The Shadowfen spat them out at dawn.
Kaelen squinted against the light, half convinced he'd never see the sun again. Behind them, the swamp churned and shifted, closing paths like a living thing that wanted no witnesses of its heart. His boots reeked of mud, his hands still trembled with the memory of fire, but the air here was clean—thin pine and frost instead of rot.
Lyra stood ahead, her silver hair a tangled halo, her gaze scanning the ridgeline. Her exhaustion was hidden well, but Kaelen had learned to read her silences. Even she had barely survived the fen.
"Where to now?" he asked, voice rough.
"To the Spine," she said, pointing to the jagged peaks rising in the distance. "The mountains will shield us. And if luck favors us, allies dwell there still."
Kaelen snorted. "Luck hasn't favored us yet."
Lyra didn't smile. "Then we make our own."
They hadn't gone three miles before Kaelen's unease returned. The trees were too still. Birds absent. Even the wind had fled.
He slowed, hand brushing his sword. "Something's wrong."
Lyra's hand flared with a faint spark of flame. She nodded. "We're being hunted."
The words had barely left her lips before the first arrow struck.
It hissed past Kaelen's ear, burying itself deep into the bark of a tree. Another followed, aimed for his chest—he deflected it with a desperate swing of his blade, the steel vibrating with impact.
"Move!" Lyra shouted.
They bolted into the trees. Arrows rained, thudding into earth and bark around them. Shadows moved in the undergrowth—soldiers, armored and fast, cutting off escape.
Kaelen cursed. "Verrick."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "And he's not alone."
The trap closed swiftly. Soldiers drove them toward a clearing where the trees thinned into stone. Kaelen and Lyra skidded to a halt, backs to a jagged wall of rock.
Verrick emerged from the ranks, his dark armor slick with dew, his axe gleaming like a shard of night. His scar twisted as he smiled.
"You've run far, oathbreaker. But even wolves tire."
Kaelen tightened his grip on his sword, fire stirring in his chest. "Funny. I thought hunters needed skill, not numbers."
Verrick's eyes glinted. "A hunter needs only patience. And bait."
From the soldiers behind him, a figure stepped forward—draped in velvet and steel, golden hair gleaming in the pale light.
Lady Serenya Duskbane.
Kaelen froze. The last time he'd seen her, she had spat at his boots as the crown was declared stolen. Now she looked radiant, powerful… and cold.
"Serenya," he breathed.
Her emerald eyes swept over him, unreadable, before settling on Lyra. Her lips curled into a smile sharp as glass. "So it's true. The knight who once swore fealty to me now kneels beside a traitor queen."
Lyra bristled, flame flickering in her palm. "Careful, human. Your tongue drips venom you cannot swallow back."
Serenya ignored her, eyes fixed on Kaelen. "Come home. This… exile isn't you. Verrick can forgive. The crown can forgive. But only if you leave her now."
Kaelen's pulse thundered. For a heartbeat, the temptation cut through him. To return, to wash the mud and shadows from his soul, to be free of Lyra's fire and prophecy. Serenya's words struck deep because they offered safety.
Lyra's voice sliced through the haze. "You think he'd crawl back into your leash after you sold him out? He's not yours to claim."
The air between them thickened—two women, opposite as sun and moon, staring across the battlefield at one man caught in the middle.
Verrick stepped forward, raising his axe. "Choose, knight. Bow now, or fall."
Kaelen's fire surged, veins glowing faintly, and he realized every eye was on him. Soldiers tense, Serenya expectant, Verrick ready, Lyra defiant.
The choice would define him.
He met Serenya's gaze, steady. "I don't crawl."
Then he turned, planting himself at Lyra's side, sword raised. "If you want me, Verrick—you'll bleed for it."
Lyra's lips curved into a rare, fierce smile.
Verrick roared, soldiers charged, and the clearing erupted in chaos.
Kaelen fought like a man possessed. Every strike of his blade was shadowed by fire, arcs of light that seared through armor. The soldiers faltered, some consumed outright, others too terrified to advance.
But fire burned him as much as them. Every release left his chest hollow, every blaze threatened to spill beyond his control.
Lyra moved beside him, her flames weaving with his, a deadly dance of steel and sorcery. Yet even as they fought back-to-back, Serenya's eyes never left him.
When the last soldier fell smoldering, Verrick himself charged. His axe came down like thunder, Kaelen's sword barely catching the weight. Sparks flew, metal screamed.
"You've chosen your grave!" Verrick snarled.
Kaelen gritted his teeth, pushing back, flame licking along his blade. "No. I've chosen my fight."
With a final surge, he drove Verrick back, their clash echoing through the trees.
But before he could press the advantage, Serenya raised her hand. Her voice rang out, commanding. "Enough!"
The soldiers stilled. Verrick growled but obeyed.
Serenya's gaze pinned Kaelen. "You can defy me, Kaelen. You can burn beside her. But know this—every step you take with her damns you. When the crown consumes you, I will not weep."
Her emerald eyes softened, just for a heartbeat. "And gods help me, I might even still love you."
Then she turned, her cloak sweeping like wings, and the hunters withdrew into the trees.
Leaving Kaelen shaken, Lyra silent, and the fire between them burning hotter than ever.