The village wakes to gray dawn. Smoke rises from cooking fires, thin and weary. Kael sits by the remnants of the hall's fire, staring into the embers. His chest still aches where the mark burns, and every beat feels heavier, as though chains tighten around his heart.
Elira rests beside him, her head on his shoulder, her hand locked around his arm. She has not let him go since they entered the village. Even in sleep she clung to him, her grip tightening whenever he shifted.
Now her eyes open. Golden and bright, they meet his instantly. She smiles. "Good morning."
Kael nods. He tries to shift away to stretch his legs, but her hold tightens.
"You promised you would not leave," she whispers.
"I did not promise," he murmurs.
Her smile lingers, but her eyes sharpen. "You will not leave me."
Before Kael can reply, the scarred man from yesterday enters the hall. "The elder will see you now," he says. His tone is clipped, cautious. His eyes linger on Elira before flicking to the knife at her belt.
Kael rises. Elira stands immediately, her hand sliding into his. The man leads them across the village to a hut that leans heavily against time. Its walls are patched with old wood, its roof sagging, but the air inside smells of herbs and parchment.
The elder waits by the fire. His hair is white, his skin like parchment, but his eyes gleam with unsettling clarity. He gestures for Kael to sit.
"You carry a curse," the elder says without greeting.
Kael stiffens. "You know what this is?"
The old man nods. "I have seen the mark before. Long ago, in the northern wars. Men branded with it did not choose their fate. The mark bound them to others… and those others drowned in obsession. Some killed, some wept, some tore their own hearts out rather than let go."
Kael's breath catches. He touches his chest unconsciously. "Why me? Why do I bear it?"
The elder shakes his head. "No one chooses. The gods left it behind as punishment, or perhaps as a game. No one knows." His gaze sharpens. "But you must be careful. This curse will draw hearts to you. They will love you, yes, but in ways that devour. Each one will cling until blood is spilled."
Elira's voice cuts through the silence, soft yet edged. "He does not need your warnings. He has me."
The elder regards her calmly. "And already it begins."
Kael glances at Elira. Her hand is still entwined with his, her smile too calm. He clears his throat. "Is there no cure? No way to remove the mark?"
The elder's expression darkens. "If there is, it lies far from here. In the ruins of Thornhall, where gods once walked. But beware… to seek freedom may only bind you deeper."
Kael lowers his gaze. Thornhall. The word stirs something faint in his mind, like a dream half-remembered.
The elder leans closer. "Tell me, boy… do you remember anything of who you were before the battlefield?"
Kael shakes his head. "Only my name."
"Then perhaps the curse is not all that binds you," the elder murmurs.
The conversation breaks when the thin woman from yesterday enters with a tray of bread and water. She sets it before Kael with a tired smile. "Eat. You need strength."
Kael nods gratefully. "Thank you."
Elira's eyes flick to the woman's hands, then to her smile. Her own lips curve, but the sweetness is venomous.
Kael takes a piece of bread. "You should eat too," he tells Elira gently, offering it to her.
For a moment, she stares at the bread, then at him. Slowly, she takes it from his hand and bites. Her gaze never leaves his face, and her smile softens again.
But when the woman turns to refill Kael's water cup, Elira's free hand slides to her knife.
Kael notices instantly. His hand shoots out, gripping her wrist under the table. He shakes his head slightly.
Her smile does not falter. She lowers her hand, but whispers in his ear, sweet as honey. "Do not let her touch you again."
Kael's heart pounds. He forces a nod, then turns back to the elder. "If the ruins of Thornhall hold answers, how far are they?"
"Far," the elder says. "Across three kingdoms, through war and fire. Few who go there return."
Elira's voice is clear. "Then we will go. Together."
Kael hesitates. He does not yet trust her, yet without her, he feels he would already be dead. The mark burns again, as if urging him forward.
The elder studies them both. "Then your path begins. Pray it does not consume you before the end."
Kael looks at Elira. Her golden eyes shine with devotion, her smile radiant. But her hand still grips his with the strength of a chain.
And in that moment, Kael realizes something terrible.
He is not choosing his path. The mark is choosing it for him.
And Elira will make sure he never escapes.
*****
The road out of the village winds through hollow fields and broken stone walls, the skeletons of a once-thriving land. The sun hangs low, veiled in gray, as Kael walks with Elira at his side. She refuses to release his hand, even as their packs weigh heavy on their shoulders.
Behind them, the village shrinks into silence. Ahead, the horizon stretches empty.
Kael's chest burns with the mark's dull ache. He presses a hand to it, trying to breathe evenly. "The ruins of Thornhall…" he murmurs. "Do you really think they hold answers?"
Elira tilts her head, smiling up at him. "If they free you, I will destroy them. If they bind you tighter, I will protect them. All that matters is you remain mine."
Her words make his stomach twist. He glances away, but before he can reply, movement stirs at the edge of the road.
Figures emerge from the broken walls. Six men, ragged and armed, their eyes glinting with hunger. Bandits.
"Well now," the tallest sneers, his teeth yellowed. "Travelers with packs full of food. Hand them over, and maybe we'll let you walk."
Kael stiffens, instinct pulling him into readiness though he has no weapon but a rusted short blade given by the elder. His grip on the hilt trembles.
Elira steps forward, still holding his hand. Her golden eyes shine bright and unblinking. "You want to take from him?"
The bandits laugh. One raises his axe. "We'll take everything. Including the girl."
Kael's blood runs cold. He draws the blade, his stance clumsy but firm. "Stay back," he warns, though the words sound weak even to him.
The leader snorts. "Look at him shake. Kill the boy first."
The bandits surge forward.
Kael's body reacts before thought. His blade flashes, deflecting a spear thrust, but the shock rattles his arm to the bone. Another strike comes, and he barely sidesteps, breath ragged. Panic floods his chest.
Then the world shifts.
Elira releases his hand at last. She moves like a shadow breaking free of its cage. Her dagger arcs through the air, and the first bandit's throat opens in a spray of crimson.
Kael freezes, the fight draining from him as Elira laughs softly. "Touch him again," she whispers, stepping over the falling body.
The other bandits hesitate, startled.
Kael's grip tightens on his blade. He forces himself forward, parrying another strike. He counters clumsily, his blade cutting shallow across an enemy's arm. It is not skill, but desperation. His heart hammers, fear and fire blending.
Elira is not desperate. She is absolute.
She slashes the second bandit across the face, then drives her knife into his chest, her smile wide and radiant. Blood stains her cheek, but she does not wipe it away. She turns, eyes gleaming, and meets Kael's gaze.
"See? No one can hurt you while I am here."
Another lunges at Kael. Kael blocks, the impact nearly knocking him to the ground. Before the bandit can strike again, Elira tackles him, stabbing again and again, long after he stops moving. Her breaths come quick, her eyes wild, but her smile never fades.
Kael lowers his blade, chest heaving. He looks around. The remaining bandits flee, shouting curses, their courage shattered.
Silence follows. Only the sound of Elira's dagger sliding free, dripping red.
She turns back to Kael, her steps slow, deliberate. Her hands, soaked in blood, reach for him. "You see, Kael? You don't need to fight. I'll do it all for you."
Kael's throat is dry. His blade slips from his fingers, clattering against the stones.
Elira cups his face with bloodied hands, her smile soft and tender now. "You're shaking. Don't be afraid. I'll protect you… always."
Kael tries to look away, but her grip holds him still. The mark on his chest burns fiercely, and in that moment, he cannot tell if it is fear, gratitude, or the curse itself that binds him to her.
Behind them, the dead lie sprawled, crimson staining the dust. Ahead, the road to Thornhall stretches on, darker now than before.
And Kael knows he cannot walk it alone… but he is no longer sure if walking it with Elira will save him, or destroy him.