The silence stretched between them.
Lysandra still felt the ghost of that burning power in her palm, the lingering sensation of something unseen coursing through her veins. She flexed her fingers, half-expecting the strange glow to return.
It didn't.
She lifted her gaze to the prince. He was watching her—not with fear, but caution. Like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he hadn't realized existed.
"What happened?" she asked, her voice quieter than she intended.
The prince didn't answer right away. He sheathed his blade, the silver glinting in the dim morning light, and exhaled slowly.
Then, he said, "You repelled them."
Lysandra's brows furrowed. "I didn't do anything."
The prince's expression darkened. "Yes, you did." He nodded toward her hand. "They feared you."
Feared her?
She almost laughed at the absurdity of it, but the memory of the Forgotten's whispers—The gods have marked her—froze any humor in her throat.
The gods.
She had felt them watching ever since the mark appeared. Now, it wasn't just a feeling—it was real.
"Can we go?" she asked, forcing the thoughts aside. Dwelling on it wouldn't help, not now.
The prince studied her for a long moment, as if expecting her to break. Then, he nodded.
They moved quickly, leaving behind the clearing where the Forgotten had appeared. But even as they walked, Lysandra couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed.
That her fate had just taken another irreversible turn.
The landscape shifted as the day wore on. The thick forest gave way to uneven, jagged hills, where the trees grew sparser and the air carried the scent of ancient stone.
Lysandra's legs ached from the relentless pace, but she didn't complain. The prince hadn't stopped once—not even to rest. It was clear he was leading them somewhere specific.
And as the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon, they finally reached it.
The ruins.
Lysandra came to a halt, her breath catching.
Towering stone structures stretched across the land before them, broken and worn by time. Blackened pillars jutted toward the sky like skeletal remains of a forgotten civilization. Vines and ivy snaked through the cracks, reclaiming what once belonged to man.
But it wasn't the sight of the ruins that made her heart race.
It was the presence.
The weight of something old pressed against her skin, thick as mist in the air. This place remembered.
The prince stepped forward. "We'll camp here for the night."
Lysandra tore her gaze away from the ruins. "This place feels…"
"Cursed?" he finished for her.
She didn't disagree.
They picked a spot beneath the remains of what might have once been a great archway. The prince started a small fire, and Lysandra lowered herself onto the cold stone ground, stretching her sore legs.
She stole another glance at their surroundings. The ruins loomed over them, whispering stories of the past in a language she couldn't understand.
Then, something shifted.
A low hum, barely audible. Like a heartbeat beneath the earth.
Lysandra's spine stiffened. "Did you hear that?"
The prince didn't answer immediately. Then, he murmured, "This place does not rest."
The fire crackled between them, sending flickering shadows dancing across the stone walls. Lysandra pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders.
"You said these ruins belonged to the last cursed heir," she said. "What happened to them?"
The prince was silent for so long she thought he wouldn't answer.
Then, in a quiet voice, he said, "They died here. Alone."
A chill crept through her bones.
She should have expected that answer. But somehow, hearing it out loud made the reality of their situation settle deeper into her chest.
The ruins weren't just a place.
They were a warning.
A reminder of what happened to those who tried and failed.
Lysandra glanced down at her marked hand. She clenched it into a fist.
She refused to meet the same fate.
Later that night, Lysandra lay on the cold stone ground, staring up at the fractured sky above. The prince had fallen into a light sleep beside the fire, his sword resting within reach.
But Lysandra couldn't rest.
The hum beneath the ruins had grown louder, like a whisper threading through her thoughts.
And then—
Lysandra.
She froze.
Not the wind. Not the Forgotten.
This voice came from below.
The ruins breathed.
Something stirred beneath them.
And Lysandra knew, with absolute certainty—
They were not alone.