The wind carried secrets through the trees, rustling leaves like whispered warnings as Seraphina stepped beyond the edge of the sanctified ground. The moment she crossed the invisible boundary that protected the Forbidden Ground, a chill swept down her spine, not from the cold, but from something older—an unseen watcher.
Lucien walked beside her, his movements more feral than before. The binding had changed them both. Her blood thrummed with a new rhythm, ancient and volatile. The symbols etched across her back still pulsed, a soft heat that guided her like a second heartbeat.
Night cloaked the forest in deep blue shadows, and every creaking branch or fluttering wing made Seraphina's senses twitch. She could hear better now—smell more. The distant rustle of fur through underbrush, the beat of wings overhead, even the low hum of magic running beneath the earth like roots tangled in ley lines.
They moved quickly but cautiously, winding between thickets and twisted trees. This stretch of forest was a no-man's land, unclaimed by pack or priesthood. Stories whispered of it—a place where the veil between worlds thinned and spirits walked beside beasts. Seraphina could feel it now, every step brushing the edge of something invisible and watching.
A strange fog drifted in, curling low to the forest floor. The air grew denser. The trees leaned inward, branches like skeletal fingers scratching the sky. Lucien halted.
"We're not alone," he muttered, his voice a low growl.
From the mist emerged figures—not wolves, not men, but something in between. Cloaked in ragged black robes with silver threading, they moved in silence, their faces hidden behind obsidian masks shaped like snarling beasts. There were seven of them, spaced in a half-circle around Seraphina and Lucien.
"Specters?" Seraphina whispered.
"No," Lucien said, stepping forward. "They are the Veylun. Shadows of the Moon Pact. Keepers of the border. Assassins. Judges."
The one in the center raised his hand, revealing claws black as void. His voice was ancient, hollow.
"You trespass upon the Echoing Path."
Lucien bared his teeth. "The Forbidden Ground has accepted her. She is no longer trespasser. She is heir."
A low rumble passed between the Veylun. Then silence.
Seraphina stepped forward. The mark on her back blazed beneath her cloak. "I am not here to seek permission. I am here to reclaim what was broken. I am the Cradle's echo, the fire reborn."
A shift in the fog. The masked leader tilted his head, studying her. Then, he whispered, "The Cradle Child screamed for you. We heard. And others will, too. The shadows are listening. Some seek your rise. Others, your ruin."
Without another word, the Veylun melted into the mist, vanishing like smoke. But their warning lingered.
Lucien exhaled slowly. "We'll have no more peace after this."
"No," Seraphina agreed, gripping the hilt of the blade she didn't remember drawing. "Only war."
They continued north, deeper into the unknown.
Hours passed—or perhaps minutes. Time frayed at the edges in this part of the woods. The deeper they went, the stranger things became. Trees bled sap like tears. Stones whispered names that hadn't been spoken in centuries. And shadows moved even when there was no light to cast them.
Then they found the first corpse.
It hung from a tree, pale and eyeless. Runes were carved into its chest, a language Seraphina didn't know but instinctively feared.
Lucien's face darkened. "This is a warning."
"To us?"
"To them," he said. "To anyone foolish enough to follow."
As they pushed forward, they discovered more signs—burnt offerings, talismans made of bone and feathers, and an abandoned camp stained with dried blood.
Someone had been hunting here.
And they hadn't been alone.
That night, as they made camp beneath a cliffside overhang, the shadows thickened. Seraphina couldn't sleep. Her dreams were filled with eyes. Watching. Waiting. Judging.
When she finally dozed off, she woke screaming.
Lucien was there, hand on her shoulder. "You saw it too."
"The creature of ash and bone. The one that follows."
He nodded grimly. "It has a name. The Mourning Beast. A wraith from the old wars. It hunts power, especially those reborn in fire."
Seraphina wrapped her cloak tighter around her. "Then let it hunt. We're not running."
But as she lay back down, staring at the black canopy above, she couldn't shake the feeling that they had already stepped into its lair.
And somewhere in the trees, eyes blinked open.
Not one pair.
Dozens.