The western forest never felt welcoming.
But today—it felt alive.
The trees leaned inward.
The wind held its breath.
The roots curled like waiting hands.
Kael led a patrol of twelve soldiers into its shadows, torchlight flickering uneasily across their armor.
He kept glancing back toward the castle—
toward me—
as if some part of him knew the worst mistake he would make today was leaving without me.
"Stay close," he ordered the others. "No one goes off alone."
The forest swallowed his voice.
A few minutes later, the stone archway appeared—
cracked, ancient, covered in symbols that pulsed faintly in the dark.
The Ruins.
They weren't ruins.
They were a door.
Kael dismounted, eyes narrowed. "Arcelia's horse is here."
The saddle was half-torn, reins still warm.
"She ran in on foot," one guard said. "Not long ago."
Kael's jaw tightened. "We follow."
He didn't notice the shadows stretching below the archway—
shadows shaped like fingers.
Watching him.
Following him.
Watching everything.
Back at the Palace
I couldn't breathe.
Every breath was a weight.
Every heartbeat, an echo.
Kael had entered the forest.
Arcelia was already inside.
And the Primordial—
the thing beneath the ruins—
was waking.
I could feel it.
Not metaphorically.
Not some vague omen.
It pulled on me.
Like a hook buried deep in my ribs, tugging, tugging—
A whisper crawling along my skin.
Come back.
Come back.
Come back to where you died.
My hands shook uncontrollably.
Lysander stood still across the room, watching me with unsettling calm.
"You feel it," he said.
"Yes," I whispered. "What is it?"
"The Primordial wants to remind you of its claim," he said. "The closer your sister gets to it, the more it reaches for you."
My heart hammered.
"Kael is with her."
"Not for long."
"What does that mean!?"
Lysander stepped toward me.
"It means," he said calmly, "the ruins do not welcome the living without price."
I staggered back. "We have to go. We can't let them—"
"No," he said.
"What do you mean, NO?"
"You go now, you walk straight into its jaws. It will take you. Without hesitation. Without delay."
"I don't care!"
"You SHOULD care," Lysander snapped—his voice rippling like the crack of thunder. "You cannot face a god alone."
"A dead god," I spat.
"A sleeping god," he corrected. "And sleep is the only reason you're alive."
I trembled.
"Then what do we do?"
He stared at me for several seconds, eyes glowing faintly violet.
"Wait," he said finally.
I nearly screamed. "WAIT!? For what?"
"For the choice to form," he said. "Until Kael or Arcelia reaches it. Once the Primordial touches one of them… then you will feel the pull clearly. It will be your path… or your trap."
My stomach hollowed.
"What are you not telling me?" I whispered.
Lysander's jaw tightened.
"That the closer you go," he said quietly, "the more you will remember the night of your death. And once you remember all of it… the Primordial will remember you."
Fear sliced through me.
"Lysander…" My voice cracked. "I don't want to die again."
He stepped closer.
"You won't," he said softly. "I am here."
But his eyes said something else:
I will fight for you.
But I cannot stop everything.
In the Ruins
Arcelia ran barefoot over the cracked stones, breath ragged, hair tangled with leaves. Tears streaked her face.
The ruins whispered to her.
Not like wind.
Not like ghosts.
Like a voice she had always known.
You came back.
You always come back.
Daughter of envy. Child of hollow promises.
She stumbled into the center chamber—
the broken altar beneath the ancient moon symbol.
It glowed faintly.
She collapsed before it, sobbing.
"I didn't mean to!" she cried. "I didn't mean to kill her! I didn't mean to fail! You said—you SAID you would help me—"
The air shifted.
A cold wind spiraled around her.
And then—
It spoke.
Not loudly.
Not softly.
Not with words.
Its voice was everywhere and nowhere.
You came to finish what you started.
Arcelia curled on her knees. "Help me! She's stronger now—too strong—she'll expose everything—"
And you want the throne.
Her breath hitched.
"No—no, I want—I just want—"
You want what was promised.
The power stolen from you.
The life that should have been yours.
Arcelia sobbed harder.
"I'll do anything," she whispered. "Please. Anything."
Silence.
Then—
Bring her to me.
Her spine stiffened.
"W-What?"
Bring the moon-child here.
She is the key.
She is the doorway.
She is the life you were denied.
Arcelia trembled violently.
"But she—she won't come—she hates me—"
Then lure her.
Break her.
Betray her.
Do it again.
Arcelia's breathing turned frantic.
"Again…?"
The ruins pulsed.
You killed her once.
You can do it again.
Her eyes went wide with horror—
and then flattened, like something inside her snapped.
"Yes," she whispered. "Yes. I can."
And the ruin-light swallowed her whole.
Kael
Kael reached the archway and froze.
He felt it.
Not magic.
Not cold.
Wrongness.
"Something malign is here," he said to the patrol. "Weapons up—no one gets separated."
The soldiers nodded, forming a tight formation.
Kael moved first.
The ruins hummed under his boots like a heartbeat.
He didn't know that Arcelia had already touched something ancient.
He didn't know the Primordial knew his name.
He didn't know his heartbeat was being counted like a toll.
He just knew Aura needed to be protected.
"Aura…" he whispered, almost prayer-like. "Please don't come here."
But I felt him.
Even from the palace.
And my magic pulsed.
Hard.
Aura
It hit me like a punch.
A violent tug—sharp, painful, ripping.
My knees buckled.
"Aura!" Lysander grabbed my arm. "What did you feel?"
"Kael—" I gasped. "He's close to it. Too close."
"Damn it—"
"It's pulling me," I whispered, clutching my chest. "It wants me there. It wants—"
"It wants to bind you," Lysander snapped. "It wants to finish what it started when you were born."
"I have to go—"
"You cannot—"
"I HAVE TO!"
My voice cracked open.
He stared at me, torn between fury and fear.
"You step through those ruins," he whispered, "and it will rip open every memory you buried. Every death. Every pain. Every prophecy. You will be helpless in front of it."
"I'd rather be helpless," I said through clenched teeth, "than let Kael die. Or Arcelia fall any deeper."
His expression flashed with a rare emotion:
Fear.
For me.
"No," he said fiercely. "I won't let you walk into that alone."
"I'm not asking for permission."
Lysander grabbed my wrist—
his grip cold and unyielding—
And then—
Something happened.
Something neither of us expected.
Silver exploded from my skin—
not outward like before,
but inward—
Coiling around my heart.
Binding.
Strengthening.
I gasped.
Lysander stumbled back a step, eyes wide.
"That wasn't me," he whispered.
"I know."
He stared at me like I had become something new.
Something impossible.
"Aura," he said, "the moon is choosing."
"The moon?"
"Yes," he breathed. "It's… blessing you. Marking you. Claiming you."
"For what?"
His lips parted.
"For war."
A shiver ripped through me as my magic surged again, sharper, clearer, focused.
"I'm going," I said.
Lysander closed his eyes briefly, rage and resignation flickering together.
"Fine," he said at last. "But you won't go alone."
He stepped forward.
Wrapped an arm around my waist.
Pulled me into the shadows.
And whispered—
"Hold on."
The world dissolved.
And we vanished—
straight toward the ruins
and the god waiting inside them.