Chapter 934: Next Way To Proceed

After giving themselves a short moment to breathe, Liam, Asher, and Celia began making their way back toward Veyrhold.

They did not run this time.

The three of them were still in Eldervale, which meant safety was only ever a temporary assumption waiting to be punished, but rushing through the forest without a confirmed threat in front of them would only waste the strength they had left. They had been moving, fighting, climbing, and escaping for hours. Running simply because the task was finished would leave them more exhausted when a real reason to run appeared. So they walked at a steady pace, alert without being frantic, fast enough to cover ground and slow enough to keep their breathing under control.

The live environmental map had not appeared for them after the final anchor activated. After a brief look through their insignias and no sign of the reward forming, the conclusion was simple enough. Sheila had accepted the task as commander. The reward had likely projected to her at Veyrhold. Until they saw what the map showed, burning energy on a blind sprint back was pointless.

Liam resummoned Raven and sent her above the treeline.

The shadow beast rose through the canopy with a hard beat of her wings, cutting into the morning air and gliding ahead of them as a dark shape between branches and sky. Liam kept part of his vision and awareness shared with her, not fully enough to drown himself in two perspectives, but enough to catch movement above the trees and the route ahead. Asher walked near him, almost side by side, shoulders loose but eyes awake. Celia kept a decent distance from both of them, far enough that it was obvious the space was intentional.

She was still angry.

Or embarrassed.

Probably both.

Celia’s steps were even, but the thoughts behind them were anything but.

The ravine would not leave her alone.

No matter how many times she told herself the matter was done, her mind returned to it with cruel precision. Liam dropping from above with flame trailing behind him. The Mordcoil’s fangs inches from her. His daggers cutting through its neck. His hands lifting her before she had time to process the danger. The sudden launch out of the ravine. Heat and force surrounding them. His body shielding hers from the blast. Her own arms locking around him because falling, burning, dying, and being dragged through open air had apparently left her instincts with no interest in dignity.

The reasonable part of her understood.

He had saved her life. More than that, he had done it efficiently. He had not touched her because he wanted to, had not hesitated because she disliked him, and had not let personal offense or prejudice interfere with the objective. She probably owed him gratitude. At the very least, she owed him the admission that he had acted correctly.

That part of her was clean.

The rest was not.

The Crescentian-trained part of her recoiled every time the memory became too physical. A dark mage had carried her. Protected her. Held her close enough that she had felt his breath shift from the effort of launching them out of the ravine. And worse, she had clung to him. She had wrapped her arms around him with no thought beyond survival.

There were lessons from childhood that had not been spoken as suggestions. Warnings about corruption, contact, darkness, the kind of people whose magic was not merely dangerous but spiritually wrong. Those lessons still had teeth. They bit at her now, filling her with disgust, disappointment, and shame sharp enough to make her hands curl at her sides.

But there was a third part.

That part was the worst.

That part did not sound like training, doctrine, or reason. It sounded like a foolish teenage girl remembering the wrong details. The heat of him through his uniform. The strength in his arms when he lifted her. The way he had not looked afraid even with the ravine collapsing beneath them. The unnerving steadiness of his face when he told her he wanted his ribs back. The fact that she had been pressed against him tightly enough to know he had been breathing harder than usual, even if he tried to hide it.

Celia’s face warmed again.

She stopped walking for half a step, furious with herself, then forced her feet forward.

’Absolutely not,’ she thought. ’Get a hold of yourself.’

Her mind, traitorous and apparently determined to die dishonorably, supplied the image again.

She clenched her jaw.

’He is not even—’

She did not finish the thought because she no longer trusted it to land properly.

A sharp breath left her, almost a frustrated hiss, and she turned her face away as if the trees themselves had accused her. Her cheeks burned beneath her mask. Anger came easier than embarrassment, so she chose anger and held it tightly.

Ahead, Asher glanced back over his shoulder.

Celia had muttered something under her breath for the third time in as many minutes.

"What is wrong with her?" Asher asked, voice low but not particularly careful. "Did the snake hole ruin her brain?"

Liam glanced at Celia.

She was walking stiffly, eyes forward, expression caught somewhere between fury and personal humiliation. There was no blood spreading through her uniform. No visible venom damage. No limp. No sign of immediate death. Whatever storm she was trapped inside did not seem relevant to survival.

He looked away.

Asher stared at him. "That is it?"

"No blood. No venom. No problem."

"She looks like she is about to stab a tree for existing."

"Then the tree should avoid her."

Asher snorted. "You are terrible at emotional awareness."

"I am comfortable with that."

Liam’s attention returned to the route ahead, and with the immediate danger gone, his thoughts widened.

The task was complete. That mattered. Through Smoke’s faint connection earlier, he had also confirmed the hunting party had done well enough. They had game and were already making their way back toward Veyrhold under Smoke’s guidance. Food would not be solved for the whole assessment, but the morning had produced something useful on more than one front.

Now came the question of whether he should return with Asher and Celia or split off.

He did not particularly want to go back immediately. Veyrhold would be crowded, loud, full of reports, orders, half-understood repairs, and people who believed their opinions had weight because their mouths continued functioning. Outside the settlement, there was more room to learn things the academy had not volunteered. Terrain patterns. Threat movement. Observer positions. Anything the guide had omitted.

But returning had logic.

The live map was too valuable to ignore. If Sheila had access to it, then going back would let him study the threat zones before deciding where to move next. The map’s usefulness would last only around twenty-four hours from completion. Wasting that would be stupid. With updated threat-flow readings and structural hazards, he could plan his next movements through Eldervale without relying too heavily on Nyxie, Raven, Smoke, or blind instinct.

If he convinced Sheila properly, she might allow targeted scouting toward important threat activity. She would probably try to assign someone with him. Charlotte, likely, because of her scouting role and because Sheila was not careless enough to send people alone into marked danger without a reason. That could be worked around. Or used. Charlotte was irritating in a different way, but she was capable.

If necessary, he could present the scouting as map verification.

That usually worked on sensible people.