The Forest of Veils thinned as they walked, but the silence that followed the trial was heavier than the mist had ever been. Elena kept her arms wrapped around herself, as though holding her own skin together. Every step replayed the moment when the shadows had curled back into her body not as monsters, not as enemies, but as something she owned.
The thrill still lingered. And that terrified her more than the trial itself.
Damian strode beside her, his fire a faint glow at his wrist. He hadn't spoken since the clearing, though his watchful gaze stayed fixed on her, as if making sure the forest hadn't stolen part of her away. Damian strode beside her, his fire a faint glow at his wrist. He hadn't spoken since the clearing, though his watchful gaze stayed fixed on her, as if making sure the forest hadn't stolen part of her away.
Finally, Elena broke the silence. "What happens now?"
"We head east until the trees break," he said. "Beyond the forest is a pass that leads toward the Vale of Cinders. It's safer there. For now."
"For now," she echoed bitterly.
He glanced at her, catching the edge in her voice. "You survived the Trial, Elena. That isn't nothing."
"I didn't just survive," she snapped, stopping in her tracks. "The shadows listened to me. They bent to me. Do you understand what that means?"
His expression tightened. "It means they'll fight harder to claim you."
She shook her head. "No. It means I'm not just their prey. I'm their queen."
The words slipped out before she could stop them. A shiver rippled down her spine half horror, half exhilaration.
Damian's eyes burned, his jaw hardening. "Be careful with what you call yourself. Power doesn't care what name you give it. It only demands its price."
Her hands trembled. He was right, but she hated him for being right.
By nightfall, the trees gave way to a narrow glade. A stream cut through the clearing, its water dark under the moonlight. They stopped there, too tired to push forward. Damian knelt by the stream, washing the dirt from his hands. Fire glowed faintly against the water's surface, shimmering gold.
Elena sat a few feet away, staring at her reflection. The moon cast her face pale and strange. Her eyes seemed darker, her shadow deeper, as though the Trial had carved something new into her.
"Do you ever regret it?" she asked suddenly.
Damian didn't look up. "Regret what?"
"The fire oath. Binding yourself."
For a long moment he said nothing. Then, softly, "Every night. And every morning, I choose it again."
Her chest tightened. "Why?"
Finally he looked at her, firelight flickering in his eyes. "Because you're alive. And as long as you breathe, the oath is worth it."
The honesty in his voice nearly broke her. She turned away quickly, afraid he'd see the way her heart trembled.
Later, when the fire crackled low and the night pressed close, Elena dreamed again.
She was standing in a ruined throne room, shadows bowing before her like kneeling soldiers. A crown of darkness rested on her brow, heavy but magnificent. And beside her Damian knelt, fire chained around his wrists, his head bowed not in loyalty, but in defeat.
She woke with a start, breath sharp, sweat beading her skin. The fire had burned down to embers. Damian lay across from her, asleep at last, his face softened by exhaustion. For the first time she noticed the scar running along his collarbone, half-hidden beneath his shirt, as though his fire had burned him once and never healed.
She sat there, watching him, torn between the urge to touch and the fear of what that touch might awaken.
At dawn, the forest spat them out. The trees ended abruptly, as if cut by a blade, giving way to rocky cliffs and an open sky streaked with red and gold. Far below, the Vale of Cinders stretched wide, dotted with jagged peaks and rivers of ash.
The sight stole her breath. It was both beautiful and desolate, like a world that had burned and refused to forget.
But before she could marvel, Damian stiffened. His hand went to his blade.
Elena followed his gaze and froze.
Figures waited at the cliff's edge. Cloaked in gray, their faces hidden, their presence heavy as storm clouds. There were five of them, each carrying markings that shimmered faintly like veins of shadow.
The leader stepped forward, lowering his hood. His eyes glowed silver, unnatural and cold. "Daughter of shadow," he said, his voice smooth, almost reverent. "We've been waiting."
Elena's heart thundered. She took a step back, but Damian moved in front of her, fire sparking along his arm. "Stay behind me," he muttered.
The silver-eyed man smiled faintly. "Still chained to fire, Damian? Still playing protector? You should know by now shadow always wins."
Damian's jaw clenched. "Not while I burn."
The man's gaze shifted to Elena. "The Trial marked you. You've tasted what you are. Do you really want to waste that power hiding behind him?"
Elena's breath caught. The man's words slipped into her like poison, echoing her own thoughts from the clearing. Queen of shadows.
She shook her head violently, clutching her wrist where the oath pulsed hot. "No. You don't know me."
"Oh, but we do," the man murmured. "You are what we've been waiting for. And whether you accept it or not, the blood oath will find you."
The ground shuddered beneath her feet. The silver in his eyes flared, and suddenly the air split with the scent of iron. Blood welled up from the earth itself, seeping through the cracks like a river. It coiled toward her, alive, reaching.
Elena staggered back with a cry. Shadows burst from her in defense, clashing with the bloodlike mist.
Damian roared, fire exploding around him, forming a barrier that burned the blood into steam. "Run!"
But Elena didn't move. Her feet rooted to the ground, her heart hammering. Because in that moment, staring at the silver-eyed stranger, she realized something horrifying.
The blood was calling to her.
And part of her wanted to answer.