The for­est around me pulsed with an unset­tling still­ness, as if it too lis­tened, wait­ing, sens­ing the weight of the words that had just been spo­ken. Chap­ter 14 was marked by the Suriel’s warn­ing, its voice echo­ing in my mind, each syl­la­ble laced with some­thing dark­er than mere cau­tion. Do not step beyond the manor’s pro­tec­tion. Do not ven­ture into the woods at night. There were dan­gers here that thrived in the absence of light, things far worse than the faeries I had feared in my child­hood sto­ries. The blight that plagued this land was not just a sickness—it was some­thing far old­er, some­thing that fed on mag­ic itself, warp­ing and con­sum­ing until noth­ing remained untouched.

It had come from beyond Prythian’s bor­ders, creep­ing in slow and insid­i­ous at first, almost unno­ticed, before it began spread­ing with an unre­lent­ing hunger. Even the High Lords, beings of immense pow­er, could not yet name its source, nor could they hold it back com­plete­ly. That knowl­edge alone sent a fresh wave of unease through me. If beings as for­mi­da­ble as Tam­lin and his kind could not stop it, what chance did I—a sin­gle mor­tal girl—stand against it? The Suriel had offered no solu­tions, only a grim truth, one that left me feel­ing small­er than ever before in the vast­ness of this strange and treach­er­ous world.

The creature’s gaze lin­gered on me for only a moment longer before it turned, its dark robes shift­ing like liq­uid shad­ow as it dis­ap­peared into the depths of the trees. In the space of a breath, it was gone, van­ish­ing as if it had nev­er been there at all. But the for­est felt dif­fer­ent now—heavier, denser, alive with secrets and unseen dan­gers that whis­pered from the shift­ing leaves. I exhaled slow­ly, my grip tight­en­ing on the knife at my hip, as if that small, mor­tal weapon could offer any real pro­tec­tion from the forces I had just been warned about.

I forced my feet to move, retrac­ing the path I had tak­en from the manor, each step weighed down by the knowl­edge I now car­ried. Tam­lin was not just a lord—he was a High Lord, one of the most pow­er­ful beings in Pry­thi­an. That rev­e­la­tion alone reshaped every­thing I had thought I under­stood about him. The qui­et strength, the flick­ers of mag­ic I had glimpsed, the author­i­ty he com­mand­ed so effortlessly—it all made sense now. He was not just some noble of a sin­gle court, but a ruler, tasked with pro­tect­ing lands far larg­er than I had ever imag­ined. And yet, even with all his pow­er, he was strug­gling against a force beyond his com­pre­hen­sion.

I could not ignore the impli­ca­tions. The blight was not some­thing con­fined to the faerie realm—it had the poten­tial to stretch fur­ther, beyond their lands, beyond their mag­ic. If it con­tin­ued unchecked, it would not sim­ply remain Prythian’s prob­lem. The human world was not immune to destruc­tion, and if the faeries them­selves could not con­tain this spread­ing dark­ness, then it was only a mat­ter of time before it reached my home, my fam­i­ly. The real­iza­tion sent a sharp chill through me, one that had noth­ing to do with the crisp night air.

Turn­ing back now, leav­ing this world behind, was no longer an option. Flee­ing would not pro­tect me or the peo­ple I cared about. I had always imag­ined escape as the answer—returning to my father, to my sis­ters, leav­ing the dan­gers of Pry­thi­an behind. But what if leav­ing only ensured that the hor­rors I was try­ing to out­run would fol­low me back? What if, in turn­ing away, I doomed not just myself, but every­one I had ever loved?

The thought pressed heav­i­ly against my chest, urg­ing me for­ward. If I stayed—if I learned more, if I found a way to under­stand what was happening—perhaps there was still hope. Not just for my own sur­vival, but for some­thing greater. The thought of fight­ing along­side beings like Tam­lin, crea­tures who had once been my sworn ene­mies, was almost laugh­able. Yet, deep down, I knew the truth: I was already part of this bat­tle, whether I had cho­sen it or not.

The trees stretched long shad­ows across the ground as the last rem­nants of sun­light van­ished from the hori­zon. But for the first time, I did not feel afraid of the approach­ing night. There was dan­ger, yes—darkness with sharp teeth and hun­gry claws. But there was also knowl­edge. Pow­er. The kind that came not from mag­ic, but from under­stand­ing, from know­ing when to act and when to lis­ten.

I was not alone in this. Despite my fears, despite the uncer­tain­ties that still cloud­ed my path, I had allies—even if I did not yet know how to trust them ful­ly. Tam­lin had pro­tect­ed me before. He had giv­en me shel­ter, even when I had been noth­ing more than a tres­pass­er in his world. And if noth­ing else, that was some­thing.

The manor loomed ahead, its gold­en light cast­ing a warm glow against the night, a bea­con that remind­ed me of the frag­ile safe­ty that still exist­ed here. But I knew that safe­ty would not last for­ev­er. The blight was com­ing, creep­ing clos­er with every pass­ing moment. And if I want­ed to have any hope of stop­ping it, I need­ed to be more than just a bystander.

With a final glance at the dark­ened for­est behind me, I stepped into the light, heart steady, mind res­olute. I did not yet know the role I would play in this unfold­ing war, but I was cer­tain of one thing—I would not turn away.