The Escape Into Darkness
The wind howled through the ruins as Zyra and Kieran fled into the night. The flames from the temple still burned behind them, casting long, flickering shadows across the shattered landscape.
Zyra's pulse thundered in her ears, her body aching from the battle. But there was no time to stop. Not yet.
Kieran ran beside her, his breathing controlled despite the wounds on his arms and the raw power crackling beneath his skin. His silver eyes darted through the darkened woods ahead, searching for signs of pursuit.
They had left behind a massacre. Blood and bodies littered the temple ruins, and more would come when the hunters failed to report back.
The Oracle's words haunted her:
"The longer you stay together, the stronger the pull of fate becomes."
But Zyra didn't care. She had made her choice.
She wasn't going to leave him.
Not now. Not ever.
---
The Wound Beneath the Skin
They didn't stop running until they reached the shelter of the dense forest miles away. The trees stretched high, their thick canopies swallowing the moonlight, casting everything into shifting shadows.
Zyra pressed her back against a tree, forcing herself to steady her breathing. Kieran leaned against a fallen log, his head tilted back, eyes closed.
For a moment, there was only silence between them.
Then Kieran exhaled sharply, a grimace flickering across his face.
Zyra's gaze snapped to his arm.
Blood seeped through the torn fabric of his sleeve, staining his skin. The magic-forged weapons of the hunters had left deep cuts along his arms, and the sigils on his skin—normally shifting like whispers of fate—were burning.
She moved before she could think, kneeling beside him.
"You should've said something," she muttered, tearing a strip of cloth from her cloak.
Kieran let out a quiet chuckle. "Didn't seem important at the time."
Zyra shot him a glare but didn't argue. Instead, she pressed the cloth to the wound, watching as his jaw tensed. His skin was hot beneath her fingers, burning with barely restrained power.
For a man who had spent most of his life in chains, he was still dangerous.
But not to her.
Never to her.
His gaze softened as he watched her work, something unreadable flickering in his silver eyes. "You didn't have to do that."
She didn't answer, just tightened the knot of the bandage.
The wound would heal. But the power inside him? The thing the Oracle had warned about? That was something no cloth could fix.
Kieran must have sensed her thoughts because he sighed, tilting his head toward the sky. "You saw it, didn't you?"
Zyra stilled.
He wasn't talking about the wound.
He was talking about the vision.
---
The Shadow of Fate
Zyra swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
"I did," she admitted.
Kieran's lips pressed into a thin line. "And now you think I'm going to die by your hands."
She clenched her fists. "No."
A slow, humorless smile tugged at his lips. "You don't sound convinced."
Zyra let out a frustrated breath. "That vision wasn't real. It was just a possibility."
"And yet," Kieran murmured, his voice quieter now, "you looked at me like it already happened."
She had.
Even now, she could still feel the weight of that future—the way the dagger had felt in her grip, the way his blood had stained her hands.
It had felt real.
Too real.
Zyra's fingers curled into the dirt. "I don't care what fate says. I won't let that happen."
Something shifted in Kieran's expression. A flicker of something deep, something raw.
"You're willing to fight fate for me?" he asked.
Zyra met his gaze, her voice steady. "I already am."
For a moment, Kieran didn't speak.
Then, slowly, carefully, he reached out. His fingers brushed against hers, a tentative touch, like he was afraid she would pull away.
She didn't.
She couldn't.
And in that moment, with the weight of fate pressing down on them, Zyra realized something.
It wasn't just destiny that bound them together.
It was choice.
And she would choose him. Every time.
---
The Hunter's Return
The stillness of the moment shattered.
A twig snapped in the distance.
Zyra was on her feet in an instant, her dagger already in her hand. Kieran rose beside her, his injuries forgotten.
The forest was too quiet. The kind of quiet that only meant one thing.
They weren't alone.
Kieran's silver eyes darkened. "They found us."
The wind shifted, and Zyra caught the scent of steel and magic. More hunters.
But this time, something was different.
The air crackled with energy, thick and suffocating. The scent of fire and divine power burned her senses.
These weren't just ordinary hunters.
They had brought a Seeker.
Zyra cursed under her breath. Seekers were the elite. Their sole purpose was to track down and eliminate threats to the divine order. And now, they were hunting Kieran.
Kieran's expression turned grim. "We can't fight them here. Not in the open."
Zyra nodded. They needed a plan. Now.
But before they could move—
The shadows shifted.
And a figure stepped into the clearing.
---
A Ghost from the Past
The first thing Zyra noticed was the armor—black and gold, marked with sigils of the celestial order.
The second thing was the blade.
Long, curved, stained with old blood.
But it was the eyes that froze her in place.
Cold. Familiar. Unforgiving.
She knew that gaze. She had seen it before.
Not in a vision.
Not in a nightmare.
In her past.
And when the Seeker spoke, his voice was like ice.
"Zyra Arlith," he murmured, tilting his head. "It's been a long time."
Her breath hitched.
Because she knew this man.
And he was the one who had once tried to kill her.
---