They didn't stop running until the land itself changed.
The broken plains gave way to jagged terrain—ridges of black stone rising like the ribs of something long dead. The air grew colder here, thinner, humming faintly beneath the skin. Magic residue. Old. Abandoned.
She felt the chain react instantly.
Not tightening.
Listening.
"This place…" she whispered, slowing despite her exhaustion. "It feels wrong."
"It was never meant to be lived in," he replied. "Which is why they avoid it."
He leaned heavily against a stone outcrop, blood still seeping through the torn metal at his wrists. The chains had dulled again, no longer glowing, but every movement sent pain flickering across his expression.
She hated that she could feel it now.
Not the pain itself—but the strain beneath it. Like tension in a thread stretched too far.
"You're hurt because of me," she said quietly.
He looked up sharply. "No."
"I panicked," she continued, voice tight. "They wanted that—and I gave it to them."
"You adapted," he corrected. "Faster than the system predicted."
"That doesn't change what it did to you."
"No," he said. "But blaming yourself will make you hesitate next time."
She met his gaze, startled by the bluntness.
"Hesitation," he continued, "is exactly what they will exploit."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and raw.
Finally, she asked the question that had been clawing at her since the ground had split.
"Why didn't the curse fully retaliate?"
His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"When I lost control," she said, pressing a hand to her chest as if she could steady the memory. "It could have killed them. I felt it. But it didn't."
Understanding dawned slowly in his eyes.
"Because it wasn't protecting itself," he said.
"It was protecting you."
The words settled between them like something fragile—and dangerous.
She swallowed. "That's not supposed to happen, is it?"
"No," he answered honestly. "It never has before."
She wrapped her arms around herself, unease creeping in. "Then that makes me—"
"A liability," he finished.
She flinched.
"And a leverage point," he added immediately. "For both sides."
She exhaled shakily. "That's not comforting."
"It's reality."
She looked away, staring out over the ruined expanse. The land here was scarred with deep fissures, ancient runes half-buried in stone—remnants of a battlefield that had once torn the world open.
"This place," she said slowly. "Did you fight here?"
"Yes."
The answer was too quick.
She turned back to him. "Before the curse?"
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
"This is where they learned how to bind me," he said. "And where I learned how to kill gods."
Her breath caught.
"They won't follow us in here," he continued. "Not without preparation. Their systems can't predict variables in unstable zones."
She frowned. "Then why come here?"
"Because," he said, meeting her gaze steadily, "if they're going to hunt us, I want them doing it on ground that remembers me."
The chain pulsed—low, resonant.
Approval.
Her heart raced. "You're planning something."
"Yes."
"Something dangerous."
"Yes."
She laughed softly, breathless. "Of course you are."
He watched her closely. "You don't have to stay."
The words surprised her more than the hunters had.
"What?"
"This place will escalate everything," he said. "Once they confirm our location, containment won't be their priority anymore."
"Then what will be?"
"Erasure."
She stared at him, pulse pounding.
"And you're giving me an out now?"
"This is the last moment I can," he replied. "Before the curse fully adjusts around you."
She looked down at the chain—at the faint glow responding to her presence, her choices.
"You said earlier," she said quietly, "that survival demands restraint, control, and sacrifice."
"Yes."
She lifted her chin. "Then this is mine."
His eyes widened slightly.
"I'm not leaving," she said firmly. "Not because I'm bound—but because I choose to stay."
The chain surged—warm, resonant, alive.
The air shifted violently, runes flaring across the stone beneath their feet as the curse recalibrated again, deeper this time. Not reactive.
Committed.
Far away, something activated.
She felt it—like eyes snapping open.
"They've found us," she whispered.
"Yes," he said, straightening despite the pain. "And now they know where the rules are weakest."
She met his gaze, fear and resolve tangled tightly in her chest.
"Then we don't run anymore," she said.
A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips.
"No," he agreed. "Now we prepare."
Above them, the sky darkened unnaturally—clouds spiraling inward as ancient mechanisms stirred beneath the land.
The battleground had been chosen.
And the curse was ready to remember what it had been created to do.