The moon didn't just set; it vanished.
Darkness devoured the forest in a single, hungry breath. A thick, suffocating fog rolled across the mountain floor, curling around ancient roots like white fingers searching for a throat. Overhead, the skeletal branches groaned. The trees seemed to lean inward, whispering to one another as they watched the girl run.
Arastella's boots struck the damp earth in a frantic rhythm. Her breath was a jagged blade in her chest, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Behind her, the footsteps were unhurried. Confident.
"They're still following," she hissed, forcing her legs to move faster.
Cion's voice drifted through the mist, light and mocking. "Where is she even going? There's nothing up here but the smell of old graves."
"The Void is near," Krince's reply was a cold draft. "She's heading for the Dragon Void."
Cion stopped. "You don't think she's trying to—"
"No," Krince snapped. "The seal is weak, but she's just a peasant. Castel will have to seal it himself. She's nothing but a—"
"Why don't I just show you?"
Arastella skidded to a halt. She turned, the fog parting around her like a stage curtain. Her smile was sharp too sharp for a girl who was supposed to be afraid.
"You followed me all this way," she said, her voice airy and light. "It would be rude not to entertain you."
Cion's arrogant grin faltered. "You knew?"
She laughed, a melodic sound that lacked any real mirth. "You weren't exactly quiet."
Her eyes shifted. The violet was swallowed by a blinding, ancient white. She threw her hands out, and words that tasted like iron tore from her throat.
"Nhronos osoch ku veim volema avo marsi."
The air screamed. Time itself fractured. A massive, transparent clock exploded into existence before her gears grinding, seconds stuttering backward, the falling fog freezing mid-drift. The world glitched like a dying dream.
Krince's breath caught. For a second, the power was magnificent.
Then, the construct cracked. It flickered, turned grey, and shattered into a thousand useless shards of light.
Silence fell. Cion blinked, then burst into a wheezing laugh. "That was it? Gods... that was adorable. You're a parlor trick, little dragon."
Arastella stared at her hands. They were trembling. Nothing answered her call. Her power was a hollow well.
Then she felt it. The heat.
Castel's blood was coiling through her veins hot, invasive, and heavy. Every heartbeat felt like a footstep that wasn't hers. It wasn't just in her system; it was claiming her, suffocating her natural magic like smoke drowning a fire.
Cion snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Hello? Anyone home?"
Her fury returned, white-hot. "I hate fighting," she said, drawing a jagged dagger from her belt. "But I am not afraid to."
Krince sighed, his expression going dead. "You aren't fighting us."
The fog thickened until it was opaque. Krince's eyes emptied, mist pouring from his sockets like breath from a corpse. The forest went unnaturally quiet.
"Come forth," Krince commanded, his voice layered with a thousand dead whispers. "Souls of the night. Fetch the girl."
Hands clawed out of the fog. Dozens. Then hundreds. Hollow, grey figures formed—faces stretched in eternal agony, mouths open in a scream that wasn't a sound, but a vibration that rattled her teeth.
They rushed her. Arastella slashed at the air, but her blade passed through them like smoke.
Cold, translucent hands seized her ankles. She went down hard, her chin hitting the dirt.
"No—!"
They dragged her. Over jagged stone. Over rotting roots.
Bark tore her skin as they hauled her backward toward the palace. Her scream ripped raw from her throat, but the hollows screamed louder, swallowing her voice whole. Her head struck a protruding rock with a sickening thud.
The world went black.
Midnight struck. The throne room was a tomb of mirrors and shadows.
Castel sat motionless, his head resting against his hand. He was a statue of obsidian. Waiting.
The doors burst open. Cion stepped into the light, dragging a limp form behind him. He dropped Arastella's body onto the polished marble with a dull resonance. Blood began to spread, dark and thick, across the white stone.
Castel looked down. The world broke.
The throne room convulsed. Huge crystal chandeliers shattered, raining glass like diamonds. The mirrors cracked violently from top to bottom. A massive, invisible gravity slammed downward, pinning Cion and Krince flat to the floor.
Castel stood. Slowly.
"What," he whispered, his voice vibrating with a calm that was more terrifying than a roar, "have you done?"
His eyes burned with a light that threatened to blind anyone who looked.
"I asked you to bring her." The pressure increased. Cion's face was crushed against the marble. "Not hurt her."
"Krince—" Cion managed to choke out, pointing a trembling finger.
Krince gasped as the air vanished from his lungs. Castel lifted a hand, and the logic of the world bent to his will.
"Stop breathing," Castel commanded.
Krince clawed at his throat, his face turning a bruised purple as he suffocated in silence.
"Please—" Cion whined.
"HEALER!" Castel's roar shook the palace foundations.
The doors flew open. A team of mages scrambled in, falling over themselves. "Yes, my King!"
"Heal her. Now."
Castel stepped off the dais. He lifted Arastella himself, his movements terrifyingly gentle. Her blood coated his hands, staining his skin.
"Breathe," he told Krince without looking at him.
Air rushed back into Krince's lungs, and he collapsed, sobbing and gasping.
"I will deal with you later," Castel said, his voice a low promise of agony. "You will beg me for the death you just gave her."
He carried her through the corridors, his pace frantic yet steady. "Open the door!"
The master chambers swung wide a room of black stone roses and heavy silk. Castel laid her on the bed, his hands trembling only slightly as he smoothed her hair back from her bloody forehead.
"The bracelet," he snapped.
A guard rushed in with a gold band, engraved with a single, brutal word: Mine.
It had been forged with Castel's own blood. He snapped it around her wrist. The moment the metal touched her skin, her veins pulsed with a golden light. The blood inside her recognized its master.
Castel froze. He took her cold hand and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her brow.
"You will live," he murmured. It wasn't a command. It was a plea to a god he didn't believe in.
The healer's chant filled the room for an hour that felt like a century. Finally, the lead mage bowed. "She will live, my King. The wound is closed."
"Leave."
The room emptied in seconds. Castel remained. He pulled a chair to the bedside, his mismatched eyes fixed on her pale face.
Waiting for her to wake up. Waiting for the game to truly begin.