The sun had barely risen, casting a pale light across the landscape, but the air remained thick with the remnants of the night. The camp was quiet now, the crackling fire reduced to embers. Alaric sat against a tree, staring at the stillness of the morning, lost in thought. The world felt like it was moving around him in a blur. He had been awake for hours, but sleep never came. Every time he closed his eyes, the same haunting image lingered in his mind: the Hollow King's shadowy figure, looming over them, pulling the strings of fate, ever closer.
Calia had been asleep beside the fire, her body curled in a blanket, her face peaceful, unaware of the turmoil that churned inside him. Alaric's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than he intended, her peaceful slumber a stark contrast to the battle raging within him. Last night, after their kiss, things had felt... different. Warmer. But that warmth was fleeting, like a flicker of light in a storm. The Emberlight—the power that coursed through his veins—kept pulling him back into the dark.
He had told himself that their kiss had been a moment of respite, a brief escape from the suffocating reality they faced. But deep down, Alaric knew the truth. He couldn't afford to let himself feel anything. He couldn't afford to love her, not when he was a ticking time bomb, a walking disaster waiting to happen.
The Emberlight was a constant pressure on his chest, like an iron fist wrapped around his heart, threatening to crush him from the inside. It had taken too much already—his soul, his sanity. Every time he used it, a piece of him withered, and the hunger for more power grew stronger. But he couldn't stop. Not now. Not when they were so close to the Hollow King. He needed the power to defeat him, to save the world.
But who would save Alaric from the power itself?
"Alaric?"
The sound of her voice broke through his thoughts, and he looked up, startled to find Calia standing before him, her eyes full of concern. The last remnants of sleep still clung to her, her hair tousled, but there was a softness in her gaze that made his chest tighten.
"You've been up for hours," she said, her voice gentle. "What's going on in that head of yours?"
Alaric didn't answer right away. He couldn't find the words. Instead, he pushed himself to his feet, his muscles sore from the previous day's battle. He needed to move, to keep busy, to outrun the thoughts that threatened to consume him.
"I'm fine," he said finally, forcing a smile. It didn't reach his eyes. "Just thinking."
Calia didn't look convinced. She stepped closer, her hand brushing his arm. "Thinking about what?"
Alaric hesitated, torn between the truth and the lie. He couldn't tell her. He couldn't put the weight of his fears on her. She already had enough to worry about.
"Nothing important," he said, his voice rough. "We need to keep moving."
She studied him for a long moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing his words. But she didn't push. Instead, she gave a slow nod. "Alright. But don't shut me out, Alaric. You're not alone in this. I'm here."
The words should have comforted him, but instead, they felt like another chain wrapped around his heart. He couldn't let her in, not completely. He couldn't risk it.
They packed up the camp in silence, each lost in their own thoughts as they prepared for another day of travel. The path ahead would take them closer to the heart of the Hollow King's domain, to the place where the darkness was strongest, where they would face their greatest trials. But as they walked, the weight of the world seemed to press harder on Alaric's chest. The Emberlight roared within him, hungry for more. And the darkness that followed him like a shadow seemed to whisper in his ears, promising him even greater power if he would only give in.
By midday, the landscape began to change. The once fertile fields gave way to barren, twisted trees, their gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. The air was thick with the stench of decay, and the ground beneath their feet felt soft, almost spongy, as if it was alive with something dark, something unnatural.
"This place," Calia whispered, her voice strained, "it feels wrong."
Alaric's grip tightened around his staff as they moved deeper into the desolate land. He could feel it too—the oppressive weight of the darkness, the feeling of eyes watching them from the shadows.
"This is the edge of the Hollow King's influence," Alaric said quietly. "We're getting closer."
Calia looked at him, her brow furrowed. "Are you sure we're ready for this?"
He met her gaze, his eyes filled with determination, though the truth twisted in his gut. They weren't ready. None of them were. But there was no turning back now. If they didn't act, the Hollow King would destroy everything.
They pressed on, the forest growing darker and more twisted with each step. The deeper they went, the more the air seemed to grow heavy, suffocating. Alaric could feel the Emberlight flickering in his chest, a constant reminder that it was both his greatest weapon and his most dangerous enemy.
That night, as they set up camp in a small clearing, Alaric couldn't sleep. His mind raced with thoughts of the Hollow King, of the destruction that awaited them. He could hear the whispers of the darkness, could feel it crawling beneath his skin, trying to break free.
Calia noticed the restlessness in him and sat beside him by the fire, her gaze soft and knowing. "Alaric," she said, her voice low, "talk to me. I can see it—something's eating at you."
Alaric took a deep breath, staring into the fire. The flames flickered and danced, but they could never warm him. "I can feel it," he murmured. "The power inside me. It's growing stronger every day. And I'm afraid I won't be able to control it."
Calia's hand reached for his, her fingers warm and reassuring. "You will control it," she said firmly. "We'll find a way. Together."
Her touch sent a wave of warmth through him, and for a moment, the cold darkness receded. But Alaric knew that her belief in him wasn't enough to quiet the storm inside. It wasn't enough to silence the whispers of the Emberlight, calling him toward a destiny he wasn't sure he wanted.
"I'm afraid, Calia," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "Afraid of what I might become."
Calia didn't answer immediately. Instead, she leaned closer, her forehead resting against his shoulder, and he felt the weight of her presence—steady, unwavering.
"You're not alone in this," she whispered. "I'm here. Always."
Alaric closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to believe her.