Lysandra's breath came in shallow gasps as she pressed herself against the rough bark of an ancient tree. The forest around her was unnervingly silent—no rustling of leaves, no distant calls of night creatures. Only the sound of her own racing heartbeat.
Something was here.
Something not human.
She forced herself to stay still, to listen. The shadows around her were unnatural, shifting in ways that defied the wind. The air felt wrong, thick and humming with an unseen force.
Then—a whisper.
Soft. Almost tender.
But it wasn't a voice. It was more like the wind was speaking, twisting itself into words just barely beyond her understanding.
Lysandra gritted her teeth.
This wasn't Aldric's soldiers. This was something older.
Something that had been waiting.
A Ghost of the Past
The ground beneath her feet grew colder. The trees around her curled inward, their branches like skeletal fingers stretching toward the sky.
Then she saw it.
A figure, standing just beyond the veil of darkness.
It was tall, draped in a tattered black cloak that melted into the shadows around it. Its face was obscured by a mask—one carved from pale, cracked bone, shaped into an eerie, unreadable expression.
Lysandra's throat tightened.
This was no ordinary being.
"Who are you?" she demanded, keeping her voice steady.
The figure tilted its head, as if considering her. Then, in that same wind-like whisper, it spoke.
"The curse runs deep in your blood."
Lysandra's stomach dropped.
It knew.
A Fateful Warning
She stepped back, but the figure did not follow. It merely lifted a hand, palm facing upward.
And suddenly—images flooded her mind.
A ruined palace, drowning in darkness.
A crown—Aldric's crown—splitting apart as something monstrous rose from the depths.
A scream, echoing through the void.
Lysandra staggered, clutching her head as the vision faded. She gasped for breath, her entire body trembling.
The masked figure's voice came again, soft but unyielding.
"The heir was never meant to take the throne."
Lysandra's eyes snapped up. "What?"
But the shadows began to unravel, taking the figure with them.
And just before it disappeared completely, she heard its final words—
"Your curse is the key. The god is waking."
Then—silence.
The Dawn of Something Darker
Lysandra stood frozen.
She should have been relieved that the presence was gone, that she was alone again.
But she wasn't.
Because for the first time since escaping the capital…
She realized Aldric's rise to the throne wasn't the end of the kingdom's suffering.
It was only the beginning.