The roots beneath my trowel were black, withered, and cracked. As I carefully pulled them up with my fingers, they disintegrated into ash like they had never lived to begin with.

  A golden slant of sunlight cuts across my ebony walls, pulling me back to the waking world, but something about the air feels wrong.

  I rub my eyes with my knuckles like a child and stretch, feeling the tight pull of my shoulders. Digging in the southern glade yesterday did a number on my body. It’s a place of light and greenery, perfect for replacing our secondary medicinal garden—at least for now. But if we’re going to find a real treatment for the darkness, we’ll need more than just one patch of land close to home.

  I drag my feet off the edge of the large wooden canopy bed and lean forward with a deep groan. My bare toes are still dusted with earth from yesterday, the dirt having worked its way into my boots. I was too tired to bother washing up before collapsing into bed. If Mom sees, she’ll have something to say about it. I reach for the towel on my nightstand, which I had meant to use last night.

  On my way to the bath, I pause at the windowsill where my childhood cat, Luma, is sprawled in a patch of sun, her gray-speckled fur almost shining in the rays. I press my hand lightly against her, just enough to feel her breath's steady rise and fall. She doesn’t wake, just purrs lightly. A small smile tugs at my lips as I remember her playful chase in the clearing yesterday, pouncing after a field mouse, missing and trying again, determined. If only life were so simple.

  The bath is already drawn, thanks to Saren—my favorite of my father’s aides. I sink into the warm water, muscles sighing in relief. Only The Guardians knows what we’d do without her. She’s been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, just like her father, who had served mine for years.

  After I’ve washed the dirt from between the cracks of my body and nails, I dress myself and head downstairs, where a large display of breakfast foods sits on our kitchen island. An array of fresh fruits and vegetables, pastries, meats, and nuts lines the counter, and I quickly grab an apple and a slice of lemon cake while trying to quietly escape the house without alerting anyone else. It’s early enough in the morning that by this time, everyone should, in theory, be off running errands or headed to the council. But if I want to get out without the uncomfortable conversation about my company in the glade yesterday, I had better quick. I pocket the smallest apple I can find, sticking it in the internal pocket of my brown fabric vest. I take a giant bite of the cake, stuffing my mouth and giving myself chipmunk cheeks in the process as I take off down the hall. I’ve made it past the study, through the lounge, into the foyer, and almost to the front door when I hear his footsteps approaching behind me.

  “Off so quickly this morning, Leora?” my father’s voice booms down the hall, with a hint of laughter behind it.

  I turn, holding what’s left of the cake in my right hand and covering my mouth with my left hand. He strides toward me, one aid behind him, with confidence and pride. His beige tunic, neatly tucked into black pants that match his dark hair, is simple—humble, even. The only visible sign of his status is shown in the gold accents at the collar, a reluctant admission that was insisted upon by the council.

  “There’s a lot to do—plus, Talen is supposed to be home today. I’d like to have everything done by the time he arrives.” I say, swallowing another bite of cake, trying to clear my throat. I knew this conversation was coming, but I’d hoped I could avoid it a little longer.

  “Your brother will be just fine if things aren’t perfectly in order, how was yesterday?” He says, his mouth pulling into a faint smile that makes me flinch. I know what he's really asking me about.

  I do my best to stay calm, shrugging my shoulders as if his question doesn’t make me irritated. “It was fine,” I reply, taking another bite of cake, trying to buy myself some time. It was fine, technically. Except for the part where I had almost considered the ridiculous offer. And then, in realizing how close I’d come to agreeing, I practically bit his ear off with how angry and loud I got.

  His smile fades slightly, as if disappointed, but he quickly moves on. “And by that, I assume you’re not willing to share any details I might be curious about. For now, I’ll respect that—since the relationship is still young. How did the preparations go?”

  I roll my eyes dramatically as I swallow my bite. Relationship? How irritating. My relationship with Corvin is exactly what it appears to be—nothing. Not that he isn’t attractive; his loose, sun-streaked waves and chiseled abs would make anyone look twice. But I know the truth. He doesn’t want me—he wants the province. And while I’m just as committed to doing what’s right for Briarholt, that’s not my idea of a real relationship. My father knows that.

  “We cleared a large plot. The soil is dark and airy. The sun hits the meadow in the morning and stays until late in the afternoon. There’s wind, but the forest provides enough cover from strong gusts or storms. It’s a good start, but it won’t be enough. We’ll have to expand farther if we want to replace the entire secondary crop.”

  I deliver my report with certainty, watching as my father’s brows knit together, his smile fading into something more serious.

  “We’ll need to inform the council,” he says, nodding to himself. “You’ll need more than just the two of you searching. I’ll put together a small scout party and have them on it immediately. Thank you, Leora.”

  With that, he turns on his heel and strides toward his study, clearly troubled by the conversation.

  I watch him walk away, guilt pressing heavily on my shoulders. He’s always been so positive, so affectionate and loving. But lately—ever since the darkness began creeping toward us, cracking the divide—his expressions have grown weary, his once steadfast optimism giving way to doubt. He’s exhausted. Pouring himself over every resource, meeting with the council as often as possible, desperately trying to keep us safe from the shadowy presence that threatens our borders. Some days, it’s hard to discern my loving father from the broody and quiet Keeper of Briarholt that I saw in these last few moments.

  Before I turn to leave, I catch a glimpse of Saren peeking around the corner of the hallway leading to the lounge. Her long, pin-straight black hair spills past the edge of the wall, the rest of her hidden behind it. She meets my gaze, then points at me and back to herself, mouthing, You’ll tell me?

  I huff a quiet laugh, rolling my eyes before nodding in agreement and turning out the large front doors.

  I step outside, jogging down the grand stone stairs that frame our wooden doorway, only to pause halfway. Luma still lounges in the upstairs window of my room, now lazily licking her paws, completely unbothered by my departure. Being a house cat must be nice—no worries beyond whose turn it is to fill your food bowl and how soon you can convince them to do it.

  Stuffing the last bite of cake into my mouth, I check my gear. A small trowel dangles from my belt loop, barely large enough to dig for potatoes. Next to it, a handaxe rests in a snug leather case. A four-inch dagger lies hidden in the loose side pocket of my trail pants, just above my knee. The blade is near perfect, it had never been dulled by battle, only by slicing twine and roots. At its base, delicate etchings form the initials F.E., for my oldest brother Finnean, who had given it to me before his disappearance last year. The matching leather sheath presses firmly against my thigh, a familiar weight I’ve carried ever since he disappeared a year ago. I may not wield it well, but its presence against my leg is enough to calm my nerves every time I step beyond the safety of Briarholt.

  The crisp morning air bites at my cheeks and fingertips as I set off on my errands for the day, making me regret not choosing a warmer outfit. My trail set—lightweight and loose for easy travel—offers little protection against the chill. My off-white top, its elbow-length sleeves and bottom hem tucked neatly into my loose brown pants, does little to shield me from the cold. At least my unruly brown curls, escaping from the loose bun atop my head, keeps my ears somewhat warm. The sun will come out soon, I tell myself. Once we’re working, I’ll warm up.

  The intricate stone pathway through town glistens with a thin layer of frost where the morning sun has yet to reach. Briarholt buzzes with life, its streets bustling with people starting their day. Markets, libraries, taverns, and shops line the main roads, their sturdy stone and wooden structures blending beautifully with the natural forest landscape. We’ve always been a province deeply tied to the earth, thriving on the belief that nature holds the answers to all things. It’s a philosophy I’ve always felt drawn to.

  I set my sights on the small general market to my right, knowing we’ll need another shovel for today’s work. Yesterday, we only had one between us, and it’s easier to avoid difficult conversations when we’re both busy rather than just one of us.

  The moment I push open the heavy wooden door, I’m enveloped by the warm, rich aroma of freshly baked pie crust mingling with something sweet and fruity. I inhale deeply, trying to pinpoint the scent, and almost immediately, I recognize it.

  “Is that sableberry? In late winter?” I ask, practically drooling at the scent. It’s way too early in the season for fresh ones, and I was sure the town ran out of dried supplies weeks ago.

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  “Mom had a special stash from last year—she bought extra before the season ended and dried them in the back cupboards. For some reason, today was the day she decided to bake.” Corvin’s voice comes from behind a counter, partially hidden behind a stack of worn books. He leans over, propping his elbow on the pile and resting his chin against his fist. “Did you want some? It’s not done yet, but if we hang around, I’m sure she’d be happy to bring some down.” He grins with just one side of his mouth, a dimple appearing beneath the freckles that stretch across his cheek. The harvest-binder’s son looks exactly like what he is—every inch of sun-bronzed skin and the muscle built from years in the fields proves it.

  “Thanks, but I’ll have to pass for now. We’ve got too much to do, and if you think you’re getting out of helping me just for some pie…” I take a deep breath and instantly regret it. The smell is so good I nearly forget what I was saying. Sableberry has always been my ultimate weakness—especially in pie. Mom used to bake it as often as she could during the season, but she didn’t make any this past year. She hasn’t been the same since Finnean disappeared.

  “Anyway,” I say, shaking the thought away, “we’re going to need another shovel if we want to get anything done today. Talen will be home later, and there’s no way I’m missing that.”

  Corvin nods and disappears behind another aisle before returning with a wide silver shovel. He grips it in one hand, then snatches a small, wrapped sack off the counter, slipping it into his pocket. Tilting his head back slightly, he calls out, “Mom, we’re off to the glade! Save us each a slice of pie?” Then, throwing me a wink, he heads for the door.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Wylder!” I call after him, hurrying to follow.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I huff. “I’m sure your family will eat plenty before we get back. The last thing anyone needs right now is extra stress over saving pie for us.”

  “Not everyone is constantly thinking about the darkness, Leora.” Corvin’s smile softens, his brows lifting slightly. “Some of us are just trying to live normal lives in the middle of all this.”

  “I don’t know how anyone can.” My voice is quieter now. “Especially with Talen out there. The thought of him not coming home is one I can’t let myself think about.” I shake my head, like I can physically push the thought away. “I know he’s more than capable—his whole team is—but not knowing enough about this darkness makes me… uneasy.” A shiver runs down my spine, as if I could shake off the creeping panic settling in my chest. Talen had headed out on a mission with four others from the ranger squads here in Briarholt. Our southernmost glade had been too close to the divide for too long, and with the quickly cracking walls, it was too risky for anyone to venture that direction anymore. My oldest brother, Finnean, had been on a mission to find new space, but he and his crew never returned. That was just over a year ago now, and Talen had been sent out to finish his job. I held resentment with my parents for risking the lives of both of their only sons, but I also understood the desperate need for new space and clearings to grow crops. “But they’ll be back soon. They’ll have found a new clearing for us to start planting, and then we can push farther from the walls. Everything will be okay again.”

  We walk in silence as we leave the safety of town, but we both know I’m the only one who really needs it. I’ve never been great at controlling the whirlwind of emotions I carry, no matter how embarrassing they get.

  The trees thicken around us, the forest creeping in, and the crunch of frost-covered leaves fills the quiet. I shiver and make a mental note: next time, bring a jacket.

  “How’s the moonflower coming along?” he asks, switching the subject.

  “Eh, it’s going, I guess.” I’m grateful for the change in topic. “I haven’t seen much happening yet, but at least it’s not dead, so that’s something.”

  “I’ve heard that thing’s got some bad juju anyway. Probably best it doesn’t do much if you’re smart.” He laughs, nudging his elbow into my upper arm in a playful way that hurts just a little more than it should. I’ve never been particularly strong or brave, like my brothers, but my connection with nature sets me apart. And with Corvin being the harvest-binder’s son, my father really couldn’t have picked a more fitting match for me—if only I had any interest in him. Or in pre-arranged relationships at all.

  “I still can’t get it through your thick skull that those are just stories, Corvin. Stories. What plant have you ever heard of that actually had magical abilities? None. And moonflowers grow in plenty of places—just not in town. If they really had magic, don’t you think we’d know by now?” I roll my eyes but smile up at him. I know the stories. I just don’t believe them. Magic was locked away long ago, and no one’s seen a trace of it since.

  “If you want to believe that, go right ahead. But I’m going to keep believing that maybe—just maybe—some magic still exists outside the divide\,” he says, his pace slowing as we near the clearing to the east. The wind shifts, and I shiver. He probably assumes it’s from the cold, not from the conversation I’d rather avoid.

  “Have you… thought about what your dad said yet?” His voice is cautious, but I can hear the persistence beneath it. “I mean, it’s a ridiculous idea and all, but he’s not wrong about it being good for the province. And it’s not like we haven’t been friends forever. Do you really think I’d be that bad for you?”

  Here we go again—what’s good for the province. That’s all that matters to him. To my father. To everyone but me. I shoot him a sideways glare. He knows how I feel about this. He knows I’m not changing my mind anytime soon.

  “It’s not about you being bad for me, Corvin. You have to stop thinking of it that way.” I sigh, irritation creeping in. “You know this isn’t my idea, and you know I don’t think it’s a good one. Not for me, not for anyone. I’m not even sure I’m cut out for marriage—or any kind of relationship, for that matter. Maybe I’ll just live with Luma for the rest of my life. Would that be so bad?” The sass in my voice is effortless, almost involuntary.

  “Let me know if you change your mind. I respect your decision, but if you ever decide to do the right thing, I’ll be here,” Corvin says gently as we step into the clearing just east of town. He hesitates, then adds, “Plus, I bet Mom would make you a lot more sableberry pie if we were…” He trails off, his gaze flicking to me and then away just as fast, his hesitation obvious. “Well, you know. Married.”

  He says the word with just enough mockery to drag a small smile from me—one I quickly erase. Silence settles between us, and I let the conversation end there.

  We work without speaking, shovels breaking into the dense, packed earth. As the sun rises higher, it pushes back the morning chill, heat settling on my back until sweat beads at my temple. The clearing is smaller than the one to the south, wrapped in dense green foliage and berry bushes still waiting for their season to bloom. The forest grows thickest to the east, pressing toward the Divide—off-limits to all but wardens and ranger units.

  Carving a rough square into the soil, we test the ground, only to find it too rocky. The deeper we dig, the stranger it gets—the earth below is so dark it’s nearly black, streaked with something I can’t quite name. It’s heavier, less aerated, and something about it feels…wrong.

  “Do you see this color?” I ask, frowning as I let the soil shift between my fingers.

  “It’s weird, but maybe the nutrients here are different,” Corvin replies, still focused on digging, tossing aside clumps of rocky topsoil.

  We work a moment longer before I straighten, pressing my shovel into the loose dirt and leaning against the handle. My back aches from the effort, but the breeze is cool against my skin, rustling the trees in a way that feels almost soothing.

  Then I see it.

  Just beyond Corvin, nestled within the treeline, a pair of deep violet eyes lock onto mine—too large for any human, too unnatural for any animal I know.

  All the air in my lungs vanishes.

  It feels like drowning without water.

  “Corvin… don’t move.” My voice is barely a whisper, my gaze locked on whatever lurks behind him.

  Of course, he doesn’t listen.

  He immediately stands, his eyes scanning the area—but not behind him—his hand instinctively reaching for the blade at his hip.

  “I said don’t move!” My voice is sharper this time, the urgency breaking through. I drop my gaze just long enough to fumble for my dagger, fingers diving into my pocket. The cool metal meets my skin, and I yank it free, barely managing to unsheath it before—

  “Why?” Corvin asks, too calm. But there’s an edge to it—something uneasy, uncertain.

  I snap my head up, searching for the deep purple eyes I’d been locked onto just moments ago—but they’re gone.

  Shit.

  I have got to learn how to wield a weapon properly. Sooner rather than later. Medicinal plants won’t do me any good if I’m not quick enough to defend myself from whatever that was.

  “I swear there was something behind you—eyes. Huge. Bigger than anything I’ve ever seen. And… purple?” My voice is hushed, my gaze still fixed on the empty space where they had been. How did they disappear so fast?

  “Purple?” Corvin echoes, his brows lifting. He finally turns to glance behind him, scanning the treeline. “Are you sure?”

  “I mean… that’s what it looked like. Sounds insane, I know—I’ve never seen anything living with purple eyes.”

  But they weren’t just purple. They were the deepest shade I’d ever seen, nearly black. Ominous. Terrifying. But mostly… powerful. A weight I can’t explain settled over me in that moment, something unspoken and vast.

  I don’t tell him that part.

  No point in making him think I’m even crazier than he already does.

  “I must have caught light bouncing off something—that’s the only explanation.” I glance back down at the dark soil, placing my blade back in my pocket and trying to shake off the unsettling feeling. “Have you found any spots worth planting?”

  “Nope. Just more of this dark, rocky dirt.” Corvin gestures around the jagged square we’ve dug. “So, what’s the deal, Leora? The creepy eyes got you ready to run home?” He smirks, eyebrow raised, tilting his head in that way he knows drives me crazy.

  “No, you jerk. It’s just that there’s no good soil around here. We’re wasting our time. Let’s pack up and—”

  But before I can finish, a rustling noise cuts through the air, coming from the bushes at the edge of the clearing. Footsteps—irregular, almost frantic, like someone—or something—can’t quite get their legs to cooperate. I glance at Corvin, who’s already on his feet, chest puffed out, staring at the same spot I was.

  The footsteps get louder, and I watch as his hand grips his shovel tighter, knuckles going white, his left hand clenched into a fist.

  I fumble for my dagger in my pocket again, heart racing.

  “Leora, back up slowly…” Corvin’s voice is low, tense. “If it’s a bear, it’ll—”

  And then, out of the brush, a man stumbles into the clearing. Blood trails behind him, dripping onto the ground, and he clutches his left side with both hands, grimacing in pain. He crashes to the earth, face-first into the freshly dug soil, groaning. The sight of his auburn hair, matted with dirt, and the red burns across his arms from days spent in the sun are all I can focus on, except for the familiar black pants and off-white tunic that I know too well.

  I take a step to the right, my heart hammering in my chest, knowing what I’m about to see. I don’t need to look twice to confirm.

  “Talen!” My scream rips through the air, so sharp and raw it feels like it tears through my own throat.

  I sprint towards him, my mind racing, scanning him as I go. His left side is drenched in bright blood, his hands pressed against the wound, as if trying to hold himself together. His pants are torn at the sides—shredded as if something sharp caught him. Smaller cuts lie hidden beneath the rips, but I don’t even register them. I’m only focused on him.

  As I reach him, he turns slightly, his eyes wide, flaring with pain, blood trickling down from his nose. His lips move, but the only words that escape are, “Hey, Leora,” followed by a weak, pained smile.

  Then, he falls silent, and my world collapses around me.

  “TALEN!” I scream again, my voice breaking as my chest tightens with terror.