Dawn came late.
A blood-tinged sky stretched above them, heavy with unshed storm clouds. Emberlynn rose from where she had dozed beside the ruins, the chill of morning clinging to her skin. Malphas was already up, scanning the tree line, sword strapped across his back.
Something had changed in him overnight.
She didn't know what—but his silence held weight.
"Where to now?" she asked.
He finally looked at her. "North. Toward the Bonewood."
She stilled. "The place Velrian warned about?"
Malphas's jaw tightened. "We don't have a choice. If we circle west, we'll lose too much time. Whatever Lilax is after, she's already ahead of us."
"And you think I'll find answers there?"
"No." His voice dropped low. "I think they'll find you."
That wasn't exactly comforting.
But she nodded anyway.
The walk was long, the forest closing in like a living thing. Moss dripped from twisted boughs. The air grew thick with silence—not peaceful, but tense. Watching. Waiting.
"Have you ever been here before?" she asked after a while.
Malphas didn't answer immediately.
Then: "Yes. Once. Long ago."
"With the Demon King?"
He gave a bitter half-smile. "No. Long before I ever followed him."
She frowned, catching the phrasing. Followed, not served.
But before she could ask more, the air shifted.
It was like walking into a memory.
The forest floor changed—ash beneath their boots. The trees turned pale, bark bleached white as bone. And in the distance, carved into the side of a crooked hill, stood a forgotten temple.
Ruined. But pulsing.
With magic.
Old magic.
Emberlynn's mark burned.
"It's here," she whispered.
Malphas nodded once, his hand tightening around his weapon.
As they stepped through the crumbling archway, Emberlynn's knees nearly gave out. Visions surged behind her eyes—fire and wind and the sound of a name screamed into the stars.
Her name.
The mark flared, and the runes carved into the walls came alive. Pale gold light chased ancient patterns, glowing with a memory too big for her mortal mind to carry.
But she saw them.
The shadows kneeling before her.
The crown in her hand.
The voice that said: Only you can bind the gate.
She gasped and staggered.
Malphas was at her side in an instant, catching her before she fell.
"I'm fine," she lied.
He didn't argue.
But his hand didn't leave her back.
"Why would I choose to forget all this?" she murmured. "What did I give up?"
Malphas's voice was low. "Everything. Love. Power. Him."
She turned to him slowly.
And for a moment, she could almost see it—the sadness in his eyes, sharper than any blade. The burden of someone who knew too much, who remembered too much.
She whispered, "What did you give up, Malphas?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he looked toward the altar at the temple's center.
It was broken in half. Splintered. But something lay in its heart.
A dagger. Beautiful. Twisted silver, glowing faintly with the same runes that danced across Emberlynn's skin.
She stepped forward. Compelled.
But before she could touch it, Malphas's hand caught her wrist.
"Not yet."
Her breath hitched.
Their hands were close. Too close. And she could feel it—that heat again. Not just magic.
Something else.
Something dangerous.
Her eyes locked with his.
And the silence between them stretched thin.
He let go first.
She exhaled sharply and turned away, pretending not to notice the way her heart wouldn't slow.
"We need to rest before nightfall," Malphas said, his voice quieter.
Emberlynn nodded. "Then you can tell me why that blade calls to me."
He hesitated. "It's not just calling to you."
She frowned.
But he didn't explain.
Not yet.
Because outside, far beyond the dead trees and the ash-covered trail, a shape watched them from the shadows.
Eyes like voids. Teeth like jagged glass.
And behind it, a whisper slithered through the dark.
"She's almost ready."