Blackhollow Keep did not sleep.
It merely went quieter in places.
Kael lay on his back on a narrow cot, staring at the stone ceiling above him. The room smelled of damp wool, old sweat, and lye soap that never quite erased what came before it. Rows of cots filled the chamber, most already occupied by bodies too exhausted to dream properly.
Someone coughed in their sleep. Someone else muttered a prayer that went unanswered.
Kael didn't close his eyes.
Every time he did, he felt the road again—the uneven ground, the burn in his lungs, the strange warmth between his shoulders that refused to fade. It hadn't hurt. That worried him more than pain would have.
He rolled onto his side.
Nyx lay on the cot opposite his, one arm dangling off the edge, fingers nearly brushing the stone floor. She slept lightly, he could tell. Her breathing was shallow, ready to wake at the smallest change.
Renn Varn snored loudly three cots down.
Kael almost smiled.
Almost.
A soft sound broke the stillness—fabric shifting, careful footsteps.
Elyra Vane sat up at the end of the row, hair loose around her shoulders, eyes reflecting faint torchlight from the corridor beyond. She hadn't spoken much since arriving, but when she did, people tended to listen.
She caught Kael watching her.
"You're awake," she said quietly.
"So are you."
She nodded once. "The stones whisper here. Old places always do."
Kael hesitated, then swung his legs over the side of the cot. "What are they saying?"
Elyra considered that. "Mostly warnings. Mostly ignored."
She stood and wrapped a thin shawl around herself. "Walk with me?"
Kael glanced at Nyx, still sleeping—or pretending to be. Then he nodded.
The corridors of Blackhollow Keep were colder at night. Torches burned low, shadows stretching unnaturally long along the walls. Their footsteps echoed softly, swallowed quickly by the stone.
They stopped near a narrow slit window overlooking the outer wall. Beyond it, the land rolled away into darkness, broken only by distant lanterns and the pale smear of the road they'd traveled.
"Why are you here?" Elyra asked suddenly.
Kael didn't pretend not to understand. "You first."
She smiled faintly. "Fair."
She rested her staff against the wall, fingers tracing the carved runes along its length as if for comfort.
"I grew up in a village where the dead didn't stay quiet," she said. "Most people ran. Some prayed. I listened."
Kael waited.
"They called me cursed," Elyra continued. "Said spirits followed me. That I invited them."
She looked out into the dark. "They were right."
Kael glanced at her. "You could have hidden it."
"I tried." Her voice softened. "The spirits don't like being ignored."
She turned back to him, eyes sharp now. "Hunters deal with what others refuse to see. If I stayed, I would've been burned or buried. If I left… at least here my curse has a purpose."
Kael absorbed that quietly. "Does it cost you?"
Elyra's fingers tightened around the staff.
"Everything costs," she said. "I just prefer knowing the price."
They stood in silence for a moment longer.
Footsteps approached from the opposite corridor.
Borin Stonefall ducked slightly as he entered the torchlight, his broad shoulders nearly brushing the walls. He carried a bucket of water in one hand like it weighed nothing, his other rubbing absently at his forearm.
He noticed them and slowed. "Didn't mean to interrupt."
"You didn't," Kael said.
Borin hesitated, then set the bucket down. "Couldn't sleep. Ground's restless tonight."
Elyra raised an eyebrow. "You feel that too?"
Borin nodded. "Always do."
He leaned against the wall carefully, as if worried it might complain. "Where I'm from, the land feeds us. Keeps us safe. When it hurts, so do we."
Kael studied him. "Then why leave?"
Borin's expression darkened.
"Because the land can't fight back alone," he said quietly. "And people take more than they give."
He stared at his hands. "A mine collapsed near my home. They dug too deep. Ignored warnings. When the earth finally gave way, they blamed the mountain."
His jaw clenched. "I buried friends. Family. And the ones responsible hired guards instead of hunters."
Elyra nodded slowly. "So you came here."
Borin looked up. "If I'm going to hurt when the land does… I might as well make it count."
A flicker of movement caught Kael's eye.
Nyx stood at the edge of the corridor, half-hidden in shadow, arms crossed loosely. She hadn't made a sound.
"Touching stories," she said. "Almost convincing."
Borin frowned. "You spying?"
Nyx shrugged. "Listening. Same thing, really."
Kael met her gaze. "What about you?"
Nyx's smile didn't reach her eyes. "I don't run well in groups. Figured I should practice."
"That's not an answer," Elyra said gently.
Nyx's jaw tightened. For a moment, it looked like she might walk away.
Then she sighed.
"I was raised by people who believed staying still meant safety," Nyx said. "They were wrong."
She leaned against the wall, shadows clinging to her like a second skin. "When things went bad, they hid. Locked doors. Barred windows. Pretended danger couldn't find them."
Her voice dropped. "It always does."
Kael said nothing.
"I learned early that survival is movement," Nyx continued. "Hunters move. They choose where they stand. Where they fight."
She looked at Kael, eyes sharp. "I don't want to wait for something to decide my end for me."
The corridor fell silent again.
Somewhere deeper in the keep, metal rang softly—training dummies being repaired, perhaps. Or weapons being sharpened.
Kael felt the warmth between his shoulders stir faintly, like a reminder.
Elyra noticed. Her gaze flicked to his back, then away. She didn't ask.
Borin cleared his throat. "So we're all broken, then."
Nyx smirked. "Speak for yourself."
Kael let out a quiet breath. "We're here."
"That's enough," Elyra said.
They stood together for a moment longer, four shapes in the torchlight, bound by nothing official yet—no oaths, no crests, no victories.
Just reasons.
As they turned back toward the sleeping quarters, an older figure watched from the shadows farther down the hall.
Hadrik leaned on his staff, eyes narrowed, listening to footsteps fade.
He muttered to himself, too quietly for anyone to hear.
"Still choosing wrong reasons," he said.
Then his gaze lingered where Kael had stood.
"And one reason that should never have returned."