The lounge was quiet, heavy with the kind of silence that came after terrible knowledge. The fire in the hearth crackled, throwing soft golden light against the dark walls, but none of us were warmed by it.
We sat scattered around the room. Draken and Vesper shared one of the long couches, their boots muddied from the morning’s trek. Draegon stood near the fire, arms folded as he stared into the flames. Ariston leaned back in a chair, twirling a dagger between his fingers like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. I sat on the edge of a low table, hands braced behind me, still unable to shake the image of those husks shambling in the sunlight.
Vesper was the first to speak.
"The valley might not be the only place they were dumped," she said, her voice low.
Drakkar glanced at her. "Then why were they dumped at all? Why not just kill them?"
Ariston didn’t hesitate. "Because they didn’t care enough to. Why waste the effort?"
"Or," Draken added, "They didn’t need to be dumped there. They took the milk and lost their minds. And in their absent minded state, they fell and ended up in that valley."
There was no malice in his tone. Just grim acceptance. The kind born from seeing too much.
"How can you be sure?" Drakkar asked
Draken, near the window, nodded once. "Because we fell there too and if we, two people with sharp sane minds can fall there, the lost causes are no exception." He looked over at Vesper. "You and I both heard it—the scratching. The voice. They fell into that place and couldn’t climb back out."
Vesper’s jaw tightened, but she nodded. "That’s how we found the valley. The scratching. The noise. One of them was trying to get out."
The room went still again.
I looked down at my hands. "Is there anything that can be done for them?"
"I don’t think so,"All eyes turned to Ariston. He didn’t look away from the blade twirling in his fingers. "They’re lost causes," he said. "If the brain and heart are truly gone, there’s no repairing that. No magic I know can fix what isn’t there."
My chest ached at the words.
Draegon finally turned from the fire. His expression was hard, carved with fury he hadn’t voiced yet. "So the black milk destroys far more people than it empowers," he said.
Drakkar gave a sharp nod. "If there are thousands of them—lost causes—then it means only a select few are getting the power. The rest just die... slowly."
"Do they die?" I asked, "Or do they just roam like the walking dead for God knows how long?"
"Well, that’s the answer we don’t have," Vesper said softly, "I wonder how long will their bodies last when they seem like they can’t even consume food or drink water."
Her statement was followed by silence for a few seconds.
Draken crossed his arms. "What do you think, Draegon?" Draegon turned to look at his older brother, "About these people losing their mind?’
Draegon exhaled. "When the infected nun’s black blood touched me, I started to decline fast. My body, my mind—I could feel it slipping. Like something inside me was unraveling." He glanced at me. "And that wasn’t even the direct source. That was just the blood of an abyss worshipper."
I remembered that moment too clearly. How pale he’d gone. How he was coughing like he was about to drop dead. The fear I hadn’t spoken aloud.
"Aelin’s power cured me before the corruption took me." He added, "If she hadn’t, maybe at some point I could have ended up like the lost causes."
My heart dropped listening to that
I blinked, the thought rising like light from deep water.
I looked up. "Then... can I try curing them?"
"Save the lost causes?" Draken asked, "Using your magic?"
Draegon’s eyes met mine, surprised but not dismissive. "Do you know how?"
I shook my head. "There’s nothing in the ancient book. Nothing about undoing what the black milk has taken. But I could try the same magic I used on you. That might work."
He studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly. "You’re welcome to try. But—" his voice lowered "—these people don’t have hearts or minds to restore. All they have now is a corrupted core—unstable and rotting from the inside. That’s what’s keeping their bodies moving."
I swallowed. My heart twisted in my chest, heavy with the weight of helplessness. But still...
Draegon didn’t argue. "Alright. We’ll make arrangements. Carefully." He turned to face us all. "But we’re not hiding this anymore. We’re going to use the lost causes to show the people what they’re truly dealing with. What the black milk does.
The rain had stopped an hour ago, but the streets were still slick, the stones reflecting lantern light like shallow pools of fire. The sky above the city was dark and low, thick with clouds that refused to leave, and the wind carried the last of the storm’s chill.
I stood in front of the inn.
Just stood there. Frozen.
’The Rook’s Nest’, the faded sign read, creaking as it swayed on its rusted chain. It wasn’t the kind of place travelers bragged about. Tired shutters. Cracked wood. The scent of old ale and smoke lingering in the air like a second skin.
My hand hovered near the entrance door. I could hear laughter inside—men drinking, shouting over a game of cards. A chair scraped the floor. Nothing out of the ordinary.
So why couldn’t I move?
I’d faced worse. I’d stood against blades, beasts, people who wanted me dead simply because of the color of my eyes. I didn’t flinch anymore when someone stared too long. I didn’t apologize for who I was. I’d stopped being the kid who hid under a hood years ago.
Not of him hurting me—Rael would never do that. But of what I might see in his eyes when I finally faced him. Distance. Regret. Worse: nothing at all.
Years had passed since I last saw him
And now, here I was. A grown man with a sword on his back, staring at a door like a boy who didn’t know if he was welcomed
I wanted to turn around and leave but the voice in my head spoke otherwise
’You might not get another chance.’
The thought pressed against my ribs, heavy as stone.
I took one slow step forward, forcing breath into my lungs as I went and grabbed the door knob to go in.
A voice. Low. Familiar. Tired and amused.
"So you are planning to go in, I thought you were planning to memorize the wood grain first,"
I turned so fast my cloak caught on the wind.
He stood just a few paces behind me, leaning slightly to one side, a bag of apples cradled under one arm. In the other hand, he held one he’d already bitten into, the red skin shining with rain. He took another bite, chewed slowly, watching me like he was trying not to smile.
"Rael," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Shock ripped through me. The kind that hits low in the stomach. He looked... a little older then I remembered but still unmistakably him. The same sharp eyes. Same steady weight to his presence.
"I’ve been watching you stand there for the better part of ten minutes," he said casually. "Figured you might turn around and leave."
I swallowed. "I thought about it."
"Didn’t think you’d hesitate this long, though. You used to be more stubborn."
"I’m still stubborn," I muttered, almost embarrassed. "Just... more tired."
He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. I know that feeling."
I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to ask him why.
Rael just nodded toward the door with the half-eaten apple, stepped past me, and walked inside like he belonged there. As if this were any other day. No tension. No years between us.
He paused in the doorway and looked back at me.
"Well? You coming, or are you gonna keep staring at that damn wood grain?"
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.