Chapter 43 Shattered Hope

The wind had died sometime after midnight.

The fire they built refused to catch. The embers fought them at every turn—flaring weakly, hissing, then snuffing out with every sharp breath of cold air. It was as if the temple itself resented their presence, denying them even the smallest comfort.

Even the drakes had grown still. No restless stamping. No annoyed snorts. Just the slow, heavy rhythm of their breathing as they lay curled in the shadows, eyes half-lidded, watching nothing.

Skye sat hunched beneath her cloak, arms wound tightly around her knees, chin resting against them. Her golden eyes stared toward the temple’s entrance, but her gaze didn’t focus—like she was listening for something her ears refused to find. Her tail twitched in small, restless arcs, and the fact that she’d stopped speaking hours ago made her silence feel like another weight pressing down on them all.

Fara couldn’t sit still. She paced the camp’s narrow space like a caged predator, her boots crunching in the frost. She conjured light orbs that fizzled almost immediately, muttering under her breath each time they died. Her tails lashed in frustration, and the occasional flick of her fox ears betrayed the pulse of tension running through her. Spells failed. Incantations broke. The magic wouldn’t obey her tonight.

Revoli sat on a low rock, knees drawn up, chewing the last piece of dried fruit she’d been hoarding since yesterday. She didn’t even seem to taste it. Her eyes stayed wide and distant, glancing at the temple door like she was waiting for it to blink. When she swallowed, it was slow—forced.

“It’s been too long,” she finally said, the words flat.

They all knew it.

Kai had been gone too long.

The temple gave nothing back. No sounds. No tremors. No flickers of movement behind its dark mouth. It was the kind of silence that didn’t just feel empty—it felt final.

Skye’s voice broke it, soft and trembling.

“What if… he’s not coming back?”

Fara stopped pacing. “Don’t.”

“But—” Skye swallowed hard, her words snagging on the edge of fear. “We don’t even know if he’s alive. We’ve been out here waiting like it matters. What if…” her voice cracked, “…what if we already lost?”

“You don’t get to say that.” Fara’s voice was low and sharp, each word like a warning.

“I’m just—” Skye’s throat closed around the rest. “I’m just scared.”

No one argued. No one comforted.

The silence that followed was heavy, and it hurt.

That’s when the mist returned.

It slid across the ground without a sound, a thin silver tide curling low over roots and stones. It crept in so slowly that they didn’t notice until they were already breathing it in.

This fog wasn’t seductive like before. It wasn’t vengeful either.

It was desperate.

And it fed on despair.

Skye’s breath went ragged. She clutched her knees tighter, rocking slightly, and the images came unbidden—Kai’s body crushed under stone, torn apart in some lightless corridor. She saw his eyes in her mind—tired, guarded—and imagined them dimming to nothing.

Tears blurred her vision. Her voice trembled as she whispered, “I can’t lose him. Not after everything. He’s the first person who didn’t treat me like I was… wrong.”

Fara’s legs buckled. She dropped to her knees, palms digging into the frozen dirt as her tails drooped lifelessly behind her.

“I’ve seen too many people leave,” she choked. “I should’ve known. He wouldn’t stay forever. Why did I believe—why did I even let myself hope?!”

Revoli’s tail wrapped tight around her ankles as she hugged herself small. Her voice cracked, thick with grief. “He made me feel like I mattered. No one’s ever done that. Not with this face. Not with these horns. And now… he’s gone.”

They cried.

Each in their own quiet way, shoulders shaking, breaths breaking. Their tears mixed with the cold, the frost, and the fog curling closer with every second.

The mist thickened, pressing in as if drinking every drop of sorrow.

Even the moonlight seemed to fade.

For a while, there was nothing but grief.

Skye pressed her forehead to the earth. “I thought… maybe we could stay with him. Grow old together. Have a home. He’d smile more. He’d hold us. I just wanted a quiet life with him.”

Fara’s hand clutched her chest, like she was holding the pieces of her heart in place. “I imagined children with him. Little ones with ears like mine, eyes like his. I saw them playing in a garden. He’d be tired but happy. I’d be proud. We’d be together.”

Revoli’s voice was the weakest of them all. “I just wanted to be seen. Not as a demon. Not as a joke. But as someone worth loving. I thought… maybe he’d see me that way. Someday.”

The mist hissed, greedily swallowing their confessions.

But under the sorrow, something small and hot began to burn.

Fara lifted her head first. Her ears angled forward, her tears still wet on her cheeks. She stood—not steady, but standing all the same. “We are not quitting,” she said, her voice shaking but sharp enough to cut through the fog.

Skye blinked at her through tears.

“We don’t know if he’s alive or dead,” Fara continued, “but I am not going to sit here and let the mist drown us. If he’s gone, fine. But I won’t lose myself too.”

Revoli’s tail twitched once. “But we can’t reach him. We’re not strong enough.”

“Not now,” Fara agreed. “But we will be.”

She turned toward the dark outline of the forest. “We regroup. We train. We find a way back. If he’s dead, we bury him ourselves. If he’s alive… we bring him home.”

Skye wiped her eyes, her voice small but certain. “Then we go together.”

Revoli sniffed once, nodding. “Together.”

They stepped away from the temple.

Not in surrender.

In defiance.