The raven hopped forward, pecking at the meat Colin had dropped. He held his breath.

  The meat vanished in a blink. Colin let out a shaky sigh. At least the bird was real. He wasn’t losing his mind… yet.

  “Well, that’s nice to know,” he murmured. “Still doesn’t explain why I’m the only one who can see you.”

  The raven tilted its head, meeting his eyes with an almost human stillness. When he reached out, it let him scratch beneath its beak, eyes closing in lazy contentment. Strange. Familiar.

  That’s when he noticed the scrap of paper wrapped around its leg, tied with a bow like an afterthought. He stopped scratching and reached down.

  The raven extended its leg obligingly.

  The note was brief.

  You’re not alone. ~C.C.

  He looked up.

  Gone.

  Only a stark white feather remained, resting on his bedroll like it had always been there.

  Colin tucked it into his haversack and lay back, listening to the quiet laughter of his companions. He couldn’t make sense of the message yet, but he knew it mattered.

  Sleep took him slowly, and his dreams were anything but kind.

  She jolted upright, breath ragged.

  Her name was—No. That wasn’t right.

  Where the hell was she?

  The last clear thing in her mind was the funeral. Her boyfriend’s casket. After that... a blur. Grief does that.

  Now she lay in a field of gold-stalked wheat under a sky littered with stars. Her dress was linen, her legs covered in soft wool, boots laced up past her knees. Not exactly Macy’s fall line.

  She groaned and rubbed her temples. Not a dream. Not a joke. Not a breakdown.

  In the distance, firelight flickered between trees. She froze.

  People.

  The only thing worse than waking up alone in a strange place… was not being alone.

  Still, she needed answers. She crept toward the light, careful to stay low. The sounds reached her first—laughter, soft banter, metal clinking.

  Seven figures around the fire. Five men in armor. One woman. One... unknown. He sat with his face obscured by the flicker of flame and the brim of a hood. Her eyes kept drifting to him.

  She crouched behind a tree, watching. Judging.

  They seemed relaxed. Familiar with each other. No one had a weapon drawn. The woman even laughed—freely. That eased a sliver of her panic.

  Until a voice shattered it.

  “When are you going to come out of the trees and get a drink?”

  She froze.

  That voice—smooth, but wrong. Silk stretched over glass shards.

  She scanned the group. No one looked her way.

  Except him.

  The sixth figure—the one half-hidden in shadow.

  Gone.

  A hand, light as breath, settled on her shoulder.

  She flinched. He was behind her. No way. She hadn't heard a step.

  “Not from here, are you?” His breath stirred her hair. She wanted to run, but her body wouldn’t move. His hand applied the slightest pressure and she was walking.

  “Let’s get you into the light,” he said, coaxing rather than commanding. “You’ll feel warmer there.”

  His strength was impossible. Effortless.

  “Oh, Berk!” he called with sudden brightness. “We have a guest. Could you fetch her a blanket and some tea?”

  The fire crackled. The group turned. A few raised brows. One or two amused glances.

  The armored man—Berk, apparently—grunted and stood.

  The stranger guided her into the circle, then gently released her near the only other woman. He didn’t sit, not right away.

  “I’m—” she paused. Her real name caught in her throat. “Amaya.”

  The man smiled behind his mask, eyes crinkling. “A lovely name,” he said, clearly not believing her. “Fits the moment. But names are funny things. They shift, you know, when the world does.”

  He turned away before she could respond. Left her blinking.

  “Memora,” the woman beside her said softly. “You don’t need to be afraid. Graves is… intense. But not cruel.”

  Amaya wasn’t so sure.

  “Here,” he said, kneeling before her now, holding a tin cup with both hands like an offering. “Tea. It helps with the dissonance.”

  She accepted it, watching the steam curl in the firelight.

  He didn't look away from her.

  “You’ll be safe here,” he said. “We’re not your enemies. Not yet.”

  That yet rang louder than it should have.

  He stood and turned to Berk, who was holding a blanket, presumably for her. “You understand your role?”

  The white-armored man nodded, voice gravelly. “Yeah. I got it. I’ll see it done.” He handed the blanket over to Graves, who then placed it next to Amaya.

  Graves raised his cup—a deeper drink than tea. “Then tonight, we rest. The truth will wait till morning.”

  The others toasted and shouted, their joy loud and raw. Amaya flinched again.

  “Barbarians,” Memora muttered, shaking her head. Then she offered Amaya a half-smile. “Don’t let it fool you. Graves could’ve left you in the field. He doesn’t pull people in without a reason.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Amaya stared into her cup. The tea was strong. Sharp. Mint and fruit and something else beneath it—something grounding.

  She looked up. Graves was watching her.

  He crossed the circle again, crouched beside her.

  “I know you’re frightened,” he said, his voice lower now. “But you didn’t stumble here by accident. I’d like to know how you crossed.”

  She swallowed.

  “How do you know I’m not from here?”

  Graves smiled—thin, and tired, and old.

  “Because you haven’t asked the question yet,” he said. “But it’s already circling your heart.”

  He stood.

  “We’ll talk more tomorrow, Amaya. Sleep well—while you still dream like they do.”

  ____________________________________________________________________________

  Colin sat up, drenched in sweat, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

  What the hell was that dream?

  Images of Graves, the masked figure, still lingered in his mind. So did the name—Amaya. Was she like him? Another outsider? That cryptic note from before suddenly made more sense. But still, the weight of it all clung to him like smoke after a fire.

  He rubbed his eyes, trying to calm the racing in his chest. No answers came. Only more questions.

  The fire had long since burned out, and the sun was still hidden behind the treeline. It was early—too early—but there was no hope of sleep now. He needed to do something.

  Colin kindled a new flame with shaking hands, feeding it until it roared softly to life. He packed up his gear in silence, then stood and began running through the exercises Sskarin had taught him—precise movements, fluid forms. Anything to keep his mind from spinning.

  But of course, it spun anyway.

  His thoughts wandered back to the Void. The place he kept slipping into. When would he see the Star-Walker again? Would he see him again? Was that even normal here? Did anyone else speak with gods in dreams?

  He should ask Bram. If anyone would know, it was the dwarf.

  The blade in his hand cut through the air in a wide arc, catching the light of the new dawn. His technique was improving. He could hold his own against Sskarin now, even push Kae on occasion. That progress brought a small smile to his lips.

  Still, something felt… unbalanced.

  His strength—his growth—it was too fast. Too unnatural. Even the others had noticed. Was that part of the deal he’d made with the Star-Walker? Was he being shaped for something?

  He shifted into another stance, pivoting hard on his heel and brought the blade down in a clean, heavy slash—

  And nearly struck Bram in the skull.

  Colin gasped, pulling back—but it was too late.

  The dwarf simply raised a hand and caught the blade between his fingers.

  The sword stopped cold.

  The shock ran up Colin’s arm like a crack of lightning. It felt like hitting a steel wall.

  Bram looked up at him, bemused. “Up early, aren’t ya?”

  Colin blinked. “Guess I went to bed early. Didn’t feel great last night.”

  Bram nodded once. “Did it help?”

  “No.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Yes.”

  They settled near the fire, Colin sitting across from Bram, who perched on a small log, expression calm but attentive.

  “Alright,” Bram said. “Hit me. What’s weighing on your mind?”

  Colin hesitated. There were a dozen things he wanted to say. But he had to start somewhere—preferably before the others woke up.

  “I’ve been thinking about telling the others… that I’m not from here.”

  Bram raised an eyebrow. “Do you trust them?”

  “I think I do. No one’s tried to kill me, and everyone—even Kae—has gone out of their way to help me.”

  Bram nodded slowly. “I’ve warned ye already—that kind o’ truth spreads fast. And not all ears that hear it mean well. Otherworlders vanish more often than they should. But… if you trust the Dusk Rose, and you’re ready to take that risk—I won’t stop you. I’ll stand with ye, whatever comes.”

  Colin let out a long breath. It was like releasing a knot in his chest. He wouldn’t have to lie anymore. At least not to them.

  “There’s one other thing,” Colin added, glancing sideways. “Have you ever heard of… Star-Walkers?”

  Bram’s reaction was instant.

  His whole posture stiffened, and his voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “Where’d ye hear that name? Who told you?”

  Colin swallowed.

  “No one told me. I met one.”

  Bram’s eyes sharpened. “You what?”

  “In my dreams—or whatever they are. I go to this place, this black nothing. He called it the Void. And back at the guild hall, in the void I met him. Said he was a Star-Walker.”

  “What was his name?” Bram asked.

  “He never gave it. Said it wasn’t important. But he offered me a deal. Said he’d help me survive, give me power. I… accepted.”

  Bram groaned and rubbed his temples. He stood, pacing briefly before sitting beside Colin.

  “Oh lad, you’ve really stepped in it now.”

  Colin’s stomach tightened. “So he wasn’t lying?”

  “I doubt it. If he can shape a pocket dimension like ye describe, he’s more than strong enough. Star-Walkers…” Bram’s voice grew quieter, darker. “They’re real. Rare. Dangerous.”

  He turned to look Colin in the eye. “They were once mortals. Men and women who reached beyond their limits and plucked a spark of godhood. Some say they earned it. Others say they stole it.”

  Colin shivered.

  “So he could be evil?”

  “Could be. Could also be the one thing keeping ye alive. There are stories, aye—of Star-Walkers guiding heroes, fighting horrors. But there are darker tales too. Ones where they burn cities to dust just to see what happens.”

  Colin glanced down at his hands. They trembled faintly.

  “What should I do?”

  Bram placed a hand on his shoulder. Strong. Steady.

  “Ye do what you’ve already done, lad. Survive. Learn. And watch. Even a deal with the devil can save your life—so long as you know the cost.”

  ____________________________________________________________________________

  The rest of the crew emerged not long after dawn, stretching stiff limbs and rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Colin and Bram had already started cooking breakfast, their earlier conversation now winding down on lighter notes. The food crackled in the pan, the scent of smoked meat and crisping bread filling the cool morning air.

  Colin couldn’t help but notice how natural it felt, working alongside Bram. The dwarf had quietly slipped into the role of mentor—perhaps even something closer to a father figure.

  Colin didn’t dwell on it, but the sense of comfort that came from Bram’s presence was undeniable. His old life was gone, like mist under the morning sun, and in its place stood this strange, steady man who seemed determined to help him survive it.

  Nectarine wandered over soon after, rubbing her eyes and grinning like she hadn’t just woken up.

  “Did you hear what we made Kae do last night?” she asked, her voice full of mischief.

  Colin turned toward her, curious. “No, what?”

  She grinned wider. “We convinced him that this Wudlin dance was some sacred ritual of loyalty and honor. Had him doing it around the fire like a true believer.”

  Colin laughed, nearly dropping the spatula. “You didn’t!”

  “Oh, we did. He didn’t talk to us for the rest of the night.”

  “He’ll survive.”

  “I don’t know,” she said with a mock-somber tone, “I think his pride might need a healer.”

  They laughed together for a while longer, the conversation trailing off into more idle chatter. It was nice—normal, even. For a moment, Colin forgot about star-born deities and creeping doubts. For just a little while, he was just a guy with friends, cooking breakfast in the middle of nowhere.

  The day passed without incident. The wheel, finally repaired by midmorning, held strong, and the caravan resumed its journey at a good pace. The weather remained fair, spirits were high, and even Sskarin seemed to be in a decent mood.

  And just before nightfall, the stone arch of Hallowed Deep came into view.

  There were no gates. No towering doors or drawn weapons to bar their way. Instead, two silent guards stood to either side of a massive cavern entrance, carved directly into the side of the mountain. The light from the setting sun bathed the path in gold and red, as if welcoming them.

  Beyond the arch, the dark yawned.

  The entrance to Hallowed Deep opened wide—nearly 300 feet across—and the road ahead disappeared into shadows that seemed deeper than they should have been.

  Colin felt a twinge in his chest. Not fear, exactly. But unease. The sort that creeps in when something looks too quiet. Too still. Like a forest that should be full of birdsong but isn't.

  The others chatted behind him, oblivious. Colin forced a smile and took a step forward, following the caravan in.

  They had made it. Time for rest, reprieve, and a break from the hard life of a caravan guard.

  Or so he hoped.

  Beneath the mountain, something stirred.

  And life… was brewing.

  But so was something else.