Chapter 13: The River’s Wrath

The icy water swallowed Alaric, dragging him under with a force that stole the breath from his lungs. The world spun in a blur of blue and white, and the roar of the river filled his ears, deafening and relentless. He struggled to kick to the surface, his limbs numb and unresponsive in the freezing current. Panic flared in his chest, and his grip on the Zeton was gone, lost in the chaos.

Not like this, he thought, his mind racing. I can’t let it end like this.

A burst of light flashed in his vision—whether from the Zeton or his oxygen-starved brain, he couldn’t tell—and then he broke through the surface, gasping for air. The river tossed him like a ragdoll, and he coughed and sputtered, clawing at the water for any sense of control.

“Jorin!” he choked out, his voice drowned by the river’s fury.

He twisted in the water, trying to find his companion, but the current was relentless. Branches and debris scraped past him, and he narrowly avoided being slammed into a boulder jutting from the river. His fingers caught a piece of driftwood, and he clung to it desperately, his body trembling from the cold.

“Alaric!” Jorin’s voice rang out, thin and terrified, somewhere downstream. Alaric’s heart twisted at the sound. Jorin was alive, but he was too far away, caught in the same merciless current.

Think, Alaric, he told himself, his teeth chattering. You’ve survived worse.

He forced himself to take stock of his surroundings. The river narrowed ahead, the water foaming as it raced through a rocky gorge. If he couldn’t get to shore soon, he’d be swept into the ravine, where the churning waters would smash him to pieces.

With every ounce of strength he had left, Alaric kicked toward the riverbank. The cold sapped his energy, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving, each stroke feeling like an eternity. The driftwood buoyed him enough to keep his head above water, but it was no substitute for solid ground.

Finally, after what felt like an endless struggle, his fingers brushed against a low-hanging tree root. He grabbed it, the rough bark biting into his skin, and pulled himself closer to shore. His muscles screamed in protest, but he refused to let go, dragging his body onto the muddy bank.

He collapsed, chest heaving, his entire body shivering from the cold. The world felt distant and muted, but he forced himself to lift his head, searching the river for any sign of Jorin.

“Jorin!” he called again, his voice hoarse.

A splash and a muffled shout answered him. Alaric’s heart leaped, and he pushed himself onto his hands and knees, crawling to the edge of the water. Downstream, Jorin clung to a rock, his knuckles white and his eyes wide with terror.

“Hold on!” Alaric shouted, his legs shaking as he stood. He stumbled along the riverbank, his feet sinking into the mud, and reached out a hand. “Take my hand!”

Jorin’s eyes locked onto Alaric’s, and with a desperate lunge, he let go of the rock, the current pulling him toward Alaric. Their hands met, and Alaric pulled with every bit of strength he had left, dragging Jorin onto the bank. They both collapsed, gasping for air, their bodies shivering uncontrollably.

“Are... are you okay?” Jorin managed between breaths, his voice shaking as much as his body.

Alaric let out a rough laugh, more from relief than humor. “I think so,” he said, though his limbs felt like they were made of lead. “Thanks for the save back there. You bought us enough time to get away.”

Jorin managed a weak smile, though his face was pale. “Glad... I could help,” he said, his teeth chattering. “But what about the Zeton?”

Alaric’s stomach dropped. In the chaos of the river, he had lost the relic. No... He sat up, ignoring the way his head spun, and scanned the riverbank. “It has to be here,” he said, more to himself than to Jorin. “It has to be.”

The two of them searched, their movements clumsy from exhaustion. The river had thrown them far from their original position, and every second they spent without the Zeton felt like a lifetime. Alaric’s mind raced with the consequences of losing it. The relic was too dangerous to leave behind, too valuable to be lost.

“Over here!” Jorin called suddenly, his voice tinged with hope. He was crouched by a cluster of reeds, and Alaric hurried to join him.

The Zeton lay half-buried in the mud, its grooves caked with dirt but still faintly glowing. Alaric’s heart nearly burst with relief. He picked it up, wiping away the muck, and the relic pulsed weakly in his hand. It was still there, still with him.

“Thank the Silver Flame,” Alaric breathed, his shoulders sagging. “We can’t afford to lose this.”

Jorin’s eyes were wide as he looked at the Zeton. “What happened back there?” he asked, his voice hushed. “The energy you released... I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Alaric clenched his jaw, the memory of the burst still vivid in his mind. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “The Zeton’s power is unpredictable. I tried to control it, but... it felt like it was controlling me.”

Jorin nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful despite his exhaustion. “Then we have to be careful,” he said. “If we’re not, it could destroy more than just our enemies.”

Alaric knew he was right. The Zeton was a double-edged sword, a tool that could save them or doom them. But for now, he was just grateful they had survived the river. He tucked the relic back into his pocket and offered Jorin a hand.

“Come on,” he said, helping Jorin to his feet. “We need to get moving before our friend with the crossbow catches up.”

Jorin groaned, but he forced himself to stand, his legs trembling. “Right,” he said, wincing. “Do you think he’s still after us?”

Alaric’s jaw tightened. “If he wanted the Zeton badly enough to chase us through the woods, he won’t give up easily,” he said. “We have to stay ahead of him.”

The forest around them was quiet, the river’s roar fading into the distance. But Alaric couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. The man in the black cloak had been dangerous, and Alaric had a sinking feeling they hadn’t seen the last of him.

We need to find Tarvos, he thought, setting his jaw. And fast.

The sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows through the trees, as Alaric and Jorin made their way deeper into the forest. Every sound—every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig—put them on edge. Alaric kept a hand on his dagger, ready to defend them if their pursuer reappeared.

Jorin’s pace slowed, and he leaned heavily on his staff, his breathing labored. “We need... to rest,” he said, his voice strained. “Just for a moment.”

Alaric hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to keep moving. But one look at Jorin’s pale face and shaking hands told him they had no choice. “Okay,” he agreed, guiding Jorin to a fallen log. “But only for a minute.”

They sat in silence, the tension between them palpable. Alaric’s mind was a storm of worry and exhaustion, but he forced himself to stay alert. He couldn’t let his guard down, not when they were so vulnerable.

Jorin broke the silence, his voice quiet. “Why did you take the Zeton?” he asked, his eyes searching Alaric’s face. “Why are you carrying something so... dangerous?”

Alaric’s throat tightened. The question was simple, but the answer was anything but. “I didn’t take it by choice,” he said, his voice rough. “It was... given to me. And now, I’m stuck with it. I have to figure out how to control it before it gets someone else killed.”

Jorin studied him, his expression thoughtful. “You don’t seem like the type who asks for trouble,” he said.

Alaric let out a bitter laugh. “You’d be surprised,” he said. “Trouble seems to follow me everywhere.”

Jorin’s mouth quirked into a tired smile. “Well, then maybe we make a good team,” he said. “I’ve been told I have a knack for getting into messes.”

Before Alaric could respond, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He turned, his hand on his dagger, and saw a shadow flicker through the trees. His heart leaped into his throat, and he motioned for Jorin to stay quiet.

The forest fell silent, the air thick with tension. Alaric’s eyes darted from tree to tree, his senses on high alert. He’s here. The man in the black cloak hadn’t given up, and he was closing in.

“Stay close,” Alaric whispered, his voice barely audible.

Jorin nodded, gripping his staff tighter. The two of them moved slowly, careful not to make a sound, but Alaric knew it was only a matter of time before their pursuer found them.