The forest was quiet. Too quiet.
The carcass of the beast lay smoldering in the clearing, wisps of thin smoke curling upwards into the night. The fire's light flickered dully, the living flame now nothing but ash and ember. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt earth and wood.
Kael stood at its heart, the broken sword still clenched in his hand. His chest heaved and dropped with jagged breaths, each of which cut like snapped glass. His veins pulsed dull black beneath his skin, shadows writhing in his blood as if in victory.
But Kael didn't want to feel a winner.
The crystal smoldered a faint light in his palm, its glow steady, bright. He could feel its warmth seeping into his bones, not achesome, but… intruding. As soon as his fingers let go, his hand would tighten once more around it.
Liora searched behind him with wild, nervous movements, searching for something of value. Her eyes flashed toward Kael repeatedly, though she refused to acknowledge it.
"You fought like…" She cut off, then pushed the words past. "Less than human."
Kael's jaw tightened. "That's not a compliment."
"It wasn't meant to be."
He turned to face her, the shadow in his eyes lighting on the small light there was. Liora faltered for a moment but stood her ground.
"Don't look at me like that," she said. "I've seen men who sold themselves to power before. They always ended the same way—burning everything they touched."
Kael wanted to argue, to tell her she didn't understand. But the words stuck in his throat. Because part of him feared she was right.
The crystal pulsed in his hand, a faint heartbeat. The shadows inside him stirred hungrily, whispering:
Ours.
Keep it.
It is the key.
Kael suppressed the voices and tucked the crystal away in his satchel. He strapped the broken sword to his waist, though darkness reluctantly claimed it.
"We cannot stay here," he said finally. "More will come. That was no beast—it was a test."
Liora frowned. "A test? By whom?"
Kael's gaze drifted out towards the horizon, where the air was smoky red with fires on the horizon. He'd heard the rumors whispered through side streets, the stories of a king who used dark magic, who hired hunters into the wild for relics of the old world.
"By the same people who took you," Kael growled. "The same people who set my village on fire."
Liora gripped her staff more firmly. "Then we must chase after them."
"No." Kael's tone cracked, rougher than he intended it to be. "We'd be going into a wolves' den. Now is the time we run. We stay ahead. And we survive."
Liora's gaze turned cold, but she did not retort. Not yet.
They departed the clearing, further into the forest. The night air, cooler, kissed their perspiration, the distant trill of insects once more as if the world itself were exhaling uncertainly. But the silence between Kael and Liora remained oppressive with words unspoken.
Hours passed. The forest gave rise to jagged hills of rock where wind screamed through shattered stone. Dawn crept slowly along the horizon, coloring the sky with light gold and red.
Kael's pace grew heavy. The battle had drained him more than he admitted, and each vibration of the crystal in his pack depleted his reserves. Still, he pressed forward. He could not cease. To cease would be to fall into hands.
And then at last, they reached the mouth of a small gulley. At the bottom ran a tiny stream, the promise of a stream. Kael knelt down on his knees, cupping the icy water into his mouth. The metal taste was bitter, but it soothed his dry throat.
Liora trailed behind him, splashing water against her cheeks and letting out a soft sigh. For a moment, she almost appeared her age—young, weary, not hardened by fire and chains.
It didn't endure.
A noise drifted on the wind. Low, guttural. Not animal, not bird. Human.
Voices.
Kael's muscles went tight. He motioned to be quiet, then crept down, going slowly around the bend in the ravine. He crouched beside the rock and peeked around.
There were three men on top of the ridge. Their armor was mismatched, dented, more scavengers than warriors. But the swords in their hands were sharp and well-kept. And one of them bore a banner—dark red material with a black serpent coiled about a sword.
Kael's blood froze. He knew that sigil. Everyone in the kingdom did.
The Black Serpents.
Mercenaries. But not just any mercenaries. They were the dogs of the Crown, killers for hire to the highest bidder, feared for their ruthlessness. If they were anywhere in sight, then it was no coincidence.
Kael jumped back, gasping for air. Liora's eyes widened as she read his expression.
"Who are they?" she breathed.
"Trouble," Kael replied.
The ugliness inside him started to writhe with excitement, saying: Kill them before they kill you.
Kael gritted his teeth. His grip on the broken sword constricted.
He could fight. He could silence them before they raised the alarm. But the more he indulged in the darkness, the harder it became to step back.
Liora caught him close, her voice cold but subdued. "If we spare them, they'll hunt us down. They'll warn others. You know that."
Kael pinned her gaze. He saw, for the first time, not fear looking back at him, but something other. Determination. She'd been bound before, pursued before—she knew what it took to live.
The voices grew louder in his head. The shadows luxuriated in her agreement, fed upon it.
Yes. Blood. Be quiet.
Kael breathed slowly. His decision hung between them.
He might opt for mercy. Or for survival.
Either way, the world had made its decision and chosen him.