Valerian Ashcroft's Arc

Chapter 2 of 11

Valerian knelt beside the rune stones and pulled the wolf fang from beneath his coat. The tooth caught the morning light, still cold and dark between moons. He placed it at the base of the tallest stone and waited. Nothing happened. He tried again at noon with dried meat from his pack, arranging it in careful patterns between the markers. The runes flickered once, then went still. His ribs ached where the claw marks lived. These boundaries had hurt him before, but Morrigan had crossed them somehow. He needed to learn their rules. By evening, he'd memorized every symbol carved into the stones. Forty-three runes in total, repeating in sets of seven. Precision mattered here. He traced each one with his finger until the cold burn felt familiar. Tomorrow he'd bring different offerings. Tomorrow he'd ask better questions. The fortress gates creaked as he returned, and he sang the first lullaby under his breath. The stones knew something about crossing between worlds. He just had to make them tell him. The next morning, Valerian walked past the rune stones without stopping. His instincts pulled him deeper into Needlefall, away from the markers and their cold silence. An hour in, he found water through the trees. The pond sat perfectly still, surrounded by thick grass and moss-covered rocks. He dropped to his knees at the edge and stared at his reflection. Dark circles under his eyes. Three new scars on his jaw. Six months of searching had carved him hollow. He pulled Morrigan's letter from inside his coat and held it over the water. The paper was soft from handling, creased at the corners. His hands shook. The pond reflected only his pale face and the letter between his fingers. He'd killed twenty-three men for her. He'd crossed half the continent following a crooked-beaked raven. He'd tried the boundaries once and woken up bleeding. But he couldn't open this. Not yet. Not while she might still be alive somewhere, needing him. He tucked the letter back against his heart and stood. The wolf fang hung cold against his chest. He circled the pond three times, studying the trees and rocks for signs of her passage. Nothing. The water stayed calm, showing him only himself and the grey sky above. He sat on a flat stone and pulled out dried meat, chewing slowly. The silence pressed against his ears. Maybe the raven had lied. Maybe copper hair meant nothing. Maybe she'd left because she wanted to leave him. His ribs ached where the claw marks twisted under his shirt. He touched the scars through the fabric and winced. The boundaries had nearly killed him, but he'd try again if he had to. Morrigan had beaten him at swordplay three times out of five. She'd carved wooden animals for children. She had forty-seven freckles and eyes that shifted when she lied. He would find her. The letter could wait until he had answers. He stood and walked back toward the rune stones. Tomorrow he'd bring blood. The boundaries responded to sacrifice. He had plenty of that to spare. Night came fast in Needlefall. Valerian returned to the fortress and found lanterns hanging near the walls, their red crystals already glowing in the dark. Guards must patrol here sometimes, though he'd seen none. He took one lantern and walked the perimeter, letting the red light wash over the stone. The fortress would serve as his base while he learned the forest's secrets. The rune stones held answers about crossing between worlds. The pond showed him what he'd become—hollow and desperate and still searching. But now he understood what came first. He needed to master the boundaries before attempting another crossing. He needed to study the stones until they yielded their secrets. And he needed to decide if Morrigan's letter held truth or goodbye. The red light flickered as wind cut through the courtyard. He hung the lantern back on its hook and sang the first lullaby. Tomorrow he'd bring blood to the stones. Tomorrow he'd start again. Dawn broke grey and cold. Valerian found the stone tablet near the fortress wall, moss clinging to its carved surface like green fingers. Someone had used it to leave messages once—the marks were worn but readable. He brushed dirt from the face and studied the symbols. Not the same as the rune stones, but similar. His fingers traced the grooves. If scouts had worked from this fortress before, they'd left records here. He pulled his knife and carved three words into a clear space: COPPER HAIR SEEN. If anyone returned, if anyone searched these woods for the same thin places between worlds, they'd know he was looking. The tablet could serve as his record too. Each day he'd mark what he learned. Each failure, each small discovery about the boundaries and the stones. Precision mattered. He stepped back and read his words again. The moss would grow over them eventually, but not today. Today they were fresh and sharp and real. He had a plan now. Study the runes. Test the boundaries with blood. Mark his progress on the tablet. And when he finally understood how Morrigan had crossed between worlds, he'd follow her through. The letter stayed pressed against his heart, unopened. It could wait until he brought her home.