The whispers of the forest spoke of death.
Elyndra pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, the cold air cutting through her like a blade. The stars above flickered unnaturally, as if the gods themselves hesitated to watch what was about to unfold.
She had seen it in her visions.
The lone warrior, standing against the darkness. The blood-stained moon. The fall of her kingdom.
And then she saw him.
A shadow among the trees, his silver hair catching the faintest light. His crimson eyes locked onto hers—a gaze that felt both dangerous and familiar.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
The man did not answer. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword.
Then the forest howled.
Darkness erupted from the ground as monstrous figures emerged, their eyes glowing with unnatural hunger. Elyndra barely had time to raise her hands before a beast lunged at her—claws aiming for her throat.
She braced for impact.
But the blow never came.
Instead, the warrior moved like a phantom, his blade carving through the beast with terrifying grace. Blood splattered across the ground as the creature let out a guttural screech, dissolving into mist.
Elyndra's breath hitched.
She knew who he was now.
The traitor. The cursed knight. The man who should have been dead.
Kairen Valehart.
And yet, here he was—saving her life.
Fate was a cruel mistress.
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