The forest swallowed them in darkness. Branches clawed at their clothes, roots threatened to trip them, and the night air burned with smoke carried from the village they had fled.
Aethan staggered, his cursed arm dragging like a weight that could crush him at any moment. Shadows leaked from the blackened flesh, writhing like serpents in the air, leaving streaks of cold fire against the trees. His every breath sounded like a blade scraping against stone.
"Keep moving," Lyra urged, her hand gripping his. Her voice wavered, but her eyes were steady, guiding him through the undergrowth as if the entire world depended on it.
It did.
Behind them, the sound of horns carried faintly through the night—the hunting call of the king's knights.
Aethan gritted his teeth and forced his legs forward. The curse pulsed inside him, furious and hungry after the battle. His vision blurred. "Go… without me," he rasped. "They're not after you—"
"Shut up," Lyra snapped, yanking him forward. "If you fall, I'll drag you myself."
A crooked smile touched his lips for the briefest moment. She had steel in her voice that reminded him of fire before it devoured everything.
They stumbled toward a ravine where moonlight barely touched the jagged edges of stone. The horns grew louder—closer. Aethan's shadows stirred restlessly, sensing the pursuit.
"Here," he whispered, forcing himself upright. He pressed his palm to the ground. His cursed arm erupted with black flame, the earth beneath them groaning as fractures spidered outward.
With a final roar, the cliff's edge cracked, and tons of rock thundered into the ravine below. Trees toppled, stones shattered, and a wall of dust rose like a smothering wave. The path behind them was gone, swallowed by rubble.
The horns fell silent.
Aethan collapsed to one knee, gasping, the shadows flickering weakly around him. Lyra dropped beside him, her hands trembling as she steadied his shoulders.
"You'll kill yourself if you keep forcing it like this."
His laugh was hollow, more breath than sound. "Already dead, remember?"
She glared, her eyes shining in the moonlight. "Not to me."
---
They found a cave hidden beneath a curtain of ivy, the kind of place forgotten even by hunters. Lyra pulled him inside, guiding him down against the cool stone wall.
The cave smelled of damp moss and earth. It was silent, except for the ragged sound of his breathing.
She tore strips from her cloak, dipping them in water collected from a trickle running down the cave wall. Her fingers hovered over the blackened scars along his shoulder, unsure where flesh ended and curse began.
"Don't," Aethan muttered, pulling away. Shadows curled defensively around him like a beast baring fangs. "You'll be burned."
"I don't care."
Her voice was soft but resolute. She pressed the damp cloth to his wounds. He flinched, more from the touch than the pain. The curse recoiled at her presence, like a wild thing startled by gentleness.
"You should have left me behind," he whispered. "Anyone who stays near me ends up ruined. Or worse."
Lyra looked at him, her hands never stopping their careful work. "If I feared you, I wouldn't be here."
The silence that followed pressed against them heavier than stone.
---
Aethan's eyes grew heavy despite his efforts. The exhaustion was bone-deep, the kind that no warrior's will could overcome. Slowly, darkness took him.
He dreamed.
Chains clamped around his wrists, biting into his skin. Priests stood in a circle, their voices droning, their chants branding him with words he could never wash away.
Abomination.
Catastrophe.
Cursed.
The flames on his arm grew until they consumed the world, until even his own reflection turned to ash.
And then—her face.
His mother. Her features blurred, lost to fire, but her voice—gentle, certain—reached through the nightmare.
You are not what they say.
He reached for her, but the shadows surged, drowning everything in black.
Aethan jerked awake with a strangled gasp. Shadows erupted around him, wild and uncontrolled, lashing like whips across the cave.
"Stop!" Lyra cried, shielding her face.
His cursed arm crackled, ready to strike. Horror twisted his features as he realized who stood before him.
"No… no, not you—" He forced the shadows back with sheer will, his chest heaving.
Lyra lowered her arms and met his eyes. Slowly, she reached out and pressed her palm to his chest. His heart hammered beneath her touch.
"It's just me," she whispered. "You're safe."
The shadows stilled.
---
Moonlight filtered faintly through the cracks above, silvering her face as she sat close beside him. Neither spoke for a long time.
Finally, Aethan broke the silence. "You shouldn't… trust me. Not after tonight. I can't control this forever. If I fall, there won't be anything left of me."
Lyra's hand lingered on his chest. Her voice was quiet but steady. "Then promise me something."
He turned his head toward her, weary but curious.
"If you fall," she said, her eyes unwavering, "I'll be the one to pull you back. No matter what it takes."
Something cracked inside him at her words. A vow not of chains or priests, but of hope.
For the first time in years, he didn't feel entirely alone.
---
The night stretched on. The fireless cave was cold, but neither of them moved apart. The silence between them had shifted—no longer distance, but something fragile and unspoken.
And then, as if to remind them of the world outside, a sound carried faintly into the cave.
A horn.
Low. Distant. But unmistakable.
Lyra stiffened. "They're still hunting."
Aethan pushed himself upright, his cursed arm coiling in the shadows like a predator stirred from slumber. His voice was low, grim.
"Then we run," he said, his eyes burning in the darkness. "Until there's nowhere left to run."
---