Night draped itself across the Bonewood like a living shroud.
Crickets dared not sing. Even the wind held its breath.
Emberlynn sat close to the dying embers of their campfire just outside the temple. Malphas hadn't spoken much since they found the silver dagger—only cast brief glances her way, as if weighing words that might tip a scale too soon.
She didn't know what scared her more: the mark flaring on her shoulder, the temple walls whispering in a language her soul understood, or the way Malphas had looked at her—like he already knew how this story would end.
"You've been quiet," she said, watching the flames flicker over his face. "Even for you."
He looked up from where he sat sharpening his blade. "This place remembers things that shouldn't be remembered."
Her brow furrowed. "Like what?"
"Pain," he said simply. "Sacrifice. Oaths sworn in blood."
His voice held an edge. Almost regret.
She swallowed. "And you were here. When it happened?"
Malphas's hands stilled. For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, very softly: "I watched a kingdom fall to its knees because its queen chose mercy over destruction."
A chill rippled through her.
"And now?"
"I wonder if mercy was ever really hers to give."
His gaze met hers, and something in her heart twisted.
"Am I her?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
"You carry her soul. Her power. But you are you, Emberlynn. And that difference may be what saves us all… or dooms us."
She shivered.
Not from the cold.
He stood, walking to the temple's edge. She followed after a moment, arms crossed as they looked out at the ash-covered forest. Somewhere in the dark, something moved.
And Emberlynn felt it.
A shift.
Not just magic. Not just danger.
A presence.
"You feel it too?" she asked.
Malphas nodded once. "We're being hunted."
Her heart skipped. "Lilax?"
"Not yet. Something older. Something that crawled out from under the seal the moment you stepped into this place."
She stepped back. "But why—?"
"Because the seal was never just a door. It was a cage. And you… You're the key."
The words landed with weight.
Emberlynn touched the mark on her shoulder. "What if I don't want to open anything?"
Malphas turned to her. "Want has nothing to do with it anymore."
A long silence stretched between them.
And then, lightning split the sky.
A storm cracked open above the forest, thunder rumbling like a beast woken from slumber. Rain fell hard, soaking the fire, their cloaks, the earth itself.
They ducked under the broken arch of the temple, the dagger still resting on its shattered altar like it belonged there. Emberlynn stared at it.
The runes on her shoulder pulsed.
"I should take it," she said.
"You're not ready."
She glared. "And how would you know?"
He stepped closer, shadows clinging to him like a second skin. "Because I watched what it did to her. To you. That blade answers only to power, Emberlynn. Not kindness. Not fear. If you touch it before it's time, it will consume you."
The tension between them crackled like the storm above.
"But I'm not her," Emberlynn said through gritted teeth.
"No," he murmured. "You're not."
She took a shaky breath, brushing wet hair from her face. "Why do I feel like I'm being torn in half?"
"Because you are." His voice dropped, deep and unreadable. "There are two truths inside you. One you were born with… and one that was sealed inside long before your first breath."
She blinked. "What happens when they meet?"
Malphas stepped close.
Too close.
The air between them shimmered.
"You become her," he whispered. "Fully. Finally."
A beat.
And then, softer: "And that's when everything begins."
She should've stepped away.
But didn't.
Instead, her fingers brushed his wrist—barely a touch, but enough to ignite sparks beneath her skin. His breath hitched, barely audible, but it was there.
Emberlynn's heart thudded.
For a moment, everything else fell away.
The rain. The ruin. The looming terror of what lay ahead.
There was only this—this quiet storm between them.
He looked down at her, eyes burning gold for a flicker of a second. Then blinked it away.
"You need to rest," he said, voice rough. "We move at first light."
She didn't argue.
But as she curled up in the shadow of the altar, the silver dagger glowing faintly beside her, she couldn't stop thinking about his words.
You become her… and that's when everything begins.
What did that mean?
And what would she become?
Far beyond the Bonewood, deep in the fractured lands of the Underworld, Lilax knelt before a throne of thorns and bone. Smoke curled around her shoulders like silk.
"He's stalling," she hissed.
A voice from the shadows responded. Smooth. Ancient. Cruel.
"He's always been soft when it comes to her."
Lilax's lips curled. "Shall I rip the memories from her myself?"
"Not yet," the voice said. "Let him unwrap her. Let him hope. It will make his fall that much sweeter."
Lilax grinned, rising.
"Yes, my king."