The forest hasn't slept in days — and neither have I.
Every root, every shadow seems to breathe with me. I can't tell if they follow or lead, if they whisper warnings or dirges. But they know my name now. The world itself knows what I've done.
The Nightwalkers' fortress burns still — miles away, yet I smell the smoke when the wind shifts. It smells like guilt. Like the end of everything I used to believe in.
I walk barefoot through the mud, blood dried on my clothes, river water still clinging to my hair. My wounds should've healed, but Selene's strike left something deeper — a curse that no shadow can mend. My veins feel heavy, as if each drop of blood carries someone else's voice.
Sometimes it's hers. Sometimes it's his.
The river has split us. But the bond hasn't.
It pulses faintly beneath my ribs, like a bruise that won't fade. I can feel him — not clearly, not enough to know where — but enough to know he's alive.
Alive. Changed.
And whatever he's becoming… it scares me.
The shadows stir under my skin when I think his name, as if the darkness itself remembers his touch.
He rises.
I stop walking. The whisper comes from the trees this time — soft, rippling through the leaves like a breath. The same words Selene hissed before she struck.
"Enough," I whisper back. "He's not your prophet."
But the forest only sighs, and I swear it's laughing.
I keep moving.
Days blur. Nights bleed into one another. I feed only when I must — small animals, never humans. The taste of blood has started to change for me too, sharp and bitter. Maybe the shadows are devouring even that part of me.
By the fourth night, I reach the outskirts of a mortal town.
Candlelight glows faintly from windows, spilling across the rain-slick streets. I haven't seen mortals in months. Their scent hits me like memory — salt, soap, fear.
I pull my hood low and step into the light.
...
The inn is warm, too warm.
I pay the keeper in silver and silence, slipping into a corner seat by the fire. The chatter around me fades as I sit — people always sense what I am, even if they can't name it. Their eyes linger too long, their words stumble.
I keep my hands clasped under the table, nails biting into my palms until I feel blood. Pain anchors me to the moment.
When the serving girl brings food, I nod once but don't eat. The scent of it — bread, stew, smoke — is foreign now. I don't belong here.
A drunk man by the fire mutters something about "the witch in the woods." Another mentions "the Nightwalker fugitive."
My name follows, whispered, distorted:
"Aria the Bloodless."
"Aria the Betrayer."
"Marcus's cursed lover."
I smile faintly, bitterly. Stories travel faster than truth.
But when one man leans closer and says, "They say she walks with shadows for wings," the room goes quiet.
The shadows at my feet stir in response.
I rise before anyone can notice. "Keep your legends," I whisper, brushing past them.
Outside, the rain has started again. I pull my cloak tighter and slip down the narrow alleys until the glow of the inn vanishes behind me.
The bond flares suddenly — a sharp pulse, deep in my chest. My knees buckle.
Liam.
Images flash behind my eyes — too fast, too jagged. Firelight. Screams. Blood on his hands. His reflection in a pool of red.
He's alive. But what's moving through him isn't just life. It's hunger.
I grip the wall for balance, the world spinning. The whispers rise around me like a storm.
He feeds. He remembers. He forgets you.
"Stop," I choke out. "He's not—he's not like that."
But the bond pulses again — heavier this time, almost painful. I see through his eyes for one impossible second: a human throat beneath his teeth. Blood spilling like wine.
I scream and fall to my knees.
When I open my eyes, the alley is empty. The rain hides my tears.
I can't breathe. Can't think. Only one thought remains: find him before Marcus does.
...
By dawn, I've left the town behind.
The Nightwalkers are moving — I can feel them in the air, a low hum like thunder before the storm. Marcus won't rest until I'm ash. But his reach only slows me. It doesn't stop me.
The shadows help now. They bend around me, hide me when I run, erase my footprints when hunters pass. Sometimes I feel them pulling, showing me paths I wouldn't see otherwise — trails laced with his scent.
But the farther I go, the stranger it feels. The shadows aren't just following orders. They're thinking. Choosing.
At night, they whisper louder.
He drinks the living. He grows strong.
You will see him soon.
He won't know your face.
I curl against a tree trunk, shaking, my hands pressed over my ears. "He will. He has to."
The whisper curls close, almost tender.
Then teach him what monsters love best.
I don't sleep.
The next day, I reach an abandoned chapel — the roof half-collapsed, the altar covered in vines. It smells of stone and ghosts. I make camp there, lighting no fire.
For the first time since the fall, I open the small satchel I carried from the fortress. Inside lies a single thing: the blade Kaylan dropped when I ran. Her blood still stains the edge.
I turn it in my hands. My reflection wavers in the metal — pale eyes, black veins, exhaustion carved deep.
"Am I the monster now?" I whisper to the empty chapel.
The shadows don't answer.
Instead, a single shimmer of the bond hums again — faint, trembling. Liam. He's moving. Farther inland, away from the river. Toward the mountains.
Toward her.
Selene's prophecy repeats in my mind like poison:
When the moon turns red, he will find you. And your mercy will end the world.
I sheath the blade and stand. "Then I'll find him first."
The wind cuts through the chapel's broken windows. Dust rises, glowing faintly in the dawn.
I start walking again.
...
The days blur. I no longer count them.
Each mile costs more — more blood, more sleep, more fragments of myself. My reflection in streams looks less human each time. The whites of my eyes have turned gray. My pulse beats slower than it should.
But I can still feel him.
Sometimes, when the hunger hits, I sense his too. We echo each other, even now. It's the bond — the forbidden tether the shadows carved into us when I saved him.
It ties us closer than love, closer than death.
At dusk on the seventh day, I find what's left of a mortal camp — torn tents, blood on the grass, three bodies drained to bone.
I kneel beside one, trembling. "Liam…"
The smell hits me first — familiar. His scent.
He was here.
The world tilts. I press my hand into the blood, half hoping it'll vanish, that I'm wrong. But the bond thrums, answering the truth.
He's becoming what they all feared.
What I made him.
The shadows ripple at my back, restless.
He is hunger.
You are the reason it breathes.
"Then I'll be the one to end it." My voice barely breaks a whisper. "Or save him."
The forest doesn't care which I mean.
As night falls, I keep walking. The stars overhead blur through the mist. My vision wavers, my limbs heavy, but I can't stop now. Every step pulls me closer to him — and to the truth I've tried not to face.
The bond pulses one last time before fading into silence.
He's close.
Too close.
I draw my hood low, the blade gleaming faintly in my hand.
Whatever waits ahead — love or death — I'm done running from it.