Sylvera couldn't breathe right.
Her lungs kept catching, like they forgot how to work. Every breath scraped her throat raw. The air in the forest was cold and heavy and it still felt… thick somehow. Like it didn't want to go in.
She ran anyway.
She had no choice.
Her feet kept slipping in mud. Her knees were ruined. They burned every time she lifted her legs. Blood and dirt had mixed together into this sticky mess, and it was drying in ugly patches on her skin. Branches snapped at her, scratched her arms, tugged at her hair. Her dress was barely a dress now. Just torn cloth dragging behind her.
She didn't even care.
Pain was everywhere. It stopped being separate things. It just became… her.
Lorian's hand was locked on her wrist. Tight. Solid. Like a cuff. He didn't yank her around to hurt her, but he did drag her forward whenever she slowed for even a second.
He moved like he'd done this before.
Not running. Not panicking. Just… moving. Fast, sure. Cutting through the trees like he knew where every root was going to be before it showed its teeth.
Behind them, the forest groaned.
Not wind. Not animals.
Something else.
Something deep and wrong.
Wood cracked. Roots shifted. Not the normal kind either. It sounded like bones grinding. Like the whole place was waking up and stretching and wanting blood.
That thing from the castle had followed them out.
Sylvera knew it. She didn't need to see it.
She felt it in her skin. In the way her stomach kept turning. In the way her scalp prickled. Like eyes on her back. Like hunger breathing behind her.
And her collarbone—
Gods.
The mark there throbbed in time with her heartbeat.
It hurt. Not even a clean pain. Not a cut. Not a bruise. It was hotter than fire and colder than ice at the same time, and it kept pulsing like it had a mind of its own.
Black veins spread out from it, creeping under her skin. Dark. Inky. Wrong.
Sometimes they twitched. Just a little. Like something underneath was pushing at them.
Sylvera hated that the most.
Not the pain. Not the fear.
The feeling that she wasn't alone in her own body anymore.
It pressed at her mind too. Soft at first. Barely there. A voice, but not words. More like… a feeling crawling along her thoughts.
Let me in.
Stop fighting.
Give up.
Her jaw clenched so hard it ached. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.
Anything to shut it up.
"Stay close," Lorian said.
His voice didn't shake. Didn't crack. It didn't even sound tired.
"Not slowing down for anything."
Sylvera wanted to scream at him. For anything? Are you insane?
But her throat was too dry. Her lungs were too busy trying not to collapse.
She stumbled over a root and went down hard.
Mud slammed into her mouth. Her chest hit the ground like she'd been punched. Pain lit up her side so sharp her vision went white for a second.
She barely had time to gasp before Lorian hauled her up.
Fast. Rough.
Not gentle. Not soft. Just quick. Like he couldn't afford softness.
Her arm screamed where his fingers crushed into her skin but it didn't matter because he didn't let her fall again.
"Where—" she choked, coughing, "where are we going?"
"Somewhere safe."
He didn't look back. Not once.
"Somewhere the shadows can't follow."
Sylvera almost laughed. Almost.
Because the shadows were everywhere. They clung under the trees. They thickened between the trunks. They moved even when nothing else did.
The air smelled rotten. Wet bark. Mold. Decay. And something metallic under it, like blood left too long.
Even the moon above was useless. Pale. Cold. Weak. It barely touched the ground.
They ran.
Her thoughts were worse than the pain. Honestly.
They spun too fast. She couldn't grab them. They kept slipping away.
The mark. The veins. The forest thing. The shadows. The castle. The whispers.
And the question she couldn't stop asking—
Why me?
"Lorian," she panted, jumping over a fallen log, "I need to know—"
"Not here," he snapped.
Sharp. Immediate. No room for argument.
"Save your strength. You'll have answers when we're alive to hear them."
That did it.
She ripped her arm free. Stopped dead.
Her body screamed at her the second she did. Legs shaking. Heart slamming. Breath tearing.
She turned to face him, chest heaving.
"You keep running," she said, voice cracking, "but I'm dying."
Her eyes stung. She hated that too. Hated feeling weak.
"I can feel it. This thing is inside me." She pressed her hand hard against her collarbone like she could hold the darkness back. "I deserve to know why."
For a second… Lorian didn't speak.
He just stared at her.
And Sylvera saw it. That war in him. The restraint. The way his jaw tightened.
Truth versus control. Survival versus secrets.
Then his voice came out low. Not calm anymore. Almost… rough.
"The Black Hollow," he said. "Only place left where the First King's power doesn't reach."
His gaze flicked away, quick. Like even saying it tasted wrong.
"It's shielded. Old magic."
He stepped toward her. Hand out.
"Once we're there, I'll tell you everything."
Then, harder—
"But we move. Now."
Sylvera hesitated.
Because the forest went silent.
Not quiet. Silent.
Even the insects stopped. Even the trees felt like they were holding their breath.
And then she smelled it.
Rot. Deep and thick. Sweet in a sick way.
And under it…
Blood.
Her stomach rolled.
A whisper slid through the trees behind them.
"Little witch…"
Wet. Thin. Close.
Too close.
Sylvera froze. Her blood went cold.
Lorian's face changed for half a heartbeat. Real fear flashed in his eyes. Not for himself.
For her.
Then it was gone.
"Now, Sylvera!"
She didn't hesitate after that.
She grabbed his hand.
They ran.
The whisper followed.
Not footsteps. Not breathing. Just that crawling sense of something gliding behind them, always there, always hungry.
Sylvera's legs started to fail. She felt it building. The shake in her knees. The numbness creeping up her calves. Her vision blurring at the edges.
The mark burned hotter. Then cold. Then hotter again.
The black veins crawled farther.
Her throat tightened. She could barely swallow.
And the shadow inside her pushed harder now. Not words. Not even whispers.
Feelings.
Despair. Hunger. Surrender.
She stumbled again.
This time she couldn't catch herself.
Her body just went limp.
She thought, this is it. This is where I go down and don't get back up.
But Lorian caught her.
Not just caught.
Lifted.
One arm under her knees. One around her back. He scooped her up like she was weightless.
She tried to protest. Tried to fight.
Nothing came out.
Her head lolled against his shoulder, her breath shallow. She hated that. Hated being carried. Hated needing him.
"Eyes on me," Lorian said.
His voice hit her like stone.
"You're not giving in. Not while I'm here."
The forest started to change.
The trees thinned. Their bark turned pale and cracked, almost bleached. Dead-looking. Drained.
The air got colder.
But cleaner too. Less rot.
Sylvera felt it before she saw anything.
A line.
A boundary.
A pulse of old power under her skin, like stepping through water.
One second the shadow pressed against her mind like a fist.
The next—
It recoiled.
The whisper stopped.
The pressure eased.
Sylvera gasped so hard it hurt.
Lorian slowed. Finally.
He set her down gently, careful now.
Her legs nearly collapsed. She wobbled. Stayed upright because she refused to fall again.
Ahead was a clearing.
Dead trees. White ash on the ground. A circle of standing stones etched with runes glowing faintly.
The Black Hollow.
"We're here," Lorian said, breath ragged. "It can't hear us here. Not even him."
Sylvera dropped to her knees.
Her whole body shook. Like it didn't know how to stop running. Pain still roared in her blood, but at least it wasn't chewing her mind.
She looked up at Lorian, eyes burning.
"Now tell me," she croaked. "Everything."
Lorian nodded once.
Slow. Final.
He pulled a vial from his coat and pushed it into her hand.
"Drink." A pause. Then, almost annoyed: "It'll hold you steady. I need you clear for this."
Sylvera drank.
The liquid was bitter. Burned down her throat. Made her gag.
But warmth spread through her chest and the shaking eased a little. Just enough to breathe.
Lorian dropped to one knee and dragged his fingers through the ash around them, carving a circle.
Fast. Precise. Like he'd done it a hundred times.
The ground sparked faintly where he touched it.
He whispered under his breath, words she didn't know, but the air hummed with them. The runes lit up with cold violet light.
A dome flickered around them. Thin, but strong.
The wind stopped.
The trees went silent.
Even the distant hunger felt… muffled. Shut out.
"It can't touch us here," Lorian said evenly. "As long as I'm standing, nothing will."
Then he reached for her hand.
Not command. Not force.
Purpose.
Sylvera hesitated, but she didn't pull away.
His eyes held hers. No cruelty there.
Only grim certainty.
"You deserve the truth," Lorian said. "But words won't cut it."
He tightened his grip.
"I'll show you myself. No lies. No half-measures."
Sylvera swallowed.
Her throat was tight. Her stomach too. She felt like she was standing on the edge of something that would ruin her.
Lorian closed his eyes. Drew in a long breath. Magic gathered between them, thick and charged, humming with something deeper than spellwork.
The safety circle flared once.
Then steadied.
"I'm taking you to the past," he said, low. "You'll see what I was."
A pause.
"Who the First King really is."
Another pause. He sounded almost bitter.
"And why every shadow in this cursed land points back to her."
Sylvera closed her eyes too.
And together—
They stepped into it.
Into the past.
Into blood.
Into shadow.
Into truth.