The night pressed heavy, the forest whispering with restless leaves. Smoke still lingered from the earlier battle, clinging to Elena's lungs with every breath. They had walked in silence since leaving the scorched clearing, Damian leading with torchlight, Elena trailing behind, her shadows curling close as though ashamed.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
"Say something," Damian finally muttered, his voice rough.
Elena looked up. The firelight carved his face in sharp lines, his jaw tight, his eyes shadowed. She almost told him she was fine, but the lie caught in her throat. Fine didn't explain the whispering in her veins. Fine didn't explain how close she'd come to listening to the silver-eyed man.
"I don't know what to say," she whispered.
His hand tightened on the torch. "Then tell me what you're thinking."
She hesitated, her voice low. "What if he's right? What if the shadows aren't chains, but… me? What if fighting them is what breaks me?"
The torch crackled between them. Damian stopped, turning toward her fully. His firelight caught in her hair, in her trembling shadows. "Then I'll keep fighting until you figure it out. But don't ever think I'll let them take you."
His words struck hard, steady as the fire in his veins. Yet part of her couldn't help but wonder if even Damian's flames could hold back what lived inside her.
They reached the riverbank by dawn, its waters swollen and rushing, mist rising in pale tendrils. The ruins of an old stone bridge jutted out like broken teeth. Damian set down the torch, crouching to touch the water.
"They'll follow," he murmured. "We need to cross before they find us again."
Elena wrapped her arms around herself. Her shadows recoiled at the sight of the water, restless and uneasy. "The river doesn't want me."
He looked back at her, brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"
"The current…" she shivered. "It knows what I carry. It wants to wash me away."
For a moment, Damian's face softened. He stood, stepping close, the warmth of his fire chasing back the river's chill. "Then it'll have to take both of us. Because I'm not letting go."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe she wasn't as cursed as the whispers claimed. But before she could answer, the air shifted.
The forest fell unnaturally quiet.
Figures emerged from the mist, their cloaks dark, their silver eyes gleaming even in the dim morning light. Five of them, moving in perfect silence, their presence like a blade pressed to the back of her neck.
Damian drew his sword, fire flaring along its edge. "Stay behind me."
But Elena's shadows surged forward before she could stop them, twisting protectively, answering the silver eyes with a hunger that chilled her.
One of the cultists stepped forward, lowering his hood. He was younger than the others, his face pale but handsome, lips curved in a strange smile. "Our queen runs, but the crown follows."
Elena's stomach dropped. "I told you I'm not your queen."
The young man tilted his head. "Not yet. But the blood remembers. The throne remembers. Even now, it calls."
At his words, Elena's wrist burned, the fire oath colliding violently with her shadows. Pain tore through her, and she staggered. Damian caught her, snarling at the man. "Get away from her."
The man ignored him, eyes fixed on Elena. "One day soon, you'll stop fighting. And when you do, we'll be waiting."
The cultists vanished into the mist as silently as they had come, leaving only the echo of their words behind. Elena clutched Damian's arm, her whole body trembling.
"Why do they keep calling me that?" she whispered. "Queen. Throne. What does it mean?"
Damian sheathed his blade, though the fire didn't leave his eyes. "It means they'll do anything to break you. But you're not theirs, Elena. Don't let them tell you otherwise."
She nodded, but deep down, fear coiled like a knot in her stomach. Because part of her had felt it that pull, that crown of shadows waiting just out of reach.
And part of her wasn't sure she could keep saying no.
They camped in the ruins of an old watchtower that night. Damian built a fire, its light flickering against the broken stone walls, chasing shadows into corners. Elena sat across from him, knees pulled to her chest, staring at the flames.
"I keep hearing them," she admitted softly. "Even when they're not here. Their voices. They whisper when I close my eyes."
Damian glanced up from the fire, his expression unreadable. "What do they say?"
Her voice trembled. "That the world has forgotten me. That fire will burn me out. That shadows are all I'll have left."
For a long moment, Damian didn't answer. Then he rose, walked around the fire, and crouched in front of her. His hand cupped her cheek, his touch grounding. "Do you believe them?"
She swallowed hard. "Sometimes."
His thumb brushed her skin, his gaze burning into hers. "Then let me tell you something true. You're not forgotten. Not while I'm breathing."
Her chest ached, a dangerous heat rising beneath her ribs. She wanted to pull away. She wanted to lean in. Instead, she whispered, "Why do you care so much?"
His jaw tightened. "Because I can't lose you. Not to them. Not to anyone."
The fire between them flickered, shadows trembling as if they too held their breath.
Elena lay awake long after Damian slept, staring at the ruined ceiling where the stars peeked through. The whispers pressed at her mind, soft, insistent.
You don't belong to fire. You belong to us. You were born for more.
Her wrist burned where the fire oath glowed faintly, Damian's warmth pulsing through it. She clutched it to her chest, torn between two chains, two truths, two impossible futures.
And for the first time, she let herself wonder what if they were right? What if the crown was hers, whether she wanted it or not?
The thought terrified her.
But even more terrifying… was how much she wanted to know.