The light faded.
Not gently.
It tore itself out of the forest like a wound closing too fast, leaving silence behind—thick, ringing silence that pressed against Mireth's ears.
She collapsed.
Her knees struck the ground first, then her hands, then her forehead. The world tilted and spun, silver sparks flashing behind her eyes. She tasted blood.
Too much.
She'd taken too much.
Her body shook violently, muscles locking and releasing in painful spasms. The mark beneath her collarbone burned white-hot, no longer screaming—laughing.
That was beautiful, the voice murmured, warm and satisfied.You are learning.
"Shut… up," Mireth gasped.
Her vision blurred as shapes moved around her. Trees bent and twisted, their shadows stretching unnaturally long. For a terrifying moment, she thought the hunters were still there—that hands would grab her, chains would follow.
But there was nothing.
Only scorched earth.
The ground around her was blackened in a wide circle, trees split and smoking, bark peeled away as if clawed by light itself. The smell of burned metal and blood hung heavy in the air.
Mireth dragged herself toward a tree and leaned against it, chest heaving. Her entire body ached as if she'd been hollowed out and refilled wrong.
Her side throbbed.
She glanced down.
The wound from the beast—gone.
No scar. No blood. Just pale, unbroken skin.
Her stomach twisted.
Healing again.
"That's not normal," she whispered.
Normal died with the gods, the voice replied calmly.
Her hands began to shake.
This was the price. It always came after—the weakness, the sickness, the feeling that something inside her had shifted just a little too far.
She swallowed hard and forced herself to stand.
Running had saved her before. It would have to do it again.
She staggered through the trees for what felt like hours, though the sky barely changed. Every step sent knives of pain up her legs. Her heartbeat felt… wrong. Too slow. Then too fast.
She stumbled into a small clearing and barely managed to stop herself from falling again.
That was when she noticed the blood.
Not hers.
Dark, sticky drops led across the grass, disappearing between two boulders.
Mireth froze.
Her first instinct was to turn around—to run, to hide, to survive. Whatever had bled that much was either dangerous or already dead.
Both were bad.
Then she heard it.
A groan.
Human.
Her jaw tightened.
"Damn it," she muttered, and followed the blood.
Behind the rocks lay a man—young, maybe a few years older than her. His clothes were torn, his skin pale, eyes unfocused. A deep gash split his thigh, blood soaking through a makeshift bandage.
He flinched when he saw her.
"Don't," he rasped, trying and failing to sit up. "I don't have anything worth—"
Mireth raised her hands slowly. "I'm not a thief."
His gaze flicked to her blood-stained clothes. To the faint silver glow that hadn't fully faded from her skin.
His expression changed.
Fear.
"You're marked," he whispered.
Mireth's stomach dropped.
She stepped back instinctively. "You should forget you saw me."
"That's not possible," he said hoarsely. "You don't forget something like that."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and dangerous.
She could leave him.
She should leave him.
But he was bleeding out. And if he died—
The mark pulsed.
Mireth clenched her fists. "What happened to you?"
"H-hunters," he said. "Not yours. Different order. I escaped… barely."
That made her pause.
"There's more than one?"
He gave a weak, humorless laugh. "There's always more."
Another groan escaped him as his head fell back against the stone. He was losing consciousness.
If she healed him…
Mireth looked down at her hands.
If she used the power again, so soon—
You could save him, the voice whispered gently.You want to.
"I don't want to lose myself," she snapped.
You won't, it lied smoothly.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. She remembered the hunters' faces. The chains. The orders to take her alive or dead.
She knelt beside the man.
"Don't thank me," she said quietly. "If this goes wrong… run."
He barely nodded.
Mireth pressed her hand against his wound.
The mark ignited.
Silver light spilled between her fingers, softer this time, controlled—but no less painful. Fire tore through her veins, and she bit down hard on her lip to keep from screaming.
The wound knit itself together slowly, flesh knitting unnaturally, bone snapping back into place with a sickening sound.
The man cried out once—then went still.
When the light faded, Mireth reeled back, dizziness crashing over her like a wave. She barely caught herself before falling.
Her vision doubled.
Her hands—her hands were wrong.
Silver lines crawled beneath her skin, branching like veins, pulsing faintly before fading again.
She stared at them, heart pounding.
That hadn't happened before.
"Thank you," the man whispered, eyes wide with awe and terror. "By the gods—"
"Don't," she said sharply. "Don't say that."
He swallowed. "What are you?"
Mireth stood, swaying. "Someone you never met."
She turned to leave.
"Mireth."
She froze.
Slowly, she looked back.
"How do you know my name?" she demanded.
The man grimaced. "I… don't. I shouldn't. It just—came to me."
The voice in her head stirred, pleased.
He hears me too, it purred.
Mireth's blood ran cold.
The man looked up at her, fear and wonder mixing in his eyes. "Whatever is inside you," he said softly, "it's waking up."
Her chest tightened.
This was getting worse.
Much worse.
She turned and disappeared into the forest before he could say another word.
Behind her, unseen, silver light flickered briefly in the man's eyes.
And far beyond the world, something ancient smiled again.