Her lips curled faintly where Kain couldn't see. "And if I do, my son-in-law will save me, won't he?"
The words landed like a heavy stones. Kain's shoulders stiffened, and his head lowered, as if the weight of her reminder was too much to bear.
He knew. Everyone knew.
Rael's seed was weak. The runes had confirmed it, and the Elder's words had made it final. It meant the curse—this damn, unyielding curse that had gripped the village for generations—would remain. Their saviour, the boy of prophecy, was not yet born.
His jaw clenched, the silence stretching, heavy and suffocating. More than anyone else, he also understood how hollow encouragement could be. He had lived long enough to see women whisper prayers and men spill their strength, only to face the same unchanging fate. Hope, in his eyes, had become a useless thing—nothing but a fragile thread that snapped whenever the curse reminded them of its cruelty.
