They didn't have long.
The horns echoed again—closer now, sharper. These weren't scouts. These were executioners.
Elara's knees trembled as she struggled to stand. Her body felt wrong—too full, too alive, like her veins were packed with stolen fire. The memory of the hunter collapsing into ash replayed in her mind again and again.
"I killed them," she whispered, more to herself than to Kael.
"Yes," Kael replied calmly.
She looked up at him, shocked. "You're not even pretending that's okay."
His gaze flicked toward the darkened treeline. "Pretending won't keep you alive."
The forest shifted.
Shadows peeled themselves from the smoke—five figures this time. Taller. Heavily armored. Their presence bent the air, pressure crushing down on Elara's chest.
One stepped forward, voice distorted by magic.
"Prince Kael Draven. Stand aside."
Elara froze.
Prince.
Kael didn't move.
"The Blood Witch is Infernal property," the executioner continued. "Your father commands her retrieval—or her death."
Kael's jaw tightened.
Elara grabbed his arm. "You don't have to—"
He looked down at her.
For a moment—just one—she saw something raw in his eyes. Not doubt.
Decision.
"You're wrong," Kael said softly.
The executioner tilted his head. "About what?"
"She's not property."
The forest went silent.
Then the executioner laughed. "You would defy Hell for a witch?"
Kael drew his blade.
Flames erupted along its edge, screaming like living things.
"I already have."
The executioners attacked as one.
Kael moved like a storm.
His blade tore through armor and flesh alike, fire consuming everything it touched. One executioner barely had time to scream before Kael's hand crushed his throat, flames pouring from his eyes as his body collapsed into molten ruin.
Elara watched, frozen.
This wasn't defense.
This was slaughter.
One executioner broke away, charging toward Elara, runes blazing.
Instinct screamed.
Elara raised her hands.
"Don't—" Kael shouted.
Too late.
Power surged violently from her chest, ripping outward. The executioner screamed as blood burst from his eyes, nose, mouth—every opening—his body collapsing like a puppet with cut strings.
The power didn't stop.
Elara gasped, clawing at her chest. "I can't— I can't control it—"
Kael was there instantly, grabbing her wrists.
The contact sent a violent shock through both of them.
The magic snapped back—into him.
Kael hissed in pain, veins burning crimson beneath his skin, but he didn't let go.
"Breathe," he commanded. "Focus on me."
She did.
Her pulse slowed.
The magic receded.
The last executioner stared at them in horror.
"You've doomed us all," he whispered.
Kael turned slowly.
"No," he said coldly. "You have."
He walked forward and ended it with one clean strike.
Silence fell again.
Ash drifted through the air like black snow.
Elara sagged against Kael, shaking violently. "They'll never stop coming," she whispered.
"I know."
She looked up at him. "Then why did you help me?"
Kael stared down at her—this girl who bled power, who bent his magic, who made Hell tremble.
"I don't know," he admitted.
That was the most dangerous truth of all.
He cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"But from this moment on," he said quietly, "anyone who tries to take you… dies."
Something dark and electric twisted in Elara's chest.
Not fear.
Not relief.
Belonging.
And somewhere deep within Hell, ancient laws cracked—just enough to let ruin begin.