RHYS'S POV
I wake to symbols carved into the trees.
Not random scratches—precise runes glowing with faint phosphorescence, each one pulsing in rhythm with my own heartbeat. They're tracking marks, magical signatures tuned specifically to my energy.
Guild marks.
"Fuck," I mutter, running my fingers over the nearest carving. The magic burns my skin where I touch it, confirming what I already know.
We're being hunted by professionals now.
Ariella stirs across the dying fire, instantly alert. Three days of running has sharpened her survival instincts—no more confusion upon waking, just immediate readiness.
"What's wrong?" she asks, already reaching for her blade.
"Guild hunters. They marked the perimeter during the night." I gesture to the runes surrounding our camp. "These aren't bounty hunters or mercenaries. These are elite enforcers—battle-mages trained specifically to capture or kill rogue wizards."
"How many?"
"At least three, based on the mark patterns. Possibly more." I study the runes, reading the magic like text. "They're not trying to hide. They want me to know they're here, want me panicking and making mistakes."
"Then we don't panic." Ariella's voice is steady, but I see fear in her eyes. "We run."
"They're tracking my magic signature. Running just delays the inevitable." I flex my branded hands, feeling the constant burn intensify. "These marks are beacons. Everywhere I use magic, they can follow."
"So what do we do?"
I want to say "split up"—want to lead the hunters away from her, give her a chance to reach the mountains alone. But we both know that's suicide. Without me, her curse will consume her within days. Without her, my magic will tear me apart.
"We move fast and off-road. Stay ahead of them until we reach terrain they won't follow." I start breaking camp with efficient urgency. "And if they catch up, we fight."
"Three trained battle-mages against the two of us?"
"You destroyed a wraith instantly. I've survived three years of exile. We're not helpless." I meet her eyes. "But I won't lie—our odds aren't good."
We abandon the road entirely, cutting cross-country through difficult terrain. It's slower travel but leaves less trail, and I layer defensive spells as we walk, trying to muddy our magical signatures.
The brands burn hotter with each spell. Blood seeps from beneath the scars where magic tears old wounds open.
"You're hurting yourself," Ariella says, noticing.
"I'm buying us time. There's a difference."
"Not much of one."
By midday, I can feel the tracking spells tightening like a noose around my neck. The hunters are closing in, patient and methodical, driving us toward terrain of their choosing.
We're being herded.
"They're not trying to catch us yet," I tell Ariella. "They're positioning us, cutting off escape routes. When they attack, it'll be coordinated and overwhelming."
"How long do we have?"
"Hours. Maybe less." I scan the landscape, looking for defensible positions. "There—that rocky outcrop. Limited approaches, high ground. We make our stand there."
"Stand?" She stops walking. "You want to fight them?"
"I want to survive them. Fighting is just how we do it." I grab her hand, pulling her toward the outcrop. "Come on. We need to prepare."
We reach the rocks as the sun begins its descent. I set wards at the approaches—nothing fancy, just alarms that'll tell us when they're coming. Ariella checks her weapons, her movements precise despite obvious fear.
"I've never fought trained battle-mages before," she admits.
"Neither have most people. That's why the Guild uses them." I position myself where I can see all approaches. "They'll try to separate us first—binding spells, nullification magic. Stay close to me no matter what happens."
"And if they succeed in separating us?"
"Then we're both dead, so let's not let that happen."
She almost smiles at that. Almost.
The hunters arrive as twilight falls—three figures in black leather inscribed with protective runes, faces hidden behind masks. Professional. Dangerous. Exactly what I expected.
The leader speaks, voice magically amplified: "Rhys Hudson. You're charged with theft of Guild secrets and unauthorized practice of forbidden magic. Surrender, and your companion may go free."
I laugh, the sound bitter and harsh. "We both know that's a lie."
"Last chance. She doesn't need to die for your crimes."
Before I can respond, Ariella steps forward, shadows manifesting visibly around her hands. "He's not alone. And neither am I."
The hunters pause, reassessing. They recognize Shadow Binding—I can see it in their body language, the way they shift to more defensive positions.
Good. Fear makes them careful. Careful makes them slower.
"Your choice," the leader says. "Take them."
The battle begins.
They're coordinated, disciplined, everything three years of exile made me forget how to fight against. One throws binding spells while the others flank, trying to separate Ariella and me.
I counter with shields and counter-curses, my branded hands screaming with each spell. Blood runs from my nose almost immediately—too much magic, too fast, the instability compounding.
Ariella fights beside me, shadows lashing out at anything that gets close. She's not elegant, but she's effective, and the hunters are learning to respect her curse's reach.
But three against two, with professional training—we're losing ground.
One hunter breaks through my defenses, throwing a paralysis hex directly at Ariella. I see it coming, try to intercept, but I'm too slow.
The hex hits her square in the chest.
She goes down, unable to move, eyes wide with terror.
Something in my chest cracks like ice under pressure.
No.
I've lost too much already. I won't lose her.
The brands burn white-hot as I channel everything I have into one spell—one forbidden, devastating, suicidal spell I swore I'd never use again.
Void Break.
Reality screams. That's the only word for it—the sound of existence itself protesting as I rip a hole in the world's fabric. Darkness blooms like a poisonous flower, swallowing light, sound, warmth, everything.
Two hunters are caught in the blast. Their screams cut off instantly as shadow consumes them, erasing them from existence.
The third hunter runs.
Then pain hits me.
The backlash from Void Break is catastrophic. My body convulses, every nerve ending burning, blood pouring from my nose, eyes, ears. The brands feel like molten metal pressed directly into bone.
I'm dying. The spell is tearing me apart from the inside, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.
Through failing vision, I see Ariella crawling toward me, the paralysis breaking as the caster died. Her face is pale with terror.
She grabs my hands—the branded ones, the ones burning with killing magic—and forces her curse to surface.
Shadow pours from her into me, chaotic and wild. Our magics collide violently, and her scream joins mine.
But it works.
The backlash stabilizes, absorbed into her curse's endless hunger. My convulsions stop. My breathing steadies from desperate gasps to merely ragged.
We collapse together in the dirt, both shaking, both bleeding, both alive.
"Don't ever do that again," Ariella gasps against my shoulder.
"You were hurt. I didn't think—"
"Exactly. You didn't think. We're partners, remember? You don't get to die saving me."
"Pretty sure that's exactly what partners do."
"Not these partners. We survive together." She pulls back enough to glare at me through tears and blood. "Together, Rhys. That means you don't throw your life away the moment I'm in danger."
I want to argue, but she's right. I've been operating on three years of exile instinct—alone, expendable, no one to care if I burn myself out.
But I'm not alone anymore.
"Together," I agree quietly. "I'll try to remember that."
She nods, satisfied, then looks around at the destruction. Two hunters gone, erased by Void Break. The third fled. Our defensive position is destroyed.
"We need to move," she says. "Before more come."
"Can you walk?"
"Can you?"
We help each other up, both wounded and exhausted but alive. The hunters might report back, might bring reinforcements, but we bought ourselves time.
Time to run.
Time to reach the mountains.
Time to maybe, possibly survive this.
"The foothills are two days away if we push hard," I say, already planning the route. "We travel by night, rest during day. No fires, no magic unless absolutely necessary."
"Will your tracking marks still work?"
"Yes, but if I don't use magic, they can't pinpoint our location. We'll just be a general direction, not a beacon."
We start walking, leaving the battlefield behind.
But I can't stop thinking about how close I came to losing her. How the thought of her dying made me willing to destroy myself without hesitation.
When did she stop being a complication and start being someone I'd die for?
And more importantly—what happens when we reach the temple and the Crystal forces us to choose who survives?
Because I already know my answer.
And that terrifies me more than any hunter.