The air was thick with tension.
The prince stood still, his sword glinting under the dim light. His golden eyes locked onto the leader of the hunters—his kin.
Lysandra's pulse pounded.
His own family had sent them.
They weren't here to capture him. They were here to end him.
The hunter leader stepped forward, their hood slipping back just enough for Lysandra to see the sharp angles of their face. The same golden eyes. The same regal bearing.
A sibling? A cousin? She couldn't be sure, but the resemblance was undeniable.
"Jael," the prince finally said, voice cold.
So he did know them.
Jael tilted their head, studying him like a predator studying prey. "I had hoped we wouldn't meet again like this."
The prince didn't lower his blade. "You knew I was alive."
Jael's lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Alive? No. But I knew the curse wouldn't let you die so easily." They shifted their gaze toward Lysandra. "And now I see why."
Lysandra stiffened.
They knew about the mark.
Jael took another step forward. The other hunters remained motionless, waiting for a command. "You should have never returned," Jael murmured. "You were meant to disappear. To become another ghost of the past."
The prince's knuckles turned white around his sword hilt. "You mean I was meant to rot in the dark, so you wouldn't have to deal with me."
Jael didn't deny it.
Lysandra gritted her teeth. "And what happens now? You kill him, pretend he never existed?"
Jael barely glanced at her. "The bloodline cannot afford to bear this curse any longer. He is a threat."
Lysandra felt something burn in her chest. They weren't even trying to save him.
Only erase him.
The Fight for Survival
The prince didn't wait for Jael to make the first move.
He lunged.
Jael parried with inhuman speed, their blade ringing against his. The rest of the hunters leapt into action.
Lysandra barely had time to dodge the first strike before she was forced into battle.
Her dagger met steel as a hunter swung at her. She twisted away, using the weight of their own attack against them, and drove her blade into their shoulder. They staggered, but she didn't have time to finish them off before another was on her.
The prince fought like a man who had nothing left to lose.
Each strike was precise, calculated. He matched Jael blow for blow, but they were just as fast. Just as strong.
"Yield, brother," Jael hissed between clashes. "It doesn't have to be painful."
The prince snarled. "Don't call me that."
Jael's next strike sent him skidding backward.
Lysandra saw it too late—Jael was stronger.
If this kept going, he would lose.
Panic twisted in her gut. She knew the prince wouldn't surrender. He would fight until his body gave out.
Unless—
Her fingers brushed the cursed mark on her skin.
She didn't understand its full power, but she could feel it thrumming. The god's presence flickered at the edge of her consciousness.
A last resort.
A dangerous one.
She could call on it.
But she wasn't sure if she could control it.
Jael's blade sliced through the air—
The prince barely blocked in time. He was slowing down.
Lysandra's heart hammered.
She had to make a choice.
Now.