The fire outside the ancient stone building, Alwan’s estate, embers barely flickered and struggling against the damp night air as they huddled close to the warmth. Aerin’s hands trembled, not from the cold but from the remnants of battle—the sharp clashing of steel, the cries of pain still echoing in her ears. Her gaze lingered on Elden, who lay on his side, pale and drenched in sweat. The priestess had left her mark, a deep gash seeping blood from his abdomen, and Aerin wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on.

  “I can’t heal him,” she whispered to Mara, her voice tight with frustration. The magic thrummed beneath her skin, restless, but when she tried to reach for it, to use it, it slipped away like smoke between her fingers. “I don’t know how to... control it. I have used all of it.”

  Mara shook her head, her brow furrowed in concern, the shadows from the fire dancing across her face. “He’s holding on. But we need to get him help. There are healers in the village north of here, but it’s a day’s ride, at least.”

  Alwan had come out with food for all of them, tended to Aerins wound on her thigh. The cut had already started to heal. But Elden. Alwan had given him a herb soup, he could barely swallow it. Though Awlan was brought up on the island Thalindria, she possessed very little magic. She had the basic healing magic and spells. Her late husband had been the one who forged the deep magic.

  Aerin clenched her fists. Time. They had none. Every second they stayed on Thalindria, the priestess could regroup, her loyalists spreading through the island like a disease. The ambush had been a warning—a sign that their enemies were closing in, waiting for them to falter.

  “We don’t have time to go north,” Talon said, his voice steady but laced with the same unease that gnawed at Aerin. “Enderris is falling apart. King Hazrael’s forces are moving faster than we expected. If we don’t act now, we’ll lose any chance we have of stopping him.”

  The weight of the decision pressed down on Aerin, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from Elden’s still form. He had thrown himself into the fight without hesitation, taken a blade meant for her. And now, the man she barely trusted, lay dying because of her.

  Her throat tightened, and she pushed the thoughts away, focusing instead on the facts. “If we go north, we lose time. If we head straight for Enderris, we risk losing him.”

  “And the priestess?” Mara interjected. “She’s still out there. She won’t stop. She will never stop:”

  Aerin cursed under her breath. They were cornered, trapped between choices that seemed equally terrible. “She’s wounded too. We have to assume she’ll be lying low, licking her wounds.” She glanced at Elden again, biting her lip. “But I bet she’ll return.”

  “The priestess isn’t our only problem,” Talon cut in, stepping closer, his face grim. “We’re not the only ones gathering forces. King Hazrael’s shadows are already on the move. The rebellion is fragile, Aerin. The people want to rise up, but they need a leader, someone to rally behind.”

  The words hit her like a physical blow. She wasn’t ready for this. She hadn’t even fully grasped the power inside her, let alone accepted the crown that loomed over her like a curse, like a dark shadow. And yet...

  “There's something else,” Talon added, and the edge in his voice made Aerin’s skin prickle with unease. “There’s been talk in the eastern territories, whispers of a faction that’s loyal to King Hazrael, but... not to him really. They’re loyal to the power he holds. The shadow magic.”

  Aerin narrowed her eyes. “What are you saying?”

  Talon met her gaze, his expression unreadable. He was quiet, stepping closer to the fire. “They’re searching for you. Not to kill you, but to control you. If they find out about your magic—about who you really are—they won’t need King Hazrael anymore. They’ll have you.”

  The realization settled in the pit of her stomach like a stone. It was worse than she had imagined. It wasn’t just a war for a throne anymore—it was a war for power, and she was the key to it all. He possessed the same magic as King Hazrael. Hers from blood, his forged from dark shadows.

  “I won’t be their puppet,” she growled, fire sparking in her veins, her magic thrumming inside her. The thought of being used, controlled like some kind of weapon, turned her stomach. “We need to go to Enderris, home to Yaveria. Now.”

  Talon nodded, though his face was still clouded with worry. “And Elden?”

  “We bring him with us,” Aerin said, her voice firm. “I’m not leaving him behind.”

  Mara stood, her expression solemn. “We’ll move at dawn. But Aerin... if he doesn’t make it...”

  “He will.” Aerin’s voice was hard, sharper than she intended. She couldn’t let herself think otherwise. “My magic will come back, I will make it come back.” It had to come wack, it would. She just needed to rest.

  As the night deepened, silence fell over their camp. But sleep did not come easily. Aerin lay awake, staring at the sky, her mind spinning with possibilities and plans, all tinged with the shadow of doubt. The rebellion, King Hazrael’s forces, the priestess—they were only pieces of a larger puzzle, one that seemed to shift every time she thought she had a grip on it.

  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  The stars above were cold and distant, scattered across the sky like shattered glass. Aerin sat alone, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring up at them. She had always loved the stars as a child, mapping constellations and imagining they were guiding lights. Now, they just felt like silent witnesses to everything she’d lost.

  She wondered if her parents had looked at these same stars, if they had ever felt the crushing weight of expectation and fear. If they’d ever doubted themselves as much as she did.

  You’ll fail them, the voice in her head whispered.

  She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. “No,” she muttered aloud, her voice shaking. “I won’t.”

  But the stars didn’t answer. They never did.

  But beneath it all, something else simmered—a deep, primal feeling she couldn’t shake. A connection, pulling her toward a destiny she wasn’t sure she wanted but couldn’t escape. She had only recently realized her past, her legacy. And now she had to make decisions that could affect everyone around her, the whole continent. Every move she made could be the wrong one. She listened to Elden’s short breaths. He had to make it. She would not allow anything else.

  By dawn, the decision was made. They would head back to Yaveria, to the heart of the rebellion, where Aerin would face the truth of who she was meant to be.

  By midday, they were on the move, Elden barely conscious but alive, strapped to a makeshift stretcher. The path ahead was long and treacherous, but Aerin felt the urgency pushing them forward like a relentless tide. The path back to the docks felt longer, darker. The clouds hanging low over them. A storm was near. The string between her and the Priestess still had a grip on her. She had tugged on it during the night trying to untie it but it was stitched shut. As she looked upon the sky she felt the string tug again. The storm moved too fast. It wasn’t natural.

  The storm hit them with brutal force just as they left the harbor, black clouds swirling overhead like the coils of a waiting serpent. The wind howled through the sails, snapping them violently, and the waves beneath the boat rose higher, crashing against the hull with enough power to make the timbers groan. It wasn’t natural. Aerin could feel it in her bones, in the way the air seemed to vibrate with something far more sinister than weather. The string of magic tugged her harder and harder, almost making her lose her balance, dragging her back to the island. She closed her eyes and tugged back at it, she pulled harder focusing with her magic. As she focused her full force of magic the string snapped. She fell onto the deck with a hard thud, her knees taking the weight of her. Her breath caught in her throat as her magic started to roar inside her chest causing the storm to howl back. The string had been holding her magic, locking it in. The priestess had choked her magic when they first met in the woods of Thalindria.

  “This isn’t just a storm,” Mara shouted, her voice barely audible over the roar of the wind. “It’s magic—strong, dark magic.”

  Aerin clutched the railing, her knuckles white as she stared out at the swirling tempest. There was no doubt. King Hazrael—or worse, the Priestess—was behind this. The sheer power of it chilled her more than the icy rain pelting down on them. A wave slammed into the side of the boat, nearly knocking her off her feet. She grabbed for something—anything—and her hand found Kael’s arm. His steady presence kept her upright, though she could see the same realization flicker in his eyes. His hands had been holding onto the large mast, gripping it along the ropes.

  “They're trying to drown us before we even reach the shore,” Kael said, his voice grim as he tightened his grip on her. The rain drenched them, Kael’s wet hair covered his forehead. Without his curls he looked older, more worn.

  Before Aerin could respond, a sharp scream cut through the storm. She turned, her heart freezing in her chest as she saw Elden, collapsed on the deck. His body was pale, almost ashen, his lips turning a shade of blue that made her stomach lurch. He wasn’t breathing.

  “Elden!” Aerin rushed to his side, sliding across the slippery deck as the boat rocked violently beneath her. She knelt beside him, pressing her hands to his chest, but his skin was cold, far too cold. A shock ran through her as she realized his life force was slipping away, siphoned by the dark magic swirling around them.

  “No,” she whispered, her heart pounding in her ears. “I won’t let him die.”

  But she didn’t have the strength—her own magic was waning, exhausted from the battles and the Choke the Priestess had put on it. Desperation clawed at her as she looked up at Mara and Kael, both struggling to keep their balance against the storm. Talon helped the sailor to navigate the boat, trying to steer it through the waves.

  “I need your magic,” Aerin called out, her voice hoarse, barely carrying over the wind. “Both of you.”

  Mara looked at Aerin wearily, but only for a moment. Sharing magic was forbidden, a dark spell had to be put over them. They all could fall with it. She hesitated before she nodded, her eyes sharp with determination as she placed her hands on Aerin’s shoulders. “Take what you need.”

  Kael stepped forward, a flash of worry in his gaze. He crouched beside her, his hand resting against her back, solid and grounding. “You’ll drain us all if you're not careful.”

  “I don’t care anymore,” Aerin said through gritted teeth, her hands trembling as she focused on Elden’s lifeless body. “I won’t lose him.”

  With Mara and Kael’s magic pouring into her, she felt the surge—wild, uncontrollable, raw power surging through her veins. It was like trying to hold back a tidal wave. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to focus, channeling the magic into Elden. The storm raged around them, and the boat creaked dangerously as it fought against the violent sea. A huge wave smashed into them, drenching all three in freezing saltwater, but Aerin didn’t flinch. She couldn’t. She hummed together with her magic, making it beat together with her heart. She felt how it started to grow, creeping out through her skin like a thin mist of light. The only sound she could hear was the low vibrations inside her. The waves around them had vanished, her eyes only focusing on Elden’s lifeless body.

  She pressed her hands to Elden’s chest again, sending a small pulse of magic into him—first fire, to warm his freezing body, then a trickle of healing energy. Nothing happened at first, and panic began to rise in her throat. She did it again. “Please, Elden”, she whispered. “..Please”. Her voice filled with tears. His betrayal washed away with the rain, his words filled her body as she sent another pulse of magic into him. “Please, breathe” Panic started to rise, the magic she took from Kael and Mara started to overwhelm her, but she couldn't stop. “Elden, please” She cried quietly. “I will forgive you, Elden”. What if it wasn’t enough? What if he—

  Elden gasped, his chest jerking upward as he drew in a ragged breath. His eyes flew open, wide and unfocused, but he was alive. He was alive. Alive.

  Aerin exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her arms shaking as the power drained from her. Mara and Kael were both pale, weakened from sharing their magic, but they remained steady beside her, bracing her as the boat shuddered under the force of another wave. She threw her arms around him. She sobbed into his neck, “You’re alive”, she almost laughed in relief.

  “We need to hold the ship together,” Kael said, standing and moving to help the crew fight the wind. “We can’t survive another hit like that again.”

  Aerin pulled herself to her feet, her legs unsteady, but there was no time to recover. The wind was shrieking now, pulling at the sails with terrifying force, and the boat was barely staying afloat. She could feel the dark magic pressing down on them, suffocating, relentless. Whoever had sent it wanted them dead. But they would not die. Not here. Not like this.

  “Hold on!” she shouted, her voice lost to the storm as she staggered toward the bow of the boat.

  The waves were monstrous now, towering over them as if the ocean itself had come to life, and Aerin felt the full weight of the magic trying to pull them under. But she refused to give in. With the last of her strength, she reached out to the storm, tapping into whatever remnants of magic she still had. She went deep, deep, deep down scraping on the bottom of her magic. She called on it, asking it to follow her.

  The wind howled in her ears as she pushed back, sending a wave of energy into the storm, fighting it with everything she had. For a moment, it seemed hopeless. But then, slowly, agonizingly slowly, the clouds began to part. The waves lost their fury, the wind began to die down, and the boat steadied beneath them. Silence fell over them, Aerin’s rugged breaths started to even out. As the boat drifted toward the shores of Yaveria, Aerin collapsed onto the deck, her body spent, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Elden was alive, but barely. And now, as the distant coastline came into view, Aerin knew their fight was only just beginning