She stood alone in the small alcove ahead, unaware of my presence. Her back was partially turned, her posture tense, like a bowstring drawn too tight. I pressed myself against the cool stone wall, heart pounding. I hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but something in her voice rooted me in place.
"No," she whispered, more to herself than anyone I could see. "I told you—I said no. I won't be your puppet again."
Her voice cracked. I peeked around the corner just enough to glimpse her eyes—wet, but fiercely defiant.
"I'm not that girl anymore," she continued. "I chose him. I chose this path. You don't get to twist it into something vile."
A long silence followed. She stood as if listening to something I could not hear — her body trembling subtly. Shadows shifted around her, but I saw no threat, no figure. Just... a weight in the air.
"I won't let you take this from me," she said finally, voice shaking but firm.
Something in me twisted — worry, confusion, guilt. What was she fighting against? Who was she fighting? I didn't know the whole truth. Maybe I never had.
I backed away slowly, footsteps silent, retreating before she could see me. Whatever this darkness was that clung to her past, she was trying to keep it buried. Trying to protect me from it. But now, I knew—there were pieces of her story I hadn't touched, pieces still sharp with blood and memory.
As I returned to my room in the temple, one thing echoed over and over in my mind.
"I chose him."
And whatever she was facing, I knew then—I wasn't going to let her face it alone.
As I thought about this my mind drifted back to the cold night when I had met her…
The night was brutal. Cold seeped deep into my bones, biting through the bruises and aches that throbbed all over my body. My breaths came sharp and ragged, fogging in the icy air as I stumbled through the dark forest just outside the village. Each step was heavy, every movement a reminder of my father's cruel hands and harsh words.
I wanted to scream, to fight back, but all I managed was to run — away from the pain, away from the anger twisting in my gut. I sank down beside the mossy stone altar nobody visited anymore, wrapping my arms around my knees, trying to steady my breathing.
Then, out of the shadows, I saw her.
She stepped cautiously from the woods. A girl, no older than me, with torn clothes and dirt smudging her pale skin. A fresh wound marred her cheek, but it was her copper-red hair catching the moonlight that stopped me cold.
She froze when she saw me — just as I froze seeing her.
"Are you gonna scream?" she asked first, voice barely more than a whisper, rough with exhaustion.
"No," I managed, forcing myself upright despite the ache in my ribs. "You?"
She shook her head, her eyes wary but curious. "You look worse than me."
I gave a bitter smile. "Probably."
She took a cautious step closer, suspicion fading. "What happened to you?"
"My father happened," I said honestly. No lies, no excuses.
Her eyes softened for a moment. "Mine too."
That small admission was the key. No grand stories, no elaborate explanations — just two broken souls finding each other in the dark. She sat beside me silently, and after a while, pulled a bruised apple from her cloak, offering it without a word.
I took it, our fingers brushing briefly. A sudden warmth flared up my arm, burning through the cold.
We didn't speak much that night. I didn't need to.
I learned later she had escaped something far worse — she was running from shadows darker than any I had faced.
From that moment, something inside me shifted. A silent vow took root — no matter what, I would protect her. Even if I couldn't protect myself.
The memory faded, but the weight of it lingered like a shadow pressing on my chest. Seven years ago, that night had changed everything. Meeting Auralia then — broken, frightened, but stubborn as hell — had been the one moment that pulled me back from the edge. I never thought our paths would lead us here, tangled in something far bigger than either of us.
I pressed my back against the cold stone wall, careful to stay in the shadows. She was just ahead, speaking softly — maybe to herself, or to that darkness she always seemed to carry inside. I didn't want to interrupt, but hearing her voice there, fighting her own demons, made my own pain raw all over again.
How had we come so far, yet still be so lost?
The mark she bore — the one I'd only just noticed — pulsed faintly beneath her shirt, like a secret flame. Something tied her to that mark, and now, maybe to something even worse.
I clenched my fists, feeling the lingering heat from my own scars. I needed answers. I needed to protect her. And more than that… I needed to find a way to keep myself from losing control.
Because if I lost control, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to stop what was coming next.