The forest at night was never silent.Wind whispered through blackened pines, branches creaked like bones shifting in a grave, and somewhere in the dark, the low growl of something unnatural stirred.
Kael Ardyn tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. The blade, dark as obsidian, reflected no moonlight; instead, it seemed to drink it in. His jaw clenched, scar tightening across his left cheek as the faint silver streak in his dark hair glimmered against the shadows.
He hated how the blade felt—heavy, alive, humming with a hunger he could never satisfy. Yet it was part of him, chained to his very soul. Without it, he was nothing. With it… he was something worse.
The growl came again, closer now.
Kael's gray eyes narrowed, catching faint silver in the moonlight. He stepped lightly across the moss, his boots making no sound, his lean frame tense but balanced, like a predator waiting to strike.
From between the trees, the beast emerged. A wraith-hound, its body a patchwork of shadow and sinew, eyes burning with feral flame. Its breath carried the scent of ash.
"Just one," Kael muttered to himself, though his voice carried no relief. His words were a shield against the silence that always tried to swallow him.
The hound lunged.
Steel sang. Kael's sword arced upward, faster than the eye could follow, trailing a shimmer of dark energy. The hound screeched as the cursed blade split its form, shadow bleeding like smoke. Yet as the creature fell, the blade pulsed—demanding more, whispering to him.
Feed me. More.
Kael gritted his teeth. "Not tonight." He forced the sword down, planting it into the earth before the hunger devoured him whole.
A voice cut through the clearing.
"You really think stabbing the ground makes it less cursed?"
Kael spun, gray eyes narrowing. From between the trees stepped a figure in a cloak, carrying not a weapon but a satchel of books. She lowered her hood, revealing chestnut-brown hair braided loosely, several strands already slipping free. Emerald-green eyes flickered with sharp intelligence as she studied him.
Kael frowned. "You're far from safe ground, scholar."
"I could say the same to you," she replied evenly. She brushed a strand of hair from her freckled face, her chin tilting up, defiant despite the danger. "But then, I'm not the one wielding a blade that looks like it crawled out of a nightmare."
Kael didn't answer. He simply pulled the sword free, sliding it back into its sheath with deliberate care, as though restraining a wild beast.
The woman's gaze lingered on him, sharp and unflinching. Unlike most who recoiled from the curse he carried, she seemed more curious than afraid.
"Elara Veylen," she introduced herself, adjusting her satchel strap. "Scholar of Arcanum."
Kael gave no name.
She arched a brow. "You don't talk much, do you?"
"Not to strangers in haunted woods."
"Fair enough," she said, though a faint smirk tugged at her lips. Her eyes drifted to the fading shadow of the slain hound. "You handle yourself well. Most mercenaries wouldn't last five minutes against a wraith-beast."
Kael's gaze flicked to her robes—stained with travel, dirt smudging the hems. She wasn't just passing through. She was searching.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
Elara's expression shifted, guarded now. "The same thing you are, I suspect. Surviving."
Kael didn't press, though the silence between them felt taut, like a string ready to snap. He could feel the pull of the cursed blade at his side, whispering again, hungering for her magic, her life, anyone's life.
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself.
Then the night shattered.
Three more hounds slipped from the darkness, circling them, their eyes burning brighter than fire.
Elara's hand shot to the satchel, pulling out not another book, but a small, etched crystal. Sigils carved into its surface glowed faintly in her palm. Her lips moved in a whisper Kael barely caught.
"Stay close to me."
Kael's scar tightened as his jaw set. He drew the cursed blade once more, its hum filling the air, alive with hunger. He hated relying on it, hated how it chained him—but without it, they'd both be dead.
The first hound lunged. Kael met it head-on, his blade tearing through shadow and flame. Beside him, Elara pressed the crystal to the earth, green light flaring into a circle of runes that flared beneath their feet.
The air thrummed with magic.
One hound struck the circle and reeled back, screeching as if burned. Elara's braid slipped loose completely as sweat glistened at her brow, but her green eyes never wavered. "Keep them inside the barrier," she commanded.
Kael almost smirked. Bossy for a scholar. He liked that better than fear.
Together, they fought—steel and spell, curses and circles. The night was filled with shadowfire and the hum of clashing forces.
When the last hound fell, dissipating into smoke, silence returned at last. Elara dropped to one knee, breathing hard, crystal dim in her hand. Kael wiped his blade clean, though it would never be free of its stain.
For a moment, they simply breathed in the quiet aftermath.
Then Elara looked up at him, strands of hair clinging to her flushed face, and said: "You never gave me your name."
Kael hesitated. He rarely gave it to anyone anymore. Names carried weight. They tied you to people, to places, to promises.
"…Kael," he said finally.
Elara smiled faintly, though exhaustion softened it. "Well, Kael. If you plan on surviving these woods, you might want to stick with me. I'm heading to Ebonreach."
Kael's gray eyes flicked to her, then to the cursed blade at his side, still humming with hunger. He almost refused. But something in her emerald gaze—confidence, determination, life—pulled at him.
And for the first time in a long while, Kael felt the faintest spark of curiosity.
Perhaps the world hadn't finished with him yet.
******
I had prepared a second book in case my first got rejected, so yeah, hopefully this one does well:)