Chapter 2 THE HUNTERS SCAR

The outpost stank of wet leather, ash, and blood.

Kael Thorne leaned over the war table in the command chamber, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable. Torchlight flickered off a half-unrolled map of the eastern Wyrdwood - its black-inked lines now red with notations, warnings, and suspected coven sightings.

"You crossed the wards alone?" Captain Marrow's voice was sharp with reprimand. "Without a second blade?"

Kael's eyes flicked up. "No second blade could keep up."

Marrow sneered. "Pride will get you killed."

"So will hesitation." Kael straightened, rolling the map tighter than necessary. "And she's not just any witch."

"The last Nightbloom?" the captain asked, as if saying the name might summon fire. "That line was broken during the Purge. Confirmed."

Kael didn't answer. He slipped the map into his satchel and turned toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

Kael paused. "Back."

"Kael, wait-" But he was already gone.

In the Wyrdwood, the trees whispered again.

Seraphine moved through the undergrowth like shadow. Barefoot, silent, her magic whispered around her - brushing against the world, searching for presence, pressure, imbalance. For years she'd trained herself not just to use magic, but to listen to it. Magic never lied. People did.

And right now, it was telling her Kael Thorne had not left.

He was still hunting her.

But deeper down, she sensed it wasn't just about killing.

The rain had stopped. Above her, the canopy was clearing - exposing shafts of pale moonlight like arrows dropped from a god's quiver. She followed a hidden path to the ruins of an ancient altar, once sacred to her bloodline. Moss now claimed the stones. The protective runes were long since cracked, burned, erased by the Purge.

She touched one broken glyph and felt it stir - weak, tired, but alive.

"Sleep," she whispered. "You've suffered enough."

A presence brushed her senses. Not nearby. Not physical.

A memory.

Ten years ago, she had hidden in a cellar beneath these stones. Her mother's hands - warm and trembling - had pushed her down, sealing the trapdoor before fire took the room.

She had waited in the dark.

Alone.

Until a pair of boots stomped above her.

And a boy's voice said: "There's nothing here."

She never forgot that voice.

Now she knew his name.

Kael stood at the edge of the ruin, silent.

He'd circled back that night, unable to ignore the pull. Something in her face. Something in the fire of her eyes.

Seraphine stepped into view, not hiding. Not running.

They stared at each other across the altar that once housed her ancestors' blood.

"You shouldn't have come back," she said softly.

"You shouldn't be alive."

Her smile was bitter. "And yet, here we are."

Kael didn't move. His hand hovered near his blade - not drawing it, but not forgetting it, either. "Why haven't you killed anyone since the Purge?"

She raised a brow. "You've been following me."

"Answer the question."

Seraphine looked past him, to the trees. "I'm tired of blood."

"You're a witch."

"So?" Her voice sharpened. "That makes me a monster?"

"It makes you dangerous."

"Only to men like you."

He took a step forward. "You burned a city once."

"That was my mother. I was fifteen. I barely knew how to light a candle."

Kael hesitated.

"Tell me," she whispered, "do you still believe we're born evil? Or do you need to see the bodies to remind yourself?"

His silence was answer enough.

She turned away.

Kael caught her wrist - not harshly. Not softly, either. "I've seen the aftermath of witches like you."

"And I've seen what hunters like you leave behind," she hissed, eyes flashing. "We are both walking graves."

His hand released her. Her skin was warmer than he expected. Human.

"Why did you spare me back then?" she asked.

His eyes narrowed. "I didn't know it was you."

"You lie poorly."

He said nothing.

And in the silence, Seraphine stepped closer - not quite close enough to strike, but closer than comfort allowed.

"You could kill me now," she said.

Kael's breath caught. "So could you."

She smiled. "But I won't. Not yet."

"Why?"

"I want to know why you didn't."

The forest breathed around them. Not hostile. Not forgiving. Just... watching.

They parted an hour later. No violence. No trust.

But something had shifted.

Something quiet. Like heat beneath ash.

That night, Kael sat by the embers of a low fire, pulling off his glove.

The silver brand on his wrist pulsed - reacting to her magic, or perhaps to his own confusion. Witch hunters were marked at initiation with runes that flared in the presence of magic.

But this time, it didn't burn.

It pulsed like a heartbeat.

A connection.

He closed his fist.

Seraphine lay under the stars, listening to the Wyrdwood hum.

For the first time in years, she wasn't sure if she was being hunted - or followed.

And worse...

She wasn't sure she wanted him to stop.