The wind stirs and the ash dances around us.
For the first time since I woke in this world, I feel the full weight of whatsurrounds me.
These men…they’re not just planning to survive a war. They’re planning to rise from the death of humankind with four crowns forged in ruin, reclaiming a world they say belonged to their kind to begin with.
I clutch the coat even tighter, knuckles aching with the force as I look between them, its borrowed warmth offering little comfort now.
If this is a war that decides the fate of the world…I don’t know whose side I’m on.
Chapter 3
Wren
The sun has begun a slow descent behind the rolling mountains in the distance, casting long golden tendrils across the scorched clearing. The peaks catch the last of the light like fading embers, and for a moment, the world feels split between ruin and beauty.
Despite the chaos I awoke to, I find a lightness filling my chest at the sight of the serene world that hasn’t yet been touched by battle. The ground hums through the soles of my feet once more, seeming to align with my appreciation.
“We need to go back to our factions now.”
Torryn’s voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp and grounding. My gaze flutters to him, and my heart presses tighter against my ribs at the sudden return of reality.
His expression is unreadable–stern, though not unkind–as he looks past me toward the horizon and back again.
“Our people will be waiting,” he adds, like he already feels the pull of responsibilities calling him back. “We will each be expected to provide answers of today’s outcome.”
Sylvin hums faintly beside him while rocking on his heels. “The tiresome duties of kingship. Nothing ruins a perfectly apocalyptic day like meetings and reports.”
Before I can stop myself, a soft chuckle falls from my mouth at his dramatics. Instead of the arrogant fae I’ve seen up until now, this feels like a peek at the real person behind the title. He doesn’t enjoy being a king.
Fascinating.
The world seems to still around me. Each pair of eyes turns to me. Not with suspicion this time, but with something stranger…sharper. Their gazes narrow with unspoken questions, as if they’ve just glimpsed something rare and wholly unexpected.
Sylvin is the first to recover. He straightens with a self-satisfied smile, flicking an imaginary speck of ash from his shoulder. “Well,” he drawls, lips curling with theatrical pride, “it seems I’m the first to make our little echo laugh. Do try to keep up, gentlemen.”
“It’s Wren,” I murmur.
“For the rest of them,” he counters with a wink.
“We’ll meet at our usual neutral command post in Denver tomorrow morning to determine next steps. I will tell my people to let you through our territory,” Torryn says, his voice returning to that low, steady cadence. I feel the weight of his responsibilities in his tone and the way he takes a deep breath.
He pulls a cigarette from his pocket and slips it between his lips, the silver lighter flicking open with a practiced snap.
I narrow my eyes at him, drawing his focus.
Our gazes lock, and for a moment, the noise around us fades. The golden eyes that once assessed me for threat now hold something akin to warmth.
His lips curve, just slightly, like he can already hear the protest forming on my tongue.
I shake my head, slow and deliberate.
“Worth a try,” he exhales and pulls it from his mouth, tucking it back into his pocket.
Sylvin tilts his head, glancing between us. Then he turns to me fully, his tone deceptively casual. “We should also take this time tonight to ask around about my little echo.”
I watch Riven’s gaze sharpen ever so slightly on the wordmy.
He steps forward, the weight behind his narrowed eyes intimidating enough to make Sylvin’s mirth fade away. “We’ll ask around about her,” he says, voice lowand unreadable. “Quietly. We don’t want too many people asking questions in return.”
