VISION ✔️ || The Keepers of Astraela #1

17.4 || Of Daggers and Duolingo

EVA

MYSTIA SHOVED EVA toward the exit door at the far end of the kitchen, holding her blade with surprising steadiness—though it didn't bring Eva comfort to know it could sever her spine with one wrong movement.

"Go," ordered the satyr, tapping the door frame impatiently.

Eva yanked on the knob without hesitation.

Once the door shut behind them, the tavern's brightness gave way to shadowed night. The sudden change blurred their surroundings into blobs of dark color, and Eva's eyes struggled to adjust. Still, she trudged forward toward the tall, column-like shapes before them with the dagger prodding her back.

"Can't see, can you?" Mystia clucked her tongue. "Maybe you are human. Or you're a better actress than you look."

The looming silhouettes came into focus to reveal the arc of trees surrounding the tavern, with enough space between their trunks for the women to slide through. Once on the other side of the treeline, the woods spanned before them, and the faint outline of a wooden shed stood yards away.

Eva pointed to the dilapidated building. "Emrys is in there."

"Of course he is." Mystia narrowed her eyes. "A man like him, holed up in a shack?"

"I told you, he's hurt—"

The dagger's tip pressed just enough to pierce Eva's skin. She shut her mouth, drawing her lower lip between her teeth. Making a fuss would only show weakness—and if there was one thing she knew about this world, it was that weakness ended in death.

They approached the shed without another word until a firm hand squeezed her bicep. She stopped in her tracks.

Mystia released her hold and backed toward the shed, keeping her blade pointed at Eva. "Stay here, unless you want me to fill that wineskin with your blood and serve it to my patrons."

Eva didn't move. For a moment, she forgot to breathe.

Instead, she watched in silent horror as the satyr positioned herself to attack. Mystia's footfalls never rustled the grass while she approached the shed. Drawing the knife closer to her chest, she backed against the door and placed a hoof against the wood slats.

One swift kick sent the door crashing off its hinges.

"Titalium exio lassa!"

Emrys' words flew out in such a panicked string that Eva braced herself, fearing they wouldn't be understood—but their sound brought the satyr to a screeching halt. Mystia's knife clattered to the ground. Emrys bent down to snatch the hilt mid-bounce, holding the doorway for support.

Mystia snapped from her surprise long enough to grab him under the armpits and help him to his feet. He had hardly righted himself when she threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him back down.

"By the gods... you're alive!" Mystia cried, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

Emrys let out a pained laugh. "Hardly."

When Mystia detached herself from him, tears glistened in her eyes. She looked him up and down with disbelief.

"How are you still..." Her voice cracked, but she waved a hand to dismiss the unspoken thought. "You know what? It doesn't matter right now. What matters is getting you inside."

"There a few drinks in it for me?"

"Always."

They exchanged another brief embrace before Mystia wrapped one arm around his waist and the other around his bicep, allowing him to lean fully on her for support while they ambled toward the tavern.