---
Later that night, Mara sat alone in the old chapel ruins near the forest edge. The candlelight flickered around her like ghosts.
She whispered into the dark, not to herself—but to something watching.
"I was supposed to be chosen," she said, voice trembling. "But you gave it all to him. Both of them. So tell me, what am I now? A scorned woman? Or the last piece of your curse?"
And from the shadows, a voice—not quite male, not quite alive—whispered:
"You are what comes after ruin."
Then Mara bowed,stood and walked away.
---
The council had again gathered in silence. No fanfare. No horned guards. Just cold breath on marble and the whispers of ghosts clinging to ancient stone,Lucian had been summoned.
Lucian who was summoned earlier, stood at the heart of it, no longer in shadows. His name no longer hidden beneath wax seals or erased ink. He was heir to the First Blood—and every enemy he'd once eluded now circled like wolves scenting weakness.
But he stood tall.
Kyrell watched from the chamber's edge, arms crossed, gaze burning into the robed elders who refused to meet his eyes. The sigil on his wrist still pulsed faintly from the prophecy's unveiling. No one dared speak it aloud, but they all knew: he was the curse made flesh. And he had chosen Lucian.
High Elder Mareth's voice cut through the air. "Your silence has run its course, Lucian. You must answer. Not for your nature. Not for your inheritance. But for the bond you've sealed."
The words echoed.
Lucian didn't blink. "You mean the kiss?"
"You marked him before the congregation of blood. You invoked ancient rites with a cursed vessel. Do you deny it?"
"I don't," Lucian said. "And I'd do it again."
Kyrell exhaled, a sound more like a growl held in restraint.
Elder Verin stepped forward, his withered hands clutching a tome of blood-rules. "You swore an oath to the council. To the order. Your bloodline was not to interfere with—"
"My bloodline was erased," Lucian snapped. "By you. By Silas. Don't speak to me of oaths unless you're ready to bleed them yourself."
The chamber bristled. Even Renak flinched.
Mara stood in the back, face unreadable. But her eyes never left Lucian.
Elder Mareth raised her hand. "Then so be it. If you intend to stand beside him, you'll face the Trial of Fire and Bone."
Kyrell's voice finally rang out. "What is that?"
Renak answered from the side. "It's not a test of loyalty. It's a death rite. Designed for traitors who mix cursed blood with royal veins."
Kyrell stepped forward, fury tightening every muscle. "He is not a traitor. You're afraid of what you cannot control. You made him an orphan. You buried his name. And now you want to punish him for surviving it?"
Mareth raised a brow. "And you, Kyrell of the Forgotten Forests? Will you stand beside him during the trial?"
Kyrell's voice was thunder. "Let it come."
---
That night, they stood in the ritual chambers beneath the keep, surrounded by relics carved from bone and ash. The floor was etched with runes so old even Lucian couldn't read them. Fire flickered in shallow pits along the walls. The scent of burnt offerings filled the air—something old, something bitter, something like destiny.
Lucian's shirt hung open, chest marked with crimson lines, blood drawn in preparation for the rite.
Kyrell, standing across from him, reached out. His fingers grazed Lucian's cheek—gentle, yet unshakable.
"You still have a chance to run," Lucian murmured.
Kyrell leaned in, lips brushing Lucian's ear. "I stopped running the night you stepped out of the trees."
A circle of council elders began chanting. The runes ignited in flame, blue and silver.
Renak stood just beyond the barrier, face tight with worry. And beside him, Mara—arms folded, mouth trembling with something between rage and longing.
As the fire encircled them, a crack of ancient power shook the chamber. From the flames rose a figure of bone—no eyes, no flesh, only a crown of jagged antlers and a voice carved in smoke.
"Blood of kings, lover of ruin. You seek passage."
Lucian spoke. "I do."
"Then let us taste your vow."
Kyrell and Lucian turned to each other, and without needing words, clasped hands.
The bone-creature leaned forward.
"If either falters, the fire will burn both to ash."
Kyrell's voice never wavered. "Then let it burn."
The flames surged.
Lucian felt the power claw through his veins, dragging memories, guilt, grief—visions of Silas, of his mother's face blurred by time, of Kyrell on the ground that first day in the woods.
Kyrell screamed. Not from pain, but from the force of it—the flood of every life he'd taken, every lie told to survive. The curse inside him writhed.
Their hands remained locked.
The bone-creature hesitated... then stepped back.
"The bond holds. The vow is sealed."
In an instant, the flames died. The runes faded. And only silence remained.
Lucian staggered.
Kyrell caught him.
From the shadows, Mara turned and walked away—slow, deliberate, hands clenched.
Renak followed her with his gaze. "Where are you going?"
Her voice was distant, hollow.
"To become what prophecy didn't choose."
---