The Vale was gone.
Where the endless twilight had swallowed then, there was now only the breathless sprawl of an open plain, forest shadows edging the horizon like a ring of watching eyes. The silence that fell over the land was so heavy it seemed to press into Kael's skull.
He stared at the ground beneath his boots, half expecting the cracked obsidian earth of the Vale to reappear, to prove this was just another trick. But no, the grass here bent beneath the wind, whispering like it had always been waiting for them.
Rayne stood beside him, dagger still drawn, flame shimmering faintly in her other hand. Her gaze swept the emptiness as if searching for the trap she knew must be there. "We should not have emerged here," she murmured. "The Vale doesn't release its prey so easily."
Kael swallowed hard, his pulse refusing to calm. His body still burned with fever, the same gnawing ache that had begun inside the Vale but now sharpened, every sound around him scraping his nerves raw.
He forced a breath past clenched teeth. "The world does not release us at all."
The silence broke. A horn cut through the air, deep and commanding. Then another answered from the tree line.
Rayne froze. Her flame snapped brighter. "Hunters."
Kael's hand tightened on Veindrinker's hilt. His chest felt hollow, crushed beneath an unseen weight. 'How could they already be here?'
No trail should have followed them through the Vale. No hunter could have breached its borders. Yet the horns called again, closer now, their echo rolling like thunder.
His mind flicked back to the days before the Binding, before the Vale, to the mysterious notes slipped into his chamber by unseen hands, to the woman who stepped out of the shadows to herald him. Her words had been simple:
"The Hollow remembers you. The Vale calls for you. Seek it before the next moonrise. The Vale stirs. The curse will not sleep forever. Or it begins without you!!"
He told himself it was another of the Court's whispered taunts. But that night he had felt eyes on him. In corridors. On the training grounds. Always at the edge of sight. He had dismissed it as paranoria.
Now the truth clawed at him. His father must have known. Must have sent someone, a shadow to follow him, to report every step he took, even within the Vale. That was why the hunters were here the moment the ground shifted beneath him and Rayne.
Their bond was no longer secret, it was sacrilege. Rayne's flame licked higher, reflecting the hard set of her jaw. "They knew. They've been waiting for us."
Kael's stomach twisted. He had no answer for her, only the thrum of dread that this was not a random pursuit. It was deliberate, planned and sanctioned by his father's hand.
The horns gave way to the pounding of hooves. Shapes started to emerge from the forest, armored riders cloaked in crimson and ash, their spears tipped with obsidian steel.
They fanned across the plain in practiced formation, cutting off every path. And at their front rode a man Kael knew all too well, General Malrik.
Malrik's armor gleamed with the Crest of Varathis, his helm carved into the likeness of a snarling wolf. He raised a blackened blade, and the hunters' chants rolled across the plain in unison:
"Blood of the cursed heir. Blood of the cursed heir."
Rayne stiffened. Her flame faltered, just for a breath, before it surged brighter. She looked at Kael, her voice low, sharp, and edged with new suspicion. "Why do they call you that?"
Kael said nothing. He couldn't. His throat was ash, his chest a storm. The hunger within him stirred at the sound of the chant, as if the words themselves awoke something chained for too long.
The chains of silence shattered as the hunters began their advance.
Kael's breath locked in his chest. He had seen them before, years ago when his father paraded the Oathbound Court's hunters through Varathis as a warning to all who dared to defy their King.
Iron and bone, crimson cloaks darkened by ash, each of them sworn not only by oath but by blood to serve until death. And now they had come for him.
Rayne stepped forward, daggers gleaming in her hand, her fire already coiling up her arm like a serpent ready to strike. She did not flinch at the thunder of the approaching riders, though her voice was taut as a drawn bowstring. "Tell me, Kael. Why do they chant cursed heir?"
His hand tightened on Veindrinker's hilt. he could feel the fever rising higher, the raw aches in his gums as if something sharper pressed to emerge. his blood roared like a drumbeat of its own.
He wanted to answer, but the truth was chained deep within, hidden by his mother's hand, drowned in the medicines she pressed to his lips, suppressed by her whispered pleas to never speak of the fevers, never let his father see.
He swallowed hard, forcing the memory back, but it rose anyway. His mother, Selena, Kneeling beside his childhood bed, brushing damp hair from his fevered brow.
"Hide it, Kael. Do not let him know. He will call you cursed, and you will be lost. Tell no one, not even yourself."
The horns of the hunters shattered the memory, dragging him into the present. Malrik raised his blade, signaling the charge.
Kael met Rayne's eyes. "Later," he said, voice rough. "If we survive."
It wasn't enough. He saw the suspicion harden in her face, the flame around her daggers snapping higher as if she meant to burn the answers from him. But the riders were already upon them.
The first clash came like a storm.
Spears thrust, hooves tore the ground, and the chant grew louder, each repetition of "blood of the cursed heir" hammering against Kael's skull. He swung Veindrinker to meet the first strike, steel ringing as sparks flew.
The fever lent him speed, too much speed. His sword struck harder than it should, splintering an enemy's spear and cutting through armor in a single arc.
Rayne was a blaze beside him, fire exploding outward in a wave that forced three riders back. She moved with lethal grace, dagger flashing as her flame snapped into shields and blades, her strikes never wasted.
Yet even in the chaos, she kept looking at Kael. Her suspicion growing with every unnatural movement he made.
A rider's spear grazed Kael's arm. His blood spilled across the steel, and the world seemed to lurch. The hunters faltered, eyes locking unto the crimson smear. Their cant grew louder, almost reverent now.
"Blood of the cursed heir. Blood of the cursed heir."
Malrik's helm turned sharply toward Kael. His voice carried over the battle, hard and merciless. "So it's true. The blood wakes at last."
Kael's vision blurred red. He wanted to deny it, to scream that he was no cursed thing, but the hunger surged with every heartbeat. He clenched his jaw, refusing to let his mouth betray him.
Rayne's flame cut down another rider, but she was shouting now, her voice raw with fury. "Kael!! What are you hiding from me?"
He couldn't answer. His mother's warning was too oud in his ears. His father's shadow too heavy on his shoulders. And Malrik's hunters pressed in closer, chains of oath and blood dragging them towards him like predators who had scented their prey at last.
The silence that had once blanketed the plains was gone, replaced by the roar of pursuit, the chant of his hunters, and the truth that could no longer be buried.
Kael raised his blade, fever burning through his veins, and fought like a man whose secrets would kill him if the spears did not.
The clash stretched on, the riders circling like wolves, pressing them in, trying to break their line. Rayne fought like flame incarnate, her daggers flashing arcs of silver while her fire licked outward in the searing waves.
Kael matched her, though every strike felt too sharp, every parry too fast. He knew it, and from the corner of his eyes, he saw her noticing too.
A spearhead shattered against his blade, splinters scattering, and Kael's follow-through tore through the rider's chest plate. The man fell hard and the chants of the others surged louder, as though Kael's blood itself drove them to frenzy.
"Blood of the cursed heir. Blood of the cursed heir."
The words scraped his mind like claws. Each repetition gnawed at the barrier he had built his whole life. The one his mother had stitched together with whispers and portions and the desperate plea to hide. But now, in the aftermath of the Vale's disappearance, the hunger and the fever inside him clawed back harder.
"Kael!" Rayne shouted over the din, her flame curling into a shield that knocked two riders back. Her eyes were bright more than her fire. "You are not cursed, are you? Tell me what you are!"
He faltered. The truth pressed at his lips, bitter and heavy. He wanted to deny it, to spit back the lie he had lived his whole life. But then Malrik broke through the ring of riders, his black blade raised high, his horse thundering straight for Kael.
"The king was right to doubt you," Malrik roared. "You are no heir. You are a stain. I'll drag your broken body back to Varathis and let your father see his cursed blood has made of you. So that you can be remade properly and not this pathetic excuse I see before me."
Kael's grip on Veindrinker tightened. His fever snapped loose like a coiled serpent. The force of his swing met Malrik's blade in a deafening crack, steel shrieking.
The shock knocked them both back, but Malrik smiled coldly from behind his helm. He had felt the strength in that blow.
Rayne's fire flared again, forcing back the closing circle, but the ground was littered with ash and broken spears. More riders poured from the tree line, their formation tightening like a net.
"We can't hold them," Rayne said, voice sharp. "We run."
Kael hesitated, breath ragged. Every instinct screamed to keep fighting, to prove himself. But Malrik's grin, the chant, Rayne's eyes, he knew she was right.
"Go," he snapped.
The broke together, Kael carving a path through the nearest rider while Rayne's flame exploded outwards, a curtain of fire splitting the line. The heat seared the air, forcing horses to rear and riders to scatter.
They fled into the trees, the forest swallowing them in shadows. Branches whipped at Kael's face as they ran, the fever making every sound a drumbeat, every scent too sharp.
Behind them, horns split the air again. Malrik's voice carried through the chaos, cold and clear.
"Hunt them down. Bring me the heir alive. Burn the witch where she stands."
Rayne glanced back, her fire dimming to conserve her strength. Her chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths. "They'll follow us until one of us falls."
Kael's jaw clenched. "Then we don't stop."
The forest thickened, but the sound of hooves and horns did not fade. Shadows moved at their back, relentless, chains of crimson silence broken into a roar that would not end until Malrik's will was done.
Rayne caught his arm, forcing him to meet her gaze even as they ran. Her flame flickered between them, a desperate light in the dark. "I don't care what your father calls you. I need to knw if you are going to lose yourself before I lose you."
Kael's throat burned with the words he couldn't say. The fever pressed against his teeth, whispering of hunger, of blood, of truths buried for far too long. He forced his gaze ahead, voice low and hard.
"I won't lose myself. Not to him. Not yet."
It wasn't the answer she wanted. He saw it in her eyes, the flicker of doubt, the tightening of her grip on her dagger. But there was no time for more.
The horns howled again, closer now. The forest offered no silence, no escape.
The hunt had only just begun.