Page 7 of On Burning Paths

There’s a moment of silence.

Then Fenric lets out a slow breath. "Well," he says.

"Yes," Thorian agrees.

That's all either of them says. I look between them, then back toward the trees, then pick up my pack. I guess the Trials are waiting for us. Just outside this cave. So, we better be ready.

Together, we leave the little shelter. I wish we could stay longer, talk more, forget the real world, but Thorian's right. We shouldn't wait too long to continue the trials, or the gods will be sure to make us.

Besides, we have to make progress toward the Obsidian Spire, especially if we want to be the first team to reach the top and win. For Fenric's family. For mine. And for whatever motivates Thorian so much.

3

Nyx

No matter how far we’ve come, and it feels as though we’ve walked further than I’ve ever walked in my life, the Obsidian Spire still appears so far off in the distance that we might never arrive there at all. Is it really something we can even reach? Could this be a trick of the gods?

I try to push the thoughts aside. It doesn’t matter what this is. I have to do it. For my sister.

We walked for hours without seeing a single thing that wanted to kill us. No monsters. No competitors. No sign that anyone or anything else existed in this forest at all. The trees stood empty. The underbrush stayed still. Even the distant sounds that have haunted every other hour of these trials: the growls, the crashes, the screams that could belong to anything, have gone quiet.

It should feel like a gift.

It doesn't.

A silence this complete is deeply unsettling, like the forest is holding its breath. Like everything in it has either fled or gone very, very still for a reason we haven't figured out yet.

Thorian hasn't said anything about it, which somehow makes it worse. He's been scanning the tree line at regular intervals all day, his expression giving nothing away. But I've noticed that his hand hasn't strayed far from his weapon since the scream this morning.

Fenric and I have taken our cues from him, relaxing slightly in the knowledge that his senses will catch anything before it reaches us. But the longer the quiet holds, the less that comfort seems to cover.

Something is wrong with this stretch of forest. I don't know what. I'm not sure I want to.

“Maybe there won’t be a challenge today,” I say, a little out of breath.

Thorian lets out a low laugh at what I’ve said, shaking his head and ignoring the rock that slides past his boot. For the past hour, Fenric has been trying to get him to kick a rock with him, but Thorian has been steadfastly ignoring the invitation. Which means it’s mostly been Fenric kicking his rock, muttering under his breath about a game he and his siblings used to play on walks to town.

It made me think of that walk with Ivor to town, which already feels like a millennium ago.

“There will be something,” Thorian says bitterly. “There is always something. The gods like to be amused. They wouldn't let a day pass without ensuring we endured another gruesome spectacle. They look forward to this competition, and their bet, all year.”

“What charmers,” Fenric says, which makes Thorian snort in amusement.

Fenric darts a glance at me, raising his eyebrows like, wow, look at that, I can make the demi-god laugh, and Thorian apparently catches the entire thing, because he steps to the side and kicks Fenric’s rock into the forest, ruining the berserker’s fun.

“Game over,” Thorian mutters, which makes me laugh, and Fenric pout.

Though we’ve only been team members for a handful of days, me with Thorian obviously longer than with Fenric, it feels like we’re a little family. I’m getting used to their quirks: Thorian’s extended silence and Fenric’s constant snacking, the way he disappears from the trail and returns with handfuls of berries and nuts, always offering them to us first.

Today, the air is cool and crisp, but we aren’t in an autumnal landscape like before. The trees around us are brilliantly and vibrantly green. Fenric has called them out to us as we walk, identifying the various types and explaining what their sap is like, whether or not they have seeds or cones, and enough detail that Thorian has started muttering, “Nerd,” under his breath, which makes me laugh.

For a stretch, I can’t stop imagining what it would be like to walk like this, with them, at home. For Fenric to teach me about the trees and plants near the manor. For Thorin to quietly protect me from any imagined danger. The two of them could meet Ivor and Hilda, could see the bedroom I grew up in. Could merge this world with my real world and be something… something real to me.

A shiver moves over my skin at the thought of being alone with them somewhere that isn't this. Somewhere with four walls and a door and no immediate threat of death waiting just beyond it. I think about what it might be like to kiss Fenric slowly, without the adrenaline of survival pushing everything faster than it should go. To find out whether he's as careful and attentive as I suspect, or whether that warmth hides a different side of him. I think about Thorian, about what he'd be like with the urgency stripped away, whether he'd be commanding or patient as he kissed and touched me, or some combination of the two that I can't quite picture yet but find myself wanting to.

I wonder what it would be like to have both of them in the same room. Whether that would feel like too much or exactly right.

Probably exactly right. Which I need to stop thinking about right away.