The morning was eerily still.
Lysandra sat by the dying embers of the fire, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the mark on her wrist. It hadn't faded. If anything, it felt stronger—a constant, pulsing reminder of the god's claim.
The prince was quiet. He had barely spoken since she woke up.
She knew why.
He had seen the shadows take Jael. He had seen her call upon the god and offer something unknown.
And now, they were both waiting.
Waiting to see what price would be demanded.
Finally, the prince exhaled, his golden gaze flickering toward her. "We can't stay here."
Lysandra nodded, forcing herself to her feet. Her body still ached, but there was no time to recover. They had crossed a line last night. Jael had been dangerous, but they were part of something bigger. And whatever force controlled them would come looking.
But that wasn't the worst part.
The worst part was the god's words, still whispering in her mind.
You will give me what is mine.
A Path Through Shadows
They traveled in silence. The woods stretched endlessly ahead, the thick mist clinging to the trees like ghostly fingers. The deeper they went, the darker it became—not just in light, but in feeling.
The prince noticed it too.
He kept a hand on the hilt of his sword, eyes scanning every shadow.
"This isn't normal," he muttered.
Lysandra swallowed. "I think... I think it's because of me."
The prince stopped. "What?"
She hesitated, then lifted her sleeve to reveal the mark.
The edges of the sigil had darkened, tendrils of black curling outward. It looked almost alive, like ink spreading through water.
His expression tightened. "It's growing."
Lysandra nodded. "The more I use his power, the stronger his hold gets."
The prince ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. "Then stop using it."
She wished it were that simple.
But she had felt the power when she called upon it. It had answered so easily, so willingly. And each time, it became harder to resist.
The god was waiting.
For what, she didn't know.
But she had the terrible feeling that soon, she would find out.
A Warning in the Mist
As they moved deeper into the forest, a sound cut through the silence—low and echoing, like a whisper carried by the wind.
Lysandra froze.
She turned, scanning the fog-covered trees. Nothing.
But the sound came again. Closer.
The prince reached for his sword. "We're not alone."
And then, the whisper spoke.
Lysandra.
Her blood ran cold.
It wasn't the god's voice. It wasn't Jael's. It was something else—something ancient and watching.
The trees trembled, as if shuddering under its presence.
And then, through the mist, something moved.
A shadow stepped forward—tall and shrouded, its form shifting like smoke. But Lysandra could make out a glint of gold beneath the hood, and the jagged crown resting on its head.
The prince went rigid. His grip on the sword tightened.
Lysandra barely breathed.
Because she knew what this was.
A Herald.
A messenger of the god.
It raised a hand, its fingers long and clawed, pointing directly at her.
"The time is near, Shadow-Touched."
And just like that—
The world shifted.
Darkness surged forward, swallowing everything in its path. The ground fell away, and Lysandra felt herself plunging into the abyss.
The god's whisper curled around her, a low, knowing laugh.
And then—
Everything went black.