The morning broke cold and gray, as though the sun itself feared to pierce the veil that hung over Aeloria. In the village square, soldiers clad in the king's crimson marched with heavy boots, their spears clattering in unison. At their head rode Captain Dareth, grim-faced, his orders echoing like hammer strikes.
"By decree of King Aldric, all healers are to be questioned. All houses searched. Any who resist will be taken before the throne."
Fear rippled through the villagers. Mothers clutched children closer, men bowed their heads, and old healers trembled in silence. Everyone knew the decree was not about healers—it was about one. The whispers of a woman whose hands burned with golden fire had already spread faster than flame on dry wood.
Inside her cottage, Isolde pressed her back against the wall, her breath shallow. She had heard the clamor long before the soldiers reached the square. Her satchel was packed, her herbs abandoned. She could not stay. Not now.
Kael paced the narrow room, armor half-fastened, sword at his side. His jaw was tight, his pale eyes colder than frost. "They're not here to question," he said. "Varrow has already poisoned the court. If they find you, they will drag you in chains."
"I should go alone," Isolde whispered, clutching the strap of her satchel. "If you're caught with me—"
He turned sharply, his voice cutting through her fear. "Do you think I will let you walk into their noose? Alone?"
Her throat tightened. She wanted to protest, but his resolve was iron, unshakable. He had chosen, and his choice bound them both.
A sudden knock rattled the door. "Open in the name of the king!"
Isolde froze. Kael's hand went to his sword. Another voice followed, lower, mocking. "We know you're inside, witch."
The soldiers. They had come faster than expected.
Kael met her gaze, silent but urgent. The back way.
They slipped out the rear door, boots crunching over frost, the forest looming like a wall of shadows beyond the fields. Shouts erupted as soldiers forced their way into the cottage, but by then Kael had already pulled her into the trees.
Branches clawed at them as they ran. The forest closed in, dark and endless, every rustle of leaves a threat. But the true danger was not the woods. It was the hunt.
Behind them, horns sounded—sharp, cruel, and relentless.
The king's hounds had been loosed.