Sylvera's legs finally gave out the moment she broke through the last line of trees.
Not gently. Not like some tragic heroine.
She just… fell.
Her knees hit first. Then her hands. Then her whole body dropped forward like the ground had yanked her down. Her breath was a mess, ragged and too loud. Her lungs burned. Her throat burned. Her mouth tasted like blood and cold air.
Her bare feet were torn open. Raw. Bleeding. Mud stuck to the cuts. Tiny stones had wedged into her skin like nails. Every step in that forest had been pain. Every single one.
She remembered roots catching her ankles. Not normal roots. Roots that moved. That curled up under her foot to trip her. Branches that snapped at her hair, her face, her arms. Scratches over scratches. Like the woods wanted to hold her. Keep her. Punish her for trying.
It hadn't felt like running through trees.
It had felt like running through hands.
Like the woods were angry.
Like they'd chosen a side.
And then… it stopped.
Just like that.
The air went still.
Not quiet. Still.
No wind. No leaf sound. No insects. Not even distant birds. Silence so total it made her stomach twist. It was too clean. Like someone had wiped the world.
Sylvera froze on the ground, half-crouched. Her whole body tensed. Every nerve felt awake, screaming at her to move or die.
Ahead of her, in the deepest pocket of darkness, something shifted.
At first she thought it was just shadow.
Then she realised the shadow was separating from the dark. Peeling away slowly. Like it had been waiting there the whole time.
It rose.
And kept rising.
Too tall. Too wrong.
It towered over the trees. Its shape didn't settle. It kept changing, like it couldn't decide what nightmare to wear. One moment there were antlers—long, branching, sharp silhouettes against the sky. The next, a mouth opened. Too wide. Wider than it should be. Full of needle-thin teeth, rows and rows that didn't end.
There were eyes.
But they weren't eyes.
Just hollows. Deep, black pits that swallowed the moonlight and gave nothing back.
Sylvera's stomach dropped.
Her hands lifted on instinct, shaking.
Then it spoke.
"Lorian's little pet."
The voice sounded dry. Brittle. Like dead leaves scraping stone.
That name—Lorian—hit her harder than the threat itself.
It pulled a memory open in her chest. A wound she hadn't had time to close.
Sylvera stumbled back. Her magic tried to rise.
Tried.
A few weak sparks jumped at her fingertips and died the second they touched the air.
She tried to grab more. To focus. To cast properly.
Nothing came.
It was like her magic had curled up inside her and shut its eyes.
The creature lunged.
No warning. No slow approach.
It just moved.
Fast.
It wasn't even moving like a body. It unravelled into smoke and claws, into shadow and teeth. A storm crashing straight at her.
Sylvera's scream caught in her throat.
The ground rushed up again—
Then—
A blast of violet fire tore through the night.
A loud crack, sharp enough to hurt her ears. The whole clearing lit up white-purple for a second, blinding. The flames slammed into the creature's arm, wrapped around it, ate through it with a sick wet hiss.
The smell hit instantly. Scorched rot. Charred bone. Thick and choking. It sat on her tongue.
The monster shrieked.
It wasn't just loud.
It was wrong. Like hearing something huge dying.
It echoed through the trees like the forest itself was crying out.
Sylvera whipped her head toward the fire.
Heart punching at her ribs.
Pain gone for one impossible second.
And there he was.
Lorian.
Not the version from court.
Not the king draped in silk and lies.
Not the man who smiled like honey.
This was Lorian without the pretty layer.
His coat hung in tatters. Burned at the edges. Dark with blood. His hair was wild, damp with sweat, stuck to his pale face. His skin looked stretched tight over bone. His whole body looked… not calm.
Not controlled.
Raw.
His eyes—
Gods.
His eyes were burning.
Not charming. Not soft.
Burning with fury so old it didn't even feel human. It bent the air around him. It made the clearing feel hotter and colder at the same time.
No enchantment hid him.
No mask.
This was him stripped down to what he really was.
Something that didn't ask.
Something that took.
He didn't even look at Sylvera.
Not yet.
His gaze stayed locked on the creature, unblinking.
"Run," he growled.
Not to her.
To the thing.
A warning.
The monster didn't listen.
It lunged again.
And everything exploded into chaos.
They hit each other with a sound like something breaking inside the world. Not just a crash—more like a crack. Like the air itself snapped.
Magic detonated outward. Wind, shadow, fire—everything twisting together into a violent storm. The earth buckled under them. Trees bent back as if trying to get away. Trunks splintered.
Sylvera dropped low instinctively, arms over her head. Dirt and broken bark flew past her face.
Through the storm she saw flashes.
Lorian's hands shoved into the creature's chest, ripping through black flesh that hissed and screamed. The monster snapped back, teeth sinking into his shoulder.
Lorian howled.
Not just pain.
Rage.
Pure rage.
The shadows surged, trying to wrap around him, trying to swallow him whole—
But his magic flared again.
Violet. Wild. Violent.
It pushed the dark back like it was nothing.
Then Lorian roared and threw a blast of violet fire straight into the creature's chest.
The monster flew backward, crashing through trees with a howl.
Then it vanished into shadow.
Silence slammed down again.
For a second everything felt stunned.
Lorian stood there, chest heaving. Blood streaked his torn coat. He looked like something pulled out of a nightmare.
Then he turned.
Not to chase.
To her.
Sylvera was still on the scorched earth. Trembling. Her breath shallow. Her eyes too wide.
His furious expression changed the second he looked at her. It softened, just a little, and that almost made it worse. Like he could flip it on and off.
He strode to her and dropped to his knees.
"I've got you," he murmured.
His hands still glowed faintly when he reached for her.
Then he lifted her.
Strong arms under her back, under her knees.
Careful.
Too careful.
Like she was fragile.
Like she was his.
Sylvera fought. It wasn't real strength. Just reflex. Her limbs were weak. Her magic was gone. Her vision blurred, moonlight and blood smearing together.
"Let… go…" she tried.
Her words came out wrong, barely breath.
His grip tightened, steady and unmovable.
His voice came close to her ear, rough with strain, hot against her skin.
"You'd prefer that thing's teeth?"
She hated him for that.
For sounding almost… human.
For sounding like he cared.
He moved fast. Too fast. The trees blurred past. Sylvera tried to focus, tried to hold on.
For a heartbeat she saw him clearly.
Not composed. Not perfect.
His jaw clenched so tight it shook. Blood at his temple. His eyes wide with something close to fear.
Fear.
Real fear.
Not possession.
Not triumph.
Desperation.
Then darkness surged up over her.
Cold water swallowing her whole.
As she drifted, she heard it—far behind them, from the clearing.
The dying creature's final scream.
"SHE'LL DIE IN YOUR ARMS LIKE ALL THE OTHERS!"
The words echoed through the woods. Twisted by hate. Twisted by pain.
Then the forest swallowed it.
But the words stayed in Sylvera's mind, digging in like a splinter.
All the others.
She wasn't the first.
He'd done this before.
Carried others through the woods.
Women. Witches. Maybe worse.
Bleeding. Broken.
And every time—
death found them there.
In his arms.
The thought wrapped around her, icy and tight.
Her head lolled against his shoulder. She could hear his heartbeat. Loud. Heavy. Rhythmic. A war drum against her cheek.
Once, that sound might've comforted her.
Now it only made the dread worse.
Each beat felt like a countdown.
She had escaped the castle. Escaped the woods. Escaped the monster with antlers.
But she hadn't escaped him.
Not truly.
Lorian was still the thing waiting at the end of every nightmare.
The fire that devoured villages.
The spell that rewrote minds.
The lover who never asked. Only took.
And now he carried her like a rescuer.
Like a man saving someone he loved.
As if she didn't know better.
And the worst part—
the sickest part—
was that some part of her wanted to believe the fear in his eyes meant something.
That she mattered.
That she was different from the others.
That he wouldn't let her die.
But deep down, deeper than pain, deeper than the spell-scars in her head, Sylvera knew.
Whether it was the forest's teeth…
or Lorian's love…
either way, she was prey.
And the hunt wasn't over.
She didn't wake.
Her limbs went limp. Her head rested against his chest. Her breath stayed shallow but steady.
Lorian's grip tightened again, careful. Protective.
Even with pain flaring through his side.
Even with exhaustion dragging at him.
He turned away from the ruined clearing and started walking.
The forest loomed around him, whispering in its ancient voice.
But he followed a path only he seemed to know—narrow, winding, hidden.
Branches tugged at his coat.
Roots rose under his boots.
Shadows flickered at the edge of his vision.
He didn't stop.
Not once.
Not once did he look back.
Not once did he falter under her weight.
He carried her like something sacred.
Sylvera stayed unconscious, unaware of the way he chose, unaware of what waited ahead.
Only the steady rhythm of his heartbeat…
and the rise and fall of his breath…
kept her tethered to life,
as the forest swallowed them both.