The Bastard and the Prince

The knight beside her, his bow already nocked, scanned the darkened woods with narrowed eyes. "Could be wolves," he whispered, though his tone betrayed doubt.

Lysandra shook her head, her instincts humming with warning. "No," she murmured. "Something else. Stay close and watch the treeline."

The air grew colder, heavier, as if the forest itself were holding its breath. The crackle of the campfire felt distant, swallowed by an unnatural quiet that pressed in from all sides. Then it came—a low, guttural moan that seemed to vibrate through the ground, sending a chill up Lysandra's spine.

She stood slowly, her dagger already in her hand. The shadows at the edge of the clearing began to shift and writhe. Figures emerged, their shapes grotesque and twisted. The creatures were humanoid but wrong—rotting flesh clinging to skeletal frames, eyes glowing faintly with a sickly green light, and jagged teeth bared in unnatural snarls.

"Ghouls," the knight whispered, fear lacing his voice.

"Sound the alarm!" Lysandra barked, stepping forward to place herself between the ghouls and the camp.

The knight's shout rang through the night, jolting the camp into motion. Those sleeping scrambled from their bedrolls, grabbing swords and shields as the ghouls shambled closer, their movements jerky but purposeful. The campfires flared brighter as logs were hastily added, casting flickering light over the clearing.

The first ghoul lunged toward Lysandra, its claw-like hands reaching for her with horrifying speed. She sidestepped, her blade flashing as she slashed across its neck. The creature hissed and stumbled but didn't fall. Instead, it snarled and lunged again, forcing her to drive her dagger into its chest and twist hard. The ghoul collapsed, black ichor spilling from the wound, but the victory was short-lived.

From all sides, the ghouls poured into the clearing, their guttural moans blending into a chorus of horror. The knights and mercenaries together formed a defensive line around the wagons, Roderic shouting orders to hold formation.

"Don't let them surround you!" he bellowed, his sword cutting through a ghoul's rotting torso. "Protect the supplies at all costs!"

Lysandra ducked beneath a ghoul's swipe, her dagger finding its mark in the creature's gut. She kicked it back and glanced toward the center of the camp, where Alaric fought with precision and ferocity. His sword, cleaved through the undead with ease.

The creatures were relentless, their numbers seemingly endless. They moved with a terrifying hunger, clawing and biting at anything in their path. Knights fell under their onslaught, their screams echoing as the ghouls tore into them with savage fury.

Lysandra barely had a moment to catch her breath after fending off another ghoul when she felt an iron grip clamp around her ankle. Before she could react, the ground was yanked out from under her, and she was dragged backward with terrifying speed. Her dagger slipped from her grasp as she clawed at the dirt, struggling to break free.

"Lysandra!" someone shouted from the chaos, but her cries were drowned out by the sounds of battle.

The forest loomed around her as the ghoul pulled her deeper into the shadows, its guttural snarl sending chills down her spine. Twisting her body, she managed to kick at its face with her free foot, the force loosening its grip just enough for her to draw the short blade strapped to her thigh.

With a desperate cry, she slashed at the ghoul's arm, black ichor spraying as it howled in pain and released her. Lysandra scrambled to her feet, her heart racing as she glanced back toward the camp. The flickering firelight was a distant glow, muffled by the oppressive darkness of the forest.

The ghoul lunged at her again, its glowing eyes blazing with hatred. Lysandra sidestepped, plunging her blade into its neck and twisting hard. The creature shrieked and collapsed, dissolving into a pool of oozing black that seeped into the ground.

Breathing heavily, Lysandra scanned her surroundings, her instincts screaming that she wasn't alone. The forest was alive with movement—more ghouls emerging from the shadows, their glowing eyes locking onto her with predatory intent.

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath, gripping her blade tightly. She couldn't run—but fighting her way back to the camp felt just as impossible.

A guttural roar sounded from her left, and she turned just in time to see another ghoul charging toward her. She barely managed to parry its attack, stumbling as she drove her blade into its chest. Before she could recover, another one appeared, then another and another.

Outnumbered and surrounded, Lysandra gritted her teeth, refusing to give in to the rising panic. "Come on, then," she growled, her voice low and defiant. "Let's end this."

The ghouls hissed and lunged as one. Lysandra moved like a shadow herself, dodging and slashing with calculated precision.But her stamina was waning, and every strike felt heavier than the last.

Desperation clawed at her as she fumbled to retrieve something from her satchel—a black rune stone etched with symbols. The fire magic was her last resort. But she had no choice; she couldn't keep this up much longer.

The moment she pulled it free, a ghoul seized the opportunity to lunge at her. Its jagged teeth sank into her leg, and she screamed, her sword slipping from her hand. Another ghoul raked its claws across her back, shredding her cloak and leaving searing pain in its wake.

Her vision blurred with agony as she dropped to one knee, clutching the rune stone tightly. Blood soaked her leg, and she could feel the ghoul's teeth starting to grind against bone. Gritting her teeth, she raised the rune stone, her voice shaking as she forced out the incantation.

"Ignis venire!"

The rune flared to life, the symbols igniting like molten fire. A wave of intense heat erupted from her hand, engulfing the ghouls in flames. Their guttural hisses turned to shrieks as the fire consumed them, their bodies disintegrating into ashes.

The sudden silence was deafening. Lysandra collapsed to the ground,her chest heaved as she gasped for air, her body trembling with pain and exhaustion. Blood pooled around her leg, and the wound on her back burned like acid.

"Lysandra!"

She barely registered the voice through the haze of pain. Alaric appeared, in rough shape himself, his armor dented and streaked with black ichor, his sword drawn and his face pale with worry. He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands hovering uncertainly over her injuries.

"Lysandra," he said, his voice tight with concern. "You're bleeding too much. We need to—"

"Duck!" she screamed, her voice raw and desperate.

Alaric froze for a split second, his eyes widening before he instinctively threw himself to the ground. Over his shoulder, a ghoul lunged from the shadows, its glowing green eyes locked on his exposed back, its jagged claws reaching out.

Time slowed as Lysandra's fingers closed around the rune stone, still warm from her earlier spell. She barely felt the pain radiating from her leg or the blood soaking into the dirt.

"Ignis venire!" she roared, her voice reverberating with raw power.

The rune stone flared to life in her hand, the symbols glowing so brightly they burned into the night. A torrent of fire erupted from her palm, roaring toward the ghoul. The flames consumed it mid-leap, the creature screeching as its decayed flesh disintegrated into ash.

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the crackling of the flames as they burned out, leaving behind the acrid stench of scorched earth and decay.

Alaric pushed himself up, his eyes wide as he stared at her, then at the charred remains of the ghoul. "That was—"

"Yes," Lysandra said flatly, her voice edged with defiance and exhaustion. She forced herself to sit up, the rune stone still glowing faintly in her trembling hand. "It was Eldern magic. And yes, I know what that means in Volatira."

Her words hung heavy in the air. Magic was illegal in Volatira, a crime punishable by death, its mere use considered an affront to the kingdom's laws. Her heart pounded as she met Alaric's gaze, half expecting him to draw his sword against her.

But instead of anger, his expression was unreadable—a mixture of shock and confusion. Alaric's grip on his sword tightened as he looked at her, his jaw clenching. The flickering light of the dying flames reflected in his eyes, but they betrayed the storm brewing within him.

"Alaric," she said, her voice steadier than she expected, though the weight of her exhaustion pressed heavily on her. "I know what you're thinking. You don't have to say it."

He blinked, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You broke the law," he said quietly, his voice rough with tension. "You know what that means."

"I do," she replied evenly, her gaze unwavering. "But if I hadn't, you'd be dead right now. Would that have been better? Would you rather I let that thing tear you apart?"

Alaric looked away, his shoulders tense. His sword dipped slightly in his hand, the sharp edge catching the faint glow of moonlight. "It's not that simple," he muttered, his voice tight with frustration.

"It never is," Lysandra shot back, wincing as a sharp, burning pain radiated from the wound on her leg. She gritted her teeth, feeling the ghoul's venom creeping through her veins like fire, sapping her strength with every passing second.

Lysandra broke the silence, her voice cold and matter-of-fact despite the growing weakness in her limbs. "Would it help if I were dead?" she said, her words biting. "Because that's where this is heading, Alaric."

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

She took a shaky breath, forcing herself to sit upright despite the venom's effects. "I need to use magic to heal myself," she continued, her tone sharp but edged with urgency. "To expel the ghoul's venom and close the leg wound before it kills me. But if I don't use it, I'll be dead in a couple of hours, and then—" She paused, glaring at him. "Then there will be no problem for you to wrestle with, will there?"

Alaric's head snapped up at her words, his face pale but resolute. "Don't," he said, his voice low and strained. "Don't talk like that."

"Why not?" Lysandra countered, the venom and exhaustion making her bolder. "You know it's the truth. Magic is illegal in Volatira. Punishable by death. If I use it, you'll have to decide whether to follow the law or look the other way. If I don't…" She trailed off, gesturing weakly toward her wound. "It won't matter either way."

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Damn it, Lysandra," he hissed, stepping closer. "You don't get to put this on me."

"I'm not putting it on you," she snapped. "I'm putting it on me. My life, my choice. But I need to know—if I do this, if I survive, will you protect me? Or will you condemn me?"