## CHAPTER 4: _"The Weight of What We Are"_
The night had teeth.
Wind howled through the bones of the forest, and the stars above blinked in and out like frightened witnesses. Lysia sat on the stone steps of the ruined temple, her knees drawn to her chest, the silver glow of her pendant flickering like a dying star. Arien stood at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, his breath silent but his eyes screaming.
They hadn't spoken in hours.
Every word felt like a blade.
Every silence felt worse.
> "We shouldn't have touched," she said finally.
> "We didn't know."
> "We always knew."
The air between them crackled — not with romance, but with consequence. Lysia's magic, once sealed in slumber, now surged just beneath her skin. She felt everything too much. The ache in the earth. The fear in the wind. The way her heart, cursed as it was, wanted to beat just to be closer to him.
> "I saw something," she murmured. "When we touched."
> "Me too."
> "A girl… burning. Her voice—"
> "—was yours."
She looked at him then. Really looked.
He wore grief like a second skin. His eyes, pale gray and rimmed with faint shadows, carried lifetimes of silence. Yet he was young. Too young. Like her. Too cursed to grow.
> "How long have you been… this?" she asked.
> "Eighteen winters. No more. No less."
> "You've never aged?"
He shook his head. "I stopped the day I was born."
> "But that's not life. That's a prison."
> "It's all I've ever known."
Lysia rose, walking slowly toward him. She didn't touch him. Couldn't. But the space between them buzzed like a wound.
> "They feared us," she whispered. "So they cursed us. Bound us. Burned us. And now… we're all that's left."
> "We're not alone," he said.
> "Aren't we?"
She gestured to the silence. To the dark. To the snow falling like ash. "Do you hear anyone? Do you feel anyone else pulling at your soul?"
He said nothing.
Because there was no one else.
Just them.
Bound by fate. Broken by it.
---
Later, they sat beneath the shattered dome of the temple. The sky was visible through the cracks — pale and wide, stars wheeling above them like cold gods.
> "My mother used to say love is a weapon," Arien said.
> "Mine said it was a fire. Burns everything it touches."
> "So we were born with both."
> "A weapon and a flame."
She let out a hollow laugh. "Sounds like destiny had a sense of humor."
He turned to her. "Do you think this is all there is? Curses and warnings and silence?"
> "No."
> "Then what else?"
> "Revenge."
Arien flinched.
> "You want to kill them."
> "They killed me first. My family. My people. My future."
> "They're still my family."
> "So choose," she snapped. "Me or them."
The words struck hard.
He stood, face pale.
> "Don't ask me that."
> "Why not?"
> "Because I'll choose you."
Silence fell again, but this time it wasn't cruel. It was real.
> "You shouldn't," she whispered.
> "I know."
> "Then why would you?"
He looked at her with something she recognized — something she feared.
> "Because I already did."
---
They slept a few hours before dawn. Or pretended to. The temple held memories older than blood. In its walls, whispers stirred. Not ghosts — not quite — but echoes. Warnings.
Lysia dreamed again.
This time, of a crown in fire. Of a child stolen. Of her own hands wrapped around Arien's throat. Of his lips brushing hers as he died.
She woke with tears.
> "It's coming," she said.
> "What is?"
> "The end of this."
> "We just began."
> "Exactly."
They left the temple by morning. The snow had stopped, but the world felt heavier.
As they walked toward the next village, Lysia asked, "What do they call me now?"
> "A myth. A monster."
> "And you?"
> "A prince."
> "Not the same thing."
He looked at her.
> "Maybe it is."
And in the silence between them, something broke — not apart, but open.
They were not lovers.
They were not allies.
They were something worse.
Fate's undoing.
> _"If I fall in love with you… I'll kill us both."_
> _"Then don't fall. Walk beside me instead."_