Chapter 7 – The Hunters in the Dark

The steady rhythm of hooves pounded against the cold, uneven earth as we raced through the cursed wilds. The village was long behind us, swallowed by the eerie twilight that stretched over the no-man's land. The air itself felt wrong—heavy, unnatural. It clung to my skin like unseen hands, whispering secrets I couldn't understand.

Seraphine rode ahead, her body tense, every movement precise and calculated. She had barely spoken since the ambush in the village, but the sharpness in her gaze told me everything I needed to know—danger still lurked in the shadows.

"The land here is tainted," she murmured, her voice barely carrying over the wind.

I didn't argue. Even my untrained senses could feel it. The pulse of my bloodline reacted to something unseen, something waiting.

I adjusted my grip on the reins, my other hand brushing against the hilt of my sword. It was a crude weapon compared to Seraphine's, but it was mine. A symbol of the battles ahead.

"We ride until nightfall," she continued, her eyes scanning the tree line. "Stopping in this place is the same as surrendering our lives."

I nodded, urging my horse forward. Around us, the trees stood like withered corpses, their twisted branches clawing at the sky. The wind howled through the deadened wood, carrying whispers that weren't entirely natural.

Then I saw it—movement at the edge of my vision. A flicker of black against the mist.

I tensed, my fingers tightening on the reins. "Seraphine... we're not alone."

She didn't react, didn't turn. "I know."

The figures moved between the trees, barely visible but unmistakable. They weren't rushing us. They were waiting. Stalking.

A test.

A bolt of cold ran through me. This wasn't some random band of thieves.

It was them.

The Council of Shadows.

Their assassins had come for me.

"Faster," Seraphine ordered. Her hand slipped inside her cloak, retrieving a small dagger. She dug her heels into her horse, pushing it into a gallop. I followed, gripping the reins as we tore down the uneven trail.

A sharp hiss split the air. Then another.

Arrows.

One whizzed past my head, embedding itself into a tree. Another struck the ground just ahead of us.

A trap.

Seraphine twisted in her saddle, eyes sharp. "Ride, Kalen!"

A figure burst from the trees—a shadow with gleaming steel. He lunged at me, his blade flashing under the dim light.

My horse reared, barely avoiding the strike. I struggled to keep control, my pulse hammering against my ribs. More shapes emerged. Three. No—five. Encircling us.

Seraphine cursed. "They're not letting us leave."

We had to fight.

I yanked my horse to a stop, swinging off the saddle. My sword rasped as I drew it, my grip unsteady but firm.

The nearest assassin wasted no time. He lunged, dagger aimed straight for my throat.

I barely managed to parry, the force of his strike sending vibrations through my arm. He was faster, stronger. Every move he made was calculated, effortless.

I stumbled back. He pressed forward.

Then Seraphine was there.

Her blade carved through the air in a deadly arc, catching him before he could react. Blood splattered against the withered grass. The man staggered, eyes wide with shock, before crumpling to the ground.

No hesitation. No mercy.

"Move!" she barked, already turning to face the others.

I tightened my grip on my sword. The remaining assassins hesitated now, cautious. They had underestimated us.

Then the tallest of them stepped forward. Unlike the others, he didn't lunge. He didn't rush.

He simply watched me.

"You are the heir," he said at last.

His voice sent a chill through my blood.

A warlock.

Not just an assassin—one of the Council's chosen.

"You bear his blood," he continued, his eyes narrowing. "But do you deserve it?"

I swallowed hard. My father's bloodline. The reason they hunted me.