The path back from the Sanctuary of Light was longer than Elara remembered.
Perhaps it was the weight of what they carried now—the shard of the Heart Mirror, wrapped in a silver cloth and pulsing faintly with magic. Or perhaps it was the silence that stretched between her and Kaelen, heavy with what had not been said.
She felt it now more than ever: the tether.
It tugged at her chest with every step, like an invisible thread woven through bone and blood. Not painful—but present. And deeper than the mark on her wrist, it whispered of the price she might yet pay.
Kaelen walked ahead of her, shoulders stiff, jaw tight. He hadn't spoken much since the battle in the ruins.
Neither had she.
The Hollowborn were gone. But not the echoes. Not the images. Her own face, twisted by sorrow. Kaelen's voice, begging her not to sacrifice herself. And the name—Atherin—still hung in the air between them like a blade waiting to fall.
They made camp at the edge of the Hollow Winds. A small hollow beneath a rocky overhang. It offered little protection from the cold, but at least the wind could not reach them there.
Kaelen lit a fire. Elara sat across from him, her arms wrapped around her knees. The shard lay between them, its faint glow casting long shadows across their faces.
Eventually, Kaelen broke the silence. "That name. Atherin. Where did you find it?"
Elara stared into the fire. "I didn't. It found me. In the vision. When the Oracle showed me what might come."
He didn't ask for more, but the question sat between them.
She hesitated. Then: "You were there. You were dying. I tried to break the curse, and… I think I became it."
Kaelen's eyes didn't leave the fire. "And now?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "I still feel it. The tether. The magic. But something changed when I said the name. The Hollowborn fled. The shard didn't break me."
He nodded slowly. "Maybe the curse doesn't want to be broken. Maybe it wants to end this way."
"Or maybe it's afraid," she said quietly. "Afraid of us."
He finally looked at her then, and for the first time, she saw something raw in his expression. Not fear. Not pain.
Hope.
But it faded as quickly as it came.
"Once we reach the capital, I'll take you to the Archives," he said. "There's a scholar there—old, paranoid, but he's survived every purge Maleth's ordered. If anyone can decipher the mirror's magic, it's him."
She frowned. "You trust him?"
"I trust his fear. It's kept him alive this long."
Elara nodded. "And if he can't help us?"
Kaelen's jaw tightened. "Then we find someone who can."
They lapsed into silence again. But this time, it wasn't empty.
It was waiting.
---
The next three days passed in uneasy quiet.
The Wildreach Pass narrowed into cliffs carved by ancient water and wind. The road forked twice—once near a dried riverbed, and again beneath a crumbling watchtower lost to ivy and frost.
By the fourth day, they reached the border of the Crownlands.
Elara could feel the change in the air. It was heavier here, thicker with the weight of unseen eyes. The trees stood straighter. The sky was a dull silver, the clouds unmoving.
Kaelen's demeanor shifted.
He moved more cautiously. Kept one hand near his sword at all times. His eyes scanned every tree, every ridge.
"Night Guard?" Elara asked.
He nodded once. "Or worse."
They passed a burned village near the border—a hollow shell of what had once been a small trading post. Ash coated everything. The well was dry. The walls were covered in black sigils scorched into the stone.
Kaelen's face darkened. "They're purging again."
Elara knelt beside a charred post. The mark was familiar.
"The same glyphs from the sanctuary," she murmured. "They're hunting magic."
He looked at her. "They're hunting you."
They moved faster after that.
By dusk, the towers of the outer capital were visible in the distance—distant spires of dark stone against a copper sky. Smoke curled from some. Others stood silent, like sentinels long since abandoned.
Kaelen led her off the road and into a narrow path that curved around the city's edge.
"We'll go through the tunnels," he said. "Too many eyes aboveground."
Elara swallowed. "You've done this before."
"Once. When I ran."
She looked at him, startled. "You were hunted?"
He didn't answer.
But when they reached the edge of a weather-worn cliffside and Kaelen pressed a hand to a carved stone, revealing a hidden door, she understood: he had lived this before. Escaped it. Survived it.
They entered the tunnels just after nightfall.
---
The city's underbelly was cold and wet.
Water dripped from the ceiling. The walls were covered in moss and iron roots. The darkness pressed in, thick and absolute. Kaelen led the way with a small, shielded lantern. Elara followed, heart pounding.
They moved in silence for what felt like hours.
Then—
A sound.
Voices. Distant. Murmured.
Kaelen motioned for her to stop. He pressed his ear to the stone. Listened.
"Elites," he whispered. "Night Guard."
Elara's heart seized. "How do they know?"
"They don't. They patrol the tunnels at night. Routine. But if they see your mark…"
She pulled her sleeve lower. "Then let's not be seen."
They took a side passage—narrow and crumbling—and emerged into an old chapel buried beneath the palace itself.
The scholar Kaelen had spoken of was waiting.
He was thin and wild-eyed, wrapped in layers of patched robes and scarves. His home was a nest of scrolls and glowing runes, hidden beneath the collapsed dome of the chapel.
"Kaelen Varyn," he hissed. "You're supposed to be dead."
"Not today," Kaelen replied flatly.
The man's eyes shifted to Elara. "And this is the cursed girl?"
Elara stiffened.
Kaelen stepped forward. "Her name is Elara. And we have the shard."
That got his attention.
The scholar led them deeper into the ruin, to a room sealed with warded chains. Inside was a stone pedestal, empty but for a basin of silver liquid.
"Place it there," he said.
Elara hesitated, then unwrapped the shard and laid it gently into the basin. The silver liquid shimmered—then turned black.
The scholar's eyes widened.
"This is older than the first magic," he whispered. "Before the gods. Before memory. You've brought me something dangerous."
"We need to know how to break it," Kaelen said.
The man nodded. "Then pray you're ready for truth."
He began to chant—soft and low, in a language Elara did not know.
The shard glowed.
Images rose—faster now, clearer.
A healer. A prince. A betrayal.
Elara watched the past unfold: the healer giving her heart to save a life. The prince offering his soul to spare hers. The binding—unintended, irreversible.
The magic had not cursed them.
They had cursed themselves.
By loving too much. By sacrificing more than the world could bear.
And so the magic had responded, as it always did—by echoing their will.
A price.
A cycle.
Fate reborn through blood and love.
Elara staggered back.
"It's not just a curse," she whispered. "It's a memory. A wound that never healed."
The scholar nodded slowly. "And now it's yours."
Kaelen looked at the shard. "How do we end it?"
"By finishing what they began," the scholar said. "One must choose. Love, or life. You cannot have both."
Elara's hands trembled. "There must be another way."
"There always is," he said. "But not always one you'll survive."
He turned to Kaelen.
"You bear the echo of the prince. You've already made your choice once. Will you again?"
Kaelen's jaw clenched. "I won't let her die."
"And if that's what it takes?" the scholar asked softly.
Kaelen didn't answer.
But Elara saw it in his eyes: the answer was already yes.
And it broke her heart.
---
They stayed the night in the tunnels, beneath the ruin. Sleep did not come easily.
Elara lay beside the shard, watching its pale light flicker. Kaelen stood nearby, silent, a sentinel made of shadow and steel.
When he finally turned to her, there was something final in his gaze.
"We'll leave at dawn," he said. "Head for the Southern Vale. There's a place there—an altar older than the crown. If we're going to finish this… it'll be there."
Elara sat up. "You knew?"
"I suspected," he said. "But I needed to see if the shard confirmed it."
"And now?"
"Now I know how this ends."
She stood. Walked to him. "You think one of us has to die."
He didn't look away. "I think the magic demands a sacrifice. And I won't let it be you."
Her voice cracked. "Don't do this, Kaelen."
He touched her face, gently. "I already have."
And then he kissed her.
It wasn't hurried. It wasn't desperate.
It was soft.
It was goodbye.
---
End of Chapter 7