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Summary
He stumbled about through the forest, a little faster than a walk, a little slower than a jog. If he could just rest, just for a few hours, he could find the strength to push on. But the sun was setting and it was getting colder again, it had taken him all day to climb and descend the mountain.
"No- no no no-" he sobbed.
If the sun set, if it got too cold, if he couldn't find shelter, if he couldn't rest, if it got too dark for him to continue…
Perhaps he was hallucinating, because he swore he saw the sun flickering ahead through the tree trunks, even though it was setting somewhere to his left. He felt his body growing too heavy to continue, his head drooping, his panted breaths more ragged than ever. He barely felt it when he fell to his knees and then flat on his face.
He had to be hallucinating, because he swore it was getting brighter.
"I'm s'rry dad…" he gasped, airway constricted. "I c'ldn't m'ke it… aft'r all…"
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A lost Spark, a warlord king, a sharp advisor and a haunted knight.
Stiles is species rarer than a kind king in a world that would see him dead. When his father dies to save him, can he make it in a land beyond the borders that he's never experienced?