The dreams came like ghosts that night—clawing at Elira's mind with blood-soaked hands and whispering voices that didn't belong.
She jerked awake in the dark, breath ragged, chest tight, skin damp with sweat. For a split second, she didn't know where she was. Stone walls. A hard bed with iron frames. The flicker of orange torchlight just beyond the doorway.
Not the caves.
Not the pit where she'd been left to rot.
Dravaryn.
Still a prison, just with thicker walls and prettier chains.
She sat up slowly, her breathing rough in her chest. The dream was already fading—just shadows and sounds—but the one thing that lingered was the blood. Her hands had been soaked in it, and someone—or something—had whispered her name like a curse.
Elira…
Elira…
Elira…
She could still feel the echo of it vibrating through her bones.
Kicking off the thin blanket, she climbed out of bed and started pacing barefoot. The stone floor was cold enough to sting, but she welcomed the bite. It grounded her. Reminded her that this was real.
Not the past. Not a vision.
Now.
She didn't know how long she walked like that, retracing the same line across the chamber, before the knock came.
Three sharp raps.
Not hesitant.
Not soft.
Kael.
She opened the door without a word.
He stood there in a plain dark tunic, no armor, no entourage. Just him—and silence.
"Did I wake you?" he asked, though the faint crease between his brows said he already knew the answer.
Elira arched a brow. "You think I slept after that council?"
His lips twitched slightly. "Fair."
She stepped aside. He entered without hesitation, going straight to the window as if the room belonged to him.
"The council's split," he said, folding his arms. "Half of them want to see what you can do. The other half wants to see your head on a spike."
"And you?" she asked, leaning back against the wall.
"I haven't made up my mind."
She crossed the room slowly, her arms crossed, her voice low. "You're not the type to take chances, Kael. If I wasn't already useful to you, I'd still be rotting in that cave."
He nodded slightly. "You're not wrong. But you're not completely right either."
That made her pause. "Enlighten me."
He turned to face her, resting casually against the stone ledge. "You were supposed to be forgotten. A ghost from a kingdom no one talks about anymore. Something that made the enemy nervous—but not us."
Her eyes narrowed. "But I'm not dead."
"No," he said. "And that makes you... inconvenient."
There was no venom in his voice, no cruelty. Just calm, careful truth.
And that cut deeper.
"So now what?" she asked quietly.
"Now you prove yourself."
"How?"
Kael's expression turned serious. "You can feel magic—track it, sense its shape, its history. Even the corrupted kind."
Her heartbeat stuttered. "You want me to find something."
Kael nodded. "There've been attacks along the border. No witnesses. No survivors. Just scorched earth, shattered steel, and old magic in the air."
Old.
The kind of magic that hadn't been used in the open in decades.
"You think it's a summoning spell?"
"No. Something worse. Something ancient."
"And you want me to follow it?"
"I want you to understand it. See what it wants. Where it leads."
She studied him. "You're sending me out alone?"
"No," he said. "You'll have a guide."
Her eyes narrowed. "One of your loyal watchdogs?"
Kael gave her a flat look. "No. Me."
Elira blinked. "You're coming with me?"
He stepped away from the window. "You were right—I don't trust easily. So if I'm putting you into the field, I'm watching."
She let out a short laugh. "Is that what this is about? Trust?"
"No," he said simply. "Control. If you're going to be my weapon, I need to know exactly what kind of edge you have."
There was something sharp in his voice. Cold. Clinical.
And yet…
She didn't step back. "And if I say no?"
He shrugged. "Then I put you back in chains. Lock you in a tower until the court feels safe again."
They stood like that—close, defiant, uncertain. Neither blinking. Neither yielding.
Finally, she asked, "When do we leave?"
Kael's answer came without hesitation. "Now."
Snow fell hard as they crossed the Ironwood Pass, wind slicing through the trees like knives.
Elira's fingers clenched around the reins of her mare, the chill biting through her gloves. Kael rode just ahead, his cloak snapping in the wind, hood drawn low over his face.
The trail was narrow, flanked by dead trees and jagged rock. The kind of terrain that didn't forgive mistakes.
But it wasn't the cold or the steep cliffs that unsettled her.
It was the silence.
No wolves. No birds. Not even the rustle of wind through branches.
Just… stillness.
"Something's wrong," she said, nudging her horse forward until she was beside him.
Kael didn't look at her, but he nodded. "We're close."
"How can you tell?"
He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a rolled parchment, unfolding it against the saddle. Red markings—ink and blood—stained the edges.
"Three patrols vanished here," he said, pointing to a ring near the ridge. "Same story every time. No bodies. Just a perfect circle of scorched earth."
Elira's stomach twisted.
She didn't wait. She dismounted, boots crunching against the snow as she approached the clearing ahead.
He hadn't exaggerated.
The snow had melted in a wide, blackened ring. The ground was dead. Charred down to stone.
No corpses. No remnants.
Just the stench of raw, old power.
She dropped to her knees, pressing her palm against the black soil.
It vibrated.
Sour. Sick.
This wasn't summoning magic.
It was worse.
"They didn't call something here," she whispered. "They bound it."
Kael crouched beside her, tense. "A revenant?"
She shook her head. "No. Something older."
She stood slowly, her breath catching. "But whatever it is, it's still tethered. I can trace it."
Kael rose to his feet. "Then lead."
The trail wound north, twisting through rock and ruin.
Hours passed. Day slipped into night, and still they rode. Still the magic whispered, clinging to the wind like smoke.
And then—just beyond the ridge—they found it.
A cave.
Half-collapsed. Covered in frost.
Stinking of magic.
Kael drew his sword silently. Elira didn't move.
She knew this place.
Not from life.
From the dream.
The blood. The battlefield. The whisper.
Kael must've sensed her hesitation. He placed a steady hand on her shoulder.
"You don't have to go in alone."
She looked up at him, surprised by the gentleness in his tone.
"I'm not afraid," she said quietly.
"I didn't say you were." His eyes softened just slightly. "I just don't like surprises."
She gave a faint smirk. "Then stay close."
Together, they stepped into the darkness.
The chamber inside was a tomb.
Symbols carved in ancient blood lined the stone floor. A circle etched in bone. And at the center—
A girl.
Barely breathing.
Wrapped in chains that pulsed with foul energy.
Elira froze.
The girl stirred.
Eyes cracked open—inky black, veined with magic.
And whispered her name.
"Elira…"
Kael stepped forward, sword rising, but Elira threw out an arm.
"Wait."
The girl's skin was pale, stretched thin over bones. Her lips trembled. Her voice was the barest thread.
"You're the last…"
Elira knelt beside her, heart racing.
"Who did this to you?"
The girl tried to lift a hand, but it dropped, limp.
"The king…"
Elira leaned in. "What king?"
The girl's eyes glazed.
And then, with her last breath, she said:
"The one who never died."