The forest had fallen into a bruised, unnatural silence.
Not even the wind dared to stir the trees anymore, like the whole world was holding its breath.
Elara sat curled near the dying remains of their fire, arms wrapped around her knees, her whole body trembling — not from cold, but from the aftershocks of what she had done.
The magic still crackled under her skin, frayed and wild, like she was barely stitched together by threads that could snap if she breathed too hard.
Across the clearing, Kael crouched low, murmuring with Liora and Thorne.
Their faces were grim. Their voices were just scraps on the breeze —
"...move before nightfall..."
"...can't stay here..."
"...she's not ready..."
They were right.
Gods, they were right.
She wasn't ready for this war boiling in her chest.
Wasn't ready for the way the magic gnawed at her ribs, greedy, restless, always whispering more.
The relic against her chest pulsed, steady and relentless — a heartbeat that wasn't hers: Take more. Be more.
Elara pressed her forehead to her knees, willing it away.
It would be so easy.
Just one slip, one breath, and she could stop fighting and become something terrible. Something no one could ever touch again.
But then she thought of Kael's hands, rough and careful on her face.
Of Liora's fierce loyalty, the way she always stood in front, never behind.
Of Thorne's crooked grin, hiding a heart more broken than he ever let on.
The people she would lose if she gave in.
No.
No, she couldn't let the relic win.
"Elara."
Kael's voice was a lifeline, cutting through the storm in her mind.
She looked up, blinking back the sting in her eyes. His face was carved with worry, yes — but his eyes?
Steady.
Solid.
Unshaken.
He believed in her when she couldn't even believe in herself.
"We have to move," he said, reaching out his hand. His voice was low, steady — but she could hear the urgency buried in it. "They'll regroup. We can't be here when they do."
Her throat was too tight for words.
She just nodded.
Kael didn't push.
He simply waited, hand outstretched like a promise.
Elara slid her hand into his, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself lean on someone else.
Let someone else carry the pieces she couldn't hold together anymore.
---
The journey blurred into a half-remembered nightmare.
The trees thinned into craggy hills, shadows bleeding long across the valleys.
No one spoke. There was nothing left to say.
Elara stumbled more than once, her body dragging behind her will, but Kael was always there. A hand on her elbow. A quiet word. A look that said keep going, I've got you.
The sun bled out behind the hills, and when they finally crested the ridge, Elara almost didn't notice the ruins sprawled out below them — until the chill hit her.
Vaelor Keep.
Or what was left of it.
What must have once been a fortress now slumped like a wounded beast, its bones jutting up against the darkening sky. Vines strangled the stones. Time had gnawed it hollow.
"We camp there," Liora said, voice sharp. "No one sane follows us into that place."
Elara shivered.
She wasn't sure whether that was a comfort or a threat.
But it didn't matter.
There was nowhere else to go.
---
Up close, the keep felt worse — like stepping into someone else's grief.
The stones wept cold from every crack. The air pressed heavy against her skin, saturated with old, sour memories.
Love. Loss. Rage. Regret.
And something older still, something gnawing and starved, curling at the edges of her senses.
They found an abandoned chamber near the ruined courtyard — a room where the roof hadn't completely given in, where they could barricade the door if it came to that.
Safe.
Or at least, safer than out there.
Kael and Thorne took first watch.
Liora fussed over their pitiful supplies.
And Elara?
Elara sat apart, staring at the thin line of dying light leaking through a crack in the stone, her hands useless in her lap.
She should have been resting.
Instead, something pulled at her — a tug deep in her gut, a whisper she couldn't quite shake.
The relic thrummed against her chest, eager. Hungry.
Before she realized what she was doing, she was on her feet, picking her way across the broken stones, moving deeper into the ruins.
The air grew colder.
Each step felt like a choice she couldn't take back.
And then — she found it.
A hidden room, half-swallowed by the earth.
Murals peeled and cracked along the walls — knights, queens, dragons, demons — their stories long forgotten, their faces blurred by time.
At the center stood a blackened altar.
And on it — a sword.
Not just any sword.
Her sword.
Or it felt like hers, humming against her skin, singing to something wild and old inside her.
The blade shimmered under the faint light, etched with runes that pulsed in time with the relic in her chest.
Elara's breath caught.
Her hand moved, trembling, reaching —
"Elara, no!"
Kael's voice shattered the trance.
She whirled to find him standing there, pale, sword half-drawn, fear naked in his eyes.
"Don't touch it!" he barked, striding toward her.
"I can feel it, Kael," she whispered, barely able to hear herself over the roaring in her head. "It's part of me. I was meant to find it."
"Or it was meant to find you," he said tightly. "There's a difference."
He stopped just shy of touching her, close enough that she could see the tremble in his hands.
"Please," he said, voice cracking. "Not like this."
And gods help her — she wanted it.
She wanted to grab the sword and never feel small or broken again.
The relic whispered sweet promises in her ear:
Take it. Be everything they were afraid of.
Elara closed her eyes.
And she thought of Liora's fierce scowl. Of Thorne's crooked, lopsided grin.
Of Kael's hands on her face, steady, grounding.
Of the people who saw her, not the monster she was afraid of becoming.
With a broken gasp, she wrenched her hand back.
The sword's glow flickered, dimming, like a dying star.
Kael exhaled like he'd been drowning.
Before she could move, he crushed her into his arms, holding her like she might splinter apart if he let go.
And Elara — for the first time — didn't pull away.
She let herself be held.
She chose herself over the hunger.
---
Later, huddled around a weak fire in the half-ruined chamber, she told them everything.
No more secrets. No more pretending.
About the relic.
About the hunger that never stopped gnawing.
About how close she had come to losing herself.
She braced herself for anger. For fear.
But it never came.
Liora just crossed her arms and said, fierce and simple, "We fight with you, Elara Vel'Thari. Or we don't fight at all."
Thorne clapped a warm, calloused hand on her shoulder, flashing a real grin this time. "Besides," he said, "dangerous women are kind of my type."
Even Kael — quiet, steady Kael — gave her a look so full of quiet devotion it knocked the air from her lungs.
They didn't see a monster.
They saw her.
And for the first time in a long, long time —
Elara let herself believe it.
---
But that night, curled into herself in the crumbling keep, dreams came anyway.
A throne of bone.
A crown dripping blood.
And herself, sitting atop it —
Alone.
Unrecognizable.
The echoes of what she could become.
And the terrifying part?
Some small, broken part of her wasn't sure if she'd have the strength to turn away next time.