The forest was silent but for the occasional crack of a branch or the distant rustle of a creature moving in the underbrush. Kieran's footsteps were muffled by the soft earth, but his mind was far from quiet. He had been walking for days, his only company the relentless whisper of magic within him, urging him forward. He had seen enough of the world to understand one thing clearly: no one was ever truly free. Everyone had their chains, even if they were invisible.
He had learned to survive on his own—hunting, foraging, sleeping in the dirt. But it wasn't enough. The hunger gnawed at him, a hollow, unrelenting ache in his stomach, but it was the hunger in his soul that consumed him more. His thoughts circled like vultures, drawn again and again to Elias. The boy who had become a legend in the kingdom. The boy who had betrayed him. The boy who had abandoned him.
The power that surged inside Kieran seemed to mock his pain. It thrummed with a strange life of its own, wrapping around his heart, tightening with each passing day. Every time he called on it—whether to conjure a spark of fire or bend the wind to his will—it answered eagerly, but it always cost him. The more he used it, the more it drained him, leaving him feeling hollow, his body growing weaker with each exertion. He couldn't stop, though. He couldn't resist.
Kieran knew the cost of power, even if he didn't fully understand it. Every time he tapped into the magic, it demanded something from him. Not just his energy, but something deeper, something more precious. He had felt it first when he had woken in the ruins of his home, when the dark deity had merged with him. The transformation had been brutal, his body torn and reshaped by the violent surge of divine power. He had nearly died then, but the deity had given him life, infused him with a power that could break mountains. But now, it was clear that power came at a price.
He collapsed beside a creek one evening, his body trembling from exhaustion, the energy inside him crackling faintly under his skin. His hands shook as he splashed water onto his face, staring at the reflection in the rippling water. The face that stared back was unfamiliar, worn and hollow, his once bright eyes now dark and empty. He looked like a man who had already died, his body only waiting for the inevitable end.
"How much longer?" Kieran whispered to no one in particular. His voice was raw, as though he hadn't spoken in weeks. "How much longer can I keep doing this?"
He didn't expect an answer, but something stirred in the water—an image, faint but unmistakable. It was Elias, his face smirking with that same smug expression Kieran remembered from his childhood. The image rippled and distorted, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, but Kieran felt a shiver crawl up his spine.
The magic. It was talking to him.
It wasn't the first time this had happened. He had begun to hear whispers in the dead of night, voices urging him to use the power, to take what he deserved, to burn everything to the ground. It felt like a constant presence, as if the magic itself had a mind, a will, of its own.
The thought made him uneasy, but he couldn't stop. Not yet. Not until Elias paid for what he had done.
He rose to his feet, shaking the lingering cold from his bones. The reflection of the night sky above the creek was broken by the flicker of movement at the water's edge. Kieran froze, his instincts on high alert. There was something out there.
A figure stepped from the shadows—tall, cloaked, and silent, moving with a fluid grace that spoke of practiced skill. Kieran reached for the dagger at his side, his pulse quickening. But the figure didn't attack. It simply stood there, watching him.
"Who are you?" Kieran demanded, his voice low and steady despite the flicker of fear that tried to rise in his chest. "Why are you following me?"
The figure's voice was soft, but there was something powerful in it, something Kieran couldn't place. "I'm not following you," the figure said, stepping forward into the moonlight, revealing a face that was both familiar and strange.
A woman. Her features were sharp, her dark eyes piercing, but what caught Kieran's attention most was the faint aura of magic that surrounded her. It wasn't the same as his own—it was different, older, more controlled.
"You don't know me," she said, tilting her head slightly as she observed him. "But I know you. I know what you are."
Kieran's hand tightened around the hilt of his dagger. "I don't need company. I don't need help."
The woman smiled, and there was something knowing in her expression. "Help? No. You need something more than help. You need answers."
Kieran took a step back. "What do you want from me?"
"I want nothing from you," she said softly. "But you—" She paused, looking him over, and Kieran could feel the weight of her gaze like a thousand hands pressing down on him. "You are lost. And you are being consumed by that power inside you. I can help you, but you must listen to me. You're walking down a path from which there is no return. If you continue, you will destroy yourself."
Kieran's heart raced, but he didn't lower his guard. "And what do you know of me?"
The woman took a slow step forward, her eyes not leaving his. "I know that you are seeking revenge. And I know that revenge, like magic, is a fire that can burn you as easily as it burns others. You've already lost everything. Don't lose yourself too."
Kieran narrowed his eyes. "Why should I listen to you?"
The woman's smile faded, and for the first time, there was something sad in her eyes. "Because if you don't, you will become just like the people you hate."