The words hung in the cold night air between them, sharp and unexpected. "They will forget. Everyone. But you... you can't." Lyenne's voice, raspy with pain, carried a strange authority despite her weakened state. Kael froze, his hand still hovering, his mind reeling. You can't. It was a phrase he heard in his own silent moments, a constant echo of his unique curse. But for her to know it, to utter it with such chilling certainty, was impossible. He hadn't touched her, hadn't used his magic. Yet, she knew.
Her eyes, still wide and fixed on his, were a turbulent storm of fear and a desperate plea. They weren't just wild; they held the ancient, untamed magic that pulsed from the runes on her cloak. A low moan escaped her lips, and her body shifted, a new wave of pain rippling through her. The dark stain on her side was spreading, the metallic scent of blood growing stronger. This wasn't a superficial wound.
"How did you know?" Kael finally managed, his voice barely a whisper, wary. Every instinct screamed at him to retreat, to disappear, as he always did. But her words, and the raw, untamed power radiating from her, held him captive. This wasn't another forgotten face; this was something entirely new, something that resonated with the deepest, most hidden part of himself.
Lyenne coughed, a wet, rattling sound, and a fresh trickle of blood escaped the corner of her mouth. Her hand, still pressed to her wound, trembled. "The spell… it speaks to me," she rasped, her gaze flickering to the glowing runes on her cloak. "They tried to take it. The Crown... they tried to break it." She struggled to push herself further back against the wall, as if to meld with the stone, to vanish. "I ran. But… they found me."
A cold dread seeped into Kael. The Crown. The very same authority he often unwittingly served by cleaning up their messes. And "the spell" that spoke to her? It sounded like the ancient magic rumored in hushed tones, power too wild and dangerous for even the Royal Sorcerers to control. He was standing in a nexus of forbidden magic and royal pursuit, precisely the kind of trouble he painstakingly avoided. Yet, he couldn't leave. The intensity of her gaze, the shared understanding in her cryptic words, rooted him to the spot.
Kael knelt fully now, the rough stone biting into his knees. He didn't touch her, not yet, but his gaze swept over her, taking in the intricate, glowing runes that pulsed with faint light beneath her tattered cloak. They looked ancient, almost alien, unlike any magical inscription he'd ever studied. And they weren't just decorative; they seemed to be intertwined with her very being, thrumming faintly with each pained breath she took. This was no ordinary sorceress, nor a common criminal. The Crown wouldn't pursue someone with such ferocity, risking their reputation in dark alleys, unless what she carried was truly dangerous, truly forbidden.
"They will forget… but you can't," she repeated, a desperate plea in her eyes. Her fingers twitched at her side, a low whimper escaping her. The wound was deep, and the flow of blood, though slowing, was relentless. She wouldn't last much longer out here. And if she died, Kael knew, the secret she carried, the truth about him that she somehow divined, would die with her. His solitary existence, born of his cursed power, was suddenly, inexplicably, connected to this bleeding stranger.
He, the ghost, the forgotten, was facing someone who knew the very core of his curse without him having to utter a word. It was a terrifying, exhilarating realization. For the first time in his life, someone saw beyond the veil of his magic. Someone remembered. And that, perhaps, was a far more powerful pull than any magic.
Kael made a decision, swift and uncharacteristic. He couldn't leave her. Not when she held a piece of his own mystery. Not when she was hunted for magic that felt profoundly important, even if he didn't understand it.
"I can help you," Kael said, his voice low but firm, cutting through the silence of the alley. "But you have to trust me. And you have to tell me everything." He reached out, his hand hovering over her wound, not with the intent to erase, but to stem the bleeding, to offer what little healing he knew. His magic might make him forgotten, but it was also a tool, a means to an end. For the first time, he was using it not to disappear, but to keep someone from fading away entirely.
Lyenne's eyes, wide and guarded, searched his face. For a long moment, she hesitated, a silent battle raging within her. Then, with a soft nod that seemed to cost her immense effort, she whispered, "Deal."