The forest thinned with every step.
What had once been a cathedral of living light and song was now fading into open wild — colder, quieter, and less forgiving.
Ryn guided Snowmuncher through the last stretch of Eldara's borderlands, the moon's pale light glinting off the frost that still clung to his gloves. The air smelled of pine and wet earth. Behind him, Lysandra shifted in the saddle, silent, her cloak wrapped tight against the wind.
Neither spoke. The only sound was the steady rhythm of hooves and the whisper of leaves that seemed to say go.
And then, at the edge of the forest — she was there.
Princess Ilyndra stood beneath the great roots of the border tree, a figure carved from moonlight and sorrow. No guards, no crown, no armor. Only her, alone, with the wind playing through her green hair and a faint shimmer of tears in her eyes.
Ryn pulled the reins without thinking. Snowmuncher slowed, snorting softly. Lysandra looked up, following his gaze.
"She came to see us off," Lysandra said quietly.
"Yeah," Ryn murmured. His voice was rougher than he wanted it to be.
Ilyndra didn't move toward them. She only stood there, hands clasped loosely before her, the glow of her spirit dimmed to the color of dying embers.
For the first time, she looked… small. Not a goddess, not a ruler — just a woman who had reached for something and found only emptiness.
Ryn's chest tightened. He wanted to say something — a joke, a line, anything to ease the ache pressing against his ribs — but nothing came.
The wind carried her whisper across the distance.
"Go, little fox. Before I make you stay again."
He met her gaze one last time. And though neither spoke further, something unspoken passed between them — regret, gratitude, maybe both.
He turned away first. He had to.
The frost on his sleeve glittered briefly, then melted.
Snowmuncher started forward, hooves breaking through the border stream. The moment they crossed, the forest light behind them dimmed — as if the land itself sighed in loss.
Lysandra watched Ryn from the side. His mask hid everything, but his silence told her enough.
"She would've kept you," Lysandra said softly.
"Yeah," he said. "And I might've let her."
The words surprised even him.
For a while, they rode without speaking. The forest gave way to rolling hills and open plains, where wildflowers brushed against the horse's legs and the air smelled of rain and iron.
Days passed in a rhythm of quiet travel — dawn to dusk, campfires and stolen bread, the occasional argument about directions. Ryn mended a broken wheel on a wagon they "borrowed," traded jokes for food, and learned the art of sleeping while Lysandra scolded him.
Once, under a sky full of stars, Lysandra asked, "Do you ever regret any of it? The running? The stealing?"
He poked the campfire with a stick. "Only when I'm caught."
She smiled faintly. "And when you're not?"
"Then I call it adventure."
She shook her head, laughing quietly. "You're impossible."
"Still my best quality," he said.
By the fourth sunrise, the horizon began to change. The smell of smoke and spice carried on the breeze, mingled with the sound of distant bells.
Lysandra leaned forward, her eyes lighting up. "We're close."
Ryn squinted ahead. In the valley below, nestled between golden cliffs and winding rivers, a city glittered like a handful of coins scattered by sunlight. Towers of sandstone, banners of every color, and caravans winding through its gates like rivers of silk.
"The City of Trades," Lysandra said. "Its real name is Veyrahn."
Ryn whistled low. "Looks expensive."
"It's neutral ground," she said. "No kingdom claims it. Merchants, smugglers, mages — everyone comes here."
"Perfect," Ryn said, leaning back with a grin. "I can already feel my wallet crying."
As they descended the hill toward the bustling city, the forest of Eldara vanished behind them — silent, fading into mist.
But at the border where the last vine touched frost, something stirred. A single leaf froze, then fell, glinting blue in the morning sun.
And far behind them, Princess Ilyndra turned away from the empty road, her expression unreadable beneath the soft shimmer of tears that refused to fall.