The halls of the Silver Grove stretched before them like the veins of some ancient, living creature—walls woven from living wood, their surfaces etched with glowing runes that pulsed faintly in time with the kingdom's heartbeat. Eryk's fingers trailed along the bark as they walked, feeling the hum of magic beneath his fingertips, a sensation both foreign and strangely familiar. It reminded him of the Null Grimoire's whispers, but where the book's presence was a gnawing void, this magic was warm.
Ares shifted on his shoulder, his claws flexing against the fabric of Eryk's borrowed tunic. The dragon's molten-bronze scales caught the light filtering through the arched windows, casting flickering reflections across the floor like scattered embers. His golden eyes darted from shadow to shadow, ever watchful, ever wary.
"This place is too quiet," Ares murmured, his voice a low rumble only Eryk could hear. "Even the wind holds its breath."
Eryk didn't answer. He didn't need to. He felt it too. The tension humming beneath the Silver Grove's beauty, the way the elves they passed moved with a quiet urgency, their usual grace edged with something sharper.
Sera, walking a few paces ahead with her arms crossed, looked like she wanted to set the entire kingdom on fire.
"I can't believe this," she muttered, kicking a loose pebble with unnecessary force. It skittered across the polished floor, earning a disapproving glance from a passing elf. "I leave Veldros, the city of backstabbing mages and literal garbage fires—just to walk into another warzone. What's next? A fucking volcano erupts under us?"
Yavanna, walking beside her with infuriating serenity, tilted her head. "We don't have volcanoes here."
Sera shot her a glare that could have melted steel. "That's not the point!"
"The ogres won't attack today," Yavanna said, as if that were any comfort. "They're still gathering their forces. Testing our borders. We have time."
"Time for what?" Sera snapped. "To sit around and wait for them to smash through your pretty glowing trees? To hope your queen's magic is strong enough to hold them back?"
Yavanna's smile didn't waver, but something darkened in her amber eyes.
"You don't know the Silver Grove. You don't know what we're capable of."
Sera scoffed. "Yeah, well, I know ogres. And I know that when they decide to march, they don't stop until everything's rubble."
Eryk's stomach twisted. He'd never seen an ogre himself, but he'd heard the stories—hulking beasts, taller than three men, their skin like stone, their strength enough to shatter castle gates with a single blow. And if they were massing at the borders…
This isn't our fight.
Ares' words from earlier echoed in his mind. The dragon was right. They were strangers here. Guests, at best. They had their own problems—the Null Grimoire, the Council's hunt, the fact that Eryk's very existence was a ticking disaster.
And yet.
He glanced at Yavanna, at the stubborn set of her jaw, the way her fingers curled into fists at her sides when she thought no one was looking. She wasn't afraid. She was angry. Angry at the ogres, at the threat to her home, at the idea that anything could shatter the peace of the Silver Grove.
Eryk understood that anger.
He opened his mouth—to say what, he wasn't sure—but Sera beat him to it.
"Let me get this straight," she said, rounding on Yavanna. "You're telling me there's no way out of this realm? No portal, no backdoor, no sneaky elf trick to get me back to Veldros?"
Yavanna hesitated. "The portals are… unstable right now. The ogres' presence disrupts the ley lines. Grandfather could open one, but—"
"But what?" Sera demanded.
"But it would take time. Energy. And right now, every bit of magic we have is being diverted to the borders."
Sera's face went very still. Then, slowly, she turned to Eryk.
"This is your fault."
Eryk blinked. "How is this my fault?"
"You ate a cursed book!" she shouted, throwing her hands up. "You dragged me into this mess! And now I'm stuck in some fairyland with no way home, waiting for a bunch of rock-brained ogres to come stomping through!"
Ares hissed, his wings flaring.
"Do not shout at him!"
Sera bared her teeth at the dragon. "Oh, shut up, you overgrown lizard!"
Ares' tail lashed, and a thin stream of smoke curled from his nostrils. "I will set your hair on fire."
"Try it, you little—"
"Enough!" Eryk snapped, stepping between them before Sera could lunge at Ares or vice versa. "Fighting isn't going to help anything."
Sera's glare could have peeled paint. "Oh, really? What will help, then? You got a grand plan, Spellbreaker? Or are we just supposed to sit here and hope the elves figure out how to fix you before the ogres break down the door?"
Eryk's jaw clenched. He didn't have an answer.
Yavanna, mercifully, intervened.
"You're tired," she said, her voice softer now. "All of you. You've been running for weeks. Fighting. Scraping by. Let the Grove take care of you, just for a little while."
Sera opened her mouth—probably to argue—but then her shoulders slumped, just slightly. The fight drained out of her like water from a cracked cup.
"...I just want to go home," she muttered, so quiet Eryk almost missed it.
The words hit him like a punch to the gut.
Narliya. The Ashen District. The place Sera had clawed her way up from, the place she'd fought so hard to escape—and now, the place she missed with a fierceness that surprised even her.
Eryk understood that, too.
Before he could say anything, a voice cut through the tension.
"My lady."
They turned to see an elf woman standing at the end of the hall, her black hair braided tightly back, her hands clasped in front of her. Her robes were simpler than the others they'd seen, unadorned but for a single emerald clasp at her throat.
Yavanna straightened. "Dame Liriel!"
Dame Liriel inclined her head. "The queen requests your guests' presence in the Fetching Room. They are to be bathed and groomed before the audience."
Sera's nose wrinkled.
"Bathed and what?"
Dame Liriel's expression didn't change. "You smell of sweat and dragon smoke. The queen does not tolerate filth in her halls."
Ares let out an offended snort.
Sera looked like she was considering stabbing someone.
Yavanna, ever the diplomat, stepped in.
"Of course. We'll go at once."
Dame Liriel nodded and turned on her heel, her footsteps silent on the moss-covered floor.
Sera waited until she was out of earshot before groaning. "I hate this place."
Eryk couldn't help the small, tired smile that tugged at his lips.
"Come on. Maybe the bath will be warm."
Sera shot him a look that suggested she was imagining pushing him into a very cold body of water.
Ares, meanwhile, had gone very still on Eryk's shoulder.
"I do not like water," the dragon announced.
Eryk sighed.
This was going to be a long day...