A couple of minutes later, Naire trailed behind Eryn, her steps uneven on the packed dirt path that wound through Rhysha.
The village was larger than she'd expected, not the sprawling chaos of the war-torn cities she'd glimpsed in her childhood, but far from the isolated cluster of cottages she'd imagined. Stone and timber houses lined the main road, their roofs thatched with straw, some sagging under the weight of time. Smoke curled from chimneys, blending with the cool evening air, and the hum of voices—merchants bartering, children laughing, boots scuffing against stone—filled the space around her.Naire's borrowed tunic scratched against her skin, too tight across her shoulders, too loose at her waist.
Every step sent a dull ache through her ribs, a reminder of the body she still didn't fully recognize. She kept her eyes on Eryn's back, the girl's brown hair swaying as she moved with purpose through the crowd, her basket swinging lightly in one hand. Eryn didn't look back, but Naire could sense her awareness, the way she slowed her pace just enough to let Naire keep up without making it obvious.
The market square opened before them, bustling with life. Stalls lined the edges, piled with root vegetables, dried herbs, and bolts of coarse fabric. A butcher hacked at a slab of meat, his cleaver glinting in the fading light. A woman with a weathered face shouted prices for clay pots, her voice sharp over the chatter.
The air smelled of bread, sweat, and something metallic—blood or iron, Naire couldn't tell. It made her stomach twist, a faint echo of the void's taint stirring in her chest.Eryn stopped at a stall, exchanging a few words with a stout man whose apron was stained with flour.
She handed him a small coin, and he passed her a loaf of bread, still warm, its crust cracked and golden. Naire lingered a few steps behind, her hands tucked into the folds of her tunic, her eyes darting over the crowd. Faces blurred together—none familiar, none kind, but none hostile either. They didn't look at her the way the villagers in her childhood had, with fear or disgust.
They didn't look at her at all. She was a stranger here, invisible in a way that felt both comforting and isolating."You alright?" Eryn's voice pulled her back. The girl was closer now, her basket heavier with the bread and a small sack of potatoes. Her brown eyes scanned Naire's face, not pressing but searching, as if she could sense the weight Naire carried.
Naire nodded, though the motion felt hollow. "I'm fine," she said, her voice still rough, unfamiliar. She wasn't fine. The noise, the movement, the sheer life of the village pressed against her, too loud, too real after years in the void's suffocating silence.
She wanted to shrink into herself, to disappear, but Eryn's steady gaze held her in place."Come on," Eryn said, nodding toward another stall. "We need soap. And maybe something for those cuts." She gestured vaguely at Naire's arms, where faint scratches from the forest still marred her skin, crusted with dried blood and traces of blackened goo. Naire tugged the tunic sleeves down, hiding them, but Eryn didn't seem fazed.
She just turned and wove through the crowd, expecting Naire to follow.At the next stall, Eryn haggled with a wiry woman over a small bar of soap, its surface flecked with herbs. The woman's eyes flicked to Naire, lingering just long enough to make her skin prickle, but she said nothing, handing over the soap and a small jar of salve in exchange for another coin. Eryn tucked them into her basket, her movements efficient, practiced, as if this routine was as natural as breathing.Naire's eyes wandered as they moved on. A group of children darted past, chasing a wooden hoop that wobbled across the dirt.
An old man sat on a crate, whittling a piece of wood, his fingers steady despite the tremble in his hands. A dog barked somewhere in the distance, sharp and insistent.
It was all so normal, so untouched by the horrors Naire carried in her bones. She wondered how long it could last—how long before the shadows she'd felt in the forest found her here, in this place that seemed to hum with fragile, fleeting peace.
"You're quiet," Eryn said, glancing back as they approached a stall piled with apples and turnips. "More than most strangers I've met."Naire's lips twitched, not quite a smile. "I don't… know what to say," she admitted. Words felt heavy, like they carried too much of the void with them. Every sentence risked betraying what she was, what she'd done.
Eryn didn't push. She handed a coin to the vendor, a broad-shouldered man with a scar across his cheek, and tucked a few apples into her basket. "You don't have to say anything," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Not yet. But you'll need to, eventually. People here—they notice things. They talk."Naire's chest tightened. She knew what it meant to be noticed, to be marked as other.
She'd felt it in the village she'd fled, in the eyes of the boys who'd beaten her, in the screams of their parents when she'd left them broken. "What do they say about me?" she asked, her voice barely audible over the market's hum.Eryn's expression flickered, a shadow of caution crossing her face. "Not much. Yet." She adjusted the basket on her arm, her eyes scanning the crowd as if checking for eavesdroppers. "They saw me bring you in, covered in… whatever that was. Blood. Mud. Something else. They're curious, but they're not cruel. Not like some places."Naire swallowed, the memory of her village's hatred burning in her throat. "And you?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.
"What do you think I am?"Eryn stopped, turning to face her fully. The basket hung at her side, her hands steady despite the weight. Her brown eyes held Naire's, unflinching, but there was something in them—something that saw more than Naire wanted to show.
"I think you're someone who's been through something terrible," she said quietly. "And I think you're trying to figure out if you're still human."Naire's breath caught, her fingers curling into fists. Eryn's words cut too close, stripping away the fragile mask she'd been clinging to. She wanted to deny it, to say she was fine, that she was just a girl who'd gotten lost. But the void's whispers still lingered in her mind, and the weight of her father's blood—her own blood—still pulsed beneath her skin.
Before she could respond, a shadow moved at the edge of her vision. Not a person, not a trick of the light—something else. It curled along the ground, slipping between the stalls, too quick, too unnatural. Naire's heart thudded, her body tensing as she scanned the crowd.
The villagers didn't notice, their voices and movements unchanged, but she felt it: the same weight she'd sensed in the forest, the same presence that had followed her from the Veil of Pyre."Eryn," she said, her voice low, urgent. "We need to go."Eryn's brow furrowed, but she didn't question it. She followed Naire's gaze, her own eyes narrowing as she caught the faint shift in the shadows.
"What is it?" she whispered, stepping closer, her hand tightening on the basket.Naire didn't answer. She couldn't. The air was thickening, the market's noise fading into a dull hum, like the world was holding its breath. The shadow moved again, closer now, slipping behind a stall where a woman was arranging bundles of dried herbs. It wasn't her father—not his chains, not his looming form—but it was something of the void.
Something that knew her."We need to move," Naire said, her voice barely steady. She grabbed Eryn's arm, pulling her back toward the path that led to the cottage. The basket jostled, an apple tumbling to the ground, but Eryn didn't protest.
She followed, her steps quick, her eyes darting to the shadows as they moved.The market's noise faded behind them, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the distant call of a bird. The path wound through the village, past houses with shuttered windows and gardens bordered by low stone walls. Naire's heart pounded, her senses sharp, every shadow a threat, every sound a warning.
She didn't know what was following her, but she knew it wasn't gone. It was waiting, watching, just as it had in the forest, just as it had in the void.Eryn's voice broke the silence, low and steady. "What's out there, Naire?"Naire's throat tightened.
She wanted to tell her—wanted to spill the truth about the void, the inhuman man, the blood on her hands. But the words wouldn't come. Not yet. "Something that shouldn't be here," she said finally, her voice rough. "Something I brought with me."Eryn's jaw tightened, but she didn't flinch. "Then we'll deal with it," she said, her tone resolute, as if facing the unknown was just another task, like buying bread or tending a fire.
"But not here. Not in the open."Naire nodded, her chest aching with a mix of gratitude and guilt. Eryn didn't know what she was promising, didn't know the cost of standing beside someone like Naire. But for now, her presence was enough—enough to keep Naire from running, from sinking back into the void's pull.
As they reached the cottage, the shadows seemed to retreat, the air lightening just enough to let Naire breathe. But she knew it wasn't over. The void didn't let go. Not completely.And whatever had followed her to Rhysha was only waiting for its moment.