The morning after the vision, Elara woke to silence.
Not the peaceful kind—but a silence that pressed against her skin like a warning. Birds had stopped singing. The stream nearby no longer murmured. Even the wind had paused, as if the world were holding its breath.
Kaelen was already up, sword in hand.
His eyes scanned the tree line.
"Elara," he said softly, "stay behind me."
She obeyed without question, clutching her satchel of herbs. The air felt heavier than before, the magic from the heartstone still pulsing in her bones. Something had changed—shifted—since they invoked its power.
A rustle in the underbrush snapped Kaelen's attention to the left. His stance tightened.
"Elara," he whispered, "run."
But before she could move, the shadows took shape.
Men emerged from the woods, clad in black and crimson. Their armor bore the crest of the king's elite guard—merciless, unrelenting. Nightfangs. Notorious for hunting traitors.
Kaelen's jaw clenched. "They found us."
Elara's heart pounded. "How?"
"The temple," Kaelen muttered. "It was protected—until we woke it."
The Nightfangs stepped forward, their leader a tall, pale man with silver-threaded hair and hollow eyes. He smiled—calm and cruel.
"Prince Kaelen," the man drawled. "So lovely to see you breathing."
Kaelen didn't respond. He kept his blade raised.
The man turned to Elara. "And you... the healer. The cursed one."
Elara's breath caught. "Who are you?"
"General Varek. Servant to the crown. Executioner of betrayers." His smile widened. "And today, your fate."
"Leave her out of this," Kaelen growled.
"Oh, but she's the reason you're weak," Varek replied. "You were never meant to care. That's what makes it so fun."
The men moved in.
Kaelen struck first, fast and brutal, his sword flashing through morning light. Two went down before they even touched him, but there were too many. Elara backed away, heart hammering, searching for cover—but her heel caught on a root and she fell hard to the earth.
A shadow loomed over her.
Steel glinted in the air.
Then a scream—not hers.
Kaelen had thrown a dagger with deadly precision. The Nightfang collapsed beside her, blood pooling into the dirt.
"Elara!" Kaelen shouted. "Run! Now!"
She scrambled up, torn between fear and fury.
She ran.
Branches clawed at her skin. Roots tried to trip her. Behind, metal clashed and men roared—but she couldn't look back. Couldn't bear the thought of seeing Kaelen fall.
The forest opened into a clearing. She paused to catch her breath—only for Varek to step out of the shadows, perfectly unbothered.
"Really?" he said. "You think I'd let you go so easily?"
Elara raised her hands, magic sparking between her fingers.
Varek tilted his head. "Interesting. You don't look like a killer."
"I'm not," she said, voice shaking. "But I'll do what I have to."
He laughed. "Good. That's how all monsters begin."
He lunged.
Her magic flared—wild, untamed—and struck him square in the chest. He staggered, but didn't fall.
Pain surged through her skull. Her vision blurred. Blood dripped from her nose.
Too much. She'd pushed too far.
Varek sneered, wiping soot from his armor. "That's the curse, isn't it? Power in love. But power that kills."
He raised his blade—
And then Kaelen was there.
Bleeding. Furious.
His sword cleaved down in a silver arc, catching Varek by surprise. The general parried, barely, but Kaelen didn't stop. He fought with fire, with rage. Each blow pushed Varek back.
"Elara," Kaelen shouted. "Go!"
"I won't leave you—"
"I said GO!"
She hesitated. Just long enough for Varek to kick Kaelen in the ribs, sending him crashing to the ground.
"No!" Elara screamed.
The curse answered.
Light exploded from her hands—bright and blinding—and Varek flew back like a ragdoll, smashing through a tree trunk. Silence fell again, broken only by Kaelen's pained breath.
Elara ran to him.
He was alive. Barely.
His brow was slick with blood. His ribs cracked beneath her touch. She pressed her hands to his chest, whispering healing spells through choked sobs.
"Stay with me," she pleaded. "Please."
Kaelen's eyes fluttered open. "You... came back."
"I'm not letting you die. Not yet."
"You used the curse."
"I didn't mean to."
"Doesn't matter," he rasped. "It's stronger now."
She looked down. The mark on her wrist—a faint circle that had always been there—was glowing.
The curse was awake.
And it was hungry.
They found shelter in a cave beneath the cliffs that night. Kaelen rested while Elara tended to him, her fingers trembling.
"I should've been stronger," she whispered.
"You saved me," he murmured. "Again."
"It's not enough. He'll come back."
Kaelen met her eyes. "Then we kill him."
Elara shook her head. "We don't even know what he is. He didn't bleed like a man."
Kaelen didn't answer. He stared into the fire, jaw tight.
"We need help," Elara said quietly. "Someone who understands the curse. The old magic."
"There's no one left."
"There is," she said. "But we'll have to go north."
His eyes snapped to her. "North? That's suicide."
"It's the only place left the crown hasn't claimed. The old seers still live there. In the Winterhold ruins."
Kaelen exhaled slowly. "Then we leave at dawn."
The journey north took seven days.
Seven days of ice, wind, and frostbitten silence. The land turned harsh, jagged. Trees gave way to stone, and snow fell like ash. Kaelen's wounds healed slowly—Elara's magic helped, but it came at a cost. Each time she used it, the curse burned brighter beneath her skin.
And she could feel her heart unraveling.
It wasn't just Kaelen's touch, or the way he looked at her when she thought he wasn't. It was the quiet strength in his silence. The way he always walked behind her, just in case. The way he bled and still protected her like she was worth dying for.
She was falling in love.
And it terrified her.
On the eighth day, they reached the cliffs of Winterhold.
The ruins rose like bones from the snow—arches half-buried, statues weathered down to faceless shapes. At the center stood a tower made of black stone.
"Are you sure about this?" Kaelen asked.
"No," she said. "But it's the only chance we have."
The tower door creaked open before they knocked.
A woman stood there, cloaked in white. Her eyes were clouded with age, but her voice rang sharp.
"Elara of the blood-bound line," she said. "And the cursed prince who follows her."
Kaelen frowned. "I'm not cursed."
The woman only smiled. "Not yet."
End of the chapter 5