The voice still echoed in my head.
He has awakened.
Those words were like a cold stone dropped into the stillness of the night—rippling with meaning I could neither fully grasp nor ignore. Around us, the forest seemed to hold its breath. The heavy silence wasn't peaceful; it felt waiting, watching.
Lira and I stood frozen, breaths shallow, every muscle taut. The moonlight filtered through the thick canopy, casting pale shadows that danced on twisted roots and tangled branches. The ancient trees creaked softly, like the forest itself whispered secrets in the dark.
"Did you hear it too?" Lira's voice was barely more than a whisper, fragile against the vast night.
I nodded, fingers tightening instinctively around the hilt of my sword. The blade was a relic from a life that seemed both distant and painfully close—the prince I once was, the lessons I once had. Back then, my training was protected, choreographed: private tutors, polished halls, and ceremonial duels. It was a world of control and privilege, far from this wild, unforgiving forest.
Now, I was seventeen again—no magic, no guards, no kingdom waiting for me. Just a boy grappling with memories that nobody else could understand.
"We shouldn't linger," I said, voice steady though my heart raced. "You said you got separated from your caravan?"
Lira nodded, her eyes scanning the shadows. "Yes. I was trying to find the way back to Siven's Hollow."
The village was northeast, a place of humble homes and wary folk, a safe enough refuge in a land that suddenly felt too dangerous.
"Then that's where we're going," I decided.
Her silver eyes flashed with defiance. "I don't need your protection."
"Maybe not," I said with a smirk, "but I doubt you'd last long alone in these woods."
She muttered something, irritation flickering across her face, but she fell in step beside me.
The forest pressed around us, ancient and alive with secrets. The ground was soft, blanketed with a thick layer of leaves and moss, roots like veins twisting beneath the earth. Mist curled low, wrapping trees like ghosts, turning the familiar into the eerie.
Occasionally, a night bird's call cut through the silence, but otherwise, the forest was still—too still.
"Why here?" Lira asked suddenly. "Why wander a place like this?"
I hesitated. I said nothing. That truth was mine alone to bear for now.
As we walked, I studied her. Despite the dirt smudging her cheeks and the wear on her cloak, she moved with the grace of nobility. Her hair, black as raven's wing, tumbled in loose waves, catching the moonlight. Her silver eyes were sharp and alert, a mix of pride and vulnerability that told me she was more than a spoiled noble girl.
Eighteen years old, a year older than me. Used to command. Used to having people obey her.
Our journey was slow, the path winding through dense thickets and fallen logs. I led cautiously, alert for any sign of danger—the snap of a twig, a flicker of movement.
We spoke little; words felt heavy in this haunted place.
At one point, she glanced at my sword.
"Where did you learn to fight like that?" she asked quietly.
I looked at the worn blade, its cold steel etched with faint runes I didn't understand.
"I trained," I said simply. "In a place far away."
Her eyes flickered with surprise and skepticism. "A place far away?"
I smiled faintly, the weight of my secret pressing down. "You could say that."
That night, we camped beside a narrow stream, the water whispering softly over smooth stones. The fire we built was small and flickering, struggling against the thick darkness of the forest.
The stars overhead were sharper than any I'd ever seen, constellations unfamiliar and strange.
Lira sat opposite me, wrapping a cloth around her scraped hands. Her knuckles were bruised and calloused—evidence of a fighter, not just a noble.
I watched her, sensing something beyond her guarded exterior. "You said you were part of a diplomatic caravan. What kind?"
She sighed, eyes fixed on the fire. "My father sent me north to negotiate with the clans of the steppe—the wild nomads who rarely trust outsiders."
"And you got separated in a storm," I guessed.
Her lips tightened. "Yes. The storm scattered us. I lost everyone else."
The weight of that loneliness settled between us. I understood what it meant to be alone in a hostile world.
"Your father is powerful," I said quietly. "Lord Caelus of Virewyn."
She nodded. "He expects me to be strong. To survive."
I offered a small smile. "You already are."
She returned the smile—brief and almost shy—before looking away.
The night grew deeper, colder. I felt the ache in my muscles, the soreness of battle still fresh.
"Tell me," she said softly, breaking the silence. "Why did you fight those creatures back there? You could've run."
I looked at her, the firelight catching the shadows under my eyes. "Because sometimes, running isn't an option."
Her eyes held mine then—silver and searching. "You're different. Not from here. And not just because of your words."
I hesitated, but something in her gaze made me want to trust.
"There's a price to not fighting," I said. "A price I've paid once before."
She was silent for a moment, then reached out to touch my arm—lightly, almost uncertain.
"You saved me," she said. "Not because you had to, but because you chose to."
That simple truth settled inside me. It was more than a battle won. It was a connection—a fragile thread weaving between two lost souls.
I nodded, the weight of it grounding me.
"We'll reach the village," I promised. "Together."
For a while, we sat side by side in the dark, the forest around us whispering and waiting.
But then the silence shattered.
A crack—like a branch breaking underfoot.
A breath. A whisper.
The birds stopped singing.
I was on my feet in an instant, sword drawn.
"Bandits?" Lira hissed, drawing her blade.
"No," I said, eyes scanning the shadows.
From the darkness came figures, tall and gaunt, armored in bark-like plates. Their faces were twisted, wooden masks with hollow black eyes that seemed to suck the light.
Forest Wraiths.
Corrupted creatures born of shadow and fear, hunters of stray magic.
They moved as one, closing in with silent menace.
"We can't outrun them," I said, voice tight.
Lira gritted her teeth. "Then we fight."
The battle was brutal. Pain lanced through my arms and legs, muscles burning with every strike and parry. I was no master swordsman—not yet—but desperation lent me speed and ferocity.
Each blow I landed was fueled by something deeper than pride or past glory. I fought for survival. For redemption. For the girl at my side.
Lira's movements were a blur, precise and deadly. Together, we moved in tandem—back to back, a shield against the encroaching darkness.
When the last wraith crumbled to ash, silence reclaimed the forest.
We collapsed to the ground, breaths ragged, bodies trembling.
Lira looked at me, disbelief softened by respect. "You could've run."
I smiled, exhausted. "I almost did."
"Then why didn't you?"
Because I wasn't that boy anymore.
Because this world wouldn't wait for me to find myself.
Because sometimes, fighting meant everything.
For once, she said nothing.
We sat in the cold dawn light, two souls bruised but unbroken, bound by battle and the fragile hope of trust.
Far away, in the shadows of a ruined citadel, a figure cloaked in crimson watched the horizon.
A cold smile curved his lips.
"So... he has awakened."