Chapter 50

Chapter 50: Chapter 50

Proctor Vesper Kane looked like he had aged ten years in three days.

He sat behind his desk, his iron-gray hair disheveled, his robes rumpled, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. The stack of papers that had occupied his attention days ago sat untouched in the corner. In their place was a single sheet of parchment the list of students still unaccounted for. Two names remained.

Soren Thornridge. Thorne Astrlyn.

The annual talent showcase and parents’ visitation was a month away. It was the biggest event of the academic year a week-long celebration where the students displayed their abilities, where families came to see their children’s progress, where the prestigious all-female academy, Silvermoon Academy, sent their best students to participate in joint events and foster inter-academy relations. It was a tradition that had stood for over a century, and the preparations should have begun weeks ago.

Nothing had been done. Not a single banner hung. Not a single concept determined.

And this year, the King had expressed interest in attending.

Kane pressed his fingers to his temples. The King. The most feared Alpha in the entire kingdom. The man who had entrusted his only son his Lycan heir, the first in centuries to this academy under the strictest secrecy. If he arrived to find his son missing, possibly dead in a cursed forest, there wouldn’t be an academy left to close.

And the Queen. Gods above, the Queen. Selena Thornridge was not a woman who forgave easily. She doted on her children with a fierce, protective love that bordered on legendary. She had personally escorted young Freya to her first day of tutoring. She had written Soren letters every week since he’d arrived at the academy, letters he kept in a locked box under his bed. If she found out her only son had been lost in the Mistwood under Kane’s watch...

"She’ll chop my head off," Kane muttered to himself. "And she’ll do it with a smile."

A knock at the door.

"Enter."

Aldus stepped inside, his expression carefully neutral but his eyes betraying the weight of the news he carried. The Proctor looked up, and whatever hope had flickered in his gaze died instantly at the sight of his assistant’s face.

"Is there anything new?"

Aldus shook his head. "Nothing, sir. The search parties returned an hour ago. The rain has made progress impossible. They found no tracks, no signs of camp, nothing. The forest has swallowed them whole."

Kane exhaled slowly. The sound was hollow, defeated. "And the weather?"

"No sign of letting up. The storms are expected to continue through tomorrow."

"Three days." Kane leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. "They’ve been out there for three days. In the cold. In the rain. With no shelter, no supplies, no help." He closed his eyes. "What am I going to tell the King, Aldus? What am I going to tell the Queen?"

"Perhaps the King won’t attend. He rarely does. He usually sends a representative."

"This year is different. He specifically mentioned attending. His son is in his final year or would be, if he were here." Kane’s voice cracked. "If Soren doesn’t come back, there won’t be an academy to attend. There won’t be anything."

Aldus was silent. There was nothing to say.

Kane looked at his assistant, and for the first time since the crisis began, Aldus saw something in the old Proctor’s eyes that he had never seen before. Hopelessness.

"Keep me informed," Kane said quietly. "If anything changes."

"Yes, Proctor."

Aldus left. Kane stared at the list of names on his desk. Two names. Two students. Two lives that might already be lost.

He picked up his quill, then set it down again.

There was nothing left to write.

The rain had not stopped for two days.

It hammered against the stone roof of the hut in relentless sheets, finding cracks in the ancient mortar and dripping cold water onto the floor. The wind howled through the trees outside, and the forest had become a world of gray and green and endless, soaking wet.

Nyra woke with a cough that rattled her chest.

It was a terrible sound wet and hacking and painful. Her throat was raw, her head was pounding, and her body alternated between burning heat and bone-deep chills. She tried to sit up, but the effort made her dizzy, and she collapsed back onto the makeshift bed with a groan.

You’re sick, Luna said, her voice tight with worry. Really sick. The cold, the rain, the exhaustion it’s all caught up with you.

"I’m fine," Nyra rasped, but even she didn’t believe it.

You’re not fine. You can barely lift your head. Your skin is on fire. We need to tell Soren.

"He’s already doing everything he can."

And he was. Gods, he was.

Soren had been up since dawn, moving through the rain-soaked forest with a desperation that bordered on frantic. He had gathered firewood wet, stubborn pieces that had to be dried before they would burn. He had foraged for herbs, the kind his mother had taught him about when he was a child, the kind that could bring down a fever and ease a cough. He had hunted a rabbit, a scrawny thing that was more bone than meat, but it was food, and she needed food.

Now he crouched beside the fire he’d built, grinding the herbs between two stones with a focus that was almost terrifying. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead. His clothes were soaked through. His hands were raw and red from the cold. But he didn’t stop. He didn’t complain. He just worked.

"Soren." Nyra’s voice was barely a whisper.

He was at her side instantly. "I’m here. What do you need?"

"Nothing. Just... wanted to see you."

His expression softened, but the worry didn’t leave his eyes. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead and frowned at the heat radiating from her skin. "Your fever’s worse."

"It’s just a cold."

"It’s not just a cold. You can barely breathe." He returned to the fire and scooped the ground herbs into a cup of hot water, stirring until the liquid turned a murky green. "Drink this. It’ll help with the fever."

She tried to sit up, but her arms wouldn’t hold her. Soren slipped his hand behind her back and lifted her gently, holding the cup to her lips. She drank—barely a few sips—before she turned her head away, coughing.

"That’s good," he said, though his voice betrayed his disappointment. "That’s better than nothing."

"I’m sorry."

"Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault."

"It’s not yours either."

He didn’t answer. But the guilt in his eyes said otherwise.

He set the cup aside and pulled the furs more tightly around her. The fire crackled weakly, its warmth barely reaching the bed. Outside, the rain continued to fall.

Soren sat down on the floor beside her, his back against the stone wall, his hand stroking her hair with a gentleness that belied his size. He looked exhausted dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders slumped, his jaw tight with tension.

"I went out again this morning," he said quietly. "While you were sleeping. I thought maybe the rain had let up enough to find a path. But every direction I took, the terrain was too broken. The earthquake changed everything. There’s no way out that I can see."

"We’ll find one."

"I don’t know if we will." His voice cracked. "I don’t know if I can get you out of here, Nyra. And watching you suffer like this watching you get sicker and weaker and not being able to do anything to stop it—" He broke off, his hand stilling on her hair.

"Soren."

"I can’t lose you." The words came out raw and broken. "I just found you. I can’t lose you now."

Nyra reached up and covered his hand with hers. Her fingers were cold, but her grip was surprisingly strong. "You’re not going to lose me. I’m still here. I’m still fighting."

"You shouldn’t have to fight alone."

"I’m not alone. You’re here."

He looked at her and the vulnerability in his dark eyes was almost too much to bear. The Ice Wolf. The Sword Sovereign. The crown prince of the most powerful kingdom in the realm. And he was kneeling beside her in a crumbling hut, his heart in pieces because she had a fever.

"I tried," he said. "I tried so hard to find a way out. I scouted every direction. I climbed the highest ridge I could find. I searched for smoke, for lights, for anything that might lead us back to the academy. There’s nothing. Just trees and mist and rain that never stops."

"Then we wait. Someone will come."

"It’s been three days. If they were coming, they’d be here by now."

"Then we wait longer." She squeezed his hand. "I didn’t survive an assassination attempt, a poisoning, a rogue attack, and the most brutal training regimen in the academy just to die of a cold in a hut. That’s not how my story ends."

Despite everything, Soren almost smiled. "You’re remarkably stubborn."

"I learned from the best."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering there as if he could somehow transfer his strength to her through touch alone. "Try to rest. I’ll make more tea when you wake up."

"Will you stay?"

"Always."

She closed her eyes, and within moments, her breathing evened out into the shallow rhythm of sleep. Soren remained beside her, his hand still stroking her hair, his heart still aching with the weight of everything he couldn’t fix.

He looked up at the stone ceiling, at the cracks where the rain dripped through, at the gray sky visible through the gaps in the roof.

"Moon Goddess," he whispered, and it was the first time he had ever prayed in his life. "If you’re listening if you care about your people at all please. Get us out of this. Not for me. For her. She doesn’t deserve to suffer like this. She’s already lost so much. Please don’t let her lose her life too."

The rain continued to fall.