Chapter Text
Eris
The ancient forest loomed around Eris Vanserra like a cathedral of shadows, its thick, green air heavy with secrets he had no business uncovering—and every intention of stealing anyway. Far to the eastern edge of Koichei’s lake, this cursed expanse of trees was whispered about in fear-laden taverns and the firelit halls of Prythian’s courts alike. Few dared to even map its boundaries, let alone tread its paths. Yet here he was, strolling deeper into it as if it were just another Autumn wood.
He crouched in front of a gnarled tree trunk, his movements smooth and deliberate. One hand reached out, brushing the carvings etched into its bark. The spiraling lines pulsed faintly, glowing with an eerie green light that seemed to seep from the very marrow of the wood. The magic thrumming beneath his fingertips felt older than Beron’s long, tyrannical reign, older even than the courts themselves. It hummed in disapproval under his touch, as if it knew he didn’t belong. But Eris only raised a brow, a slow smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.
“Is that your best attempt at intimidation?” he drawled, his fingers trailing lazily over the glowing carvings. His smirk deepened, sharp as a blade. “I’ve seen scarier things at Autumn court dinner parties.”
The forest didn’t dignify him with a reply, but the branches above groaned in protest, their jagged limbs shifting as if to loom closer. Watching. Seething.
Eris’s smirk deepened. Do you always have to antagonize the places that can kill you? Lucien’s exasperated voice echoed in his mind, as familiar as his own flame.
“Yes,” Eris murmured to no one at all, his voice light with mockery. “Yes, I do.”
The thought of retreat was a tempting ember, but Eris snuffed it out before it could catch. He wasn’t here to play it safe. He was here because the temple buried in this cursed wood held answers he couldn’t find in Prythian—answers about the ancient fae who had once ruled with magic so vast, it threatened to drown the world.
It had taken years of quiet persistence—dissecting half-forgotten myths, poring over cryptic scraps of information—to piece together the temple’s existence. Only in the last several months had the search gained urgency, his inquiries growing bolder and his patience thinner. A single line in a crumbling manuscript, a whispered warning from an archivist in the Day Court—renowned for its unparalleled archives—too frightened to even look him in the eye. It had all pointed here, to this forbidden wood at the edge of this cursed lake. Even then, it hadn’t been enough to deter him. If anything, the danger had only sharpened his determination.
If he could find it, if he could claim even a sliver of their forgotten power... The throne of Autumn would no longer be a cage. It would be his weapon. His shield. His.
A breeze swept through the undergrowth, rattling the twisted roots and leaves around his boots. The cold fingers of the wind carried with them the sharp tang of the lake to the west—a reminder of just how precarious his position was. This place wasn’t just dangerous. It was lethal. The last stop before the void, as some called it. For centuries, Koichei’s lake had been a marker of the end: the end of maps, the end of reason, and sometimes, the end of the poor fools who ventured too close. At least, that was what the courts of Prythian and the northern continental fae kingdoms believed. Perhaps they had grown too comfortable in their power, their so-called dominion over the known world, never bothering to wonder what might lie beyond their horizons—or who.
Time pressed against him like a storm, every passing moment sharpening the stakes. He adjusted the cuffs of his dark surcoat with a meticulous flick, the fabric catching faintly in the dim light. He moved with the casual precision of someone who seemed oblivious to the shadows slithering through the underbrush—but wasn’t.
Eris flexed his fingers, letting the glow of his flame flicker faintly to life. It danced golden and warm against the cold green of the wood, licking harmlessly along his knuckles. A silent promise to whatever forces lingered in this cursed place: reckless, yes. Defenseless, never.
This land could try its worst. It wouldn’t win. Not tonight. Not against him.
The path wound deeper into the forest, twisting into a maze of gnarled trunks and clawing branches that seemed determined to snag him. Eris brushed a wayward twig off his lapel with the air of someone affronted by even the faintest inconvenience.
The silence pressed heavier with each step, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves overhead and the distant whisper of the lake. But it wasn’t the water that held his attention. Shadows flickered at the edges of his vision, darting and twisting unnaturally, like predators circling unseen prey. His steps slowed, fingers brushing idly against the hilt of his dagger.
Eris tilted his head slightly, listening for the telltale silence that always followed his unwanted company. The corners of his mouth twitched upward as realization struck: not the forest. Him.
“How does it feel,” he murmured under his breath, “to be noticed, Shadowsinger? Slipping, are we?”
The shadows bristled in reply, their dark tendrils shivering with what might have been indignation. Eris allowed himself a grin—sharp and unapologetic—and turned his attention back to the path.
If the spymaster’s shadows had an opinion on his title being said aloud, they didn’t share it. But Eris could feel them coil closer, their cold, silent attention crawling along his skin. What are you doing here? they seemed to whisper.
Eris ignored the unspoken question, his steps leisurely despite the oppressive weight of magic pressing down on him. The shadows could guess, of course—guess all they liked. The Shadowsinger might even think he was close to the truth.
But Eris knew better, and the knowledge tasted sweeter for it: the Shadowsinger didn’t know everything. Not yet. And Eris had every intention of keeping it that way.
Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun. “What’s the matter, Shadowsinger?” he murmured, low and mocking. “Lost your nerve? Or are you just enjoying the view?”
The shadows snapped sharply in response, a quiet whip of movement against the still air. Eris’s grin widened, bright as a flame against the forest’s oppressive dark. Oh, he loved fucking with the Shadowsinger. Loved knowing he could get under that icy, disciplined exterior, even if he couldn’t see the Illyrian’s face to confirm it.
Still, there were dangers here even a spymaster’s shadows might miss. As he moved deeper into the forest, something caught his attention—a disturbance ahead, just to the left of the path. His footsteps stilled, the quiet movement of his boots deliberate now, as his sharp gaze swept the area.
There.
The bark of a massive tree bore deep gouges, claw marks that cut into the wood with brutal precision. The markings were fresh, the jagged edges of the slashed bark still curling, and the faint shavings littered the mossy ground below. Too fresh. The tension in the air shifted, humming with an unseen threat.
Eris lowered himself for a better look, his fingers brushing one of the shavings that had fallen. The texture of it confirmed what he’d already suspected. Something big—and fast.
The smirk faded from his lips, replaced by a quieter focus. Born and raised in the Autumn woods, he knew better than most how to read the signs of a predator’s passage. This was no mark of territory—it was a warning.
Rising slowly, he let the flame in his palm flare again, the golden light casting long, jagged shadows over the shredded bark. He glanced back toward the path he’d been following, but didn’t turn fully. “Well,” he said lightly, though his voice dropped to a murmur, “it seems we’re not alone.”
The shadows didn’t respond. But they didn’t leave, either.
The silence deepened, the air thick with tension as Eris continued down the path. He didn’t bother trying to quiet his steps now. Let the Shadowsinger follow, let those shadows slither closer—he’d let Azriel wonder what he was after.
“Still hanging back?” Eris called over his shoulder, his flame flaring brighter as if to taunt the twisting shadows. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little forest magic. Or is it me you’re worried about?” He let the flame dance higher, casting a wicked glow as he glanced back. “I’d understand, of course. Intimidation tends to come naturally to me.”
The shadows didn’t reply, but Eris caught the faintest flicker of movement at the edge of his vision. His grin sharpened, daring and deliberate. “Careful, Shadowsinger,” he added, his tone lilting into a mockery of sweetness. “Get too close, and I might start thinking you’ve taken a liking to me.”
They bristled in reply, cold tendrils coiling tighter around the edges of the path, as though debating whether to throttle him. Eris laughed softly, the sound cutting through the oppressive quiet like the strike of a match. “Touchy,” he murmured with mock innocence.
But the laugh faded when a low, unnatural creak echoed through the trees ahead, like the groan of a rope pulled taut just before it snapped.
Eris’s flames dimmed as his amber eyes narrowed, sweeping the path for the source. He paused mid-step, tilting his head to listen. No wind. The sound broke the forest’s natural rhythm, heavy and deliberate, as though the woods themselves were holding their breath.
His fingers flexed at his side, the flame dancing back to life. “If this is your attempt at a dramatic entrance,” he said aloud, “you’re losing points for creativity.”
A sudden crash cut him off, the sound of splintering wood followed by a sharp whoosh of displaced air. Eris twisted instinctively, flame leaping to shield his left flank as a massive branch hurtled toward him from above. The impact of it against his shield sent sparks flying into the dark, but he held his ground, jaw tightening as he absorbed the force.
“Now that,” Eris muttered, his voice strained but edged with grudging admiration, “is a proper welcome. Still a bit heavy-handed, though.”
The ground beneath him rippled like disturbed water, and he leaped back sharply, his flame spreading into a wide arc as roots shot up from the earth like jagged spears. They missed him by inches, but the message was clear. Leave.
“Charming,” he said, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves as though he hadn’t just narrowly avoided being skewered. “Truly. You’re going to make me blush with all this attention.”
He didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as hesitate, though the magic pressing against him was a force that demanded submission. Eris only straightened his spine, meeting it with the quiet defiance that had kept him standing all these years.
Eris’s mind worked quickly, dissecting the scene with ruthless precision: the claw marks he’d passed earlier, the shifting shadows, the concentrated pulse of magic thickening with each breath. None of it was random. The forest wasn’t simply hostile—it was calculating, watching for a crack in his defenses. Testing him.
The flame in his hand flared brighter as his resolve hardened. You’ll get nothing from me, he thought, his grip on his power unyielding. Not the temple. Not the answers. Not me.
The doubt came, as sharp as the claws that had raked across the bark. A whisper of unease slithered through his thoughts: What if this place is more than I can handle?
But Eris crushed it before it could take hold. The answer burned through him, molten and unwavering: The throne of Autumn will not be a cage. It will be my weapon. My shield. Mine.
He inhaled deeply, forcing the tension from his spine. “Is this how you treat all your guests?” he asked aloud, his voice sliding back into that lazy, infuriating drawl. “Or am I just special?”
The forest groaned again, louder this time, as if it understood his words—and resented them.
“Oh, don’t sulk,” Eris added, his grin returning. “I meant it as a compliment. Really. You’re the most lively piece of cursed land I’ve walked through in years.”
He pressed forward, his steps deliberate and unyielding. The glow of his flames cut through the dark, steady and defiant.
And if the Shadowsinger’s shadows had caught that flicker of hesitation, had read the brief doubt in his movements—let them try to make sense of it. Eris would give them nothing more.
At last, the trees parted, revealing a clearing bathed in an eerie, otherworldly glow. At its center rose the temple he’d been searching for—or what was left of it. Crumbling columns leaned drunkenly around the base of a massive tree, its bark scarred by millennia and glowing faintly with magic. The air here was thicker, heavy with power that made his skin prickle, that tugged at the edges of his control like unseen hands testing the threads of his resolve.
Eris stepped closer, his amber eyes narrowing as they fixed on the carvings spiraling up the colossal trunk. They weren’t random. No, these lines told a story—a puzzle, waiting for the right mind to unravel it. His sharp gaze followed their patterns, searching for meaning in their jagged twists and looping curves.
High above, eight distinct symbols glowed faintly, forming a rough circle across a depiction of Prythian’s landmass. Their placement was deliberate, their meaning just out of reach. But something about them—something in the way they pulsed—pulled at him, calling to him more than any of the others. His focus shifted, the search for the temple itself momentarily forgotten. His lips twitched faintly, not into a smirk but something sharper. Why eight?
His gaze traced the paths etched into the bark, following the intricate routes as they wove through shapes that might have been mountains, waves, and stars. The lines twisted and curled, wrapping around the massive trunk as though guiding him forward. One path stood out, darker and more distinct than the others. It snaked upward, weaving through the carvings before vanishing around the far side of the tree.
Eris frowned, stepping closer, his flames dimming as his focus narrowed. He followed the path, his boots crunching softly over the mossy ground as he rounded the ancient trunk. The symbols seemed to shift as he moved, the faint green light pulsing brighter as the next image came into view.
At last, he stopped before a single, unmistakable mark: a black tower cradled by jagged peaks. The carving was deeper here, the edges sharp as though freshly etched, and the dark grooves seemed to drink in the light of his flames.
Something tugged at his memory as he stared at it, a half-formed thought brushing against the edges of his mind. You’ve seen this before. The realization was sudden, sharp. But the memory itself remained just out of reach, locked away behind some unseen barrier.
The growl came again, louder this time. Closer. It reverberated through the clearing, low and resonant, shaking the columns of the crumbling temple and crawling up through the roots into his bones.
Eris straightened, the flame in his palm flaring brighter as he turned toward the sound. His smile sharpened, lazy and deliberate, as though the danger amused him. “All that noise,” he drawled, his tone a cutting blend of mockery and boredom, “and this is what you have to show for it? Try harder.”
He flicked his gaze back to the tree, to the eight symbols glowing faintly on that crude map of Prythian. He needed a better look. Whatever this place had been, whatever these carvings represented—it wasn’t just a map. It was tied to this land, to its magic, to something that had been locked away long before Prythian’s courts had been carved.
He let the flame in his palm die as he winnowed, the motion quick and precise as he vanished from the forest floor in a swirl of fiery heat. A heartbeat later, he reappeared atop the crumbling remains of the temple roof.
The stones beneath him groaned in protest, a few pieces tumbling down into the moss below. Eris crouched low to balance himself, his keen eyes already sweeping the trunk of the tree. Up close, the carvings glowed brighter, the lines pulsing faintly like veins carrying power older than memory.
The eight symbols shimmered faintly, their edges glowing with a faint green light. Each one marked a place of power, their meaning tantalizingly close. Eris moved slowly, his steps deliberate as he followed the carvings around the tree. The stones beneath him groaned under his weight, the temple’s crumbling roof far from stable. But he pressed on, his sharp eyes catching on the dark tower etched at the very edge of the map, cradled by peaks that seemed almost alive.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice low as his gaze swept the glowing symbols. He tilted his head, his smirk curling wider as his eyes lingered on the dark tower. “Are you inviting me, or warning me away?”
The ground trembled violently, cutting off his thoughts. The vibration wasn’t random. It was steady, rhythmic, like something heavy pounding across the forest floor.
Something running .
Eris turned sharply, his flame roaring back to life in his palm as one of the crumbling columns behind him toppled with a deafening crash. He leapt back instinctively, catching himself against the rough bark of the tree. Heat surged from his fingers as his flames flared brighter, scorching the wood beneath his touch.
The tree’s reaction was immediate.
A groan echoed through the clearing, louder and more violent than before, as the carvings on the trunk pulsed with blinding green light. The ground beneath him rippled like disturbed water, and the oppressive power of the forest surged, slamming against him like a physical blow.
Eris steadied himself, forcing his breathing to even out as he muttered, “Touched a nerve, did I?”
The growl returned, but this time it wasn’t alone. A second rumble joined the first, their combined resonance shaking the air around him. Eris’s eyes narrowed, his flame shifting from golden light to a darker, more dangerous hue.
Two of them, he thought grimly.
The edges of the clearing darkened, the light swallowed by something deeper than shadow. The air grew heavy, taut with an unseen force that seemed to seep from the very ground. For the first time, Eris felt something cold crawl up his spine—not fear, but the unmistakable sense that something dangerous was approaching.
The ground beneath him trembled, a steady, rhythmic pounding reverberating through the temple clearing. Eris’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, the urge to summon flame clawing at his senses. But he held back, his amber eyes narrowing as he turned toward the sound.
“Finally,” he muttered, his voice low but edged with dark amusement. “I was starting to get bored.”