The night deepened, heavy with mist that coiled between the trees like pale serpents. Every sound seemed sharper—the crunch of Kael's boots on the undergrowth, the whisper of Isolde's breath, the distant baying of hounds that never ceased.
They had not stopped since the stream. Kael pushed them deeper into the Silverwood, past paths even hunters feared. But the horns followed, tireless, echoing closer each time.
"They won't stop," Isolde whispered, her hand clutching the satchel at her side. Her voice trembled, not from exhaustion but from certainty. "Varrow won't allow it."
Kael glanced back, his pale eyes like steel in moonlight. "Then neither will I."
He halted suddenly, raising a hand. Isolde froze. Through the mist, faint shapes moved—men, armored, slipping through the trees with the silence of predators. Royal hunters. Their cloaks bore the crest of Aeloria, but their eyes held no mercy.
Kael cursed under his breath. "They've split their numbers. Clever."
Before Isolde could speak, an arrow hissed past, grazing the bark inches from her head. She gasped, stumbling back. Kael shoved her behind him, sword flashing free.
The hunters emerged in full—six of them, blades drawn, bows raised. Their leader, a broad man with a scar across his jaw, sneered. "By order of the king, Prince Kael, you stand accused of treason. Lay down your weapon, and perhaps we will let the witch live."
Kael's grip on his sword tightened. His voice was calm, but each word burned. "You'll find I don't kneel easily."
The hunters advanced.
Isolde's pulse raced. She felt the fire stirring in her veins again, begging to be released. But fear gripped her—fear of being seen, fear of proving Varrow right. Yet as the hunters closed, her choice was stripped away.
One lunged for Kael, blade arcing. Kael parried, steel clashing with sparks, but another came from the side. Isolde cried out, thrusting her palm forward. Light burst from her hand, golden and fierce, striking the hunter square in the chest. He flew back, crashing into a tree with a howl.
The others faltered, fear flickering in their eyes.
"She is marked," one spat. "The prophecy's flame!"
Kael moved like lightning, cutting down the closest with a strike to the throat. Blood sprayed dark across the silver mist. Another loosed an arrow, but Kael deflected it with his blade, the shaft splintering in midair.
Isolde could hardly breathe. Her power raged uncontrolled, surging in waves that lit the trees around them. The forest seemed alive with it, answering her call. Roots twisted, branches bent low, striking at the hunters as if the Guardian's will lingered still.
When the last man fell, silence returned—broken only by the rasp of Kael's breath and Isolde's trembling gasp.
He turned to her, his face shadowed with awe and worry alike. "They've seen it now. There will be no hiding who you are."
Tears stung her eyes. "Then I've doomed us both."
Kael sheathed his sword, stepping close, his voice softer but unyielding. "No, Isolde. You've only shown them why they should fear us."
But in the darkness beyond, more horns rose. The six they had slain were only the first wave.
The true hunt had just begun.
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