Kael's POV
Morning should have been quiet.
Instead, it tasted of iron.
Kael sat behind his desk long after Zelene left, her words still hanging in the air like a wound that refused to close.
The letter to her father remained untouched, the ink still drying, but he couldn't bring himself to seal it.
The curse stirred — faint at first, like a restless heartbeat pulsing just beneath the skin.
He closed his eyes, willing it down. Not now.
But the mark disagreed. The veins at his wrist began to darken, spreading upward, coiling beneath his glove. A hiss like burning metal filled his mind. He clenched his jaw until the sound quieted.
He'd lived with pain for years — had learned to tame it with silence, with control.
But this… this was different. The curse was growing impatient.
There was a knock at the door.
Miren entered without waiting for permission, her head bowed, her voice soft and sharp like a blade hidden beneath silk.
"Your Grace," she said, closing the door behind her. "You should not be alone when the symptoms return."
Kael didn't look up. "I told you not to enter without being called."
"You also told me not to let you die unattended."
She crossed the room with quiet precision — years of practiced care — and set a small glass vial on his desk. The liquid inside shimmered faintly, silver and violet. "A suppressant. Brewed from the same runes as the chamber below."
Kael's eyes flickered to it. He didn't touch it.
"I told you to stop using those."
"They're the only thing keeping the curse from devouring you whole."
"And the price?" he asked coldly.
Miren hesitated. "A little pain is preferable to losing control, my lord."
Kael finally looked up at her. The faint smile that curved her lips was the wrong kind of comfort — reverent, almost devotional.
As if she were speaking to something inside him, not to him.
The mark burned again, searing through his arm. He gritted his teeth, steadying his breath.
"You've overexerted yourself," Miren murmured, stepping closer. "You shouldn't have seen her. The lady's presence agitates the mark."
Kael's gaze sharpened. "Zelene has nothing to do with this."
Miren tilted her head slightly. "Does she not?"
The quiet challenge in her tone made him still.
"You forget, I was there when your father bore the same mark," she continued, voice almost gentle. "It thrives on attachment, on weakness. The curse consumes those who care."
Her fingers brushed the desk — deliberate, unhurried. "Send her away, Your Grace. Or she'll be the one to burn next."
Kael rose sharply, the chair scraping the floor. "Enough."
For a moment, her calm faltered — a flicker of unease in her eyes before she bowed low. "Forgive me. I only speak truth."
But when she turned to leave, a faint smile ghosted her lips again, unseen by him.
The moment the door shut, Kael let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His gloves trembled.
The curse whispered.
You cannot hide her. You cannot protect what was never yours to keep.
He pressed his hand over his heart, the sound of his pulse louder than his thoughts.
It shouldn't matter. She shouldn't matter.
And yet…
He had almost called her name when the pain struck earlier.
Later That Night
The manor had fallen into silence.
Miren hadn't returned since morning, but the air felt heavy — charged, as if something unseen crawled through the walls.
Kael sat in the dark, a single candle flickering on the table beside him. The flame bent unnaturally, twisting with the rhythm of his pulse.
The curse was no longer whispering. It was breathing.
Every inhale felt like shards beneath his skin. His vision blurred — walls bending, runes flickering along the floor where none should exist. He staggered to his feet, clutching the desk for balance.
And that's when he heard it — a soft chime.
The faintest echo of her voice.
"Kael?"
His head snapped up. He wasn't imagining it.
Zelene stood in the doorway, worry etched across her face, her hand already glowing faintly with light.
"Zelene—" he started, but his voice broke with the curse's surge.
The mark along his arm pulsed violently, black veins crawling up his neck. He stumbled back, choking out a warning. "Stay— back—"
But she didn't.
She crossed the room in three steps, ignoring the hum of power radiating from him, and caught his arm before he could pull away.
The contact was agony. His skin seared. Her light burned against the curse, clashing like opposing storms.
And yet — beneath the pain — there was relief.
The pressure in his chest eased, just slightly. The whispering dulled.
Her Aether — the same radiance that had calmed the curse once before — pulsed through her fingers, gold and soft and stubborn.
Kael's breathing slowed. The darkness recoiled, but not without a fight.
"You shouldn't be here," he rasped.
"I told you," she whispered, voice trembling but firm. "You can't bear this alone."
His knees hit the floor. Her light steadied him.
For a moment — just a heartbeat — the curse retreated like a tide pulled back by moonlight.
But when the silence fell, it wasn't peaceful. It was fragile — the calm before another storm.
And in the shadows of the doorway, unseen by either of them, a faint figure watched — Miren, eyes glowing faintly with crimson light.