The battlefield smoldered in its uneasy quiet. Fires guttered in the sand, casting warped shadows across the ruined ground. Paladins and soldiers moved among the fallen, dragging the wounded to makeshift cots, stripping the dead of weapons and insignia.
Talia wiped her sword clean again and again, though the steel already gleamed. She couldn't stop her hands from working. Couldn't stop the memory of the Diviner's fingers locked around her wrist, grounding her when the chain had yanked her off her feet. Her gaze flicked toward the woman now, unbidden. The Diviner knelt in the sand, palms flat against it, her breathing steadying as she "listened" for stragglers. Her blind eyes were turned slightly downward, but still—Talia swore she could feel the weight of them.
"You're staring again," the Diviner murmured.
Talia stiffened. "I am not."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of the Diviner's lips.
"Lies."
Talia's jaw tightened. "Do you ever stop talking in riddles?"
"Do you ever admit what you feel?"
The words came too smoothly, like she hadn't meant them until they slipped free. The paladin's face heated despite herself. She slammed her sword into its scabbard and turned away sharply.
"You're insufferable."
"And yet you keep ending up at my side."
That one landed, sharper than it should have. Talia folded her arms, armor creaking, and kept her back to her.
"Don't flatter yourself. You just happen to be where the fighting is."
The Diviner tilted her head, listening to something in the ground—or perhaps in Talia herself.
"If that helps you sleep, Paladin, hold on to it."
The silence that followed wasn't comfortable, nor was it hostile. It pressed on Talia's chest like a weight she couldn't shift. She told herself it was exhaustion, blood loss, the press of duty. But when she risked one last glance, she caught the Diviner adjusting her grip on the staff, fingers lingering faintly where Talia's hand had been moments before.
She looked away quickly, furious at herself.
The western road skirmish left the camp ragged with exhaustion. Fires burned low, soldiers patched wounds, and the healers worked in grim silence. Talia slipped away from the bustle the first chance she got. Her armor still carried the stink of blood and smoke, but she stripped off the heavier plates and laid them aside, content to be alone. She busied her hands with mending a strap, oiling the blade again, anything to keep her thoughts fixed on steel instead of her.
The Diviner's words echoed anyway.
You're staring again. Do you ever admit what you feel?
She gritted her teeth, muttering under her breath, "Insufferable woman…"
The camp passed hours in uneasy quiet. Soldiers who recognized her gave nods of respect, but she kept her head down. She didn't linger by the firepits. Didn't seek out her fellow paladins. And most of all, she avoided the spire of pale canvas that marked the Diviner's quarters. She told herself she had no reason to go near it. That it was better—safer—to keep her distance. Rivalry was useful. Rivalry kept her sharp.
And yet… she caught herself listening. For the sound of the staff striking stone. For the calm cadence of her voice giving orders. For anything.
When none of it came, the silence pressed harder.
The camp had quieted completely now. Torches guttered, embers collapsed into ash. Talia had retreated to her tent, hoping to catch some sleep. Instead, she sat awake in her tent, boots off but armor still half-fastened, staring at the ridge of her gauntlets in the dim light. She couldn't quite make herself lie down. How could her body relax when her mind was in chaos. That was when she felt it—that faint hum in the air, the shift of presence that meant her.
"Talia."
The Diviner's voice was soft at the entrance, not commanding now but probing, almost hesitant. Talia's stomach twisted. She should send her away. She wanted to send her away. And yet she didn't speak. The flap stirred, and the Diviner stepped inside, staff loosely in hand, her head tilted as if listening for something only she could hear.
"You've been avoiding me."
Talia clenched her jaw. "Maybe I've just been busy."
A faint smile curved the Diviner's lips. "Lies."
The flap fell closed behind her, muting the sounds of the camp. The Diviner stood still, listening, her blind eyes turned toward Talia in that infuriating way that always made her feel seen despite knowing it was impossible.
"You barge into my tent in the middle of the night, and I'm the one avoiding you?"
Talia's voice had a bite, her arms folding across her chest.
The Diviner tilted her head.
"If you truly didn't want me here, you would have said so already."
Talia scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Arrogant, as always."
"Direct," the Diviner corrected softly. "There's a difference."
Talia shot to her feet, heat prickling under her skin.
"You think you know me? You think just because you can… sense whatever it is you sense, that you've figured me out?"
The Diviner didn't flinch. She simply let the silence stretch, listening the way she did with stone and sand, until Talia's words frayed on their own. Then she spoke, quiet but steady.
"I don't know you, Paladin. That's what bothers me."
The words hit harder than Talia expected. Her retort caught in her throat. The Diviner stepped closer, her staff angled lightly against the floor as if it were more for habit than support. She stopped just close enough for Talia to feel the faint warmth of her presence.
"I don't know why your anger sharpens when I'm near. Or why your heartbeat skips every time I call your lies." Her blind gaze tilted upward, unreadable yet piercing all the same. "But I want to."
For the first time, Talia didn't have a blade ready. Her mouth opened, then shut again. She hated how that silence felt like surrender. Her jaw worked, the retort caught somewhere between her chest and her tongue. She wanted to scoff, to shove the words back at the Diviner until the silence broke in her favor. But instead—something softer escaped.
"You… get under my skin."
It wasn't loud. It wasn't sharp. Just raw enough that the second it left her lips, she felt her stomach twist with regret. The Diviner's lips curved, not in triumph but in something gentler, something achingly earnest.
"Then at least I'm not alone in that."
That smile. That voice. It rattled her worse than any blade had that day. Talia's heart lurched, and just like that, she slammed the door shut.
"You should go." Her tone was iron again, the wall rebuilt in an instant. "I don't need lectures or riddles tonight."
The Diviner lingered, head tilted as though weighing whether to press further. Then she inclined her head, the faintest of bows.
"As you wish, Paladin."
She withdrew, quiet as falling sand. The flap of the tent swayed once and stilled, leaving Talia standing in the silence she had demanded. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. She hated the rush of relief. She hated the ache of absence more.
The camp on the western road was alive with movement. Armor clinked, orders barked, steeds pawed the dirt. Talia was already saddled up, visor down, her posture stiff as a statue. She had managed to avoid the Diviner since last night.
That is, until fate—or command—intervened.
"Lady Surifarah. Diviner." A commander's voice cut through the bustle. "You'll lead the vanguard together. Western skirmish point. Scouts report heavy resistance."
Talia's gut clenched. Of course.
She turned in the saddle just in time to see the Diviner approach, staff in hand, blind eyes catching the morning light. Calm. Serene. Infuriating. And her wolf mount not only extended her combat, but he was as serene and infuriating as her.
"You have got to be kidding me," Talia muttered under her breath.
The Diviner inclined her head as if she'd heard anyway.
"I'll try not to slow you down, Paladin."
"Slow me down?" Talia snapped, heat flaring before she could temper it. "I'll be the one carrying you when you trip over your own staff."
A flicker of a smile touched the Diviner's lips.
"Then I suppose I'll trust you not to let me fall."
The words landed with the weight of something more than banter. Talia's chest tightened, but she forced a scoff.
"Don't mistake necessity for trust."
The commander's voice barked again, urging them forward. The moment broke, leaving only the churn of hooves, paws and boots as they moved toward the road together—whether Talia liked it or not. The column pressed westward, the road narrowing into a jagged canyon path. Dust kicked up in clouds beneath hooves and boots, and paws, the air thick with the scent of iron and sun-baked stone. Talia rode ahead, her mount steady, her armor gleaming in the harsh light. Every sound sharpened her focus. She could feel the Diviner's presence at her side without needing to look — staff planted rhythmically against the stone, her movements deceptively sure for one who couldn't see. It grated. It was fascinating. Talia hated that it did both.
"Careful," the Diviner said softly, her head tilting toward the ridge. "Loose shale. The ground narrows."
Talia bristled. "I can see for myself. Unlike you."
A faint smile tugged at the Diviner's lips. "And yet, you hadn't slowed down."
Talia's jaw clenched. She spurred her horse forward, but the truth gnawed at her — the Diviner had heard something she'd missed. Again.
A few moments passed in silence, filled with the creak of leather and the scuff of boots. Then, unbidden, the Diviner spoke again.
"You don't like that we're paired."
"No," Talia shot back, sharper than intended. "I don't."
"Because you don't trust me?"
"Because you're reckless. You fight like the rules don't apply to you."
The Diviner's expression didn't falter.
"Maybe they don't." She shrugged casually.
Talia turned to glare at her, but the woman wasn't even looking her way — her blind eyes were lifted slightly, as if listening to something only she could hear. That calm, maddening serenity made Talia want to shake her. The Diviner lowered her chin then, turning her head just enough to let her words cut close.
"Or maybe I fight like someone who has nothing left to prove."
The statement caught Talia off-guard. She bit back a retort, unsettled by the weight of it. She hated how it lingered. Before she could answer, a scout galloped back down the line.
"Enemy ahead! Archers on the ridges!"
The column stirred, weapons unsheathing, shields lifted. Talia's pulse surged, her hand gripping her sword hilt. The Diviner straightened beside her, staff aglow at the head, face tilted toward the ridgeline. The skirmish had found them.
The column slowed, shields raised as the first arrows hissed down from the ridge. Horses snorted and pawed, soldiers hunched beneath the rain of shafts. Talia yanked her visor down, steel whispering as she drew her sword. The air trembled with the weight of battle about to begin. Beside her, the Diviner tightened her grip on her staff. The runes along its shaft pulsed faintly, casting pale light across her face as she dismounted from her wolf. It didn't seem too phased by the situation as it strolled off, already knowing the Diviner expected him to protect their flank. She looked unhurried, almost tranquil, as though the storm above was no more than drizzle. That serenity set Talia's teeth on edge.
"You don't look nervous," she said, voice hard over the clang of shields.
The Diviner tilted her head slightly toward her. "Should I?"
"You're about to face an ambush. Men with real blades. Real arrows."
"Arrows I've already counted." The Diviner's smile flickered. "Fourteen archers, high ridge. Three shifting left. One with a drawstring about to snap."
Talia's grip faltered for just an instant. "You can't possibly—"
The Diviner leaned closer, her voice low and cutting. "You doubt me, Paladin. And yet you'll be glad I'm here when the ridge lights up."
Talia opened her mouth, a retort on her tongue, but the commander's voice roared down the line:
"Shields up! Vanguard, forward! Break their line!"
The words were swallowed by the sudden thunder of arrows loosed in unison, the hiss of death cutting through the air.
The skirmish had begun.
The commander's cry broke the tension like a hammer striking glass. Shields lifted, boots thundered, and the vanguard surged forward. Talia spurred her mount, sword raised, her armor catching the sun like a shard of fire. Arrows screamed down from the ridge. The front rank lifted shields just in time; a few shafts rattled off Talia's pauldron, stinging but failing to pierce. She drove her horse straight through the line, cutting down the first brigand who rushed from cover with a jagged blade. Beside her, the Diviner didn't rush. She moved forward at a measured pace, staff sweeping arcs of light through the dust, trailing the head of her staff, which started to glow with gathered energy. Suddenly, the nearest cluster of archers staggered, their footing lost as the ground itself seemed to tilt beneath them. One toppled over the ridge with a scream.
"You should keep your guard up," the Diviner said calmly as a bandit lunged for Talia's flank.
She turned, blind eyes lifted, and the staff struck out like a serpent — cracking across the brigand's jaw with bone-snapping force. Talia gritted her teeth.
"Stop telling me what to do."
She wheeled her sword in a tight arc, cleaving the next attacker before he could close. But the words rang hollow; she knew the strike would have landed if not for the warning. The battle spread out fast. The ridges spat brigands in waves, desperate and furious, their blades clashing against shields. The air filled with the metallic chorus of war — iron on iron, men screaming, the heavy scent of dust and blood.
But something was off. Even Talia noticed it. Stonefang was not in his usual mood. She had witnessed the wolf in combat before. A fearless companion that was loyal to a fault. This time he kept unusually close to the horses. Almost protective. His ears were upright and alert. He kept scanning the horizon. Nervous. Not the predator hunting prey but a predator expecting trouble. Talia could only wonder what it meant. She realised that the Diviner was more tense than usual as well. Sure, they had constantly been bickering back and forth, but that had never gotten her of her game.
Then the sky shifted.