Whispers of the wilds

Lysandra held her ground, her breath uneven as she stared at the masked prince. The weight of his presence unsettled her not just because of the legends surrounding him, but because something about him felt… familiar. Not in a way she could explain, but in a way that sent a strange, unwelcome ache through her chest.

The Wilds around them stirred, as if aware of their meeting. The wind whistled through the twisted trees, carrying with it whispers she couldn't quite make out. They pressed against her ears, like a thousand voices speaking just beyond understanding. She shuddered.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The prince tilted his head, his silver mask catching the faint glow of moonlight. "You already know."

She did. But she wanted to hear him say it.

"You're the lost prince," she said. "The one cursed to wander the Wilds."

His lips curled in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Is that what they call me now?"

Lysandra narrowed her eyes. "You didn't deny it."

A pause. Then, quietly, he said, "And what do they call you?"

She swallowed. The Beast. A monster. The cursed heir.

"I don't know anymore."

The wind picked up, and the whispers turned to laughter—low, guttural, and mocking. Lysandra's claws twitched. "What is this place?" she asked, her voice sharp. "Why does it—"

The prince moved fast. Too fast. One moment, he was standing before her; the next, he was gripping her wrist, pulling her sideways just as something came crashing down where she had stood. A thick root, gnarled and blackened with age, slammed into the earth with enough force to crack the ground.

Lysandra's breath caught. The trees had moved.

The Wilds were alive.

She wrenched her arm free, stepping back, her golden eyes darting to the shifting forest around them. The trees twisted unnaturally, their bark splitting like flesh, their branches reaching like skeletal limbs.

"This is why you should have never come here," the prince murmured.

His voice was steady, but she caught the tension in it. Even he feared the Wilds.

Lysandra clenched her fists. "I didn't have a choice."

Something growled in the darkness beyond the trees. Low. Echoing. Not human.

The prince turned his masked face toward the sound. "Then run."

But Lysandra didn't move. Her body was still thrumming with power, her transformation still raw. The beast inside her stirred, no longer just a curse but something more. Something that made her feel—alive.

"I can fight," she said.

The prince studied her for a long moment, then let out a soft chuckle. "Then try to keep up."

He turned and sprinted into the trees, his cloak billowing behind him.

Lysandra didn't hesitate. She ran.

The Wilds roared around them as something massive stirred in the darkness. The whispers turned to howls. The trees moved, shifting to block their path, forcing them into a maze of twisting roots and ancient stone.

The ground trembled.

And then, ahead of them, something emerged from the shadows.

A beast not like her, but worse. Towering, covered in jagged bone and dark, writhing mist. Eyes like burning coals. It let out a deep, rumbling snarl that made Lysandra's bones vibrate.

The prince came to a halt beside her, his voice low. "A guardian."

Lysandra's claws flexed. "Guardian of what?"

The beast took a step forward, the ground splintering beneath its weight.

"The thing we're not supposed to find," the prince murmured.

Lysandra met his gaze through the mask. For the first time, she saw something in his posture that sent a chill through her.

Recognition.

He had seen this beast before.

And he knew what it meant.

The whispers swelled around them, chanting in a language Lysandra did not understand. The prince's fingers twitched toward the sword at his side.

Then the guardian lunged.

And the Wilds swallowed them whole.

This chapter builds on the eerie, living nature of the Wilds and the growing tension between Lysandra and the prince.