rhythm of a man who had no patience for surprises.

The door swung open before they could knock.

Therion's father stood in the threshold.

He wasn't a tall man, but he carried himself like someone who had never needed height to command a room. His dark hair was streaked with silver, his hands scarred from decades of handling blades and bowstrings. His eyes—sharp as flint—flicked over the trio's exhausted faces before settling on the diary in Ardyn's hands.

"You're hiding something," he said flatly.

Therion grinned. "And you always said I'd never be subtle."

The man exhaled through his nose, then stepped aside. "Inside. Before the crows start gossiping."

The Hunter's Welcome 

The interior of Therion's family home was warm with the scent of pine resin and smoked venison, the walls lined with hunting trophies and well-worn tools. Gareth—Duskbane to outsiders—sat at the head of the table, sharpening a blade with slow, deliberate strokes while his wife Lira stirred a pot of stew over the hearth.

"And your parents are fine with this little… stargazing trip?" Gareth asked, raising a brow at the trio.

Three voices answered at once:

"Kael thinks it's educational," Ardyn lied smoothly.

"My father said fresh air builds discipline," Lyria added, straight-faced.

Therion grinned. "And Elara packed us honey cakes!"

Lira turned from the hearth, her dark eyes knowing. "Elara wouldn't send you out with so much as a bread crust unless she'd sewn tracking charms into your coats." She wiped her hands on her apron. "You're sneaking off. Why?"

Therion opened his mouth, but Gareth interrupted, pointing his whetstone at Ardyn's pack—where the corner of the diary peeked out. "You're taking that into the Whisperwood?"

Ardyn stiffened. "We need it for… celestial charts."

Gareth snorted. "Try again."

A tense silence fell. Lira sighed, ladling stew into bowls. "Eat first. Then you'll tell us the real reason."

The Truth (Mostly)

Under Lira's sharp gaze and Gareth's unimpressed stare, the trio shifted nervously. Therion cleared his throat and flashed his most charming grin.

"Okay, fine," he said, nudging Ardyn. "We read about this rare celestial event—Twin Comets, or something. In a book."

"A very scholarly book," Ardyn added quickly, patting the diary. "Very reputable."

Lyria nodded. "We just want to see it for ourselves. Apparently, the Whisperwood is the best place to view it tonight."

Gareth's knife paused mid-stroke. "You read about comets. In a book."

"Yes," Therion said.

"Not from the academy?" Lira asked, crossing her arms.

"No, just… a book we found," Ardyn said.

Gareth exhaled sharply through his nose. "Worst liars I've ever met."

But Lira was already moving, packing extra blankets and a tin of wound salve. "Fine. North ridge has the clearest sightlines. And if you go near the standing stones—"

"We won't!" all three promised at once.

Gareth tossed Therion a hunting knife. "If you die, I'm keeping your share of the apple brandy."

Into the Dark

Gareth set down his whetstone with a clink, leveling a stare at the trio. "Listen close," he growled. "If something chases you, there's only one rule: leave Therion behind."

Therion clutched his chest dramatically. "I am your only son,Father"

"Simple logic," Gareth continued, ignoring him. "If Therion can't outrun it, you two certainly can't. But he's got the best chance of surviving anyway - the gods hate him too much to let him die clean."

Lyria nodded thoughtfully. "Like throwing rotten meat to distract a bear."

"Exactly," Lira chimed in, stuffing what looked suspiciously like a 'Sacrificial Firstborn' coupon into Therion's pack. "And we packed supplies!" She held up a tiny bell. "This goes around your neck, dear. So we can find what's left."

Therion turned the bell over in his hands. "This is just a cat collar with 'Please Return To' scratched out."

Gareth shrugged. "Worked for our last hunting dog."

Ardyn opened his mouth to protest, but Therion cut him off. "Relax, it's fine. I've survived seven assassination attempts this month alone."

"Eight," Lira corrected absently, counting on her fingers. "You forgot about the poisoned stew."

"Right! See?" Therion said cheerfully as he fastened the bell around his neck. "I'm basically unkillable. Perfect bait."

Gareth gave an approving nod. "That's my boy." He tossed Therion an extra knife. "Try to stab whatever's eating you on the way down."

As they stepped into the moonlit woods, the diary heavy in Ardyn's pack, Lira called after them:

"Look for the blue star over the pines! It's lucky!"

Gareth's voice, quieter but just as firm, followed: "And run if the crows stop singing."

Therion grinned. "Told you they'd cave."

Behind them, the hearthlight winked out—and the Whisperwood swallowed them whole.