Seraphina's POV
They threw me out before sunrise.
The guards dragged me through the kingdom's gate and shoved me hard. I hit the ground face-first, tasting dirt and blood. Behind me, the massive iron gates slammed shut with a sound like a coffin closing.
Good luck surviving, traitor! one guard called. They all laughed.
I pushed myself up on shaking arms. My cheek throbbed where I'd hit the ground. The rough peasant dress was already torn at the knee.
In front of me stretched the wasteland—the cursed land between civilization and the Thornwall. Nothing grew here except dead grass and twisted trees. The ground was cracked and dry, like the earth itself was dying.
I had no food. No water. No weapon.
They'd sent me here to die slowly.
I started walking because staying still meant giving up, and I wasn't ready to give them that victory yet.
By midday, the sun felt like fire on my skin. My throat burned with thirst. I'd never been this thirsty in my life, at the palace, servants brought me water in crystal glasses whenever I wanted.
Now I would kill for a single drop.
I stumbled toward a scraggly bush, hoping for berries. Nothing. Just thorns that tore my already-raw hands.
Water, I croaked to no one. I need water.
The wasteland didn't care.
But something else did.
A strange pull tugged at my chest, faint, like a thread being drawn taut. It pointed deeper into the wasteland, toward where the Thornwall waited in the distance.
Come.
I jerked my head up. Had someone spoken? No. The voice came from inside my own mind. Gentle. Insistent.
You're dying. Come to us.
I'm going insane, I whispered. Thirst is making me hear things.
But the pull didn't fade. And somehow, following it felt right in a way nothing had since my engagement party shattered.
As the sun set, I found a cave barely big enough to crawl into. I curled up on the hard ground, shivering despite the heat earlier. My stomach cramped with hunger. My lips were cracked and bleeding.
Sleep came in fevered bursts.
I dreamed of amber eyes watching me from shadows. Of a voice rough as stone promising You're almost here. Keep coming.
I woke gasping, my heart racing. The dreams felt too real. Too vivid.
And that pull in my chest was stronger now.
The next morning, I found a plant with thick leaves. Desperate, I bit into one. Bitter liquid filled my mouth—not much, but enough to wet my throat.
As I drank, warmth flooded through me. Not from the plant. From that invisible thread in my chest, pulsing with approval.
Good. You're learning. Keep surviving.
Who are you? I demanded of the empty wasteland.
No answer. Just that constant pull, guiding me forward.
Day three, I found eggs in a bird's nest. As I cracked them open and swallowed them raw, I felt it again, that sense of someone watching. Someone approving of my survival.
The kingdoms had always taught that the Wildlands was evil. Corrupt. That its magic twisted everything it touched.
So why did this presence feel protective?
Day seven, wild dogs attacked while I slept.
The largest one lunged for my throat. I grabbed a rock and swung wildly, connecting with the dog's skull. The other two circled closer.
Terror overwhelmed me. I was going to die here, torn apart by starving animals.
Then something surged in my chest—hot and fierce and angry.
MINE, a voice roared in my head. Not my voice. Deeper. Primal. She is MINE. Protect her.
Power I didn't understand exploded from my hands. Not visible, but the dogs felt it. They yelped and scattered, running like something terrifying had just appeared.
I collapsed against the tree, shaking. What was that?
The presence in my chest rumbled with satisfaction.
You called. I answered. Even separated by the Thornwall, I felt your fear.
This isn't real, I whispered. Magic doesn't work like this.
Your people forgot what magic is. But your blood remembers.
I pressed my hand to my racing heart. What are you?
Waiting. Come to the Thornwall. Cross into the Wildlands. Come home.
Home. The word echoed strangely in my mind. I'd never had a real home—just places where I was supposed to behave perfectly and follow rules.
But this voice made home sound like something different. Like belonging.
Weeks blurred together. The presence stayed with me, a constant warmth in my chest. Sometimes I felt flashes of emotion that weren't mine—protectiveness when I was in danger, approval when I survived, and underneath it all, desperate longing.
Hurry. I've waited so long.
For what? I asked during a moment of delirium, fever burning through me from infected wounds.
For you.
On week four, I killed a rabbit with a rock. As I ate the half-raw meat, I felt pride bleeding through that invisible connection. Not my pride his.
Because I knew now. Somehow, without understanding how, I knew the presence was male. Powerful. And absolutely certain I belonged to him.
The realization should have terrified me. After what Adrian and Celeste did, I should have fought against any hint of connection.
But this felt different. This presence had helped me survive. Guided me. Protected me from a distance.
Maybe not all bonds were chains.
By week six, I'd crossed most of the wasteland. The pull in my chest had become impossible to ignore—a constant drumbeat: closer, closer, almost here.
That morning, I climbed a hill and saw it.
The Thornwall rose in the distance—massive, alive, humming with the same magic I felt pulsing through that invisible thread in my chest.
The presence roared to life, so strong I staggered.
YES. Finally. Come to me. The land will let you through. Trust it. Trust me.
I touched my chest where the pull originated, feeling my heart race beneath my palm.
Who are you? I whispered.
You'll know soon. The land is already preparing to mark you. To bind us together properly.
Bind us? Fear crept in. I don't even know you.
Your soul knows mine. That's all that matters. Now come. Stop fighting what you feel and come home.
I stared at the Thornwall, at the destination I'd been walking toward for six weeks. Something waited for me there. Someone.
And despite every lesson about staying safe and controlled, despite everything Adrian and Celeste taught me about trusting the wrong person...
I wanted to meet him.
I started walking faster, that pull in my chest singing with each step closer.
By the time I reached the base of the Thornwall, anticipation had replaced my fear. The humming became a roar. The presence in my chest blazed like fire.
Touch it. The land knows you now. It will welcome you.
I pressed my hand against my racing heart. You promise this isn't a trap?
I promise. I've been waiting seven years for you. I won't let anything hurt you.
Seven years. How had he known I was coming for seven years?
Do it quick, I whispered, but this time I wasn't asking for death.
I was asking for whatever came next.
I reached out and touched the thorns.
They parted.
Warmth exploded in my chest as the presence roared in triumph.
Welcome home, mate.