CHAPTER FOUR – Whispers of the Dead
The forest was dying.
Smoke from the earlier battle drifted through the blackened trees like ghosts refusing to rest. Ash clung to Elara's lashes as she followed Kael through the dense fog, every step heavy with the echo of magic still trembling in her veins. The air was colder now, unnaturally so, as though the forest itself recoiled from what she had unleashed.
Kael moved ahead of her, his sword dim but still bleeding faint shadows into the mist. He didn't speak, and for once, neither did she. The silence between them carried too much fear, exhaustion, the unspoken bond thrumming between their skin like a second heartbeat.
When they reached the edge of a crumbling ravine, Kael stopped. "We'll rest here," he said quietly.
Elara frowned. "Here? There's nothing but..."
The ground trembled as Kael pressed his hand against a half-buried stone. Ancient runes ignited beneath his palm, glowing faintly blue before fading into darkness. A slab of earth groaned, shifting aside to reveal a stairway descending into blackness.
Elara hesitated. "What is this place?"
"The catacombs of the First Witches," Kael said. "A burial ground. The Black Church never found it. They fear what sleeps beneath."
Her heart quickened. "And you don't?"
He looked at her over his shoulder, eyes cold and steady. "Fear doesn't keep you alive, Elara. Caution does. Stay close."
They descended together. The air grew heavier, thick with damp and decay. Roots hung from the ceiling like skeletal hands. Their footsteps echoed softly across the stone, and faint whispers, impossible whispers, seemed to follow.
Elara shivered. "You hear that?"
Kael's jaw tightened. "Ignore them. The dead remember power when it walks among them."
But she couldn't ignore it. The deeper they went, the clearer the voices became. They weren't speaking words she understood, until one of them did.
"Elara…"
Her name, drawn out like a breath between worlds.
She froze. "Kael...someone just..."
Before he could answer, her mark flared crimson. A pulse of energy rippled through the air, stirring the dust. The whispers rose, frantic now, like a thousand memories trying to speak at once. The walls shimmered faintly, and figures began to form, translucent silhouettes of women in tattered robes, their eyes glowing faint white.
The spirits of witches long dead.
Kael stepped in front of her, sword raised.
"Stay back!"
But the spirits didn't attack. They circled slowly, their faces unreadable, their voices blending into a haunting chorus.
"Blood of the moon… Daughter of the pact… the circle begins anew…"
Elara's heart pounded. "What are they saying?"
Kael's eyes flicked toward her mark.
"They're calling to you. They can sense the covenant inside your blood."
The spirits turned toward her then, moving closer until their voices overlapped into a single echo that filled her skull.
"You carry her curse… and his sin…"
Elara staggered. "Whose sin?"
The nearest spirit drifted close enough for her to see the hollow of its face. "The knight who bled for love and chained the dark for mercy."
Her gaze darted to Kael. "They mean you."
Kael didn't answer. His form flickered, the spectral glow around him dimming. "They're speaking madness," he muttered, but his voice wasn't convincing.
Elara stepped toward him, searching his eyes. "What are they talking about? What did you do?"
He turned away. "Not here."
But the spirits weren't done. They surged closer, wind whipping around them, their voices now one unified scream:
"He who was bound by death… now binds the living. The covenant was forged in betrayal!"
A gust of force hit them, knocking Elara back. Pain seared through her wrist, the mark burning as though branded anew. Kael's spectral form cracked, the shadows around him distorting violently.
"Kael!" she shouted.
He dropped to one knee, clutching his chest. "They're… tearing at the bond…"
Elara crawled toward him, grabbing his arm.
"Tell me how to stop it!"
"You can't," he rasped. "Unless you command them."
Her pulse raced. "Command the dead?"
"They're witches....they remember your bloodline. Make them obey."
Elara stared at the swirling specters, the blood mark on her wrist blazing. She rose slowly, fear giving way to fury.
"Enough!"
The word left her mouth like a thunderclap. Crimson light burst from her palm, slicing through the darkness. The spirits froze midair, their cries fading into silence. For a heartbeat, everything stopped.
Then, one by one, they knelt.
Kael lifted his gaze, breathing ragged. The energy around them calmed, though the air still thrummed with ancient power.
Elara's voice trembled. "What… just happened?"
"You reminded them who you are," Kael said, standing slowly. His eyes glowed faintly again, shadow restoring.
"You're the last descendant of the Blood Moon line. The power they served."
She swallowed hard. "And you?"
He hesitated. "I was once sworn to protect them. Until I killed them."
Her breath caught. "You what?"
Kael's voice was low, pained. "The Church offered freedom in exchange for betrayal. I took it. But when they turned on me, death wasn't my punishment, they bound my soul to the last witch's bloodline. Yours."
Elara stared at him, unable to speak. The ghosts around them murmured again, softer now mournful.
"So you're my curse," she whispered.
Kael met her eyes. "I'm your shield… and your doom."
The ground shook suddenly, a deep rumble that made dust fall from the ceiling. Kael's expression darkened. "They've found the entrance."
Elara's heart jolted. "The hunters?"
He nodded. "Malric won't wait till dawn."
He grabbed her wrist. "We need to move deeper, there's another passage that leads to the river."
But as they turned, one of the spirits reached out, brushing Elara's arm. Its voice was a whisper that froze her blood.
"Beware the knight's shadow. When love awakens, the bond will break… and the darkness will claim him first."
Before she could respond, the spirit vanished.
Kael pulled her along, his grip cold but desperate. The whispers faded behind them as they ran through the catacombs, their footsteps echoing through the tombs of the forgotten.
When they finally emerged into the open air, the moon was high and red once more.
Kael released her hand but didn't step back. His gaze searched hers, conflicted, almost human again.
"Don't listen to them," he said. "The dead love their riddles."
Elara's voice was barely a whisper. "And if they're right?"
Kael's expression hardened. "Then one of us won't make it to dawn."
Thunder rolled across the horizon, the sound of the hunters drawing closer.
And deep within the forest, the relic in Father Malric's hands pulsed violently, as if answering their heartbeat.
He smiled in the dark. "The bond cracks. Soon the witch will bleed, and the knight will fall."