That night I dream about him.

A dream or a nightmare, I don't know. But he was there. So real, so true, so mine.

I dreamed about his hands on my skin, the promises he made to me, the promises he never once broke. The words that came out of his mouth that I always believed were lies then came to learn he has never spoken anything but the truth.

Then I dreamed about seeing him again. Seeing him in the halls of Ironspire, wrecked and heartbroken. Seeing him losing himself and I can't even be there to bring him back. Did I do all of this? Is it my fault that he's this way?

My only fear is that the Riven Knox I knew, the Riven Knox he showed me will be gone the next time I see him. I am afraid that he will become exactly what his title made him.

The Blood Heir.

A monster, a creature that has a lust for blood.

I am afraid that I vanquished every good part of him.

𓆩༒︎𓆪

I wake with a start, breath caught in my throat, nails digging into my palms as if pain will pull me back to myself. But the dream clings. His face clings. Those eyes that once softened for me now glare through the shadows of my own making.

The Blood Heir.
The words taste like poison. Like inevitability.

If he becomes that—if he becomes the type of weapon that Tenebris always wanted, always carved him to be—then I'll have no one to blame but myself. I left him. I chose to carry the Goddess's curse, to open that gate, to bleed this world dry for the chance to save it. And in doing so, I might have destroyed the only person who ever truly saw me.

I press my hands over my chest, feeling the thrum of power beneath skin that no longer feels like mine. The Blood Goddess purrs there, restless, as if mocking me for thinking I could hold on to something human. Something fragile. Something like love.

He will harden. He will sharpen. He will become the blade his mother demands and the nightmare his father feared. And I—what am I, if not the one who forged him into it?

The guilt festers. The fear gnaws. And still, somewhere deep, there's a treacherous part of me that whispers:

If he is a monster, he is still mine.

𓆩༒︎𓆪

Dawn bleeds pale light through the high windows, brushing the stone walls of my chamber in shades of ash. By the time I pull my boots tight and fix my cloak, the mirror still feels like a stranger staring back at me.

The goddess in my veins makes everything sharper—the eyes, the cheekbones, the ghost of red still clinging to my hair like wildfire that won't die. I tie my hair, tugging the braid tight until it hurts, until the ache distracts me and slip the last dagger into its sheath.

Done. Ready. At least on the outside.

The halls of Eryndrael are hushed this early, pale light cutting long shadows across the stone. My steps echo, quick, clipped—if I keep moving, maybe I won't think. My footsteps echo off marble floors, whisper through torchlit corridors. Shadows spill long across the arches, curling like they're listening.

Everywhere I look, the place feels like a tomb dressed up as a palace. A kingdom that survived but never forgot how close it came to burning.

I round a corner too fast, and I collide with a wall. A wall that exhales.

A hand catches my arm before I can stumble back.

I blink up—and almost forget how to breathe.

It's him. Auren.

I always thought he was beautiful but seeing him up close, our faces just mere inches apart...it makes me want to carve his skin off so I don't fall into his trap.

His gold hair is dishevelled falling across his green eyes, a scar just barely kissing his temple, jaw sharp enough to cut. His eyes—too pale, too clear—look like they belong to someone who doesn't know how to lose.

I hate that I notice all of it.

"Sorry," I mutter, pushing myself out of his grip.

His mouth quirks, the corner tugging up. "Guess I should start watching where I'm going. Wouldn't want you bruised before we've even left."

I roll my eyes and keep walking. "I'd survive."

He tilts his head. "Never doubted it. Doesn't mean you wouldn't look better without the bruises."

Heat crawls up my neck before I can kill it, and that smirk of his deepens like he's meant to catch me off guard.

"You're up early," I snap, trying to redirect.

"Couldn't sleep." He gestures at the leather and steel strapped across his chest, the cloak thrown over his shoulders. "Or maybe I just didn't want you leaving without me."

"I wouldn't notice."

"Mm." He falls into step beside me as I start walking, his voice smooth. "You noticed just now."

I grit my teeth. "That's because you walked into me."

"Funny," he says, the edge of a laugh curling in his throat. "From my side, it looked like you walked into me."

Infuriating. He doesn't even sound like he's trying. Just existing in his own skin with that quiet, easy confidence.

When I glance at him, the sun's just caught on his face, gilding every line of it. And for one terrible second, I want to drag my nails down the beauty of him, just to ruin it—because nothing that perfect can be safe.

I must look too long, because his brow arches. "Like what you see?"

I snarl, irritated."You wish."

He chuckles. "Not denying it though."

Before I can snap back, the courtyard opens ahead of us—soldiers tightening saddles, weapons clashing, and shouts.. Callan's already barking orders, voice carrying over the clatter.

We stand there for a few seconds, and when I turn back to look at Auren, the earlier lightness has dissipated and his face has set into a cold stone mask.

He doesn't look at me when he says, "Try not to get lost out there."

He's right, Marker. Do you really have the guts to face The Blood Heir again? After what you've done to him?

I shut my eyes tightly.

It's Riven. Not the Blood Heir. And if my luck holds, then I won't have to see him.

But I think about him as I mount my horse. I think about him as Callan shouts for us to move when the gates creak open. I think about him day and night, every second that I'm alive and breathing.

I force myself to stop and focus on the shit right now rather than what I've already messed up.

The horses' hooves strike against the stone road, ringing against the dawn. The air outside Eryndrael carries the damp bite of morning fog, the wind caressing my skin. It curls low across the fields, making the world look half-drowned, like something waiting to rise from beneath it.

I keep my gaze forward, reins tight in my hands. If I look back, I'll see the city swallowed by mist. If I look too far ahead, I'll see Ironspire in my mind before we ever reach it.

So I keep my eyes on the path. One step. Then another.

Auren rides a little too close, his horse's flank brushing mine every so often. I can feel his presence even when I don't look.

"You're quiet," he says at last.

"I'm always quiet."

"Mm." He leans slightly in his saddle, tilting his head just enough for me to catch the glint of green through his lashes. "Not with me."

I shoot him a look. "Do you ever stop talking?" I don't bother hiding the irritation in my voice.

"Not when I've got someone worth talking to."

The words shouldn't land. They shouldn't do anything at all. But something twists, quick and traitorous, in my chest. No.

I force my gaze back to the horizon. "You'll regret wasting your words on me."

Auren lets out a soft laugh, unbothered. "Maybe. But I've been told I like dangerous things."

My fingers tighten on the reins. Dangerous. That's what I am now. What I've always been, if anyone was paying attention. The goddess hums under my skin, a reminder, a curse. A curse of who I once was and who I have now become.

The road bends. Callan raises a hand, signaling the unit to slow as the fog thickens. The riders fan out, every clink of armor, every creak of leather sounding louder than it should.

Ironspire is somewhere beyond this mist. Waiting. Watching.

And him.

Riven Knox. The Blood Heir.
My ruin, my salvation.

I set my jaw, staring into the white blur of fog as it swallows us whole. Callan gestures to us to get off our horses and we tie them to nearby trees as we gather in the middle of the forest. The fog presses close as if the forest itself doesn't want us here. Branches stretch like skeletal arms overhead, dripping with last night's rain. The path beneath our boots squelches and shifts, every sound too loud in the hush before dawn.

Callan has us huddled tight, his tone crisp as he sketches the plan in the dirt with the point of his blade.
"Two entries. East wall, west wall. The east is weaker, less fortified. Joylene, you lead there. I'll take west. No noise, no hesitation. If you're seen—kill fast. The survivor is priority. We're in and out before they know."

Heads nod. Cloaks shift. Weapons glint faintly in the gloom.

I stare at the markings in the dirt, but my mind keeps sliding elsewhere. Ironspire. The blood. The trials. The loss. Everything I left behind. Them. But also her. Lirael. The girl who was never afraid of me. My friend.

I shift back, sucking in a breath that feels like it tears something on the way out.

Auren notices – of course he does. "You're breathing like you're already in a fight," he mutters, stepping close enough that his shoulder brushes mine.

"I'm fine," I say. Flat.

He angles his head, looking at me from the side. "You don't look fine." His gaze lingers a second too long. "If you can't breathe out here, you're gonna choke in there."

My jaw tightens. "What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing," he says softly, taking my hand in his and squeezing it gently. "Just... just don't lock me out when it matters, Red."

My brow arches at the nickname and the smile he shoots back makes the panic in my stomach ease. Even if it's just a little bit.

I hate him for it. Hate the calm he wears like armor, the kind of calm I can't touch no matter how hard I claw at it. I hate him for being able to make me feel something that I shouldn't be feeling. Not after him.

"Don't make this your problem," I say, sharper than I mean to.

"Too late." His mouth tilts—not a smile, not yet, but the shape of one. "You're stuck with me."

Callan's voice cuts through before I can answer: "Positions. Move."

Everyone scatters into the mist. Auren takes my hand in his and we're running with Joylene taking the lead.

The forest swallows us whole. Fog curls around our legs, damp and heavy, swallowing every sound before it can carry. Joylene's hand slices through the air—halt. We drop low, boots sinking in wet moss.

My eyes dart forward, straining to see through the mist but I manage to catch sight of two silhouettes. Sentinels. I move forward, leaves crunching at my boots despite the hissing from Joylene.

" Oi, princess, get down." Joylene hisses at me.

I ignore her as I move.

Ready to shine?

You know the answer to that, Marker.

Find me all of them.

The moment my eyes shut, the world tilts. My breath catches as the blood goddess stirs—hungry, eager, stretching her claws into my chest. It feels like drowning in wine and smoke, thick and heady, until the forest disappears.

And then—
I see.

Not with sight. Not with sound. With blood.

Every living body in Ironspire lights up inside me like constellations. Each heartbeat is a drum, each vein a thread glowing scarlet in the dark. The two sentinels ahead flare brightest—they throb in rhythm, sluggish and oblivious. Beyond them, along the walls, more sparks. Dozens. Hundreds. Sentinels stationed, guards pacing, mercenaries leaning lazy against stone, their blood sluggish until it surges with a laugh or a cough.

Further still—deep inside the fortress—a darker pulse thrums. I know who it is the moment I feel him and I'm grateful that the goddess steers me away from him.

He is lost. He is out of control. But he is also looking for you. Do not let him find you Marker, or you risk everything.

The goddess hums in delight, purring against my bones.

This is all yours, she whispers. Yours. Yours to break. Yours to bleed.

My hands curl into fists, nails carving crescents in my palms. A grip tightens on my shoulder. "Syerin," I hear Auren's voice whisper whisper, "Eyes open. Come back."

I force a breath through my teeth, and the threads of blood flicker but hold. I turn to face the group. "There are sentinels on the east wall, seven... no, eight. A pair at the gate. Three pacing the south tower. And—" My throat tightens. "—the main barracks. Full patrol, but slow."

Joylene stares like I've just grown horns. "How the hell do you—"

"She's right," Auren cuts in smoothly, like he's known this secret forever. "I trust her count." Auren shoots me a glance, flashing me a smile. This time, I can't help but smile back.

Joylene scowls but waves us forward, blades flashing as she signals the others. The archers shoot the two Sentinels dead and we quickly run forward hiding their bodies. We hit the East Wall first. I know this place like the back of my hand and I take charge as I lead the group away from Sentinels.

The glow of lives inside me doesn't fade, even as I move further away from them. I can feel them, like strings tugging in every direction, every breath, every heartbeat accounted for. It's intoxicating. Terrifying.

And when one of those lights snuffs out—clean, quiet, Joylene's knife in the dark—I feel that too. Like a candle extinguished, smoke curling inside my ribs.

Auren leans close as we move, his shoulder brushing mine again. "Don't drown in it, Red. You steer it, not the other way around."

I bite the inside of my cheek, hard enough to taste iron. "You don't get it. It's not mine to steer."

"Then make it yours."