The wind howled through the skeletal branches as Seraphine stepped across the threshold of the world she knew and into the Blood Forest.
Behind her, the towering black gates of Virelle faded into mist, swallowed by the creeping fog that clung to the ground like spilled ink. The city was gone now—its spires lost behind a wall of crimson-leafed trees that pulsed faintly with an inner glow, as if alive.
Kael walked beside her, sword drawn, his gaze scanning the shifting shadows between the trunks. Behind them, Lady Nyxara followed closely, muttering protective wards under her breath.
They had escaped the palace before dawn, slipping through hidden tunnels beneath Virelle and emerging at the forest's edge just as the Crimson Council's forces began their search.
Now, there was no turning back.
***
The air smelled of iron and damp earth.
Every step sank slightly into the moss-covered ground, which bled faintly when disturbed—a sign of the forest's unnatural nature. The trees were tall and twisted, their bark marbled with veins of red. Some bore faces carved into their trunks, frozen in expressions of pain or ecstasy.
Seraphine pressed a hand to her belly.
Inside her, Aeloria stirred.
"I like it here," the voice whispered.
"It remembers."
Seraphine shivered.
"What do you mean?" she asked aloud.
Nyxara glanced at her sharply. "Don't talk to her out loud."
"She won't stop talking to me," Seraphine muttered.
Kael placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Then we keep moving."
***
As they ventured deeper, the forest grew stranger.
Whispers echoed from unseen mouths, voices overlapping in a chorus of sorrow and longing. The sound of distant laughter rang through the trees, though no one laughed.
At times, Seraphine thought she saw figures watching from the shadows—half-formed things made of smoke and bone, their hollow eyes tracking their every step.
She turned once, convinced someone had brushed past her.
There was no one there.
But the scent of old blood lingered.
Kael tightened his grip on his sword.
"I don't like this place," he muttered.
Nyxara nodded grimly. "Few do."
She reached into her satchel and pulled out a small vial filled with shimmering dust. She sprinkled a line around them, forming a protective barrier.
"It won't last long," she warned. "This forest feeds on memory. It will try to make you forget who you are."
Seraphine swallowed hard. "What happens if we do?"
Nyxara's expression darkened. "Then we never leave."
***
Hours passed—or perhaps days.
Time moved strangely here.
They stopped beside a stream that ran black with thick, syrupy liquid. When Kael dipped his fingers into it, he gasped.
"It tastes like regret," he murmured.
Seraphine knelt beside him, staring at her reflection in the water.
Her face looked wrong—too pale, too young. Her eyes held something deep within them, something ancient.
And then—
A voice called from the other side of the stream.
"Mother."
Seraphine's head snapped up.
Across from her stood a girl.
Not Aeloria.
No.
This one was different.
She looked exactly like the daughter Seraphine had seen in her dream—the one who could have been. The one who had played in the garden, who had laughed and danced in sunlight.
She wore the same white dress, stained with flower petals.
Her smile was soft.
"You left me behind," she said gently.
Seraphine's breath caught.
"I didn't mean to."
The girl tilted her head. "Then why did you call her instead?"
Seraphine flinched.
Behind her, Kael stepped forward protectively. "It's not real."
The girl looked at him. "Isn't it?"
Kael hesitated.
His own reflection in the water shifted—showing a younger version of himself, kneeling beside a grave marked only with a wooden cross.
He clenched his jaw.
"No," he growled. "I won't fall for this again."
The girl smiled sadly.
"You already have."
***
The illusion shattered.
With a roar, Kael slashed his sword through the image, scattering it like broken glass.
The girl vanished.
The stream stilled.
But the damage was done.
Seraphine sat down heavily, trembling.
"I can't do this," she whispered. "I can't fight both of them."
Nyxara crouched beside her. "You don't have to fight either of them. Just remember who you are."
Seraphine met her gaze. "What if I've already forgotten?"
Nyxara placed a hand over hers.
"Then let me remind you."
She took out a small mirror and held it up.
Seraphine stared at her own reflection.
It was distorted—fractured—but still whole.
"You are Queen Seraphine," Nyxara said firmly. "Ruler of Necrosia. Vampire. Sorceress. Mother."
Seraphine swallowed hard.
"And monster," she added softly.
Nyxara shook her head. "No. You are not your child."
Seraphine looked down at her belly.
Inside, Aeloria remained silent.
For now.
***
By nightfall, they reached the heart of the forest.
An ancient clearing surrounded by trees so large their roots formed archways. At its center stood a stone altar, covered in carvings that pulsed faintly with light.
Nyxara stepped forward.
"This is a sacred place," she murmured. "Once used by forest witches to commune with unborn spirits."
Seraphine approached cautiously.
"We're close," Aeloria whispered.
"To what?"
"To remembering."
Seraphine frowned. "Remembering what?"
But Aeloria gave no answer.
Instead, the forest seemed to lean in closer.
Listening.
Waiting.
As if it, too, wanted to know.
***
That night, they camped near the altar.
Kael kept watch, his senses sharp.
Nyxara prepared a ritual to strengthen their minds against the forest's influence.
And Seraphine sat alone, staring into the fire.
"You see her too," Aeloria whispered.
"The one you could have had."
Seraphine closed her eyes. "Yes."
"Good."
"Because she sees you too."
Seraphine shivered.
And somewhere in the distance, the wind carried the sound of a child laughing.
Softly.
Lovingly.
Like a lullaby.