The forest held its breath at dawn.
Kaelen stood at the edge of a broken path, dew clinging to his cloak, the sunrise bleeding gold across the canopy. Behind him, the girl calling herself Selene packed the last of their camp in silence.
She moved like a shadow—quiet, precise, and too practiced to be just another traveler.
He knew he shouldn't trust her.
He also knew he didn't have much choice.
"Trail's clear ahead," he said finally, breaking the silence.
Selene straightened, brushing dust from her coat. "You're sure?"
"No signs of hooves. No arcane residue. They're not tracking us yet."
She raised a brow. "That's quite the assessment, considering you only woke up half an hour ago."
Kaelen glanced over his shoulder, expression unreadable. "I don't sleep much."
Not since the Tower appeared.Not since the glyphs burned themselves into my skin.
They walked in silence for the first hour, the trail winding through mist-draped undergrowth and dead leaves. Kaelen kept glancing at her when she wasn't looking.
The way her eyes scanned the trees. The slight bulge under her cloak—dagger, maybe a hidden scroll. Her boots were clean, expensive. Noble-made, not something a commoner could afford.
She was hiding something.
He didn't know what. Yet.
They stopped by a brook to refill their flasks. Kaelen crouched low, scanning the current for purity. Selene knelt nearby, removing her gloves.
He caught sight of the edge of something beneath her sleeve.
A faint shimmer. A glyph.
Not just any glyph—Veritas sigils. Ancient. Alive.
His blood ran cold.
"You're a mage," he said without thinking.
Selene froze. Her glove dropped into the water.
She retrieved it calmly, drying it with a flick of cloth. "Is that going to be a problem?"
He stared at her. "You've been lying."
"I never said I wasn't."
Kaelen rose, tense. "Why help me? Why follow a marked runaway if you're not part of the Circle or a bounty squad?"
"Maybe I'm just as cursed as you."
Her eyes held his—level, cold, and quietly sad.
He didn't press further.
Not yet.
"Kael, hold your breath—don't let them see you cry."
He remembered his mother's voice, soft like willow leaves.
Back then, the temple was still standing. He'd spent his days reading crumbling glyph-scrolls, his nights staring at stars through the broken dome.
Then one night, the fire came.
The screams. The soldiers. The Circle.
They took her away.
And Kaelen learned to run.
As they resumed their walk, Selene asked, "How old are you?"
"Sixteen."
"Old enough to fight, young enough to be used."
Kaelen gave her a sideways look. "What about you?"
"I'm seventeen. Old enough to lie without flinching."
The words hung in the air like frost.
They made camp again near an old watchtower ruin. Kaelen gathered wood while Selene traced protective glyphs in the dirt—complex patterns glowing faintly under moonlight.
She didn't ask permission.
He didn't stop her.
When the fire was lit, Kaelen finally broke the silence.
"You said you're cursed too."
"I did."
"What's your curse?"
She stared into the flames. For a moment, Kaelen thought she wouldn't answer.
Then she said, "I know how to survive. Even if it means becoming someone I hate."
That night, the Tower returned.
But this time… Selene was there too.
They stood in a great hall of mirrors—each reflection showing a different version of them.
One mirror showed Kaelen wreathed in lightning, crowned in flame.
Another showed Selene on a throne of bones, weeping.
A third showed them side by side, hands clasped—sigils glowing in sync.
Then the mirrors shattered.
And the Tower whispered:"One must burn for the other to rise."
Kaelen woke with a start, heart racing.
Selene sat beside the fire, awake already, staring at the ash.
"You dreamt it too," he said, voice rough.
She nodded.
Neither of them spoke after that.
They just packed, and walked—shoulder to shoulder, a little closer than before.