The aqueduct's darkness pressed close around them, thick and suffocating, as Kael and Rylan crept forward. Every step echoed against the damp stone, mingling with the trickle of water beneath their boots. The air smelled of mold and cold iron, and the faintest draft whispered through cracks high above.
Kael's cane tapped softly, each strike precise. "Slow," he murmured. "We must listen. Every sound tells a story."
Rylan's sword was drawn now, the blade catching the smallest glimmer from a distant fissure in the ceiling. "Stories, or warnings?" he asked, his voice low. "Because this place… it doesn't feel like it's been empty for centuries."
Kael's lips twitched. "Then it is telling the truth now."
They moved deeper into the aqueduct, and soon the faint murmur of water gave way to a more menacing sound: voices. Whispered, urgent, in a tongue neither had heard before. Kael froze, cane poised mid-air, listening.
"They are not alone," he said softly. "Stay close."
Rylan's brow furrowed. "Who would—"
A shadow darted across the wall ahead, swift and silent. Rylan's reflexes were instant, blade swinging in a tight arc—but it passed through empty air. Kael caught the faint vibration of movement against the stone, a subtle disturbance in the echo of the water. "Not a ghost," he said. "Something else… or someone else."
A low hiss followed, and then the figures emerged: three cloaked men, their faces hidden beneath deep hoods, moving with unnerving coordination. Their weapons glimmered faintly in the half-light—a dull sheen that seemed unnatural, almost alive.
Rylan stepped forward, blade held steady. "State your business."
The lead figure chuckled, a sound like dry leaves brushing stone. "The blind prince dares to flee? Such boldness… such foolishness."
Kael tilted his head, sensing the subtle magic radiating from them. "You seek the crown's heir. But you will not find him tonight."
The attackers advanced, moving with inhuman precision. Kael tapped his cane against the floor, each strike sending a subtle vibration into his senses, revealing the world beyond sight. He guided Rylan around the first, ducking a blade that hummed against the stone like an angry serpent.
Rylan struck back, steel meeting steel, sparks flying in the darkness. The sound of their struggle echoed, magnifying the danger. Kael reached out with his senses, calling the unseen currents of magic like a tether. A faint glow of power pulsed from his hands, enough to repel one attacker without touching him.
The lead figure hissed again. "He is stronger than we thought."
Kael's voice was calm, almost detached. "Stronger than fear, stronger than hate. But you—" He struck the air with his palm, sending a pulse of energy that sent the nearest attacker tumbling into the water below with a scream that faded into the shadows.
Rylan's blade cut through the second, precise and deadly. The third hesitated, and Kael's cane tapped twice against the stone. A hidden spike shot from the wall—ancient defense mechanisms long abandoned but still functional—and pinned the final intruder to the wall.
Panting, they stepped past the fallen figures, eyes alert for any sign of reinforcements. "Old magic," Kael murmured. "The palace always knew I would come this way."
Rylan shook his head. "And you knew it too. That's… disturbing."
Kael allowed himself a small, grim smile. "Disturbing is the word of my life."
The aqueduct widened as they approached the outer cliffs. Dawn was breaking, the first threads of light painting the sky in muted gold and gray. Salt air from the distant sea mingled with the scent of wet stone, and Kael breathed deeply, absorbing the freedom he had almost lost.
"We're not out of danger," Rylan reminded him. "The king will know soon. Magisters will be sent. And whatever those men were, they are likely just the first."
Kael nodded, cane tapping against the cliffside. "I know. But I will reach her. I will find her before they do."
---
Meanwhile, in Silverwood, Liora's awakening had begun in earnest.
The night had left the village shaken, but by morning, curiosity and fear mingled in equal measure. Windows watched, doors cracked just enough to peek through, and whispers followed her along every narrow street. Even children avoided her, their small hands gripping older siblings' sleeves.
Liora sat alone in the small yard behind the cottage, her fingers tracing patterns in the soil, feeling the warmth and tension in the earth as if it were an extension of herself. The power had returned, stronger now, almost eager. She could sense every twitch of life nearby—the heartbeat of a bird, the scurry of rats beneath the floorboards, the restless energy in the villagers' fear.
Kaela approached cautiously, eyes scanning the streets. "You can't stay hidden forever," she warned. "They will notice if you don't step outside, if you don't…"
"Control it?" Liora's voice was soft, almost a whisper. "I don't know how."
Kaela knelt beside her, hand on her shoulder. "Then we learn. Together. You will not be alone in this."
But learning came at a cost. Liora had felt the taste of power, a heady surge that made her pulse sing, but every time it flared, it left a residue—a subtle fatigue, a lingering ache in her bones, and a whisper of darkness she could not name.
The first real test came sooner than she expected. A boy from the village, emboldened by the absence of adults, sneaked into the yard, wielding a stick and a mocking grin. "You're the fire girl, huh? Let's see if you're really magic."
Liora's chest tightened. The air around her hummed, responding to her fear. The boy laughed, waving the stick, stepping closer.
And then the light flared.
Not fire this time, but a pulse of raw energy that shook the ground beneath him. He stumbled back, eyes wide, hair standing on end as a visible ripple of force pushed him against the fence.
Liora staggered, clutching her head. Kaela rushed forward, holding her tight. "Liora! Focus! You must control it!"
"I—I can't!" she cried, tears streaming. "It's too strong!"
The boy, shaken and terrified, scrambled to his feet and ran, screaming for his mother. The villagers began to emerge, drawn by the commotion, their faces pale and accusing.
Whispers rose again, louder this time. "Witch… cursed… dangerous…"
Erynis appeared at the cottage door, Seraphine at her side, their expressions a mixture of triumph and malice. "So, child," Erynis purred, "the villagers see the truth now. Perhaps it is time we… helped them understand their place."
Liora's hands trembled, light flickering faintly across the yard like embers in a dying fire. Kaela stepped forward, dagger raised, but even she knew that this confrontation was beyond mere steel.
"You will not touch her," Kaela said, voice trembling with anger.
Erynis smiled, slow and deliberate. "Oh, Kaela. She is already in our grasp. And soon, even your knives will be useless."
Liora clenched her fists, feeling the hum of power surge in response to the threat. It was exhilarating—and terrifying. She could feel the choice before her: lash out, risk hurting those she cared for, or restrain herself, endure, and survive.
Her vision clouded, her ears rang, and for a moment, the world seemed suspended between fear and power. And then she remembered Kaela's words: You are not a curse. You are not a monster. This is yours.
She exhaled slowly, focusing, feeling the energy pulse through her without letting it consume her. The air stilled. The villagers, sensing the shift, fell silent. Erynis's smile faltered, just enough to hint at unease.
"You see?" Liora's voice was soft, steady, but carried an authority that was hers alone. "I am… myself. And I will not be used."
Kaela pressed close, murmuring, "You're learning. Slowly, but surely."
Erynis's eyes narrowed, a storm behind them. "This is not over, child. Not by far. And neither is your lesson."
Liora's chest heaved as she sank to her knees, exhausted but alive. The power had not broken her. Not yet. But she could feel the weight of responsibility settling upon her shoulders like iron chains, heavy but inevitable.
---
Far across the cliffs, Kael and Rylan emerged from the aqueduct into the morning haze. Sea spray mixed with the scent of wildflowers clinging to the rocks, and the first warmth of sunlight brushed Kael's face.
He paused, head tilted toward the horizon, senses alert for any distant echo of Liora, of danger, of destiny itself. The threads were taut, drawing him forward, whispering promises of connection, of peril, and of a fate that could not be ignored.
Rylan clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You sure about this? After what you've just done… I'd call it madness."
Kael allowed himself a faint smile. "Perhaps. But the storm comes, Rylan. And we will face it together—or fall trying."
The cliffs yawned before them, a path to unknown lands. Behind them, the palace slept—or waited. Ahead, destiny called, unyielding and relentless.
And in the heart of Silverwood, Liora rose to meet it, too.
The first gusts of the storm were coming.
---