A figure, lifeless and still, lying beneath a tree on the edge of the clearing.
At first, they couldn't believe it—Andrei couldn't be dead. Not like this.
But as they drew closer, the truth became undeniable.
Andrei's body lay sprawled across the forest floor, his eyes wide open, staring into nothingness. His face was pale, his body covered in the dark stains of blood. And the worst part—his head was severed from his shoulders, lying a few feet away, staring at them in a twisted parody of life.
Athena's breath caught in her throat, her hand flying to her mouth in disbelief. "No... this can't be real."
Mathea stepped forward, her face pale as she knelt beside the lifeless body of the man they had once called their companion. She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her thoughts before speaking, her voice trembling. Tears streaming in their eyes. Yhan Yhan roared and Janna hissed.
"Who did this?" Jea whispered, her heart racing. "Why would they... why would someone do this to him?"
Mathea's hand hovered near Andrei's head, but she hesitated before touching it. She could feel the energy of the forest itself pulling at her, a whisper in the wind that spoke of danger. There was something about his death that was more than just a simple act of violence. It was a message.
"Whoever did this wanted us to see," Mathea said softly, looking at the others. "They wanted us to know that they know of our plan. And something tells me this wasn't just an enemy of Andrei's doing. This was orchestrated. This was meant to drive us apart."
Jea, her eyes narrowing, stepped back, scanning their surroundings. "Who could have done this? Who has the power to kill like this?"
Athena's voice trembled with fury. "We don't know who did this, but they're not going to get away with it."
Mathea shook her head. "We need to be cautious. This isn't the work of just anyone. This is a message, a warning. And it's not just for Andrei."
Her words hung heavily in the air. They could feel the weight of the forest closing in on them, the sinister presence that had been watching them all along now lingering closer, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath.
Mathea stood over Andrie's lifeless body, her fists clenched tightly at her sides, trembling with a mix of anger and sorrow. Her cousin, her savior in so many ways, now lay cold beneath the sprawling tree, his head severed, his once-proud presence reduced to a haunting memory. Tears blurred her vision, but she refused to let them fall. She needed to be strong, to think clearly, even though her heart ached more than it ever had.
The memories flooded her mind like an unstoppable tide. She could still see herself at thirteen, running barefoot through the dusty streets of the Witch Kingdom, her royal garments hidden beneath a tattered cloak. She had fled the suffocating walls of the palace, desperate to taste the life of the people below. The peasant market had been bustling with noise and life, so different from the quiet, gilded halls she had always known.
That was when the thieves cornered her. She remembered the terror, the way their greedy eyes had lingered on her fine shoes and shimmering cloak. She had thought she would be lost that day—until Andrie appeared.
He had stepped from the shadows, his sharp eyes glinting like silver, his words firm yet calm as he warned the thieves to back away. Though he looked barely older than her, there was a confidence in his demeanor that even grown men hesitated to challenge. They had fled, leaving her trembling and clutching her cloak.
"Andrie," she whispered to herself, her voice breaking.
It hadn't been a one-time rescue. Andrie had followed her many times after that, always staying a step behind her adventures, ready to intervene when things went wrong. At first, she thought it was mere coincidence, but later, she realized he had been keeping an eye on her. Whether out of duty or something deeper, he had made her safety his responsibility.
One particular memory gripped her tightly now, warming the cold emptiness in her chest. She had been experimenting with her royal magic, struggling to use her abilities to pierce the veils of deception the elves used to spy on the Witch Kingdom. Andrie had been the one to encourage her, his words steady and reassuring. He had shown her how to focus, how to harness the power she so often doubted. It was with his help that she had uncovered an elven spy, a lord disguised as a humble baker, sending messages to the Elven King. The pride in Andrie's eyes when she succeeded had been a moment she would never forget.
But now, all of that is gone.
She knelt by his side, her hands brushing against the dried leaves beneath him, her mind racing. Her anger burned hotter than the sun, directed not just at those who had done this but at the world itself for allowing such cruelty. Yet, amid her fury, a darker thought crept into her heart.
Could she bring him back?
The idea whispered to her, as insidious as it was tempting. She had read about dark magic, forbidden spells that could pull a soul back from the brink. But she also knew the cost—magic like that required sacrifices, and the resurrected were never quite the same.
"Andrie," she murmured, her voice trembling. "You told me to remember you, to be strong when I needed to be. But how am I supposed to do that now?"
The others were still searching the area for answers, unaware of the storm brewing inside her. She stared at Andrie's face, now pale and still, and remembered his words: "Fear or courage, Mathea. The choice will define you."
But what choice did she have? Could she risk everything to defy death itself? Could she sacrifice her soul for the cousin who had always been there for her?
As she knelt there, the shadows around her seemed to grow thicker, darker, as if inviting her to make that fateful decision. Would she let Andrie go and honor his memory, or would she take the risk, delve into the forbidden, and try to bring him back?
Her fingers brushed against the locket she wore, a gift from him years ago. It seemed to pulse faintly against her skin, as if waiting for her answer.