The forest was quieter now.
Too quiet.
Aerin sat near the embers of their modest fire, the crackle of burning pine masking the thrum of her heartbeat. She kept glancing at the path behind them, half-expecting the Seer's silhouette to reappear, gliding across the snow like some vengeful wraith.
Cassius sat across from her, one knee drawn up, his hands stained with blood—not his own. He hadn't spoken since they'd fled. His gaze remained fixed on the fire, as if it might hold answers he didn't dare voice aloud.
Aerin broke the silence.
"She called you 'forsaken.'" Her voice was low, but steady. "What did she mean?"
Cassius didn't flinch, but his jaw tensed. "It's what they call exiles in the Old Court. Those who were cast out. Forgotten. Or worse—deliberately erased."
Aerin frowned. "But you weren't exiled."
"No," he said. "I left. There's a difference. Exile is a punishment. Leaving was a choice."
A bitter laugh escaped him. "Though maybe the difference doesn't matter anymore."
She studied him, the flickering firelight softening the angles of his face. He looked younger like this. Tired, but strangely peaceful—like a man finally facing truths he'd buried too long.
"What happened to you, Cassius?" she asked gently.
He met her eyes. "I died."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
Then he continued. "Not in the way you're thinking. No blood. No blade. Just... silence. A slow unraveling. The day I realized what I truly was—and what my father had made me into."
He looked away. "I don't remember her name. The girl I killed. But I remember her voice. I remember how it cracked when she begged me not to change. And I remember the way she bled, how her eyes dulled—not with pain, but with understanding."
Aerin's heart twisted.
"Why did you do it?"
Cassius's lips parted, but no sound came. Then, with a voice so quiet she almost missed it, he said, "Because I was afraid that if I didn't, my father would kill her worse."
A long silence followed. Snow drifted gently from the trees, settling in soft patches atop their shoulders.
Then, a twig snapped.
Cassius was on his feet in an instant, blade drawn, eyes scanning the dark.
Aerin followed, heart hammering.
From the trees, a figure emerged.
Hooded. Tall. Unarmed—but cloaked in power so old, the very air bent to it.
Cassius tensed. "Stay behind me."
But the figure stopped a dozen paces away and pulled back the hood.
Aerin gasped.
The woman's face was familiar.
Not in the way of memories—but in blood.
Her own.
"You look just like her," the woman said softly, eyes on Aerin.
Cassius stepped forward, voice like steel. "Who are you?"
The woman ignored him. "You dream of trees that burn. Of books made of ash. You hear the wind whisper names you've never spoken aloud."
Aerin nodded, unable to breathe.
The woman stepped closer, and for a moment Aerin thought she might vanish, like a dream fading upon waking.
"My name is Maeria. I knew your mother."
Aerin reeled.
"My mother died when I was a child," she said, shaking her head. "She was human—"
"No," Maeria said, and now her voice was sharp as a drawn blade. "She was Elarian. Of the last bloodline of the Thorned Oath. A pact older than your empire. A vow written in the marrow of our people."
Aerin staggered back.
Cassius caught her.
"What do you mean Thorned Oath?" he asked.
Maeria's eyes locked with his—and something flickered there. Recognition. Pity.
"You carry half of it," she said. "A blade forged in night. A name feared by kings."
Then she turned to Aerin again. "But she carries the other half. And together, you are waking it."
Aerin looked at Cassius, her voice trembling. "What is she talking about?"
"The Thorned Oath," he said slowly, as if tasting the words for the first time. "It's legend. A bond between a blood-mage and a life-seer. Said to grant them power over life and death, light and shadow. But it was broken centuries ago."
Maeria smiled, and it was the saddest smile Aerin had ever seen. "Nothing broken stays buried forever."
She reached into her robe and pulled out a small stone pendant. Pale grey. Smooth. Carved with the same sigil Aerin had seen in her dreams—the spiral of thorns surrounding an open eye.
"This belonged to your mother," Maeria said, placing it gently in Aerin's hand. "She left it for you."
The moment Aerin's fingers closed around the stone, the forest changed.
The trees groaned. The fire hissed. Wind rose from nowhere, spiraling around them in a vortex of whispers.
And in her mind, a voice spoke—not Maeria's, not her own—but one as old as time.
"Bound by blood, awoken by choice. The oath lives again."
Aerin fell to her knees.
Cassius dropped beside her, grabbing her hand.
But she was somewhere else.
A garden of thorns. A tower of glass. A man with no face offering her a crown of bone.
Then, just as suddenly, it was gone.
She gasped.
Maeria knelt beside her.
"There isn't much time," she said. "They will come for you now. The Court. The Inquisition. Even the ones who call themselves free."
Cassius's voice was hoarse. "What do they want?"
"Her blood. Your shadow. Together, they're a key. To the Vault. To the forgotten magic sealed below the mountains. To the end of their reign."
She looked up at the darkening sky.
"It's already begun."
Then she stood.
"Go north," she said. "To the Withered Vale. Seek the Watcher of Hollowlight. He will tell you the rest."
Without waiting for reply, Maeria turned and vanished into the trees.
Aerin stared after her.
Then looked down at the pendant in her hand.
The sigil pulsed once—like a heartbeat.
Cassius knelt beside her, silent.
She met his eyes. "I don't know what this means."
He reached out, gently brushing a snowflake from her brow. "Neither do I."
"But I won't let them take you."
And for the first time since fleeing the capital, Aerin believed him.
Because something had changed.
Not just the bond between them, not just the blood.
But the world itself.
It was no longer just a flight for survival.
Now, it was a reckoning.
And the oath would demand its due.