Night fell fast over the marshlands, swallowing the last streaks of orange as Lucien and Elara made their way toward the old path that led beyond Lioren. The village they were leaving behind was damaged but alive; fires had been put out, families huddled in broken homes, and fear sat heavy in the air like damp smoke.
Lucien walked a step ahead, senses sharp, every movement tense with alertness. Elara watched the back of him—his steady stride, the faint stiffness in his right arm where the priest's dagger had grazed him.
"Does it hurt?" she asked softly.
Lucien didn't turn. "Pain is familiar."
"That doesn't answer the question."
He paused, glancing back at her. His eyes, usually unreadable, held a brief flicker of something—surprise, maybe even gratitude.
"It will heal," he said. "But your concern… is noted."
Elara's cheeks warmed, but she looked away quickly.
The forest thickened around them, branches arching overhead like ribs of an old cathedral. Shadows drifted in the corners of her vision, but none came close—not with Lucien there.
After a long stretch of silence, Elara spoke again.
"Lucien… that name I remembered. Mara. Who is she to me?"
He slowed his steps.
"She was the one who hid you," he said. "A midwife of the marshlands. When your mother gave her life to protect you, she entrusted Mara with your care."
"How do you know this?"
Lucien hesitated.
"Because I was hunting the priests the night your mother died."
Elara stopped walking.
"You were there?" her voice trembled.
Lucien turned fully to her. Moonlight traced the hard lines of his face, washing him in silver.
"Yes," he said quietly. "But I was too late."
Elara's breath hitched. The mother she had seen in visions—the woman with desperate eyes and whispered apologies—had died because the priests had come for her… and because Lucien hadn't reached them in time.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Lucien shook his head. "Don't be. I will not fail you the way I failed her."
Those words settled in her chest like a weight—heavy, protective, terrifying.
"Come," he said, voice softer now. "Mara is the only one left who knows the truth of your birth."
They continued through the trees until they reached the marsh's edge, where reeds swayed and water glistened black beneath the moon.
Lucien pointed to a faint trail winding between the reeds. "She lives in the hut beyond the water."
Elara swallowed hard. "Do you think she'll remember me?"
Lucien didn't answer immediately.
"I think she never forgot you."
The midwife's hut stood alone on the far side of the marsh, built on stilts above still water that reflected the moon like a broken coin. Lanterns flickered weakly in the windows, their glow trembling as if nervous.
Elara mounted the creaking steps with Lucien behind her. She raised her hand to knock—hesitated—then knocked twice.
The silence that followed was long enough for fear to settle in her ribs.
Then—
The door cracked open.
An old woman with silver hair and sharp, tired eyes stared out at them. Her gaze slid over Lucien first—wary, untrusting—then settled on Elara.
She inhaled sharply.
"No," she whispered. "It can't be. You were just a babe when—"
Elara's throat tightened. "Mara?"
The old woman's eyes filled with tears. "Child… you look just like her."
The door flew open, and Mara pulled Elara inside with hands that trembled like leaves.
Lucien followed silently, closing the door behind them.
The hut was small but warm, filled with herbal jars and dried flowers. A kettle hissed softly on the stove.
Mara cupped Elara's face, studying her closely.
"That mark on your chest," she said, voice hushed. "It's awakened."
Elara nodded. "Do you know what it means?"
Mara sank onto a wooden stool, looking older by the second.
"Oh, child… I feared this day."
Her gaze drifted to Lucien.
"And you. You should not have brought her here."
Lucien's expression remained unreadable. "They already know her name. They know she lives."
Mara closed her eyes. "Then the priests will not stop until they drag her back into the darkness."
"Tell her," Lucien said. "She deserves the truth."
Mara looked down at her wrinkled hands.
"Your mother," she began softly, "was the last Healer of the First Light. When she discovered she was with child—when she knew you would inherit her gift—she went into hiding."
Elara felt her breath falter. "Why?"
"Because the priests need a Healer of Light to perform their most forbidden ritual." Mara's voice cracked. "The ritual that could summon the Fallen God back into this world."
Lucien stiffened, jaw clenching.
"They want to use Elara," he said. "To open a gate."
Mara nodded grimly. "Only a Healer's blood can do it. But not just any blood—blood bound by prophecy and power."
Elara's pulse roared in her ears.
"So they want to kill me?"
"No," Mara whispered. "They want to keep you alive long enough to drain your blood drop by drop, until your light opens the gate."
Elara felt cold all over.
Lucien's hand touched her shoulder—gentle, steady.
"They won't touch you," he said. "Not while I draw breath."
Mara studied Lucien, her eyes narrowing. "And you… you were cursed by the priests' ancestors, weren't you?"
Lucien didn't flinch. "Yes."
"Then they will hunt you both," Mara said. "Because together, you disrupt the balance they want."
Elara's voice cracked. "Together… how?"
Mara stood, shuffling toward a shelf. She pulled out a thin, tattered book bound in old leather. She placed it in Elara's hands.
"Because your mother saw a vision before she died," Mara whispered. "She saw a creature of darkness protecting her child of light. She saw your bond."
Elara felt the weight of the book like a heartbeat.
Lucien watched her carefully. "What kind of bond?"
Mara answered:
"A bond strong enough to break curses…
Or strong enough to destroy you both."
Silence fell like a heavy curtain.
Elara's fingers shook as she opened the worn book. Inside were pages covered in symbols similar to the ones in her visions.
Drawings of the Bloodbound Mark.
Notes written in her mother's hand.
A single sentence repeated over and over:
"Light cannot survive without shadow. Shadow cannot endure without light."
Lucien exhaled sharply—as if those words scraped something raw inside him.
"Elara," Mara said softly, "your mother believed your destiny was bound to his."
Lucien looked away, shadows crossing his face.
Elara's voice was barely a whisper.
"Bound… how?"
Mara hesitated.
"Through the Bloodbound Seal," she said. "Your lives… are tied now."
Elara felt her world tilt.
Lucien went still.
Mara continued, voice trembling:
"If one of you dies… the other will follow."
The air left Elara's lungs.
Lucien's hands curled into fists.
The truth hung between them, impossible and terrifying.
Bound.
Not by choice.
Not by desire.
But by prophecy, blood, and a mother's dying act.
Elara's voice shook. "What do we do?"
Mara looked at Lucien.
"You protect her," she said. "You always have. You always will."
Lucien met Elara's eyes.
And in his gaze, she saw something unspoken but undeniable:
A promise he intended to keep.
No matter the cost.