Chapter 19

The Ruins of Fate

The ruins loomed before them, skeletal remains of a forgotten era thrust upward from the earth. Crumbling stone pillars, draped in thick vines and moss, stood like silent sentinels, their surfaces pitted by time. The air was heavy, saturated with the rich, loamy scent of damp soil and the faint rot of decay. It pressed against Aria’s skin as she stepped into the clearing, a cloying shroud that made her breath catch. Beneath her boots, the ground yielded, soft mud sucking at her soles with each careful step. The faint light of dawn struggled through the dense canopy overhead, splintering into long, wavering shadows that danced across the uneven stones. Beside her, Caden moved with purpose, his longsword already drawn. The blade gleamed faintly, catching the dim glow like a shard of moonlight trapped in steel. His icy blue eyes swept the surroundings, sharp and predatory, missing nothing. Behind them, his warriors spread out, their figures dissolving into the swirling mist like ghosts.

At the clearing’s center stood Marcus, a gaunt silhouette bent over a ritual circle carved into the cracked stone floor. The symbols etched there pulsed with a sickly green light, casting an eerie sheen across his angular, hollowed face. Rogues flanked him, their claws glinting like polished steel, their eyes burning with feral hunger. Aria’s gaze darted to the altar at the circle’s heart—a weathered slab of stone, its surface engraved with a crescent moon pierced by a fang. It mirrored the mark branded on Rollan’s tiny arm, a symbol that had haunted her since Victor’s betrayal seared it into her memory. Her stomach lurched as realization crashed over her. *He’s trying to finish what Victor began.*

Caden’s eyes locked with hers, a tempest of determination swirling in their depths. She edged closer, her voice a hushed thread beneath the ritual’s rising hum. “My blood might stop it. It’s cursed—maybe that’s enough.”

His jaw tightened, a muscle flickering beneath the skin, but he nodded sharply and signaled his warriors. The clearing erupted. Steel met claw in a cacophony of violence—rogues snarled and lunged, their guttural roars reverberating off the ancient stones. Blood arced through the air, staining the pillars in dark, glistening streaks. Caden fought with the ferocity of a storm, his blade a silver whirlwind cutting through flesh and bone with merciless precision.

Aria flattened herself against a pillar, its moss-slick surface cold against her back. Her dagger trembled in her sweat-damp hand—she was no warrior, yet standing still wasn’t an option. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she slipped through the shadows, threading between the stones toward Marcus. His chanting swelled, the air crackling with dark energy that prickled her skin like static. Steeling herself, she lunged, aiming her dagger at his unprotected back. But Marcus whirled with uncanny speed, his bony fingers clamping around her wrist. He twisted until pain lanced through her, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat as the dagger fell, clattering uselessly against the stone.

“Your blood will serve,” he hissed, his voice a venomous rasp. He dragged her toward the altar, his grip bruising her flesh. Panic surged, a scalding tide threatening to drown her, but she shoved it down. She bit her lip, the sting sharp and immediate, blood welling up bitter and metallic on her tongue. Willing her trembling hand to steady, she let the crimson drops fall onto the glowing circle, a desperate prayer that her cursed lineage could unravel his spell.

The instant her blood struck the circle, the world fractured. A deafening roar split the air, and a concussive wave hurled her backward. She slammed into the ground, breath driven from her lungs, vision blurring at the edges. Through the haze, she saw Marcus stumble, his chant breaking into a ragged stutter. Caden pounced, his sword flashing as it drove deep into Marcus’s chest. The traitor’s eyes widened, a fleeting shock overtaking his features before he collapsed, the green light winking out like a snuffed flame.

The surviving rogues fled into the mist or fell to the warriors’ blades. Silence descended, heavy and uneven, punctuated by labored breaths. Caden’s gaze found Aria across the clearing, his face smeared with blood and dirt, his chest rising and falling hard. He crossed to her in long strides, his voice rough with a mix of relief and rebuke. “You could’ve died.”

“I had to,” she murmured, hands still quaking but her resolve unshaken. “It was the only way.”

A warrior approached, his armor dented and streaked with gore. “Alpha, one rogue slipped into the woods.”

Caden’s jaw clenched, eyes narrowing to slits. “Track him. We can’t let him reach the others.”

They abandoned the ruins, the mist parting reluctantly as they trekked back to the keep. But as the walls came into view, a guard’s cry shattered the quiet. “The boy’s gone!” Aria’s blood turned to ice. “Gone?” she whispered, the word barely audible. Terror flooded her, a dam bursting within. She spun to Caden, eyes wild. “We have to find him. Now.”

The healer’s quarters were a wreckage—shelves toppled, herbs strewn across the floor like autumn leaves. The crib lay overturned, empty, and Aria’s breath hitched as she saw the healer slumped against the wall, blood trickling from her temple. “A rogue took him,” the woman rasped. “Headed… toward the woods.”

Caden and Aria plunged into the forest without hesitation, guided by Rollan’s faint, piercing cries. Branches clawed at their clothes, roots snagged their feet, but they pushed on. Her legs ached, her throat burned raw, yet Rollan’s wails dragged her forward through the exhaustion. They broke into a clearing where the rogue loomed, Rollan gripped in one massive hand, a jagged blade poised at the child’s throat. His sobs stabbed through Aria like knives.

“Back, or he dies!” the rogue growled, fangs flashing.

Aria stepped forward, hands raised, voice quivering but resolute. “Take me instead. My blood’s what you want—cursed, powerful. Let him go, and it’s yours.”

The rogue’s grip tightened, Rollan whimpering softly. Aria’s heart fractured, but she held her ground. “Please,” she begged, tears spilling down her cheeks. “He’s just a baby.”

Greed flickered in the rogue’s eyes. He thrust Rollan into her arms, his blade snapping to her throat in a fluid motion. She clutched her son, relief surging through her like a tidal wave. Then she felt it—a sudden heat radiating from Rollan’s mark, resonating with her own blood. The rogue faltered, his hold slackening. Caden struck, his sword slicing through the rogue’s neck in a single, clean stroke. The body crumpled, lifeless.

Aria sank to the earth, cradling Rollan as sobs wracked her frame. Caden dropped to one knee beside her, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. “You were incredible,” he said, his voice soft, eyes warm with something unshakable. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“We’re a family,” she whispered, the words a solemn promise. He brushed a tear from her cheek with a rough thumb, nodding as dawn broke, bathing them in golden light.