The fire crackled low in the hearth of their temporary camp, casting long shadows against the moss-covered walls of the cave where Lucien and Eiran had taken shelter. The remaining two guards slept just beyond the bend, their breaths slow, unaware of the storm gathering around them.
Lucien sat cross-legged near the flames, a strip of cloth wrapped around his palm from the earlier skirmish. His eyes were not on the fire but on Eiran, who stood at the mouth of the cave, gazing into the forest as though it might yield the answers he sought.
Lucien's voice broke the silence. "You haven't slept."
Eiran didn't turn. "Neither have you."
Lucien smiled faintly. "You're worried."
"That thing we saw… the altar, the creatures—they weren't just curses or mindless shadows. They knew your name. They were waiting."
Lucien flinched. "I know."
"I need you to be honest with me now." Eiran finally turned, his face unreadable in the flickering light. "Is there more to your past than what you've told me?"
Lucien looked into the fire. "There's always more."
Eiran sat down beside him, close enough that their knees touched. "Then tell me. All of it. Before it's too late."
Lucien exhaled, and for the first time, let the weight of Ravencroft's past unspool from his lips.
"I wasn't always this way. Ravencroft wasn't just a villain. He was a boy who loved too deeply, who lost everything to betrayal. He was promised power to protect what remained—and he took it. But power demands blood. It asked for sacrifices. It asked for you."
Eiran's eyes widened slightly.
Lucien continued, voice cracking. "I think… in the original story, Ravencroft didn't just kill you because he was evil. He loved you. In a twisted, painful way. And when you chose your kingdom over him, he broke."
Silence hung like a noose between them.
Eiran finally reached for his hand, carefully unwrapping the cloth and placing a kiss on the bruised knuckles.
"Then this time," he whispered, "don't let us break."
---
The next morning dawned gray and cold, the mist clinging to the earth like a warning.
They left the cave early, skirting the edges of Whisperfen to avoid the altar's broken remains. Lucien could feel the pull of dark magic like a bruise under his skin. Each step closer to the ridge sent tremors through his bones.
As they reached the top, the wind shifted—and with it came a low, familiar hum.
A voice.
A woman's voice, wrapped in silk and sorrow.
"Lucien…"
He froze.
Eiran grabbed his arm. "What is it?"
"You don't hear that?"
"There's nothing but the wind."
Lucien's vision blurred. The ridge melted into another memory—cold marble halls, a woman in white robes, a mirror of starlight.
"My name is Altheria," she said in the vision. "And you are bound to me, as the price of your awakening."
Lucien's knees gave out.
Eiran caught him before he hit the ground.
"What's happening?" he asked, fear breaking through his voice.
Lucien's eyes snapped open. "I remember her. She's the one who sent me here."
Eiran helped him sit against a rock. "Who is she?"
"A god. Or something older. She made the contract with Ravencroft… and now she's collecting her due."
Thunder cracked in the distance.
---
They returned to Elareth by dusk, only to find the village changed.
The villagers were tense, guards doubled, and whispers filled the streets like smoke.
At the gates, a courier waited for them.
"A letter for Duke Ravencroft," the boy said, hands shaking.
Lucien broke the seal.
The script was elegant, old.
"You broke the pact. You altered fate. Now, face the consequences."
Beneath it, a mark he hadn't seen in years.
The symbol of the Obsidian Circle—the cult loyal to Altheria.
Lucien crumpled the paper.
"They're coming," he told Eiran. "And they won't stop until either I'm dead… or she has me."
---
That night, as the fire flickered low, Lucien sat with his journal open.
He didn't write strategies or spells.
He wrote a letter.
To Eiran.
In case I don't come back.
You once asked why I fight so hard to change the future. The truth is… it's not for the world. It's not even to undo Ravencroft's sins.
It's for you.
Because in every version of this story, you die. And I live with that. And I can't.
Not again.
Lucien tore the page out and sealed it. He hid it under Eiran's pillow.
Then he stepped outside, where the wind carried whispers once more.
---
To be continued…
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