The forest swallowed him whole.
Kael staggered beneath the towering canopy, his breath ragged, each step a battle against the weight of exhaustion and the gnawing hunger of the curse. The air was thick here, heavy with damp earth and the musk of moss, a stark contrast to the smoke-choked ruin of Halewood he had fled. Sunlight filtered through the branches in fractured shards, painting the world in shadow and fleeting gold.
He pressed a hand to his side, feeling the raw burn beneath his ribs where the curse had flared during his escape. The wound was not flesh but fire, a searing ache that pulsed with every heartbeat. He wanted to collapse, to surrender to the roots and soil, but the thought of Lyra's soldiers pressing into the woods behind him drove him deeper still.
Yet the further Kael walked, the more he realized this was no ordinary woodland.
The trees loomed taller than any he had known, their trunks as broad as watchtowers, their branches twisting into forms that almost resembled grasping fingers. The undergrowth was dense, yet eerily quiet, as though the creatures of the wild had fled or been silenced. The air carried a weight that pressed against his chest, not suffocating but watchful, as if the forest itself were aware of his trespass.
Leave, the curse whispered, echoing strangely in his mind. This place will not suffer us.
He ignored it, stumbling forward, but unease pooled in his gut. His hunter's instincts screamed warning — he was being tracked. Not by soldiers, not by wolves. By something that moved as silently as the shifting wind.
He froze.
Leaves rustled high above. A shadow leapt from branch to branch, too swift to follow with the eye. Kael dropped into a crouch, drawing a knife from his belt with what little strength he had left. His curse stirred eagerly, flames prickling at his fingertips, hungry to ignite.
"Show yourself," he rasped, his voice raw.
The forest answered.
A blur descended, swift as a hawk diving for prey. Kael twisted aside just as an arrow hissed past his face, embedding itself in the bark behind him with a deep, resonant thud. He spun, knife ready, but another arrow followed, grazing his shoulder. Pain flared — hot, sharp, but it snapped him alert.
From the shadows stepped a woman.
She moved with the grace of the wild, her body clad in leathers the color of bark and moss, a longbow in hand strung with a silver thread that gleamed faintly in the dim light. Her hair, dark as raven feathers, cascaded down her back, and her eyes — green as deep forest glades — locked on him with a predator's focus. She nocked another arrow in one fluid motion, the string drawn back, the point fixed between his eyes.
"Leave this place, cursed one," she said, her voice low and commanding. "Ashwood suffers no taint."
Kael's knife trembled in his hand. Not from fear, but from the weakness that dragged at every muscle. He could barely keep himself upright.
"I don't want trouble," he muttered. "I just need… time. Rest."
"Rest?" Her eyes narrowed. "Rest is not for things like you."
The word — things — cut sharper than any blade. He forced his back straight, though it cost him. "I'm not your enemy."
The bowstring drew tighter. Her stance betrayed no hesitation. "You breathe corruption. It seeps from your skin. The forest feels it. I feel it. You should be ash already."
The curse pulsed inside him, reacting to her hostility. Heat licked up his arms, flames threatening to spill. His vision blurred with flickers of fire.
Burn her, it urged. One breath, and she will be nothing but cinders.
"No," Kael hissed, shoving it down. His knife clattered to the ground as he staggered, raising empty hands. "If you're going to kill me… do it. But don't mistake me for what I fight to keep chained."
For a moment, silence hung between them, taut as the bowstring.
Then his knees buckled. The world tilted, his body finally surrendering to exhaustion. He crashed to the ground, vision swimming, his chest heaving. The curse raged, clawing at him, but he no longer had the strength to resist. Fire flared across his veins, spilling through his skin in cracks of glowing ember.
The huntress flinched back, eyes wide, but did not release the arrow. She studied him — the tremor of his hands, the desperation in his breath, the way he clenched his jaw not to scream. Slowly, cautiously, she lowered the bow.
"Damn it," she muttered, slinging it over her shoulder. "Why you, forest?"
Kael barely registered her approach before she knelt at his side, pressing a cool palm against his forehead. Power tingled from her touch, not flame but something older, rooted — the essence of green things and deep earth. The curse recoiled, hissing, and Kael gasped as relief, fleeting and shallow, brushed through him.
"You're dying," she said flatly. "And if the forest wants you gone, I should let it take you."
His lips cracked into a bitter smile. "Then why don't you?"
Her eyes flickered, betraying something unspoken. "Because I don't trust what will rise in your place if I do."
The world darkened at the edges of Kael's vision. He tried to speak, but his body surrendered at last. Darkness took him, heavy and deep, the curse still whispering faintly as though from far away.
When Kael woke, it was to the scent of pine resin and herbs. He blinked, disoriented, finding himself lying on a bed of woven furs inside a crude shelter of wood and hide. His wounds — burns that were not burns — had been bound with strips of cloth smeared in pungent salve. The ache remained, but dulled.
The huntress sat nearby, sharpening a dagger by the firelight. She did not look up as he stirred.
"You're awake," she said simply.
Kael pushed himself onto an elbow, wincing. "Why… why save me?"
Her eyes lifted, piercing him with that same forest-green gaze. "I haven't decided if I saved you. Perhaps I only postponed your death."
He let out a hoarse laugh that turned into a cough. "Comforting."
She sheathed the dagger with a sharp motion. "You carry ruin with you, cursed one. But the forest whispered differently when I laid my hand on you. It told me your flame is not whole. It fights itself. That intrigued me."
"The forest… spoke to you?"
Her expression did not change. "The forest speaks to all who belong to it. You wouldn't understand."
Kael leaned back against the furs, studying her. Her movements were deliberate, efficient, as though every gesture served a purpose. She was no common villager; she was bound to this place, as much a part of Ashwood as the trees themselves.
"What do I call you?" he asked at last.
She hesitated, as though considering whether he deserved the name. "Serenya," she said finally. "And you, Kael of no house, should count the roots fortunate I haven't buried you beneath them."
Kael closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. For the first time in days, perhaps weeks, he felt the faintest flicker of safety. Fragile, uncertain, but real.
And in the dim firelight, as Serenya watched him with wary eyes, the threads of fate tangled tighter.