The frost lingered even after the figure vanished, thin tendrils curling over the altar stones like pale serpents. Lysa's breath came in white clouds, each exhale sharp in the brittle air.
Raviel was the first to break the silence. "You should have let me deal with them," he said, his voice low, controlled but with a dangerous undercurrent. "There are ways to make a hunter regret breathing."
Valerian turned to him, eyes hard. "And you think your way wouldn't drag her deeper into this mess?" He stepped forward, his height and presence making the space between them feel suddenly smaller. "She needs protection, not… whatever it is you offer."
Raviel's smile was thin and cold. "Protection? Or control? You shine so bright, Valerian, but even light can blind."
Valerian's hand tightened on his sword hilt, but he didn't draw it. His voice was even, but the restraint cost him. "I'll blind every threat that comes near her if I must including you."
The tension between them was a tangible thing, pulling Lysa into its orbit. She felt the weight of both their gazes on her, like she was the battlefield neither would yield.
She took a step back, heart pounding. The mark on her skin still burned faintly, a reminder that the hunter was out there and that this war, between shadow and light, was just beginning.
The cold was settling into her bones now, but it wasn't just from the hunter's lingering frost. It was the way Raviel's and Valerian's words had cut through the clearing, sharp enough to wound without a blade.
Two men. Two promises. Both sworn in their own way to keep her safe yet she felt like neither was speaking for her, only about her.
Raviel's voice still lingered in her mind, a velvet threat: There are ways to make a hunter regret breathing. It was tempting, dangerously so. He spoke as if the darkness was a tool, not a curse.
Valerian's steady tone should have comforted her, but there was a tightness to it, a command that made her bristle. She needs protection. As though she were a fragile thing, meant to be hidden away, instead of… whatever she was becoming.
Her fingers brushed the mark beneath her skin, heat pulsing against her palm. Power. Choice. Neither of them seemed to realize she might wield both.
The forest was still. Too still. Somewhere out there, the hunter was watching ...waiting. But here, in this tense silence, Lysa understood something with sudden clarity.
If she wasn't careful, the real danger might not come from the one stalking her in the shadows…
…it might come from the war brewing at her side.
Valerian finally broke the silence, his voice clipped. "We can't stay here. If the hunter found us once, they'll find us again. We move—now."
Raviel tilted his head, the faintest smirk touching his lips. "Run, then. See if that works. But you can't outrun someone who already knows your scent."
Lysa's eyes flicked between them. "Enough," she said, sharper than she'd intended. Both men looked at her, surprise breaking their focus on each other.
"I'm not leaving just because you say so," she told Valerian, then turned to Raviel. "And I'm not walking into darkness blind because you enjoy the thrill."
The smirk faded from Raviel's lips, replaced by a look she couldn't read. Valerian's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue.
For a long moment, none of them moved. The wind carried the faint creak of branches, the whisper of distant water, but no threat made itself known.
Finally, Raviel spoke again, softer. "Then choose your path, Lysa Dravara. But know that once you do, there's no going back."
The mark on her skin throbbed, as if in agreement. And though her mouth went dry, she met his gaze without flinching. "I already did."
The look that passed between Raviel and Valerian then was wordless but heavy with the knowledge that whatever came next, neither of them would give her up easily.
They left the clearing at dusk, the last bruised colors of daylight sinking into the horizon. The forest path wound ahead in narrow, uneven stretches, forcing them close.
Valerian led, every step measured, eyes scanning the dimming woods. His hand never strayed far from his sword. Behind him, Lysa kept her pace steady, the weight of her cloak and the thrum of the mark a constant reminder of what she carried.
Raviel stayed at the rear, moving with unhurried grace, as though the night itself made way for him. Now and then she felt his gaze, a silent question she refused to answer.
The air cooled quickly, shadows thickening until the trees became little more than black pillars in the dark. A thin fog began to curl along the ground, blurring the path ahead.
Somewhere beyond sight, the softest crunch of leaves broke the rhythm of their steps. Lysa froze.
Valerian's head turned sharply, hand gripping his sword. "Stay behind me," he said, his voice quiet but firm.
Raviel chuckled low in the dark. "If they're following us, they've been doing it since we left. Isn't that right, little shadow?"
Silence answered him, thick and watchful.
Unseen in the tree line, the hunter crouched low, their breathing controlled, eyes fixed on the mark beneath Lysa's cloak. Each step she took only deepened their hunger for the power, for the satisfaction of taking it back piece by piece.
They did not rush. The hunt was only beginning.
The fog thickened as they walked, swallowing the shapes of the trees until the path was nothing but a ribbon of pale earth beneath their feet.
Lysa's ears strained for every sound, a branch shifting overhead, the distant hoot of an owl, the faint scrape of something moving where it shouldn't. Each time she glanced behind, there was only the forest. Only shadows.
Valerian pressed on with a soldier's discipline, but the stiffness in his shoulders betrayed him. He was listening too.
Raviel seemed almost amused by the heaviness in the air, his voice cutting through the quiet. "You feel it, don't you? The way they watch. The way they wait."
Valerian shot him a look over his shoulder. "And you're enjoying it."
"I enjoy the truth," Raviel said simply, falling back into silence.
They made camp in a shallow hollow between two moss-covered stones. The fire was small, its light barely reaching the edges of the clearing. Lysa kept her cloak wrapped tight, but the mark still pulsed against her skin, in rhythm with the beating of her heart.
Somewhere beyond the firelight, unseen eyes blinked once… and did not close again.
The fire had burned low, glowing embers casting restless shadows along the stones. Lysa lay on her side beneath her cloak, her eyes half-closed, but sleep wouldn't come.
Every rustle in the trees jolted her awake again.
Valerian was keeping watch, seated near the fire with his back straight, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Raviel lay stretched out on the far side of the flames, eyes closed but she suspected he was only pretending.
Somewhere beyond the clearing, a branch snapped.
Valerian's head turned sharply. "Stay here," he said, rising silently and slipping into the trees.
Minutes passed. The wind stirred, carrying with it a faint scent, something metallic, sharp, and wrong.
When Valerian returned, his face was grim. "Nothing," he said, but his eyes flicked toward the darkness beyond camp.
It wasn't until dawn that Lysa noticed what was missing.
The pendant she wore, the one she had carried since before she could remember... was gone. Not dropped. Not lost. Taken.
Raviel's gaze lingered on her as she searched her cloak, her bag, the ground around her. "And so," he murmured, "the little shadow learns to play."
Somewhere in the forest, the hunter turned the pendant over in their gloved palm, the faint gleam of its metal catching in the morning light.
They didn't need to kill her yet. Not when fear could do the work for them.
---
The morning light was thin and cold, filtering through the bare branches above. They moved quickly, boots crunching over frost-stiff leaves, each step carrying them deeper into the forest.
Lysa kept her head down, eyes on the path, but her thoughts circled endlessly around the missing pendant. It had been hers for as long as she could remember, a constant weight against her collarbone, a comfort she hadn't realized she relied on until it was gone.
She told herself the hunter had taken it. She told herself neither Raviel nor Valerian could have touched it without her waking.
But doubt has sharp teeth.
Raviel walked ahead of her now, his posture easy, his cloak flowing with each step. He hadn't asked about the pendant, hadn't even looked surprised when she'd noticed it missing.
Valerian had asked, but too quickly, his eyes scanning her face in a way that made her feel studied rather than comforted.
The silence between them pressed in. Even the forest seemed to hold its breath.
Finally, she said, "One of you saw something last night."
Neither man slowed.
"Someone was close enough to touch me," she went on, voice sharper. "You're both too skilled to have missed that."
Raviel glanced over his shoulder, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Careful, Lysa. Accusations weigh more than truth when spoken without proof."
Valerian said nothing, but his jaw worked as though holding back words he didn't want her to hear.
The mark beneath her skin pulsed once, hot against the cold air. Somewhere, she thought she heard movement far behind them not loud enough to be certain.
And she realized with sudden clarity: this was exactly what the hunter wanted.
By midday, the sun was a pale disc behind drifting clouds, the light offering no warmth. The path narrowed again, forcing them into a single file.
Raviel moved ahead this time, his strides long and unhurried. Valerian took the rear, his gaze sweeping the trees with the discipline of a man who trusted nothing. Lysa walked between them, feeling like the rope in a tug-of-war neither man admitted was happening.
Her fingers kept brushing her collarbone, searching for a weight that wasn't there. The absence of the pendant felt like an open wound.
No one spoke for hours.
The forest was alive with faint noises, the skitter of something small in the undergrowth, the snap of twigs under the weight of snow, the distant caw of a crow but nothing near enough to be seen. It was worse that way.
More than once she thought she caught a flicker of movement in her peripheral vision, but when she turned her head there was only stillness.
The hunter wasn't chasing them. They were herding them.
When the ground dipped into a shallow gully, Raviel stopped abruptly, one hand lifted in warning. Lysa froze. Valerian's boots crunched to a halt behind her.
In the hush, she heard it, faint but steady Footsteps. Several of them. Not following… ahead.
Raviel's smile was slow and cold. "Looks like our little shadow has friends."
Valerian's sword was already half-drawn. "Not friends."
Lysa's pulse hammered in her ears. Whoever was out there, the hunter had just changed the game.
The crunch of footsteps quickened, echoing through the gully like a warning. From the trees ahead, figures emerged, twisted shapes clad in ragged armor, eyes glinting with malice.
Raviel's hand flashed, a dark energy rippling from his fingertips, crackling in the cold air. Valerian drew his sword fully, stance firm and ready.
Lysa's breath caught. These weren't the hunter's allies, but mercenaries, hired blades sent to capture or kill anyone marked by the Obsidian Covenant.
"They know who you are," Valerian said grimly, voice low. "And they want the price on your head."
Raviel's smile was sharp as a blade. "Then let's give them a show they won't forget."
The first attacker lunged, claws aimed for Lysa's throat but Raviel intercepted, twisting shadow around his arms like living armor. Valerian moved like lightning, parrying blows and cutting through the ranks with precise strikes.
Lysa stayed back, heart pounding, feeling the heat of the pact pulse stronger than ever beneath her skin. She could feel the power calling to her, waiting for release.
But she hesitated.
The battle was chaos, metal clashing, dark magic sparking, cries and grunts filling the cold air. Raviel and Valerian fought side by side, a brutal, uneasy harmony born of necessity rather than trust.
And all the while, from the forest's edge, the hunter watched. Silent. Patient. Calculating.
The first attacker barreled toward her, eyes blazing with cruelty. Time seemed to slow as Lysa's senses sharpened, the cold biting air, the clash of steel, the pounding of her heart.
A surge of heat exploded beneath her skin, the mark on her palm glowing fiercely. The power she had feared was no longer a whisper... it roared to life.
Instinct took over. She stretched out her hand, and the air before her shimmered and twisted, a dark veil rippling like smoke.
The attacker froze, eyes wide with terror, as shadows coiled around him, binding him in place. His struggles faltered, then ceased entirely, the darkness swallowing his screams.
A gasp escaped Raviel's lips... part warning, part approval. Valerian's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, his focus razor-sharp on the remaining foes.
Lysa's breath came hard, the thrill of power rushing through her veins. She was no longer just a pawn in this game, she was a force.
The battle raged on, but in that moment, something inside her shifted. The pact was not just a curse, it was her weapon.
Raviel's eyes flickered with a new light, a mixture of surprise and something darker, like a predator recognizing a rival's strength. He stepped closer to Lysa, his voice low and almost reverent. "Impressive. You're learning faster than I expected."
Valerian's gaze, however, hardened. His stance tightened, muscles coiling as if preparing for a fight ...but not with their attackers. His eyes never left Lysa. "Power without control is a dangerous thing. You could lose yourself to it."
Lysa met his gaze, fierce and unwavering. "I'm not lost. I'm just beginning."
For a long moment, the three of them stood amid the fading echoes of battle, a fragile truce shaped by survival and shifting alliances.
Raviel's smile was slow, dangerous. "This changes everything."
Valerian didn't reply, but his silence spoke volumes.
In the quiet aftermath, the unspoken war between them simmered, now with Lysa's awakening power at its center.
---
The forest settled into a heavy silence as the last echoes of battle faded. Lysa sank to the ground, chest heaving, her hands trembling not from exhaustion, but from the raw, wild surge of power still thrumming beneath her skin.
She stared at her palm, where the mark glowed faintly, a steady pulse like a heartbeat. The darkness she had feared was no longer a shadow lurking at the edge of her soul. It was something alive inside her... fiery, fierce, and demanding.
Fear tangled with exhilaration. Could she truly control this force? Or would it consume everything she was?
Images flashed through her mind, the boundless freedom Raviel had promised, the protective strength Valerian offered, and the solitary path she had long walked before either man had entered her life.
For the first time, she understood that power was more than magic or pact. It was choice. The choice to be broken or to break free.
Lysa closed her eyes, drawing a shaky breath. Whatever the future held, she knew one thing with certainty: she would never be the same again.
Lysa sat beneath the skeletal branches, the cold earth grounding her as her mind raced. The power pulsing within her was no longer a distant threat. it was a living thing, wild and unpredictable, awakening with every beat of her heart.
She felt it like a tide rising, sometimes gentle, sometimes crashing, threatening to drown the girl she had been. But beneath the fear was something else: a fierce ember of determination.
I am more than this mark, she told herself, the words a whispered vow in the stillness. I am more than the pact, more than their promises and threats.
Memories of her past flickered, times when she had been overlooked, dismissed, bound by rules she never chose. Now, the weight of power was hers to wield, but it came with a question that lingered like a shadow.
Who do I want to become?
The faces of Raviel and Valerian surfaced in her thoughts, two paths twisting around her like branches in a storm. One promised freedom laced with danger; the other, protection shadowed by control.
But Lysa knew the answer lay not with either of them, but within herself. This was her story, her power, her choice.
She clenched her fists, feeling the warmth of the mark steadying beneath her skin. The journey ahead was unknown and perilous, but for the first time in a long time, she felt ready.
Lysa rose slowly, the cold forest floor leaving a chill on her skin but unable to freeze the fire kindling deep within her. She felt different, sharper, more awake, as if the power she had released had peeled back the veil that had long dulled her senses. The uncertainty that had once clouded her mind was now tempered by a fierce clarity.
She traced the faint glow of the mark on her palm, its warmth pulsing, steady and alive. No longer a curse, it was a part of her.. something she could shape and command.
Lysa squared her shoulders and took a step forward, each footfall deliberate, a silent vow echoing through the quiet woods.
I am the master of my fate.
The forest seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see what she would do next.