The thought of leaving her and the others behind felt like a betrayal. A quiet part of Andrie knew they depended on him, even if they didn't fully realize it. Mathea had trusted him—perhaps because she didn't know who he truly was. Did he owe her loyalty? Or was he just a man grasping at remnants of his former self?
He glanced back at the group once more. Mathea was laughing quietly at something Jea had said. Athena was leaning over a map, muttering to herself as she traced the path ahead with her fingers. They were stronger than he was now. They didn't need him, and yet—he wanted to be there, to help, to do something right for once.
Andrei closed his eyes, the cold wind still biting at his skin.
Should I leave now, or should I stay?
In his heart, he knew the answer. He couldn't leave. Not yet. Not when they were so close. He had already made too many mistakes, and abandoning them now would be his final failure.
But there was something else. A deeper truth that he couldn't deny. As much as he wanted to fight for his own power, there was a part of him that had begun to realize the futility of it. The darkness that had consumed Lord Anjo was the same darkness that threatened them all. The battle wasn't about power—it was about survival. It was about stopping the true evil behind it all before they lost everything.
And maybe, just maybe, it wasn't too late to change.
With a sigh, Andrei stood straighter, his resolve solidifying. He had no magic, no strength, but what he had now was something far more important: a purpose.
He turned back to the fire, stepping toward the others. His feet felt lighter, his mind clearer. For the first time in a long while, he felt something close to hope.
"Mathea," he called, his voice steady but quiet. She looked up at him, her expression filled with concern, but he held her gaze, a sense of determination in his eyes.
"I'm staying. I've made a lot of mistakes, but I want to help." He stepped closer to the group, his hands clenched at his sides. "I may not have my magic anymore, but I will fight with everything I have. I owe you that much."
Mathea's expression softened, and she gave a small nod, her eyes filled with understanding. "We're in this together, Andrei. All of us."
Andrei smiled faintly, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. For the first time in a long while, he felt like he was exactly where he needed to be.
Andrei's mind churned with painful memories, memories he had buried deep beneath layers of pride and ambition. His gaze drifted to the flickering campfire, the shadows dancing across his face. He hadn't truly known the depth of his own deceit until now. He had convinced himself that if he could rescue Mathea, if he could return her to her rightful place as the princess, his father—King Rhyan—would finally see him as worthy. He would see his potential and offer him a seat at his side, perhaps even grant him a position of power. The kingdom, the wealth, the respect—all would have been his.
But that was before everything went wrong.
The betrayal stung, a wound that time had not healed. Venice.
She had been his closest friend, a confidante, someone he had trusted with his ambitions and his darkest desires. Venice had been the one to offer him the promise of power, of the means to control everything he ever wanted. She had been the witch with the ability to fly, the one who spoke of unlocking ancient magics, the one who had whispered the words that lured him to Mathea's side.
At the time, Andrei had thought Venice's plan to capture Mathea was foolproof. He had followed her lead, blinded by his own greed and desire for approval. But he had been blind in more ways than one.
Venice had used him.
When they had reached the forest and the fateful moment arrived—when Mathea was to be captured—Venice had betrayed him in the worst possible way. As he moved to capture the princess, to fulfill his mission and bring her to his father, Venice turned on him. With a swift and lethal spell, she had drained him of his power, stolen the magic he had once wielded so easily, and left him in a weakened, vulnerable state.
He had barely escaped, only to watch helplessly as Venice vanished into the shadows, laughing at his naivety. She had known all along that his thirst for power would be his downfall. She had used his own ambition to manipulate him, to strip him of the one thing that had defined him: his magic.
That was the price of ambition, wasn't it?
Andrei clenched his fists, the sting of the memory burning in his chest. He had fallen for Venice's lies, allowed himself to be seduced by the idea of power, and in doing so, he had lost everything. He had lost his father's trust, lost the respect of his people, and worse—he had lost his own sense of self. Without his magic, without the thing that had made him special, he was nothing.
But Mathea...
Even now, as he stood on the edge of this journey with her, he still felt a deep need to prove himself—to prove that he was worthy of something. To prove to himself, to his father, to the world, that he was more than just a failed prince.
Mathea had unknowingly become the key to his redemption. If he could help her, if he could ensure the success of their mission, perhaps, just perhaps, his father might look at him again with something resembling pride. But could he do that? Was he still capable of such a thing, now that the magic that had been his crutch was gone?
The thought haunted him.