The village didn't feel the same after the attack. Even with the sun rising soft over the rooftops, there was a heaviness in the air, like everyone was waiting for something else to go wrong. Doors stayed shut longer. Conversations were quieter. And Kael... he didn't sleep much.
He sat by the well, blade in hand, sharpening it not because he needed to, but because it gave his hands something to do. Something to keep the creeping fear at bay. His thoughts wandered—too much. He hated that. He used to be a man of action, not one trapped in his own head.
"You'll dull the edge doing it like that," Elira said, approaching with her usual calm. She wasn't teasing, not really. There was concern under her voice, the kind that came from watching someone carry too much alone.
He didn't look at her. "It doesn't matter if I dull it. There are worse things coming than a blunt sword."
Elira stood beside him. "Then we need to move before they find us first."
He looked up at her. Her hair was windblown, her hands smudged with ash and soil, but there was no fear in her eyes. Just certainty. He nodded.
They didn't say goodbye to anyone. No one would have stopped them—they'd just have asked why they were going toward the danger instead of away from it.
The forest swallowed them within minutes. The further they walked, the quieter it got. No birds. No wind. Just the sound of boots over damp earth and the soft creak of Kael's armor.
Elira moved like she belonged there. She barely hesitated at forked paths, even when the trees looked identical. Kael followed, trusting without knowing why.
"Do you miss them?" he asked finally. "Your people?"
She paused, just a moment. "I miss the people who saw me for who I really was. There weren't many."
He thought about that. He could count the people who truly knew him on one hand—and most of them were dead.
Later, they camped near an old stone pillar half-swallowed by ivy. Kael tried not to stare at her while she worked. The way her fingers moved with quiet skill. The way she hummed under her breath when she thought he wasn't listening.
When she handed him a mug of her bitter herbal brew, he nearly gagged. "Do you grind bark into this?"
She smirked. "No. Just roots, moss, and something that probably shouldn't have a name."
He grunted, but drank. It was awful. Still, something about it grounded him. Maybe it was just her presence.
He dozed off near the fire, but woke sweating, breath caught in his chest. Flames. Screams. His father's voice, begging him to run. He hadn't had that dream in weeks.
She was already kneeling beside him. No questions. Just her hand on his shoulder, grounding him like the tea had. "You're not there anymore, Kael," she said gently. "You're here."
He looked at her, at the firelight in her eyes. And for the first time, he believed her.
They reached the edge of something ancient the next day. The forest turned strange—colors muted, light bending wrong. Elira's voice dropped to a whisper. "We're close."
At the center of the clearing was a shrine—older than either of them could name. Vines curled up broken stone columns, and moss clung to what might once have been sacred.
But they weren't alone
A woman stood at the altar. Pale skin. Silver cloak. Eyes that didn't blink.
Elira's breath caught. "She's not real. Not fully."
The woman smiled like she'd heard them. "Elira Vaelwyn. Just like your mother, aren't you?"
Kael stepped forward, jaw tight. "Who are you?"
"A memory. A warning. A consequence." Her gaze shifted. "And you—still trying to fix what you broke."
The air grew cold. Kael's hand went to his sword.
Elira stepped in front of him. "She's a Woken."
"Smart girl," the woman said. "But even smart girls make poor choices."
The shadows twisted, and the forest screamed. Roots burst from the ground, snatching at Kael's feet. He swung wildly, cutting vines, shielding Elira as the shrine came alive with old magic.
Elira's voice rose in rhythm with her hands, tracing runes in glowing air, fighting back the dark with raw will. Kael had never seen her like this—fierce, powerful, brilliant with light.
"You don't have enough time," the woman said, laughing—and then she vanished.
Everything stilled.
Kael dropped to one knee, lungs burning, arms aching. Elira crouched beside him, eyes wide, hands still glowing faintly.
"She's not just a ghost," she said. "She's watching us."
He looked at her, sweat running down his face, the curse pulsing beneath his skin.
"Then we watch back.
They walked in silence after the shrine fight—two shadows passing through trees that no longer felt safe. The forest had changed. It wasn't just quiet now—it was listening.
Kael moved slower than before. Not because he was tired, though he was—but because the woman's words stuck to him like burrs in cloth. Still trying to fix what you broke. She'd said it like a truth, not an insult. And maybe it was.
Elira didn't press him. She simply walked at his side, as if she knew the weight he carried and had no desire to add to it.
The shrine had shaken something loose in both of them.
Kael looked down at his arm. The curse had crept further—dark veins threading up toward his elbow, the skin beginning to turn cold and stiff. He flexed his fingers. Still his hand. Still time. Barely.
"She knew you," Kael said at last, voice low.
Elira didn't look at him. "She knew my blood. My mother was one of them—once. Before she ran."
Kael stopped. "You never told me."
"There's a lot I haven't told you." She met his eyes now—no shame, just old pain. "Because the more you know, the more danger you're in."
He held her gaze. "I'm already in danger."
"Not like this." She took a slow breath. "They're not just after the crown or revenge. They're trying to rewrite what's real. Magic, history, even memory. That woman—we call her a Woken, but they're older than that. Older than Theralis. They remember the world before light."
Kael frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means if we lose this fight—there won't be a kingdom to save. There won't be anything left of us at all."
He didn't know what to say to that. So he said nothing.
They camped beneath a canopy of thick branches that blocked the moonlight. The fire crackled soft between them. Kael leaned back against a tree, arms crossed, curse aching under the surface.
Elira sat across from him, legs drawn up, cloak wrapped tight. She looked smaller tonight—less like the healer who'd fought beside him, more like the girl who'd grown up running from shadows.
He watched her hands—how they fidgeted slightly, like she was working through something in her head. "You blame yourself," he said.
She looked up, startled. "What?"
"For what happened. Your mother. The gates. The magic." He tilted his head. "You carry it like it's yours."
She didn't answer for a while.
"When I was eight, I watched my mother open the gates to the Woken." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "She thought she could control them—thought it was the only way to keep us safe. But once they were in, they changed everything. She died protecting me from the thing she let in."
Kael's chest tightened.
"I ran," she continued, "and I never stopped running. I changed my name. Buried my bloodline. Tried to disappear. But magic remembers. And now they've found me again."
Kael leaned forward. "You were a child."
"I was her daughter."
He wanted to say more. Wanted to find the right words—but everything felt too heavy, too close. So instead, he offered something else—his story.
"My father begged me to kill him," Kael said, voice rough. "When the curse started to spread, he knew it would consume him. I couldn't do it. I tried to find a way to stop it. And in that time—he turned. He wasn't my father anymore when he died."
Elira's eyes softened.
"So no," he added. "You're not the only one with ghosts."
They didn't sleep much. But when they lay down, it was close—closer than before. And when Kael woke in the night, sweat beading at his brow, Elira's hand was already on his chest, grounding him.
She didn't speak.
She didn't need to.