Chapter 4 THE WRATHBORN RISE

The wind shifted.

Kael was the first to notice it - a sharp, acrid scent threading the Wyrdwood air. Not rot. Not ash. Something colder. Sterile. Like steel and judgment.

Seraphine looked up from where she knelt, drawing a sigil into the earth with a whisper of magic.

"You feel it too," she said.

Kael nodded. "It's them."

She stood slowly, brushing dirt from her palms. "Wrathborn?"

"They wouldn't waste them unless they thought I'd turned."

"You have turned."

His jaw tightened. "Only toward something that still feels human."

She offered him a long look. "You think I'm human?"

"I know you are."

She smiled - not with her mouth, but with her eyes. Brief. Beautiful. And gone in a blink. "Then we'd better move. The Wrathborn don't ask questions. They only bring answers. Painful ones."

Miles away, beneath the iron moon, the Wrathborn advanced.

Three of them.

Tall. Shrouded. Their armor was obsidian and etched with runes that hissed when touched by moonlight. Their faces were hidden behind masks - molded into expressions of perpetual rage.

They moved without sound.

And where they passed, the forest died in a slow ripple.

Back in the heart of the Wyrdwood, Kael and Seraphine raced through narrow deer trails, the trees whispering warnings in every tongue of root and wind.

"They'll follow your Brand," Seraphine said breathlessly. "It's like a beacon."

Kael pulled off his glove and looked at the mark on his wrist. The sigil - the twisted spiral of the Witch Guard - was glowing faintly now, pulsing with each heartbeat.

"Can you sever it?" she asked.

"No. But I can cover it."

He drew a knife, slicing a shallow line over the mark. Blood welled up, mixing with the brand's glow. Then he tore a strip of cloth from his cloak and wrapped it tightly.

It wouldn't stop the Wrathborn.

But it might slow them.

They reached one of the Old Circles by dusk - a crumbling stone ring where wild magic still clung like dew. It had once been a sanctuary, before the Guard burned the libraries and poisoned the wells.

Seraphine dropped her satchel and began preparing a warding circle with charcoal and crushed moonflower. Her hands moved quickly, precisely. Every sigil, every angle mattered.

Kael paced, blades drawn. He didn't like waiting.

"Tell me how they fight," she said.

Kael's voice was low. "Relentless. They don't feel pain. Don't speak. And they only stop when the target is dead."

"They were human once?"

"Yes. Volunteers. Their hearts are removed and replaced with relics from the Black Vault. The worst magic we ever stole from your kind."

Seraphine glanced up. "Do they remember who they were?"

"No."

"Then they are not human anymore."

Kael nodded grimly. "No."

As twilight deepened, a hush settled over the forest. Even the wind seemed to stop.

Then a twig snapped.

Kael spun.

"They're here," he whispered.

Seraphine stepped back into the circle, her palms crackling with violet energy. "Don't let them cross the ward."

The first Wrathborn stepped into view.

Massive. Cloaked. Its mask glowed faintly - eyes like empty pits.

It didn't speak.

It charged.

Kael met it head-on, steel clashing against enchanted bone. Sparks flew. The thing's strength was monstrous, but Kael was faster - dancing between blows, aiming for weak points he knew wouldn't exist.

Seraphine threw a bolt of force toward the second Wrathborn, knocking it sideways into a tree. The trunk split with the impact, leaves raining like dying stars.

The third one advanced toward her, stepping into the circle-

And screamed.

The ward held.

For now.

But Kael was slowing. His breath came ragged, and a cut on his shoulder bled freely. His blade bit into the Wrathborn's side - but it didn't flinch. It grabbed him by the throat and hurled him against a stone.

Seraphine screamed his name and loosed a pulse of searing light that sent the creature staggering. She ran to Kael, helping him to his feet.

"I can't kill them," he gasped.

"You're not meant to."

"Then what-?"

She placed his hand on her chest. Over her heart.

"Trust me."

He hesitated.

But then - he did.

She placed her hand over his and whispered a word in the old tongue.

The air tore.

Light exploded from their joined hands, not just magic but memory, grief, rage, and hope - all fused into one raw, primal spell.

The Wrathborn paused.

Then... they screamed.

One dropped to its knees.

Another convulsed.

The third burst into flame.

When the light faded, Kael and Seraphine stood alone, breathless, surrounded by ash and silence.

She collapsed.

He caught her.

Hours later, she stirred by the fire he built with trembling hands.

"You risked yourself," she murmured.

"You saved me."

"We saved each other."

They sat in silence for a long time.

Finally, Seraphine looked at him. "We can't keep running."

"No," he agreed. "They'll never stop."

"Then we don't run. We make them."

"How?"

She smiled - the smile of a witch who remembered who she was.

"We burn them from the inside out."

But in the shadows, something else stirred.

Far away, in the halls of the High Inquisitor, a man opened a vault that had not been touched since the First Witch War.

Inside it was a crown.

Forged of bone.

And fire.

He whispered, "If they will not kneel... then they will be cleansed."