The forest was still, unnaturally quiet—like the trees themselves held their breath.
Seraphina stood her ground, her heartbeat loud in her ears. The stranger before her hadn't drawn his weapon, but his stance—balanced, ready—was that of a man used to blood. His eyes, dark and steady, studied her not like prey, but like a puzzle. One he had been searching for a long time.
"Who are you?" she asked again, sharper this time.
"You know who I am," he said quietly. "Or at least… you know what I am."
She narrowed her eyes. "A hunter?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he stepped forward. Not too close, just enough that she could see the thin scar slashing down his left cheek—jagged, angry, and deep. His cloak shifted with the wind, revealing a sword at his hip. It wasn't royal steel, not polished or ceremonial. It was worn, chipped, and real.
"I should not have found you," he murmured. "But fate seems eager to drag you into the light."
"I never asked for fate to find me," she said. Her fingers tightened around the silver locket around her neck, the only thing she had left of her mother.
He tilted his head, as if weighing something. "What's your name?"
Seraphina hesitated. Her mother had warned her: Never speak your name. Never trust the world.
"Lina," she lied.
He let the silence stretch between them. "A pretty name," he said slowly, "but not yours."
Her breath caught.
He knew.
"You were in the palace," she said, voice barely above a whisper.
"I was," he confirmed. "I saw the sky turn red with fire. I saw your mother... fall."
The words hit like a blade. She didn't want to picture it—her mother, Queen Althea, surrounded by smoke and traitors. She had pushed Seraphina into the tunnel with blood on her hands and tears in her eyes. That memory would never fade.
"Then why didn't you save her?" she demanded, her voice trembling. "Why didn't you save any of us?"
His jaw tightened. "Because I made a vow to someone else. And I broke it the moment the flames rose."
A branch snapped.
They both turned, instantly alert. The sound wasn't distant. It was close—too clean, too sharp to be an animal.
"Someone's here," she whispered.
"Not someone," he said, stepping in front of her, hand on his sword. "Them."
A second snap. Then a faint whistle.
Thwip!
An arrow slammed into the tree beside her face, splintering bark.
"Move!" he shouted, grabbing her arm and pulling her into the trees.
They ran.
Branches clawed at her skin as they weaved through the underbrush, the stranger cutting through dense thickets with brutal efficiency. Seraphina's lungs burned. Behind them, voices shouted, boots crashed—whoever they were, they were many, and they were closing in fast.
She stumbled, nearly falling, but he caught her wrist mid-stride. "Keep running. Don't stop unless you want to die."
She hated being told what to do, but this time, she obeyed.
The woods thickened. A hawk cried overhead. Another arrow flew past, grazing the back of her cloak.
Finally, they reached a shallow ravine where the stranger ducked behind a fallen tree. He pulled her down beside him, both of them panting.
"They're not scouts," he said. "They're death bringers."
She didn't know what that meant. But she knew fear when she saw it. And for a second, it flickered in his eyes.
"Why are they after me?" she asked, even though she knew the answer.
"Because you're the only threat Malrec didn't kill," he said. "And he doesn't make that mistake twice."
They stayed there, breath held, until the sounds of pursuit grew distant. Only then did he speak again.
"My name is Kael. I once swore to protect your mother. I failed her."
He looked at her directly now.
"But I won't fail you."