The first light of dawn crept over Solareth's golden walls, though to Serenya it looked more like a farewell than a blessing. The city that had been her cradle and her crown now turned its back on her. She stood wrapped in her silver cloak at the eastern gate, Kaelen and Lyra close at her sides, while a small contingent of loyal soldiers waited on horseback. They were the only ones who had chosen to follow her—men and women bound more by faith in her than obedience to a throne now ruled by suspicion and whispers.
The streets behind them were quiet. Too quiet. Normally, the dawn hours hummed with merchants preparing stalls, temple bells ringing, and children's laughter echoing from balconies. Now, the silence pressed heavy, broken only by the occasional hiss of a voice carried on the wind.
"Twilight Witch…"
"She bears the cursed mark…"
Serenya kept her chin high, though each word cut deeper than any blade. Malrik's propaganda had taken root swiftly; his hand moved faster than any blade of steel.
Kaelen sensed the tension coiling in her shoulders. He leaned toward her, voice low enough only she could hear. "Let them talk. Their voices will not decide your fate."
Her lips curved into a faint, strained smile. "And yet, voices topple kingdoms."
"Then we give them reason to doubt those voices."
Lyra, mounted beside them, shifted uneasily. Her eyes flicked toward the walls where shadows gathered—citizens watching but unwilling to come closer. "They fear what they don't understand. But they'll remember who protects them when the shadow truly comes."
Serenya tightened her grip on her reins. She only prayed Lyra's words were true.
With a command, the gate creaked open, spilling light across the road beyond. The group rode forward, hooves striking stone with solemn rhythm. Serenya did not look back.
---
The Wounded Land
By midday, the spires of Solareth were swallowed by the horizon, and the world ahead showed its scars.
The borderlands had once been lush with wheat and orchards, dotted with villages that thrived beneath Solareth's light. Now, black veins ran through the soil, and the air held a faint metallic tang, like rust and blood.
Crops drooped as if strangled from within. Flocks of birds circled overhead only to scatter when the group approached, leaving behind silence too unnatural for countryside roads.
They passed a farmhouse where the door hung open. Inside, the hearth was cold, and plates lay shattered on the floor. No signs of struggle—only abandonment, as though the family had fled in haste.
Serenya dismounted, stepping inside. Her boots echoed against the wooden boards. On the wall above the hearth, etched into the plaster, she found it: a crude drawing of a circle, split in half—one side dark, one side bright.
The Mark. Her Mark.
Her throat tightened. "They think… I did this."
Kaelen joined her inside, his presence steady. He ran his gloved hand across the mark, then looked at her. "Or perhaps they saw someone else bearing it."
She frowned. "Someone else?"
"The Herald," Lyra's voice drifted in from the doorway. Her bow was already strung, her eyes scanning the treeline. "There are whispers in the villages—of a man cloaked in shadow who sings to the beasts. He bears a mark too. They say his eyes burn like embers."
Serenya's heart jolted. That description gnawed at her, because the survivor had spoken of the same thing. Worse, she recognized something in it—a sliver of the dreams that had haunted her nights.
---
Shadows on the Road
By evening, the group reached a forested stretch where the canopy choked out the sunset, casting the road in premature darkness. The air grew damp, heavy, suffused with the copper stench of rot. Horses snorted uneasily, their ears twitching.
Kaelen raised a hand, signaling a halt. His blade was already drawn, gleaming faintly in what little light pierced the trees. "Something's wrong. Stay alert."
The first growl came from the left. Then another from the right. Eyes, dozens of them, ignited in the underbrush like embers in a forge.
"Veilspawn," Lyra hissed, drawing an arrow.
They emerged, crawling from the shadows—twisted beasts with skeletal frames, scales like obsidian glass, and jaws dripping black smoke. The soldiers shifted into formation, shields raised, but their fear was palpable.
The first creature lunged. Kaelen met it midair, his blade carving through shadow-flesh. The Seal of Dawn blazed against his chest, lending unnatural speed to his strike. The beast dissolved into ash, but three more surged to replace it.
Serenya lifted her hand, twilight power coiling at her fingertips. A bolt of silver-black light exploded from her palm, striking a beast squarely. It shrieked, staggering back—but it didn't die. Instead, it knelt, bowing its twisted head as if recognizing her.
The battlefield froze.
One of the surviving villagers, who had joined their company for safety, saw the act and screamed. "The Shadow's Bride! She commands them!"
The cry spread like wildfire. Soldiers faltered, their shields wavering. Some stepped back, fear eclipsing loyalty.
Serenya's heart pounded. "No! That's not—"
But before she could explain, another wave of Veilspawn surged forward, this time not attacking the soldiers—but circling Serenya as if protecting her.
Kaelen's fury flared. He slashed through the creatures regardless, his blade singing. "They are monsters! Do not listen to lies!"
Lyra's arrows flew, piercing skulls and scattering shadow. "Stand with the princess!" she shouted, her voice fierce. "Or die like cowards!"
The battle raged until the last creature dissolved, leaving only smoke curling between the trees.
But the damage had been done. Serenya saw it in her soldiers' eyes: doubt.
---
Confessions by Firelight
That night, their campfire crackled weakly against the dark. The soldiers kept their distance, murmuring in low voices.
Serenya sat apart, staring at her hands. Even now, she could feel the echo of the creatures' submission, as if some invisible tether bound her to them.
Kaelen approached, lowering himself beside her. His chest still glowed faintly, the Seal pulsing like a second heartbeat.
"They bowed to me, Kaelen," she whispered. "What if the prophecy isn't about saving the world? What if it's about… binding me to him?"
His jaw tightened. "The prophecy says nothing of surrender. It speaks of choice. Your choice."
She looked at him, eyes shimmering with doubt. "And what if my choice is taken from me?"
He met her gaze, his hand brushing hers with quiet defiance. "Then I'll fight for it. Even against the heavens themselves."
Her breath caught, heat rising in her chest—both from his words and from something deeper, unspoken, dangerous. For a moment, she wanted to believe him.
Lyra appeared then, her steps hesitant. She sat across the fire, shadows flickering across her face. "When the beasts bowed, I saw the soldiers falter. If Malrik learns of this…"
"He'll use it," Serenya finished bitterly. "He'll call me traitor, a puppet of the Veil."
"Then we move faster," Lyra said firmly. "Before his lies root too deeply. We need answers, Serenya. Answers only the Veil itself may hold."
---
The Dream of the Herald
That night, Serenya dreamed.
She stood in the ruins of Solareth's throne room. The golden banners lay in tatters, flames licking the walls. Shadows pooled where light once reigned.
And there—upon her father's throne—sat a figure cloaked in darkness. His face was hidden, but his voice was a melody both beautiful and terrible.
"The light will fail, Serenya," he said, rising to his feet. His eyes glowed like dying stars. "And when it does, you will stand at my side."
Her Mark burned, searing her skin. She clutched her chest, gasping. "I will never—"
"Never?" His chuckle was soft, almost tender. "You feel it already, don't you? The bond between us. The Veil calls you, as it calls me. You are mine, Serenya Ardentis. Not their princess. Not his beloved. Mine."
The dream shattered with his laughter, leaving her trembling in the dark.
When she woke, Kaelen was watching her, concern etched into his face. She didn't speak of the dream. She couldn't.
Because deep down, a part of her feared it was true.