Amara sat on a fallen log beneath the waning moon, her arms wrapped around herself to ward off the chill. She was far enough from Calen and Drevan’s makeshift camp that she could only faintly see the glow of their fire through the trees. If she listened hard, she imagined she could hear them talking, but more likely it was just the rustle of leaves and the call of night birds. Part of her wanted to go back—to slip into her bedroll and pretend nothing had happened. But the memory of her spiraling magic and that lone bandit’s final, agonizing moment weighed too heavily on her.

  If I can’t control it… I might hurt them, too.

  She pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to blink away the image of Calen’s stricken expression and Drevan’s wary stance. Surely, they hated her now. Or they soon will. Her mind whispered cruel possibilities: that Drevan only traveled with her out of obligation, that Calen was too kind to leave her but secretly wondered if she was a monster.

  A twig snapped.

  Amara’s head jerked up, tension flooding her limbs. She stood slowly, scanning the moonlit forest. Perhaps it was Drevan or Calen, come to coax her back. She parted her lips, about to call out—and that was when the first figure emerged from behind a trunk. Then a second. And a third.

  Bandits. Again. She could tell by their rough leathers, the cautious, predatory way they moved. Her mind screamed at her to use her power. But she froze. What if I lose control a second time? The memory of that cataclysmic burst of eldritch energy seized her lungs.

  One of them smirked, raising a cudgel. “All alone in the middle of the woods, eh?”

  Amara’s fingers twitched, crackling purple sparks dancing at her fingertips—just a flicker of reflex. The bandit’s eyes went wide as he recognized a threat. Immediately, all three charged. She panicked, reining in that lethal magic before it could surge. The moment’s hesitation cost her. The cudgel struck her arm, and she yelped in pain, collapsing to one knee. Another bandit looped rope around her shoulders, pinning her arms before she could free them.

  “Keep her quiet!” the first one hissed, dragging her up. Amara struggled, but fresh bruises throbbed where they’d struck. Just cast them off… do it… a voice in her mind urged. But fear of repeating that deadly explosion paralyzed her. Instead, she bit her lip until she tasted blood, letting them bind her hands behind her back and shove a rag into her mouth.

  “Let’s see if the boss wants a mage for ransom,” another bandit grumbled, though he eyed the crackle of leftover energy with wariness. “Hurry before she recovers.”

  Amara wanted to scream, to let her magic burn through their rough rope and send them scattering. Instead, she felt the world swirl as one of them landed a blow to her temple. Pain exploded across her vision, darkness creeping in. Then she felt herself hoisted like a sack of grain. The forest, the stars, even the faint glimmer of Calen and Drevan’s campfire, all receded into an overwhelming haze.

  Back in the camp, Calen tossed a chunk of wood onto the fire, sending a bright flurry of sparks into the air. He glanced sideways at Drevan, who sat on a flat rock, arms folded. The tiefling stared beyond the fire into the shadows, silent as stone.

  “How long do we… let her be alone?” Calen asked, voice hesitant.

  Drevan’s jaw tightened. “As long as she needs,” he said curtly. Then, after a pause, he added in a softer tone, “I just don’t know if she’ll come back.”

  Calen fiddled with the hem of his tunic. “She… might think we’re—well, that you’re upset,” he ventured, words stumbling, “and that I… I’m afraid of her.”

  “Aren’t you?” Drevan’s gaze flicked to him, expression unreadable.

  Calen swallowed. “Afraid for her, maybe. Not of her. She wouldn’t hurt us on purpose. That… that matters.”

  Drevan almost responded, but just then his head snapped up, ears twitching with alertness. The tiefling rose in a smooth motion, one hand moving to the hilt of his longsword. “Something’s wrong.”

  Calen followed his gaze out into the darkness. “Is it—Amara?”

  Drevan didn’t answer. He sprinted to the perimeter of their small camp, scanning the ground with practiced eyes. A moment later, he cursed under his breath. “Look,” he said, pointing at a patch of disturbed earth and something glinting in the moonlight—a broken piece of rope, or maybe a strip of torn cloth. A few footprints circled the area.

  Calen’s heart lurched. “Someone took her,” he breathed, panic welling.

  Drevan nodded sharply, the horns on his brow casting shadows in the dim glow. “We need to find her trail. Now.”

  The next minutes blurred into a frantic search as they followed scuffs on the forest floor, bent branches, faint footprints. Calen, though shaken, focused his healing senses, hoping to pick up a trace of Amara’s essence—some sign that she was near. Drevan led with grim determination, ignoring the ache in his own muscles from the day’s earlier ambush.

  Eventually, the tracks merged onto a narrow footpath that wound deeper into the woods. Calen paused, leaning against a tree, chest tight. “Drevan… we can’t lose her. She was upset already.”

  A flicker of anguish passed over Drevan’s face. He pressed his lips into a hard line. “We won’t,” he promised, voice harsh with worry. Without another word, he stalked forward, following the path. Calen hurried after him, staff clutched in trembling fingers.

  They tracked the footprints to a small clearing where a half-buried ruin stood. Ancient stone walls, cracked and overgrown with moss, hinted at some old fortress or temple. Through the darkness, they could just see a handful of torches beyond a crumbling archway.

  Drevan crouched behind a fallen column, gesturing for Calen to do the same. “Bandits. Likely the same group we’ve been encountering—maybe more. I count… seven or eight.”

  Calen could make out murky silhouettes within the ruin. “And Amara?”

  “Let’s get a better look.” Drevan motioned toward the thick underbrush. Despite the heaviness in his eyes, he moved like a predator, careful not to snap a twig. Calen crept alongside him, wishing his heartbeat wasn’t so thunderous in his ears.

  They circled around the ruin to a broken wall near the back, peering inside. It was an enclosed courtyard, half-collapsed, the floor strewn with rubble. Torches guttered in wall sconces. Several bandits lounged around a makeshift camp. And near the center, chained to a stone pillar, was Amara.

  Calen’s breath caught. Even from this distance, he could see fresh bruises on her arms and a swelling around her temple. She was conscious but looked disoriented. Two bandits stood guard, while others chattered or rummaged through sacks of loot.

  “We have to hurry,” Calen whispered urgently. “She looks like she’s barely awake.”

  Drevan nodded, but his jaw clenched with uncertainty. “We can’t storm in blindly. There are too many. We might risk more harm to her.”

  Calen racked his brain. Every nerve in his body screamed to rush in, but Drevan was right. They’d endanger Amara if they just charged. “Let’s… let’s do this carefully,” he murmured. “I—I have an idea.”

  Drevan turned to him. “Go on.”

  Sucking in a shaky breath, Calen lifted his staff. “My healing magic… it’s not only good for curing injuries. It can calm, weaken, or put enemies to sleep if I adjust the spells properly. I’ve never done it on multiple targets at once, but…”

  A faint flicker of surprise crossed Drevan’s features. “You think you can pacify them?”

  “Yes,” Calen said firmly, though his heart thumped. “But I’ll need you to distract them—keep them from focusing on me while I cast. Once some are dazed or unconscious, you can move in.”

  Drevan hesitated only for a beat before nodding. “All right. Let’s go.”

  They slunk back around to the ruined gateway, where the bandits seemed to have set up a rudimentary barricade of broken wood. Drevan inhaled, centering himself. Calen stepped behind him, staff gripped tight, whispering the invocation under his breath. A soft, golden glow gathered at the tip of the staff.

  “One… two…” Drevan quietly counted, tensing for action. “Now.”

  He lunged forward, slamming a boot into the barricade, splintering it. The nearest bandit scrambled upright, shouting an alarm. Drevan’s sword flashed, striking at the man’s blade with sparks of metal. Calen, half-concealed by the darkness, channeled his healing-laced aura outward.

  A wave of shimmering, pale light swept through the courtyard. Several bandits stumbled, momentarily unsure of their footing. One stared at his own hands in confusion, as though too lethargic to raise his weapon. Another slumped against a broken column, eyelids drooping.

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  Shouts rang out, and a few of the more alert bandits rallied, converging on Drevan. He parried skillfully, using his shield to knock aside axes and swords. Each time his blade connected, he forced another enemy to retreat or crumple. Still, they pressed in. Calen’s aura had weakened many, but not all.

  Amara blinked blearily from across the courtyard, stirring at the noise. She recognized Drevan’s horned silhouette in the torchlight, and her heart wrenched. They’ve come for me…

  But with her hands bound behind the pillar, exhausted and in pain, she could only watch the chaotic battle unfold. One of the bandits noticed she was awake and moved closer, a knife in hand, as if to use her as leverage. But then a swirl of golden light flared from Calen’s staff, forming a barrier around Amara that repelled the attacker. The man stumbled back, dazed, before Drevan struck him across the head with the hilt of his sword.

  “Calen, keep it up!” Drevan called, voice echoing in the stone courtyard. Two more bandits lunged at him in unison. He dove to the side, rolling across debris. The big man with the cudgel—probably the same one who’d knocked Amara out—swung a savage blow at Drevan’s back.

  Clang! The tiefling winced as the force rattled his shield arm. He countered with a precise slash to the bandit’s thigh, and the man went down with a howl.

  Meanwhile, Calen kept weaving spells of sedation, forging them from the same gentle magic he normally used to mend wounds. A turquoise shimmer rolled outward, enveloping a cluster of bandits who’d been charging up the courtyard steps. Their knees buckled as if the strength had been drained from their limbs. One by one, they collapsed in a groggy stupor.

  With the bandits mostly disabled, Drevan raced toward the pillar where Amara was tied. She looked up at him, a mixture of relief and shame clouding her eyes. Blood streaked her temple where the bandits had struck her, and her breathing was ragged.

  “Drevan,” she croaked, barely finding her voice.

  He knelt, hacking at the chains with his sword until they snapped. Amara’s arms fell forward, and she slumped against him, too weak to stand. “Come on,” he muttered gently, positioning her so she could lean on his shoulder. “You’re safe now.”

  Calen joined them, breathing hard. The courtyard was littered with unconscious or groaning bandits, some pinned by rubble, others simply unable to stand. A few had fled, but no one remained to threaten them. “Amara…” he said, kneeling beside her. “You’re hurt. I—I can heal that, give me—”

  He pressed glowing hands to her bruised temple, and a warmth flooded through her, washing away the worst of the pain. She choked back a sob, tears already threatening. “I— I’m so sorry. I just… froze…”

  “You’re okay,” Calen insisted, voice cracking with relief. “That’s all that matters right now.”

  But she couldn’t meet his gaze. The memory of her last fight, that lethal explosion, still haunted her. She had welcomed being taken instead of risking a repeat of that horror. And I nearly died for it…

  Drevan slid an arm around her back, helping her stand. He opened his mouth, perhaps to reprimand her for running off alone—she could see the frustration flicker in his eyes. But before he could speak, Calen’s voice rose in uncharacteristic firmness.

  “Drevan, no,” the elf said, cheeks flushed with both exertion and anger. “Not now.”

  The tiefling’s eyes flashed. “She—”

  “She knows it was reckless!” Calen snapped, surprising them both with the steel in his tone. “She knows! She also almost got herself killed, so if you’re going to scold her, let me heal her fully first!”

  Drevan hesitated, a protest on his lips. Then he looked down at Amara’s trembling form, her face streaked with sweat and tears. His shoulders sagged, the anger draining away. “…Fine,” he growled, sheathing his sword.

  Amara let out a shuddering breath. She clung to Calen’s sleeve as he poured gentle waves of healing into her battered body. Each pulse eased bruises, knit torn skin, and steadied her racing heartbeat. The tension bled from her limbs, replaced by a flood of emotions so intense she couldn’t stop tears from rolling down her cheeks.

  “You both… came,” she whispered brokenly. “I’m sorry… I can’t believe I made you risk so much. I’m so—”

  Her voice faltered, and she lowered her head, tears dripping onto the flagstones. In the hush, they heard the distant calls of night creatures, the crackle of torches, and the ragged breathing of the subdued bandits. Then, quite unexpectedly, Calen threw his arms around her, pulling her into a fierce embrace. She stiffened a moment, her tears intensifying, and then she sank into it, sobbing into his shoulder.

  “Don’t apologize anymore,” Calen murmured. “I’m just glad you’re alive.”

  Drevan stood there, arms at his sides, torn between exasperation and concern. His fierce expression softened. He took a step forward, hesitated, then slowly placed a hand on Amara’s shoulder. She turned her teary gaze up at him, breath hitching. For a heartbeat, he looked ready to bark a reprimand, but instead he exhaled and wrapped one arm around them both. It was awkward, as though he didn’t quite know how hugs worked—but his presence was solid and reassuring.

  A tangle of limbs and quiet sobs, they stood there in the ruins, surrounded by groaning bandits and shattered stone. A thousand unspoken words passed between them: apologies, forgiveness, relief. The tension that had threatened to tear them apart slipped away, if only for a moment, under the raw reality that they were alive, together, and needed each other more than ever.

  They lingered in that embrace for what felt like a long time—Calen supporting Amara, Amara clinging to him for dear life, and Drevan’s hand on her back, as if ensuring she wouldn’t vanish again. Eventually, the need to secure the bandits overcame the tender moment. Drevan cleared his throat and stepped back.

  “We should tie them up,” he said, glancing over at the half-dozen men knocked out or too weak to fight. “We can alert the local authorities after we regroup.”

  Calen nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’ll help.”

  Reluctantly letting go of Amara, he conjured slender tendrils of healing light—this time repurposed to form bindings. Where he’d normally seal flesh, he now sealed ropes around the bandits, using it almost like a conjurer’s trick. Drevan gave him a thin smile of approval, impressed by the elf’s resourcefulness.

  Amara slowly sank against the pillar, pressing her palms to her aching eyes. The guilt still weighed heavily, but overshadowing it was profound gratitude. They had come for her, despite everything. They’d risked their lives. Her chest tightened at the realization that she was truly not alone, no matter how monstrous she might feel at times.

  “All right,” Drevan muttered, hefting one last bandit’s limp form away from the center of the courtyard. “They won’t be going anywhere. At least not until the morning, when we can hand them over.”

  Calen nodded in satisfaction. “They’ll have some nasty headaches, but nothing lethal.” He paused, drawing a shaky breath. “I hope that’s enough.”

  “It will be,” Drevan assured him. Then he turned to Amara, who remained sitting on the ground, arms draped over her knees. “We have a small camp not far from here. Think you can walk?”

  She glanced up, cheeks still damp. “I’ll try.” Her voice trembled with the lingering aftershocks of terror.

  With careful gentleness, Drevan helped her to her feet. She leaned on him, the residual aches in her muscles protesting every step. Calen walked close on her other side, ready with a steadying arm if she stumbled.

  Once outside the ruined walls, they moved slowly back into the forest. The moon hung low, painting silver patterns on the leaves. No one spoke much beyond the occasional check on Amara’s condition. She felt exhaustion threatening to pull her under, but she forced herself to focus on the warmth of her companions at her side.

  When they reached a suitable clearing, Drevan insisted on stopping so they could rest. They built a small fire, the sparks dancing in the darkness. Calen began brewing a light herbal concoction from his healing supplies, something to steady frayed nerves and replenish stamina. He handed the steaming cup to Amara first.

  She wrapped her hands around the cup, grateful for the heat. The fragrance of mint and chamomile floated into her nose, easing the tight band of anxiety around her chest.

  Calen settled next to her, rummaging in his pack for bandages and a salve. “Let me clean that cut, okay?” he murmured, indicating the dried blood at her temple. She nodded, letting him dab ointment against the wound. Despite his soothing presence, tears threatened once again.

  “Sorry,” she said, voice hitching. “I just can’t stop thinking… I could’ve died there. I almost—” She swallowed. “I was too scared to use my magic. I let them take me.”

  Calen paused in his work. “I know you’re scared… we’re scared, too. But not of you,” he emphasized, gently tapping the salve into place. “Of what could happen if you feel you have to handle it alone.”

  She shivered, feeling Drevan’s gaze on her from across the campfire. He was tending to a small cut on his own forearm, silent as he listened. Finally, he sighed and set aside the cloth. “Look,” he said, voice brusque but sincere, “I was wary because that blast you did… it was dangerous. It is dangerous. But you’re not alone in this. If it comes to controlling your power, we can work on it—train. Figure it out together.”

  Amara blinked, fresh tears forming. “But… you were so distant after—”

  “I was cautious,” Drevan corrected, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. “But seeing you like that tonight… helpless because you wouldn’t use your power? That’s worse. Much worse.” He turned his fiery gaze on her, though it was tempered with unexpected compassion. “I’d rather you figure out how to use it safely than not use it at all and nearly die.”

  She lowered her head, overcome by emotion. “I… I really don’t deserve friends like you,” she whispered.

  Calen made a small sound of protest. “Don’t say that. We care about you because we want to, not because we have to.”

  Drevan nodded, though his expression remained stoic. “We’re a team. All of us have our… shadows. I have mine. Calen has his. You have yours. The only way we get through them is together.”

  Amara let out a shaky breath, feeling the warmth in her chest. She reached over to Calen’s hand, squeezing it gently. Drevan, looking slightly awkward, reached out as well, placing a tentative hand atop hers. The three locked eyes in the flickering light, a fleeting but powerful moment of unity washing over them.

  They sat there in silence, hands clasped, the crackling embers whispering their companionship into the night. Finally, Calen broke the silence with a soft laugh, eyes misty with tears. “If we keep doing group hugs, we might wind up with matching bruises,” he quipped, voice trembling at the edges.

  Amara managed a watery smile. “I don’t mind a bruise if it means we stick together.”

  Drevan made a low, almost amused noise, though he tried to hide it behind a cough. “All right, all right,” he muttered. “One more… if you insist.”

  They leaned forward, arms encircling each other in a gentle huddle around the small fire. Calen’s staff lay forgotten in the grass, Drevan’s sword rested at his side, and Amara let go of the fear for just a moment. She buried her face in the crook of Calen’s shoulder, tears of relief and lingering terror coursing down her cheeks. Drevan’s arm was strong around her back, his horns casting a protective silhouette in the firelight. The flicker and glow played across their intertwined forms as they shared that quiet, binding embrace.

  Her heart pounded, but this time not from panic or fear. It was raw, cathartic closeness—the realization that she did have a place among them, even if it was messy and dangerous and bound up with uncertain magic. They would face it head-on, as a family forged by choice, not circumstance.

  Slowly, the weight in her chest lifted, replaced by a hesitant, fragile hope. They had tested each other tonight. Against bandits. Against their own doubts. They had come through, bruised and shaken, but somehow stronger. And in that circle of arms, with the forest around them and the darkness no longer so terrifying, Amara finally believed that they could stand against whatever shadows lay ahead—so long as they stood together.