The forest did not welcome them.
As Lyrielle and her Grandmother ran beneath the tangled canopy, branches clawed at their skin and roots rose treacherously beneath their feet, as if the land itself was deciding whether to shelter them or devour them. The moonlight barely pierced the dense leaves overhead, casting the world in fractured silver and shadow.
Lyrielle's lungs burned. Every breath scraped painfully against her chest, each step heavier than the last. Her heart thundered wildly, not just from fear or exhaustion, but from something deeper—something stirring violently beneath her skin.
The magic.
It had never felt like this before.
It pulsed inside her now, restless and agitated, responding to the chaos of her emotions. Heat curled along her spine, spreading outward, making her hands tremble.
"I can't—" she gasped, stumbling over a root.
Her Grandmother caught her arm before she could fall. "You can," she said fiercely. "You must."
Behind them, voices echoed through the trees.
"They went this way!"
"Don't let them escape!"
Torches flickered between the trunks, angry orange light bleeding into the darkness.
Lyrielle whimpered. "They're still following us."
"They're afraid," her Grandmother replied, breathless but steady. "And fear makes people cruel."
They pushed deeper into the forest, into land no villager dared claim. The air changed here—thicker, older. The sounds of pursuit faded, replaced by whispers that curled through the shadows like living things.
Lyrielle shuddered.
"Do you hear that?" she whispered.
Her Grandmother stiffened. "Do not listen."
But the voices grew clearer.
Not words—not exactly—but intent. Curiosity. Hunger. Recognition.
Something ancient watched them now.
They broke into a small clearing where the ground dipped low, forming a natural hollow ringed by towering trees. At its center stood a massive stone half-swallowed by earth, its surface carved with symbols worn smooth by time.
Lyrielle stopped short.
Her chest tightened painfully.
"I've been here before," she whispered.
Her Grandmother's face drained of color. "No. That's impossible."
"I dreamed of it," Lyrielle said, stepping closer without realizing it. "The stone. The air. It feels… familiar."
The moment her fingers brushed the stone, the world shifted.
The forest went silent.
The whispers stilled.
A pulse of power rippled outward, rattling leaves and bending shadows unnaturally toward Lyrielle.
Her Grandmother cried out. "Lyrielle, don't—!"
Too late.
Heat exploded through Lyrielle's veins. She screamed as violet light burst from beneath her skin, wrapping around her like a living thing. The seal inside her cracked wider, splintering under the pressure of awakening magic that had been waiting years—lifetimes—to be free.
Memories flickered behind her eyes.
A woman screaming under a blood-red moon.
Runes burning into stone.
A voice—low, commanding, familiar—speaking her name with devastating certainty.
Lyrielle collapsed to her knees, clutching her chest as tears streamed down her face.
"I don't understand," she sobbed. "Please—make it stop."
Her Grandmother knelt beside her, hands shaking as she pressed her palms against Lyrielle's shoulders. "Listen to me," she said urgently. "What you're feeling is power. Ancient power. And it's tied to something far worse than this forest."
Lyrielle looked up at her. "Then tell me the truth."
Her Grandmother hesitated.
Then the ground trembled.
A deep, resonant sound rolled through the clearing—not thunder, not earth—but something heavier. Something other.
The stone at the center of the clearing began to glow faintly.
Her Grandmother's breath caught. "No…"
The air split open.
Not violently—not with chaos—but with terrifying precision, as if reality itself had been sliced apart. Heat poured through the tear, curling the edges of the world as firelight bled into the forest.
Lyrielle froze.
From the裂 stepped a figure cloaked in shadow and flame.
He was tall—inhumanly so—his presence bending the space around him. Massive wings unfurled behind him, dark as the void, their edges glowing faintly with embers. His horns curved elegantly from his head, polished black like obsidian.
And his eyes—
Gold.
They locked onto Lyrielle instantly.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
Her heart knew him before her mind could catch up.
"You," she whispered.
Kaelith's gaze softened—not with mercy, but with something dangerously close to relief.
"So this is where you were hidden," he said, his voice deep and resonant, vibrating through her bones. "Little witch."
Her Grandmother surged to her feet, fury and terror warring in her expression. "Stay back," she hissed. "You have no claim on her."
Kaelith's eyes flicked to the old woman, sharp and assessing. "On the contrary," he replied calmly. "I have the oldest claim of all."
Lyrielle struggled to stand, her body trembling—not entirely from fear.
"Who are you?" she demanded, though part of her already knew the answer.
Kaelith stepped closer. The ground beneath his feet blackened, leaves curling into ash. "My name is Kaelith," he said. "And you are the reason the realms have been holding their breath for sixteen years."
Her Grandmother moved in front of Lyrielle again. "She is not yours."
Kaelith tilted his head slightly. "She was bound to me before she ever drew breath."
Lyrielle's head spun. "That's not possible."
Kaelith smiled faintly. "Fate rarely asks permission."
The forest stirred uneasily, ancient spirits recoiling from his presence.
Her Grandmother's voice shook. "You will not take her."
"I won't take her," Kaelith said. His gaze returned to Lyrielle, intense and unwavering. "Not yet."
Lyrielle swallowed hard. "Then why are you here?"
Kaelith stepped closer still, stopping only a few paces away. Heat radiated from him—not painful, but overwhelming.
"Because they hunted you," he said quietly. "Because your seal is breaking. And because soon, the world will try to kill you."
Lyrielle's hands clenched into fists. "And you're different?"
Kaelith met her gaze steadily. "I am worse."
Silence stretched between them, thick and electric.
Her Grandmother whispered, broken, "Lyrielle… don't listen to him."
Kaelith did not deny it.
Instead, he extended a clawed hand toward Lyrielle—slowly, deliberately.
"Come with me," he said. "And live."
Lyrielle stared at his hand.
At the fire.
At the truth burning behind his eyes.
At the forest that no longer felt like home.
Her heart pounded.
And for the first time in her life, she understood something with terrifying clarity—
Running was no longer an option.