The forest pressed close, branches clawing at them as they ran, the last echoes of the Vale's collapse still ringing in Kael's ear. Behind them, the horns of the hunt cut through the night like a curse that would not lift.
Rayne's breath came fast beside him, steady despite her chase, her dagger still slick from the skirmish they had barely escaped.
"They were waiting," she said, voice sharp, her firelit eyes burning with fury. "The moment the Vale vanished, they were on us. How could they have known?"
Kael did not answer at once. His jaw locked, but his thoughts surged with memory, unwanted and sharp. The shadow in the trees, the whisper of the footsteps not their own during their trials in the Vale. He had dismissed it then as paranoia. Now he knew better.
"My father knew," he said finally, his tone edged with something darker than exhaustion. "He must have sent someone. A shadow to watch me. To follow me."
Rayne's gaze cut to him, fierce and accusing. "And that spy fed them everything. About me. About us."
Kael's silence was admission enough.
The horns blared again, they were closer now. And threaded with the sound, Kael felt another pull. A whisper of hunger, low and dangerous, gnawing at the edges of his restraint. He clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms, forcing the tremor away.
"They don't hunt me because I am weak," he said at last, voice rough with something half-confession, half-defiance. "They hunt me because I refuse the throne."
Rayne's brow furrowed. "The throne? You speak of Varathis?"
He shook his head once. "Not the throne of stone. The other one. The one in blood. My father sees it. He knows what i carry, even as my mother tried to bury it, even if I try to bury it."
Her breath caught at the weight of his words. She had seen flashes, the flare of the crimson behind his eyes, the strength that tore through him when rage took hold, but she had not understood.
"You mean..." she whispered.
Kael cut her off, his jaw hard. "I mean the throne that has no king. And they will drag me to it by chain or blade, unless they kill you first."
The ground beneath their boots sloped down into a ravine, the trees thinning into pale moonlight. The world opened, but the sound of the Hunt grew louder, the pounding of the hooves and the baying of hounds shaking the earth itself.
Rayne's fire sparked in her hand, a thin flame dancing across her palm. "Then we fight. If they want to steal your crown, they'll bleed for it first."
Her defiance sent something sharp through Kael, pride and terror both. He wanted to tell her to run, to leave him to the fate chasing him, but the thought of her gone hollowed his chest.
Instead, he said, "Stay close to me. No matter what happens, don't let them separate us."
A horn sounded again, so close it now rattled the branches. Shadows spilled from the treeline, mounted hunters in dark armor, their helms carved like beasts, their blades gleaming with runes meant to sever magic. And at their head rode Malrik, the court's blackhound, the general Kael had grown up fearing more than his own father's wrath.
Malrik's voice cut through the night, cruel and certain.
"There he is....the hollow heir. Running from a crown that screams for his name."
The hunters fanned out, encircling them. Rayne lifted her flame higher, Kael's hand settling on Veindrinker's hilt though his other hand shook with hunger, fangs threatening to pierce through.
Rayne leaned close, her whisper fierce. "Then prove him wrong. Show him you are more than their king of blood."
But Kael's thoughts drowned under Malrik's taunt, the words sinking deep. A throne without a king. A crown waiting to consume him. And all the while, the hunger grew stronger.
The circle closed. The Hunt has found its prey.
The hunter's formation tightened, their mounts restless, eyes glowing with the unnatural sheen of beasts bound to blood oaths. Steel whispered as swords and spears lowered, the crescent of their circle closing with predatory precision.
Malrik raised his gauntleted hand, signaling the stillness before the strike. His helm caught the moonlight, the carved snarl of a wolf twisting into something mocking.
"You shame the Varzian blood, Kael," Malrik called, voice carrying like a judgement across the night. "Your grandfather would have carved kingdoms from bone. Your father wears the mantle, no matter how cold his heart. And you? You flee from what is yours. A kingless throne. An heir that dares not bleed."
Rayne stepped forward, her flame catching, twin daggers flashing in her grip. Her voice rang clear, defiant. "He is no hollow heir. HE is more than you can ever imagine."
The hunters laughed, a grim, echoing sound. Malrik dismounted with the weight of inevitability, his great blade gleaming with runes meant to sunder flesh from spirit. He dragged its point through the earth as he walked forward, the ground itself seeming to recoil.
Kael's hand tightened on Veindrinker, but it was not the blade that trembled. It was his control. Hunger gnawed at him again, sharper now, crueler. The scent of blood from a wounded hound, the tang of iron from Malrik's weapon, all of it called to something deep, something waiting.
"Why do you resist?" Malrik's voice softened into something almost coaxing, though no less lethal. "That fire in your chest, the hunger tearing at you, It is the crown demanding its king. Sit the throne, Kael, and the Hunt will kneel."
Rayne's flame flared, her body angled protectively towards him. "He will never kneel to your throne. Not while I stand beside him."
Malrik's helm tilted, his tone sharpening. "And that is why you must die. witch. You tether him to weakness. His humanity. HIs hesitation. Without you, he would already be what he was meant to be."
The words struck Kael like a blade. He saw the truth of Malrik's claim reflected in the hunter's eyes. They believed it, his father believed it, perhaps even his grandfather had, that his humanity was weakness. That Rayne was weakness.
Yet when Kael looked at her, flame dancing in her hand, defiance etched in every line of her face, he knew they were wrong. She was not his weakness. She was his anchor.
HIs fangs pressed against his lips, hunger rising in waves he could no longer ignore. The world blurred at its edges, his heartbeat thundered with unnatural force. For a moment, the veil between who he was and what he was meant to become cracked wide open.
Rayne caught the change in his eyes, the flash of crimson, the shadow of something predatory breaking through. Her voice softened, urgent. "Kael! Stay with me. Don't give them what they want."
Her words cut through the haze, but not enough to silence the hunger.
Malrik stopped just a few paces away, his great sword lifting in challenge. "There it is," he said, voice low, satisfied. "The blood stirring in you. Stop fighting it, Kael. Claim it. Claim the throne waiting for you, and you will not run another night in your life."
Kael's sword came free with a ringing sound, his body thrumming with both fury and fear. He stood between Rayne and Malrik, the night around them trembling with the tension of what he could become.
"I am not your king," Kael growled, though the hiss of his voice betrayed the fangs pressing through. "And I will not be your weapon."
Malrik laughed once, sharp and cruel. Then he surged forward, his blade cleaving the night in two.
And Kael, torn between the hunger that wanted to claim him and the humanity that clung to Rayne's flame, raised Veindrinker to meet him.
Steel met steel. Sparks scattered into the dark like dying stars.
Kael staggered under the first blow. Malrik's blade caried the weight of runes and authority, the kind that expected the world to kneel.
The force shuddered through Kael's bones. His sword arm burned, his blood answering the strike in a strange, hot rhythm. He could hear it now, the echo of something not human in his veins, a pulse that did not belong to the living.
Rayne's flame cut the shadows aside. She moved fast, twin daggers slicing in arcs of light, forcing two hunters back. Each time she struck, the ground seemed to breathe with her, her fire licking at her boots, her fury a living thing.
Kael's breath grew ragged. Hunger and pain warred inside him. He saw the faint smear of blood on Malrik's gauntlet, smelled the iron, and the world tilted red.
"Fight me, heir." Malrik taunted. "Let the blood show you your place."
Kael's blade locked against his again. "You mistake my restraint for weakness."
Malrik grinned behind his helm. "No. Your restraint comes not from weakness. It' reeks of your fear, it chokes me. And I intend to rid you of it once and for all."
The next strike broke their lock. Kael twisted, faster than his body should allow, his movement edged with unnatural precision. His vision tunneled; his senses sharpened until every breath in the clearing felt like thunder in his ears.
A hunter lunged at Rayne. She spun, flame bursting from her hand, but another came from behind. Kael's sword moved before he could think, cutting through armor, flesh and bone. The man fell, and Kael froze, chest heaving.
The scent hit him again. Blood. Real. Close!!
His fangs tore through before he realized he had bared them.
"Kael," Rayne's voice cut through the noise, sharp and steady. "Stay with me."
He looked at her, the world flickering between what he saw and what he hungered for. Her heartbeat drummed in his skull. She took one step toward him, fearless, her fire low and steady now. "Don't let them take who you are."
Malrik laughed. "Too late, witch. You see it, don't you? The crown sits in his veins. The throne calls for its king."
Kael lunged. Not at Rayne, not at Malrik, but at the voice itself. The hunger surged, blinding and electric, every strike heavier, every motion smoother, more feral. The hunters faltered, even Malrik took a step back.
For a moment, Kael was the storm.
The he heard Rayne cry his name, once; raw and real, and it shattered whatever trance he was in.
He stopped, sword raised, trembling. The night went silent. The hunters watched in disbelief.
Malrik's voice lowered to a growl. "This is what you were born for. And you still resist? A throne without a king, what a waste."
Kael's answer came in a whisper. "Better a throne without a king, than a king without a soul."
He grabbed Rayne's arm, dragging her toward the trees before the hunters could regroup. She didn't argue, she threw a fire wall behind them, the flames roaring to life, buying seconds.
They ran. Through smoke, through shadow, through the pounding in Kael's chest that didn't sound human anymore.
Malrik's roar followed them, echoing like a vow. "You can't run from the crown forever!"
They broke through the treeline. Wind slammed into them, cool and alive. The forest fell away to a vast ridge overlooking the silver stretch of the Kareth River.
Rayne stopped first, turning to him. "Kael...your eyes."
He knew without seeing. They burned crimson.
He looked at his hands, blood on his knuckles, not his own. His breath trembled, part growl, part gasp.
Rayne reached for him but didn't touch. "You saved me," she said softly. "That's who you are. Don't forget it."
Kael turned away, staring down at the river. The wind carried the scent of iron and smoke.
"Then why," he whispered. "Tell me why does it feel like I've already begun to forget?"
Behind them, the fire died out. The horns of the Hunt sounded once more, farther now, but not gone.
A king without a throne.
A throne without a king.
And the blood in his veins beat like a war drum waiting to wake.