The forest had quieted, but it wasn't peace that settled. It was something else. Heavier. Hungrier.
I stayed under the hollowed ash tree long after she left. My body was still, but my mind refused to stop replaying the moment her voice cracked. The tremble in her hands when she looked at me like I was already gone. My back pressed against the bark until it ached, but I didn't move. Pain felt easier than reflection.
I had broken something. Not with fire. Not with force. Just carelessness.
Riven's absence felt loud.
My fingers curled into the dirt at my sides, clawing at the earth like I could find an answer buried just beneath the surface. My breath caught. It stayed there, clenched in my throat, refusing to move until I exhaled through grit teeth.
"Fuck," I whispered.
The word burned on my tongue. My jaw tightened. I hadn't meant for it to happen like that. I hadn't meant for her to hear every breath, every thrust, every moan I gave to Arivelle. But intention didn't matter anymore. The damage had already wrapped itself around her ribs like a second skin.
The Core didn't speak. It pulsed once slowly and silently beneath my sternum. I could feel it watching me. Not judging. Just waiting. As if it wanted to see what kind of man I would become now that I'd torn the tether I valued most.
I dragged myself upright with a grunt, pushing off the trunk. My spine cracked. My limbs ached like I'd fought a battle in my sleep. Maybe I had.
I brushed my hands down my thighs, trying to force the tremor out of them. It didn't work.
I needed to move. Not because I had a destination. But because staying still felt like begging for the guilt to swallow me whole.
Each step through the forest felt like it belonged to someone heavier. Someone older.
My thoughts wouldn't leave her face. Her voice.
"I didn't think you'd like it."
Gods. I had truly fucked up.
I clenched my fists hard enough to make my knuckles pop. My nails dug into my palms. I barely noticed.
She hadn't just given me permission.
She'd trusted me.
And I'd made her feel forgotten.
No matter how I turned it over in my head, there was no version of it that didn't end with me being the villain in her story.
But beneath the guilt, something else had started to form.
It was cold. Clean and purposeful.
They had taken everything from me. My name. My future. My fire.
But I had survived.
I stopped walking. The trees around me whispered faintly in the breeze, scorched bark curling like brittle skin.
I stared out at the horizon, jaw clenched, chest tight.
"I'm done begging," I muttered.
The words came out rough, like stone dragged across steel. The Core stirred again, warmer now. Not wild. Just steady. As if it understood.
I didn't want to serve someone else's empire.
I didn't want to be a tool for the Core's hunger or the nobles' fear.
I wanted more.
I wanted my own.
Not just for revenge only. Not just for blood.
But to prove that I could rise from the ashes of their cruelty and build something stronger than they ever imagined.
The air around me shifted. I stepped into a clearing I hadn't noticed before, where the ruins of something ancient lay buried beneath the moss and bone-white stone. My boots sank slightly into the soft ground, and I crouched.
I ran my palm over the scorched earth.
It wasn't warm. Not yet. But it would be.
"I'll make something new," I whispered.
The Core pulsed beneath my skin, slow, deep and approving.
This wasn't just about rebellion alone anymore. It wasn't even about survival.
It was about becoming something they couldn't erase.
I stood slowly, my breath steadying. My spine straightened. I looked up through the broken canopy overhead, light flickering through the branches like firelight.
I would find others like me. The castoffs. The ruined. The marked and the forgotten.
I wouldn't use them. I would fight with them.
Together, we would burn our names into the world.
I turned, stepping back toward camp, and for the first time since Riven's voice broke inside my chest, I felt something real moving in my blood.
Not guilt.
Not grief.
Resolve.
I walked the forest path alone.
Not a single sound followed me. The trees stood tall and still, silvered by moonlight, watching without judgment. I couldn't feel Riven's tether anymore. Not the pain. Not even the distance. Just silence, like something had been severed without a blade.
By the time I reached the sanctuary, my chest felt hollow like it had just been scraped clean by guilt.
By the time I stepped through the low entrance, I already knew Arivelle wasn't going to meet my eyes. The air inside the tent was still warm, the herbs still simmered on the back burner, but the energy had shifted. It no longer felt like it belonged to both of us. Just her.
She was arranging something along the back shelf when I entered, her hands steady, her movements deliberate. She didn't turn.
I stood there, uncertain.
Her back remained to me as she placed dried roots into a jar and secured the lid with twine. Her braid was tighter than I remembered it being earlier, like she had redone it to keep her hands busy. Her shoulders stayed lifted, held taut by the effort of restraint.
When she finally spoke, her voice was calm. Too calm.
"I restocked the bandages near the cot. If you're still sore."
I swallowed hard.
"Arivelle," I said.
She paused. Only for a second. Then she resumed organizing the shelf.
"You don't have to explain," she said softly. "You don't owe me that."
"I think I do," I replied.
That made her stop again. Her fingers lingered on the next jar. But still, she didn't face me.
"I knew what it meant," she said after a breath. "The Core. The bonds. The pull. I've studied the marks for years, Lucien. I've seen the patterns before."
She turned halfway, her eyes finally meeting mine but they were guarded now, like shutters half-closed to stop a storm from getting in.
"But knowing," she continued, "doesn't make it easier to feel like… just another thread."
Her words landed like stones in my chest. I opened my mouth to respond, but I didn't know what to say.
She gave a faint, tired smile, the kind that didn't reach her eyes.
"I'm not angry. I'm just… trying to understand where I fit in all of this."
The mark between us pulsed faintly in my chest. I knew she could feel it too. But she didn't speak of it. She just returned to her herbs and motioned to the curtain.
"You should rest."
And just like that, I was dismissed.
Not with cruelty. But with distance. Quiet, polite distance.
And that, somehow, cut deeper than anger.
I heard her before I saw her.
The deliberate sound of boots on scorched soil. The faint clink of steel brushing against leather. Even the way the trees seemed to still as she passed.
Sylri.
She didn't announce herself, but she didn't try to stay hidden either. When she stepped into the clearing, her eyes met mine with that same unflinching fire. Her blade rested on her back, not drawn, but her stance made it clear she was ready for anything.
I didn't speak.
Neither did she.
Not at first.
She studied me for a long moment, taking in the wear on my face, the mark beneath my collarbone, the exhaustion in my shoulders. Her expression didn't change, but something in her jaw tightened.
"Core flares are spiking," she said finally. Her voice wasn't breathless or urgent. It was steady. Measured. Controlled like a blade before it sank in.
My chest rose and fell. "From me?"
"From you. From the ones you're bonding. Every time the mark ignites, it sends a ripple. You might think the Core is subtle, but it isn't. Not anymore."
She stepped closer, brushing a strand of ash-colored hair from her brow.
"You're flaring like a beacon in the dark, Lucien. That might work for gathering allies. But it also works for drawing enemies."
The words sank in slowly.
I felt the Core stir beneath my ribs, but it didn't push back. It pulsed low and calm, like it knew this was coming.
"They sent someone," Sylri added, voice quieter now. "Several, actually. Trained. Masked. I caught one trailing too close to the healer's edge. I left the body where the wolves could use it."
My throat went tight. "Scouts?"
She nodded. "The first wave. But they're not random mercenaries. They're guild-sworn. Hired with precision. And they weren't just looking for some marked vagabond."
She moved until she stood only a few feet from me.
"They were looking for you by name."
The Core pulsed again. I clenched my fists, the heat climbing my arms.
"Who sent them?" I asked. "Who paid for this?"
Sylri tilted her head, the faintest twist of a smile flickering at the corner of her mouth. Not mocking. Just bitter.
"Your sister."
The words landed like a stone to the chest. Not because I hadn't expected them. But because some part of me still wanted to believe she had forgotten I existed.
"Celis," I said.
Sylri gave a single nod. "Lady Celis of the Flame Court. Heiress to your father's legacy. The golden one. The favored one. The one who rose after you fell."
I closed my eyes, just for a second, and saw her.
Celis.
Not as a warrior. Not as a woman of power. But as the girl I remembered from corridors I wasn't allowed to walk. The one who used to peek beneath the curtain where the servants stayed. The one who looked at me like she knew we shared a father, but would never say it out loud.
The nobles had always whispered. Bastard. Half-blood. Flame-tainted.
My mother had been a healer. Not a noble. Not even a court-adjacent mage. Just a woman with warm hands and tired eyes who had never once asked the Flame Court for anything but silence.
And when she died, they gave it.
I was left with nothing but her hands and my name. Until they threw me in the pit and called it justice.
Now Celis wore my father's crest.
Now Celis was sending assassins after me.
I opened my eyes again.
Sylri was still watching me.
"I suppose I should be flattered," I muttered. "She remembered me after all."
Sylri snorted. "This isn't flattery, Lucien. This is war."
I stayed quiet. My jaw ached from how tight I'd clenched it.
"She's scared of you," Sylri added. "Scared of what you're becoming. The bond flares, the Core resonance, the fact that you've survived everything they designed to erase you… she sees all of it."
"She should."
Sylri gave a small grunt of approval. "Good. Hold on to that. Because if you don't get your shit together soon, the next assassin won't be a scout. It'll be someone faster. Smarter. And willing to kill anyone you're bonded to, just to destabilize you."
I looked down at my palms. They were trembling slightly. Not from fear. From something sharper.
"She always hated weakness," I said, more to myself than to her. "Even as a child. She used to smile while watching the guards discipline the stablehands."
Sylri's brow lifted slightly. "That explains the smile she wears now."
I looked at her. Really looked at her.
"You think I'm weak," I said.
Sylri stepped closer. Her boots barely made a sound on the ashen floor. When she stopped in front of me, her eyes narrowed, and her voice dropped low.
"I think you're raw," she said. "I think you're trying to carry your grief, your guilt, and your power at the same time. And it's dragging you down."
Her hand tapped lightly against my chest, right above the Core mark.
"This thing inside you? It doesn't care if you're sad. It doesn't wait for you to heal. It just grows. And if you don't grow with it, you'll burn out. Or worse, take us all down with you."
I stared at her, breath shallow.
"You have three threads now. That makes you dangerous. But that also makes you exposed."
She turned, taking a few steps toward the trees. Her back straight. Her voice sharp.
"Train. Harden. Or burn alone."
She didn't look back.
She didn't have to.
Because I felt the truth of her words settle deep beneath my skin, hotter than flame.
The nobles weren't waiting for me to rebuild.
They were already hunting.
And now my sister was leading the charge.
I looked up at the sky, the clouds thick with smoke. My chest burned.
This wasn't about shame anymore.
It was about power.
And what I would do with it before they tried to take it from me again.