The hounds found their trail by dawn.
Kaelen woke to the sound of distant howls, low and guttural, echoing through the mist-choked forest. His hand went instantly to his sword.
"They've loosed the bloodhounds," he muttered.
Lyra was already awake, crouched by a dying fire, her silver eyes reflecting the dim light like a predator's. She didn't look surprised. "Verrick won't rest until you're dragged back in chains. He'll follow you into the grave if he must."
"He'll try," Kaelen said grimly, standing and tightening the straps of his armor.
The air smelled of damp moss and iron. The forest seemed to lean closer around them, its crooked trees draped in fog, hiding the paths ahead. Somewhere beyond that veil, the bloodhounds stalked closer—monstrous beasts bred with fae magic to hunt not by scent alone, but by the pulse of fear in a man's heart.
Lyra rose, brushing ash from her palms. "We can't outrun them forever. We'll have to cross the Shadowfen before nightfall."
Kaelen frowned. "The swamp? That's suicide."
Her lips curved slightly. "So is being torn apart by hounds. Choose your death."
Before Kaelen could reply, the howls grew louder, closer. His gut twisted—he had faced wyverns, trolls, and enemy armies, but something about the sound of those hounds unnerved him. It was too deliberate, too certain, as though they already knew where he stood.
Lyra caught his hesitation. "They're tracking you, not me."
"What?"
Her eyes flicked to his chest. "The crown's fire lingers in you. It burns bright enough for them to see. That's what draws them."
Kaelen stiffened. "So you knew this would happen."
"I suspected," she admitted. "You are… untested. The crown's spark is volatile. It's like walking with a torch in a room of shadows—every predator will see you first."
Kaelen cursed under his breath. He wanted to believe it was lies, another fae trick. But deep inside, he knew she was right. He could still feel it—the heat beneath his ribs, the faint glow that didn't belong to him.
The howls grew into snarls. Branches snapped. Leaves trembled.
"They've found us," Kaelen hissed.
Lyra's voice dropped to a whisper, calm even in the face of death. "Then we fight."
---
The beasts emerged from the mist like nightmares made flesh. Twice the size of wolves, their fur shimmered black and silver, their eyes glowing with the red fire of blood-magic. Chains of rune-marked steel dangled from their necks, broken remnants of the handlers who had unleashed them. Their jaws dripped with venom, fangs long enough to pierce steel.
There were three. And they were circling.
Kaelen drew his blade, its steel catching the morning light. His stance was steady, though his heart pounded in his chest.
The first hound lunged, fast as lightning. Kaelen swung, steel meeting fang. The impact rattled his bones, but his strike cut deep, drawing black blood that sizzled as it hit the ground.
The hound only grew angrier.
Another came from behind. Lyra raised her hands, and fire exploded from her palms. The forest lit with searing orange as a column of flame roared into the beast, hurling it against a tree with a bone-cracking thud. The air stank of scorched fur and sulfur.
Kaelen spared her a glance, startled by the sheer force she wielded. "You call that exile?"
Lyra's expression was unreadable. "And you call that fighting?"
The third hound darted low, jaws snapping at Kaelen's leg. Pain tore through him as fangs grazed his armor, nearly crushing his shin. He roared and drove his sword down in a brutal arc, splitting the beast's skull with a sickening crunch.
The first hound lunged again. Lyra shouted something in the fae tongue, and fire spiraled into a whip, wrapping around its throat. She yanked, dragging it off balance, and Kaelen finished it with a clean thrust through the heart.
The last hound staggered to its feet, blood hissing from its burns. Its red eyes fixed on Kaelen, fury incarnate. With a guttural snarl, it leapt.
Kaelen braced—then the heat in his chest surged, wild and uncontrollable. His vision blurred.
The hound hit him square, jaws snapping inches from his throat. Instinct took over. His free hand burst with fire—not Lyra's magic, but his own. The crown's fire. It erupted outward, engulfing the beast in a storm of flame.
The hound shrieked, body convulsing as fire consumed it from the inside out. In moments, only ash remained.
Silence fell. The forest reeked of smoke and blood.
Kaelen stared at his hand, still glowing faintly with embers. His breath came ragged, his heart racing. "What… what did I just do?"
Lyra's silver eyes glowed, not with surprise but with grim recognition. "The crown's spark answered you. You're no longer merely human, Kaelen. You're becoming something else."
He staggered back, shaking his head. "No. I won't be cursed by fae fire. I won't."
"You don't have a choice," Lyra said softly. "The fire chose you. The more you resist, the more it will consume you."
Her voice held no triumph, only a weary sorrow.
Kaelen sheathed his sword with trembling hands, though his mind raced. The crown's fire, the prophecy, the pursuit—it was all a storm dragging him deeper into a fate he hadn't asked for.
He turned toward the horizon. The sun had risen, pale and weak, barely piercing the mist. Beyond it stretched the Shadowfen, a wasteland of swamp and fog.
Lyra followed his gaze. "We'll have to enter before night. The hounds were only the beginning. Verrick will send worse next."
Kaelen's jaw tightened. He hated her. He needed her. He feared her. And gods help him, he trusted her more than anyone else left alive.
"Then lead the way," he said, though his voice carried no hope.
They set off toward the marshland, two fugitives bound by fire and shadow, their path uncertain and their enemies countless.
But in the quiet between their footsteps, Kaelen felt the faint thrum of power beneath his skin. It was no longer just survival.
It was the beginning of something far darker.