Chapter 3 – Raid at Dawn

The first light of dawn bled through the trees, painting the forest in muted gold and crimson. Elara pressed herself against a fallen log, ears straining for any hint of movement. Her body ached from the night’s flight; her palms were still warm from the magic she had forced to the ground, yet the thread inside her—the curse—still pulsed, restless.

She had no choice. The village was gone. If the rumors were true, Kael’s soldiers had already descended, tearing through homes, burning what remained, and leaving only ash and terror in their wake. She had to move before they found her again.

A snapping branch made her freeze. She whirled, staff now in hand, though it felt heavier than ever. Through the thin morning mist, shadowy figures emerged—soldiers dressed in black armor, runes faintly glowing on their pauldrons. The same soldiers who had ridden with Kael, and the same ones who now hunted her like prey.

“Hide!” she hissed, diving behind another tree. The men passed, their boots crunching over the frost-hardened earth. She watched, heart hammering, as they swept past, unaware of the faint golden shimmer of magic that lingered around her hiding spot.

Once the threat passed, she moved again, silently, toward the village’s edge. Her heart sank as the first signs came into view: smoke curling from chimneys, walls smoldering, and the acrid stench of burnt thatch. Villagers ran in panicked groups, carrying what little they could save. Some were screaming; others sobbed.

A pang of guilt stabbed her chest. She could have warned them. She could have tried to stop Kael. But the curse inside her was still unpredictable, untamed. One wrong move, one flare of magic, and she could destroy more than she saved.

A sudden cry froze her blood. From the corner of her eye, she saw a young boy, no more than ten, trapped beneath a collapsed beam. Without thinking, she sprinted forward, staff glowing faintly, chanting an incantation her mother had whispered long ago. The wood lifted as if touched by invisible hands, freeing the child.

“Th-thank you!” he gasped, clutching her hand. His eyes were wide with fear and awe.

“Go,” she whispered, pushing him toward the fleeing villagers. “Run!”

The moment he disappeared into the smoke, she sensed them—more than the soldiers. Kael’s presence, faint but undeniable, tugged at her insides. He wasn’t here yet, but the thread of the curse vibrated wildly, warning her that it wouldn’t be long.

She turned back toward the forest, seeking shelter, but a sharp whistle cut through the air. Soldiers emerged from the smoke like shadows, blocking her path. Her heart sank. She had run straight into them.

“You can’t escape, witch,” one said, stepping forward, sword raised. “The prince wants his treasure returned.”

Elara clenched her staff. “I am not your treasure,” she spat, the words tasting bitter. The golden glow of her palms flared, coiling around her like living fire. The soldiers hesitated. Magic—pure, unrestrained—radiated from her, and even they, trained killers of the Dark Prince, knew better than to strike blindly.

But their hesitation was brief. One lunged, and she barely dodged, swinging her staff. Sparks ignited where metal met magic, and she ducked behind a fallen wall as another soldier threw a javelin. Each attack was precise, deadly. They were not mere hunters; they were killers trained to subdue her, to bring her alive.

Her mind raced. There had to be another way. She couldn’t fight them all. Not yet. The curse was unpredictable, but she could use it to escape. Focusing, she pressed her palms to the earth, whispering a binding spell. Golden tendrils of light snaked out, wrapping around the soldiers’ boots and anchoring them to the ground. Screams of frustration echoed as they struggled, immobilized but unharmed.

It was enough. She darted into the trees, branches slapping her face, roots threatening to trip her. The forest swallowed her once more, magic flickering in response to her fear and resolve.

After what felt like hours, she stumbled into a small glade, the ground damp, the morning fog clinging to her cloak. She sank to her knees, trembling, exhausted. The thread inside her pulsed violently. Kael. He was coming. She could feel it, the magnetic pull of the curse tugging her toward him, though she had fought so hard to run.

“I’m not yours,” she whispered through chattering teeth. “I won’t be.”

A soft rustle behind her made her spin, staff raised. Nothing. Only the wind brushing the leaves, the sun climbing higher, shedding light on the devastation below.

She let herself breathe. Only for a moment.

Magic had always been her secret, her solace, her curse. And now it was a beacon. Not just for Kael, but for the danger he carried with him—the darkness she couldn’t yet understand, the thread tying her fate to his. She pressed her palms to her chest, feeling the golden pulse, both warmth and warning.

Elara couldn’t go back. She couldn’t hide forever. The villagers would be gone, scattered, afraid. And Kael… he would not rest. The thread was alive, calling her, dragging her closer whether she liked it or not.

But she had survived tonight. And that would have to be enough.

As she rose, a figure appeared at the edge of the glade—tall, cloaked in black, eyes glowing faintly crimson. Her pulse quickened. Kael had arrived. Not the soldiers. Not the hunt. Him.

He stepped from the shadows like a living nightmare, yet something in his gaze… curiosity? Or hunger? She couldn’t tell.

“You survived,” he said softly, almost approvingly.

“I have to,” she replied, trembling, yet standing tall despite her fear. “I’m not a toy for you to claim.”

“Claim?” His lips curved faintly. “I am not here to claim you. Not yet. But the curse… it calls for both of us.”

Her magic flared, responding to the thread that ran between them. She felt it, fierce and intimate, a tether she could neither sever nor ignore.

He stepped closer, darkness curling around him like living smoke. “Soon, you will understand,” he said. “And then… there will be no running.”

Elara’s heart hammered. She wanted to fight. She wanted to escape. And yet… that tether, that pull, made her knees weak. The thread between them was alive, and it was stronger than anything she had ever felt.

Kael’s shadow stretched over her, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, without another word, he retreated into the forest, leaving her trembling and alone.

Elara pressed her hands to the dirt, golden light fading, whispering to herself: “I will survive… even if it kills me.”

The thread pulsed one last time before dawn fully broke, reminding her that the curse had begun its work. And that Kael, the Dark Prince, was closer than ever.