The forest lay quiet after the Guardian's departure, but the silence was not peace—it was heavy, charged, as though the trees themselves were holding their breath.
Isolde sat on the cold earth, her palms still glowing faintly. She stared at them as if they were no longer her own. The Guardian's words echoed inside her: You cannot run from what you are…
Kael sheathed his sword, his face set in grim resolve. "We can't stay here. The soldiers will regroup. Varrow won't let this go."
She looked up at him, fear flashing in her eyes. "Do you believe it? What the Guardian said?"
His jaw tightened. "Belief doesn't matter. Varrow believes enough to call you a threat. And if there's even a chance the prophecy is true, then he'll stop at nothing to break it before it begins."
The weight of his words pressed on her. She wanted to argue, to insist she was no chosen flame, no savior of kingdoms—but the power that had flared through her veins in the heat of battle told another story.
Kael extended a hand, pulling her to her feet. "Come. We'll move deeper into the Silverwood. There are places even the king's hounds won't tread."
As they slipped away through the trees, far from them, the palace buzzed with a storm of whispers.
---
In the high council chamber, Chancellor Varrow stood before the king's throne, his expression solemn but his eyes sharp.
"My liege, the prince has fled."
The words struck the chamber like lightning. Lords muttered, guards stiffened, and King Aldric paled visibly. "Fled? My son?"
"Not alone," Varrow said smoothly, his voice winding like smoke. "The healer travels with him. She is no mere woman of herbs, but a witch wielding forbidden fire. Already, she corrupts him. Already, his loyalty wavers."
The lords erupted with outrage—some at the accusation, others at the thought of betrayal from within the royal family. Varrow let their voices clash before raising his hand, silencing them like a master conductor stilling a symphony.
"My king," he continued, bowing his head, "if Kael remains free with her, the people will see him as a hero. They will follow him, not you. And should the prophecy prove true…" His lips curled faintly. "…the throne itself may fall."
A tremor passed through the council. Even Aldric, weary and pliant, seemed shaken. "What would you have me do, Chancellor?"
Varrow's eyes gleamed. "Declare him traitor. Strip his titles. And send hunters not to bring him back—but to end him."
The words settled like poison in the room. No one dared speak against him.
The king closed his eyes, the crown slipping lower on his brow. "So be it."
Varrow bowed low, hiding the satisfaction that flickered across his face. The game's board was nearly complete: the healer marked, the prince condemned. Soon, the kingdom itself would kneel to shadow.
---