The mist never lifted.
It twisted and curled through the forest like smoke from an unseen pyre, thickening as Aelira fled the ruins. Her breath caught in her throat, chest heaving with every stride. Behind her, the shadows moved — not with sound, but with presence. The cold that sank deeper than flesh.
She didn't look back.
Instinct drove her.
The sigils burned against her skin, tugging her toward a narrow path between two gnarled trees — trees that looked more like claws than branches. As she stumbled through, the mist abruptly gave way to stillness. No wind. No sound. Even the pressure behind her vanished like it had never been.
She collapsed to her knees in a strange clearing. The air here shimmered faintly — not light, not heat, but something… other.
Aelira wiped sweat from her brow, the cut on her palm still oozing slowly. The name she had carved into stone — Saelwyn — echoed in her mind like a bell tolling at a funeral.
She wasn't sure if it was hers… or someone else's.
A faint hum rose from the ground beneath her. She looked down.
Symbols.
The clearing was encircled by ancient sigils etched into the earth — spiraling lines and intersecting runes she didn't understand, but felt in her bones. They pulsed softly with bluish light, reacting to her presence.
This place was not of this world.
A veil-space. A hollowed point between realms.
She rose slowly, scanning her surroundings. The trees encircled the clearing like silent sentinels, unnaturally still, their bark veined with glowing silver sap. A single obsidian monolith stood at the center, its surface smooth and cold, reflecting no light.
Then a voice broke the silence — not one, but many.
"The blood has opened the gate. The name has awoken the soul."
Aelira spun around. No one.
"She walks again. The fire reborn."
She backed toward the monolith. "Who's there?!"
A ripple ran through the air. The mist thickened at the edge of the clearing. Then — stepping from the blur — came three figures.
Hooded. Robed. Faces hidden by veils of silver thread.
Coven spirits.
Ghosts of witches long past, bound to the veil between worlds. Guardians. Judges.
And executioners.
The tallest of them raised a hand. "Aelira. Saelwyn. Soul of fire. You have crossed the first threshold."
Aelira stood her ground. "Then tell me what I've crossed into."
The middle figure's voice was softer, but no less commanding. "You walk the old path. The cursed path. The one you forged lifetimes ago with blood and betrayal."
"I don't remember that life."
"You will."
The third spirit glided forward. "Your trials are not just tasks. They are keys to your past. You cannot break the curse without facing who you were."
Aelira swallowed hard. "And what if who I was deserved the curse?"
The wind shifted. The spirits stilled.
Finally, the first replied. "Then you must choose what to do with that truth when it returns to you."
The monolith behind her pulsed with pale light. Aelira turned toward it. Her reflection began to appear — but it wasn't her now.
It was her then.
A woman with fiery hair braided with thorns, eyes like molten gold. Power radiated from her like heat. She wore dark robes trimmed in blood-red sigils, and a blade was held in one hand — curved, glowing with runes.
It wasn't Aelira.
It was Saelwyn, in full glory.
And wrath.
The image flickered. Shifted. The blade struck. Fire consumed a village. Screams echoed. A child cried out. Then silence.
Aelira's breath caught. "No…"
"She was feared," one spirit said. "And betrayed."
"She loved once," said another. "And was cursed by the one she trusted."
"She lives again," whispered the third, "to reclaim or repeat her fate."
Aelira stepped back from the monolith. "Why are you showing me this?"
"Because your second trial awaits," they said in unison. "You must choose whom to trust."
A flicker of warmth hit her spine — sudden, strange. Not fire. Not fear. Something… human.
She turned — and someone stepped into the clearing from the other side.
A young man.
Tall, cloaked in dark traveling gear, eyes storm-grey beneath tousled hair. A sword strapped across his back. Cautious steps. Mistrust in his gaze — but something deeper, too.
Recognition.
Aelira didn't speak. Neither did he.
The spirits were gone. The clearing fell silent once more, as if it were waiting.
He raised a hand slowly. "You're not supposed to be here."
Aelira's voice was raw. "Neither are you."
He studied her. "You opened the seal."
"You followed the trail."
"Then that makes us both stupid."
She almost smiled, but the weight of the moment crushed it. Her hands trembled slightly — not from fear, but from the undeniable pull between them. She didn't know him.
But Saelwyn did.
A lover. A betrayer. Or both?
He stepped closer. "My name's Kaelen."
The name thundered in her soul. Her knees nearly buckled.
She'd screamed that name once — through fire and blood.
Kaelen.