The forest swallowed them whole.
Elara dragged Kaelan through the choking undergrowth, his blood hot and slick between their clasped hands. Behind them, the Ravener's shrieks cut through the night, closer with every snapped branch.
"Faster," Kaelan gritted out, though his breath came in wet, ragged gasps.
She nearly laughed. The man had talon wounds deep enough to show bone, yet still had the arrogance to give orders. Moonlight caught the inky veins spreading up his neck—the demon mark pulsing like a second heartbeat.
A root caught her boot. They went down hard, Kaelan's body cushioning her fall with a pained grunt. Elara scrambled up, expecting fury in his eyes. Instead, she found him staring past her shoulder, his face gone slack.
The Ravener stood ten paces away.
Its too-long limbs quivered, black ichor dripping from melted flesh. The sigils carved into its chest glowed faintly—Church magic, rotting from the inside out. For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then it collapsed.
Elara's curse stirred as the creature whimpered, a sound too human for comfort. Kaelan pushed to his knees, his sword forgotten in the dirt. "Havol?"
The name hung between them. The Ravener's head snapped up at the sound, its milky eyes focusing with terrible recognition. A shudder ran through its twisted body, and for one grotesque moment, Elara saw the man it might have been—round-faced, kind-eyed, the sort of priest who blessed children with a pat on the head.
"K...ael..." it rasped.
Kaelan recoiled. The creature's clawed hand twitched toward him, not in attack, but supplication. A word bubbled from its ruined throat:
"Run."
Then it convulsed, spine arching unnaturally before collapsing into itself like rotten fruit. The stench of spoiled magic filled the clearing.
Elara didn't realize she'd backed away until her shoulders hit bark. Kaelan remained crouched over the remains, his fingers hovering above the Ravener's—no, Havol's—half-melted face.
"You knew him," she said.
His hand curled into a fist. "He taught me scripture when I was six."
The admission hung between them, raw as an open wound. Elara had seen Church cruelty before, but this—twisting their own into monsters—was something fouler.
A gust of wind rattled the branches. Kaelan stiffened.
"We need to move." He stood, swaying only slightly. "Dain won't be far behind."
Elara eyed his wounds. The deepest had already knitted into angry pink scars. "That shouldn't be possible."
"Lot of things shouldn't be possible." He retrieved his sword, the blade catching moonlight like a grin. "Yet here we are."
They found shelter in a cave half-hidden by snarled roots. The moment they crossed the threshold, Elara's skin prickled. The walls weren't stone—they were too smooth, too deliberate.
Kaelan ran a hand along the surface. "This isn't natural."
"No." She pressed her palm to the wall. "It's a tomb."
Her curse reacted before she did. The moment her blood smeared the stone, witch-runes flared to life, spiraling outward in glowing crimson. The air thickened with the scent of lightning and old roses.
Kaelan's sword was at her throat before she could blink. "What did you do?"
"Nothing!" She batted the blade aside. "It's a warding seal. My blood woke it."
The ground trembled. Dust rained from the ceiling as the runes pulsed faster, brighter, until—
Click.
A section of the wall slid away, revealing a darkness so complete it hurt to look at.
From the abyss came a whisper:
"Elara..."
Her name. In her mother's voice.
Kaelan's grip on her arm tightened. "Don't."
But the tomb had already tasted her blood.
And it was hungry.