The night bled with fire.
Ahayue's lungs burned as she sprinted down the crooked alleyway, the soles of her boots slapping against mud and broken stone. The world behind her roared with chaos—screams, clashing steel, and the crackle of flames devouring timber and cloth alike. The acrid smoke clawed into her throat, leaving her gasping, but she didn't slow down. She couldn't.
Alusya stumbled behind her, her pale face streaked with soot and tears. Her long braid had loosened, strands of silver hair whipping in the wind as if mirroring her panic. The girl wasn't built for running. Every few steps she faltered, nearly crashing into Ahayue's back. But she kept moving, driven less by strength than by terror.
"Faster," Ahayue urged, her voice hoarse. She wanted to scream, to grab Alusya by the wrist and drag her, but every scrap of energy needed to be rationed. The pounding in her chest wasn't just from the sprint—it was the echo of what they had left behind.
The faces. The bodies.
Ahayue shook her head violently, as if she could fling the images out of her skull. But they lingered, carved into the flesh of her memory. She had seen men reduced to mangled silhouettes, women crushed in the stampede, children crying as the shadows consumed their homes.
All because of her choice.
All because she hadn't been fast enough.
They burst out of the narrow lane into the edge of the woods, the canopy swallowing the glow of fire behind them. The night air here was cooler, tinged with damp earth and pine. For a moment, the sudden quiet made the world seem unreal—like waking from a nightmare only to realize the horror had simply shifted its mask.
Alusya collapsed to her knees, clutching at her chest as she gulped for air. Her delicate fingers trembled uncontrollably, her nails digging into the fabric of her dress.
Ahayue bent down, bracing her hands on her thighs, struggling to catch her own breath. Sweat clung to her temples, stinging her eyes. She wiped it away with the back of her hand and looked at Alusya.
The girl's wide, tear-filled eyes locked on hers.
And in them Ahayue saw the question unspoken: Why did this happen?
But Ahayue had no answer. Not one that wouldn't taste like ash.
"Are… are we safe?" Alusya's voice cracked as she spoke, barely louder than a whisper. Her words quivered like a candle flame in the wind.
Ahayue forced herself to listen, to ground herself in the sound. She glanced back through the trees. The village was hidden now, but the faint orange glow of fire still licked at the horizon. Smoke snaked upward into the night sky, staining the stars.
"For now," Ahayue said at last, though her voice betrayed her doubt. "We need to keep moving. They might follow."
"Follow?" Alusya's breath hitched. "Even after… after all of that?"
Ahayue clenched her fists. The memories stabbed sharper this time—their pursuers, the twisted forms, the way they tore through walls and doors like parchment. The way they killed.
"They won't stop," Ahayue muttered. "Not until they have what they came for."
Alusya flinched. "Me."
The word hung heavy in the air, a confession both of guilt and of truth.
Ahayue looked at her. The girl sat trembling, her knees hugged tightly to her chest as though trying to vanish into herself. Ash streaked her cheeks, mixing with tears. She looked fragile, breakable, a porcelain doll dropped into a world of iron and blood.
But it wasn't weakness that struck Ahayue's heart. It was the crushing weight of responsibility.
"Yes," Ahayue admitted softly. "You."
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant crackle of fire and the whisper of night insects. Ahayue let it linger. She didn't want to speak more than necessary. Every word was a reminder of the truth she wished she could escape.
Finally, Alusya whispered, "Then… everyone… they died because of me."
Ahayue's breath caught. She wanted to deny it, to tell the girl it wasn't her fault. That the monsters would have come anyway, that fate had already written tonight's tragedy.
But Alusya's eyes, glassy with despair, demanded honesty. And Ahayue… she had never been good at lying.
"Not because of you," she said carefully. "Because of them. Because they chose to hunt you. That blame is theirs, not yours."
Alusya shook her head, hair clinging to her damp cheeks. "But if I hadn't been there… if you hadn't stayed with me… they wouldn't have attacked."
Her voice cracked. The guilt poured from her like blood from an open wound.
Ahayue knelt in front of her, placing a hand on her trembling shoulder. The girl flinched at the touch, but didn't pull away.
"You can't think like that," Ahayue said firmly. "If you do, you'll drown. And if you drown, then everything—everyone—truly will have died for nothing."
The words were harsher than she intended, but necessary. She saw Alusya's lips press together, saw her chin tremble as she tried to hold back more sobs. But she nodded, faintly, as if clinging to Ahayue's words like a rope thrown to someone sinking in deep water.
The two of them stayed crouched there for several minutes, letting the forest swallow the remnants of the chaos behind them. Ahayue listened carefully for pursuit, her ears straining for the sound of snapping branches or heavy footsteps. But the night remained still.
Too still.
"Get up," Ahayue said, standing. She extended her hand.
Alusya hesitated, staring at the outstretched palm as though unsure whether she had the right to take it. Then, slowly, she placed her trembling hand in Ahayue's and rose unsteadily to her feet.
They began walking deeper into the woods. The canopy thickened, blotting out more of the burning sky. Shadows stretched around them, endless and suffocating.
Ahayue led the way, scanning every direction. Her instincts screamed at her. Flight kept them alive for now, but without direction, it was nothing more than running blind into another trap. They needed a plan.
But planning required clarity. And clarity was a luxury she didn't have—not with her chest still tight, her mind replaying the screams, the smell of blood, the horror carved into memory.
Yet she had no choice. Alusya was depending on her.
As they walked, Alusya broke the silence again. Her voice was fragile, yet desperate.
"Ahayue… why are you still here?"
Ahayue blinked, glancing back at her. "What do you mean?"
"You could have left me," Alusya whispered. "Back there. When they came… you could have run. You're stronger. Faster. You would've survived. Why… why stay?"
Ahayue didn't answer immediately. She looked forward, focusing on the darkness ahead. Her jaw tightened.
Why indeed?
Part of her wanted to say it was duty, that she had made a promise, that abandoning Alusya had never been an option. Another part wanted to claim pragmatism—that Alusya was important, that keeping her alive mattered beyond sentiment.
But deep down, beneath the armor of excuses, she knew the truth.
Because when she looked at Alusya, she saw not just a girl burdened by fate, but a fragile light in a world smothered by darkness. And Ahayue… she had seen too many lights extinguished.
"…Because I couldn't," she said finally.
Alusya stared at her, eyes wide, searching her face as though trying to see the hidden meaning behind the words. But Ahayue offered none. She simply pressed forward, quickening her pace.
There was no room for further questions. Not tonight.
Hours passed. The forest thickened, the ground turning uneven and treacherous. The moon climbed higher, painting the world in silver light. Alusya stumbled frequently, exhaustion weighing down her steps.
Ahayue noticed each time. And each time, she slowed just enough to let the girl catch her breath, though she never admitted it aloud.
By the time they reached the edge of a stream, both were drenched in sweat and trembling from fatigue. Ahayue motioned for them to stop.
"We rest here. Just for a while."
Alusya nodded weakly, sinking onto a mossy rock. She cupped her hands, scooping water from the stream, drinking greedily before splashing some onto her face. The coldness seemed to steady her, if only a little.
Ahayue remained standing, scanning the shadows. She drank only after ensuring there was no danger near. Even then, she drank sparingly, every sense still sharpened for threat.
Finally, Alusya spoke again, her voice softer this time. "Do you think… anyone survived?"
The question pierced Ahayue's chest. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to give the girl hope, however fragile.
But the images returned—the flames, the screams, the crushing violence.
Ahayue closed her eyes briefly, then opened them, her face a mask.
"…Maybe," she said. "We can't know."
Alusya lowered her gaze, her hands curling tightly in her lap. The silence that followed was heavier than any words.
And yet, as Ahayue watched her, she realized something.
Alusya wasn't broken. Not yet. She was fragile, yes, her spirit cracked by what she had seen. But deep within her eyes still lingered a spark—the will to keep moving, even when drowning in guilt and fear.
Ahayue drew a slow breath. For that spark, she would fight. For that spark, she would bear the blood on her hands.
The night stretched on, and the two of them sat by the stream in silence. The world around them was broken, bleeding, unforgiving. But together, they endured.
And though neither said it aloud, a silent vow passed between them.
They would survive. No matter the cost.
Ashes in the Night
The forest did not rest.
Every branch, every stone, every gust of wind seemed alive with echoes of the battle they had fled. The screams of warriors crushed under Alusya's unleashed power still clung to the air, woven with the iron tang of blood and the brittle crackle of broken trees. Ahayue half-dragged, half-pulled her deeper into the wilderness, his hand gripping hers so tightly it hurt.
"Faster," he hissed, though his voice was ragged from exhaustion. His lungs burned, his legs trembled, yet he pushed them both forward. Behind them, the silence of the battlefield was more terrifying than noise—it meant only survivors remained, and survivors always hunted.
Alusya stumbled. Her bare foot caught a root, and she nearly fell face-first into the loam. Ahayue caught her, but in her wide eyes there was no gratitude, only a glassy haze of shock. Her lips moved soundlessly, as though replaying the words of the forgotten god that had whispered through her veins.
"I… I didn't mean—"
"Not now." His tone was sharper than he intended, but fear left no room for gentleness. "We can't stop here. If you freeze, we die."
She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, but she nodded, tears streaking her dirt-smeared face. The god's power had faded, leaving her a trembling child once more, shoulders hunched, arms limp. The forest swallowed them, trees standing like black pillars under a sky smeared with ash and stars.
They ran until their bodies threatened to give way, then collapsed beneath the shelter of a slanted boulder. Ahayue pressed his back to the stone, listening—listening harder than he ever had before. No war-cries, no snapping branches. Only the ceaseless rhythm of his own blood in his ears.
At last, he allowed himself to breathe. He turned to Alusya, who was curled on the ground, hugging her knees. She was shivering uncontrollably, though the night was not cold enough for it.
"They'll come," she whispered, voice hoarse. "I saw their eyes… they looked at me as if I wasn't human anymore."
"You're still you."
"No." She shook her head violently. "I felt him. Inside me. The god. He took me and twisted me. I wasn't just… fighting. I was enjoying it." Her words cracked. "It was like drowning while laughing at the same time."
Ahayue's jaw tightened. He remembered Andalusia's last words, the warning that curses carried hungers of their own. He had thought his burden unique, but now he saw Alusya walking a mirrored path.
He reached for her hand. "Listen. Whatever that thing tried to make of you, you're not its puppet. You fought because you wanted to live. Because we both needed to live."
Her small fingers twitched, then clenched around his. She pressed her forehead against his wrist, trembling still.
Silence stretched between them, heavy with things neither wanted to name. Then Ahayue forced himself to stand.
"We can't stay. They'll search this forest, and they'll find the trail. We need distance."
"But where? Everywhere we go, they follow. I'm cursed, Ahayue. I'll only bring more hunters."
His laugh was bitter. "Do you think I've forgotten what I am? I've been hunted since the day I woke. If not them, then beasts. If not beasts, then shadows." His gaze softened. "But now I'm not alone. That makes it bearable."
Alusya stared at him, stunned. A single tear slid down her cheek—not of despair this time, but something gentler, fragile.
The night carried them forward again. They moved slower now, cautious. The ground dipped into gullies where water whispered, then rose again into ridges sharp with brambles. Their path was lit by nothing but scattered moonlight through the leaves, yet Ahayue's senses felt stretched thin, sharpened by instinct and curse alike.
Every rustle in the undergrowth made his hand go to his knife. Every owl-call twisted in his ears like the warning of a hunter's horn. He imagined eyes watching from behind the trunks—tribal warriors, wolves, or worse.
Alusya clung to him more than once, startled by shadows that seemed to writhe. But he held her steady, murmuring, "Just branches. Just wind." He said it for her sake, though part of him did not believe it.
Hours passed. Finally, they found a narrow clearing where the ground sloped toward a stream. Exhaustion forced them to stop. Ahayue built a small fire, keeping it low, shielded by stones. The flame was a fragile defiance against the vast, smothering dark.
Alusya sat close, arms wrapped tight around herself. For a long while, neither spoke. Only when the fire's warmth steadied her shaking did she whisper:
"Why me? Why did that god choose me? I was no one. Just a girl thrown away by her people."
Ahayue stared into the flame. He thought of his own years in Andalusia's cave, of questions without answers, of power forced upon him without his choosing.
"Maybe it doesn't matter why," he said at last. "What matters is what you do with it."
She looked up sharply. "But what if I lose control again?"
"Then I'll be there." His voice was steady now, not loud, not dramatic—just certain. "Even if it costs me."
Her breath hitched. "You'd die for me?"
He met her gaze across the firelight, shadows dancing across his scarred face. "I've already lived through too much death. If keeping you alive is my purpose, then I'll accept it."
The words hung between them. Not love—not yet. But something fierce and binding, forged in fire and blood.
Alusya finally lay down, curling near the warmth. Her eyelids fluttered shut, though her sleep was fitful, her body twitching with nightmares. Ahayue remained awake, staring into the dark woods. His thoughts churned.
The curse in his veins whispered restlessly. It recognized what had stirred in Alusya, perhaps even hungered for it. He clenched his fists, fighting it down. "Not tonight," he muttered under his breath.
And yet… in the silence beyond the fire, the forest seemed to breathe with another presence. A faint hum threaded the air, the aftertaste of divine power not yet gone. He swore he heard a whisper—distant, taunting:
She is mine, as you are mine.
Ahayue's head snapped up, scanning the trees. But there was nothing. Only the hiss of the fire and the endless night.
Dawn crept slow. Mist pooled over the stream, and the trees dripped with dew. Ahayue roused Alusya gently, and they set out again, steps heavier than before.
The forest seemed changed by what had happened—a place not merely of roots and leaves, but of watching shadows, lingering blood, and the echo of gods long forgotten.
They walked on in silence, but the question lingered unspoken between them:
What path could possibly remain for those cursed by divinity, yet bound only to each other?
And somewhere behind them, in the woods they had abandoned, footsteps stirred. Survivors—hunters—still pursued. And overhead, the unseen god whispered to the wind, patient and hungry.