Roots clawed at their ankles as they ran.
The mist thickened like a second skin—curling up their backs, clinging to Alberta's cloak and Dantes' blade. The trees no longer stood still. They leaned, groaned, whispered.
The ruin behind them vanished into fog.
But the presence?
It followed.
"I thought you said this area was clear," Alberta snapped as they stumbled downhill.
"It was," Dantes growled, sword raised. "Guess the Wane didn't get the memo."
They reached the riverbank—normally peaceful, with fishing boats docked and ferrymen exchanging gossip.
Now?
The surface rippled unnaturally. Black veins threaded through the water like bruises beneath skin.
And something beneath it was breathing.
Alberta bent forward, one hand on her knee, the other pressed to the burning amulet at her chest. The pulsing hadn't stopped since the shrine. It thrummed against her ribs like a second heartbeat—familiar, yet alien.
It shouldn't feel like this.
It never has.
She remembered the first time it happened—before the amulet, before the prayers. She was seven. Alone in the library. The air had gone still, thick, like it was watching her.
She had run to Duke Aslac in tears, babbling about voices in the walls and how the light had bent the wrong way.
He hadn't laughed.
He never did.
[Flashback – Years Ago]
The candlelight in his study flickered. Alberta sat across from him, tiny legs dangling off the velvet chair.
"It's not a ghost," she said firmly. "It feels different."
Aslac's expression didn't change. But he reached over, placed a hand on her head, and said—
"Then keep it secret. For your safety. The world does not welcome what it does not understand."
Then he locked the door. And for weeks afterward, he personally checked her room before bed.
She never knew if it was fear or love that made him so careful.
Back at the river, the amulet pulsed again—harder this time.
Alberta winced.
It was like it wanted something. Not to protect her—but to reach something. To respond.
Why now? Why here?
Only two others ever knew what she was. Or might be.
Francesca, who had shielded her in the temple when Alberta's hands began to glow during prayer training. She'd grabbed Alberta's wrists, whispered, "Pretend you fainted," and started screaming for help before anyone noticed.
And Ceasare, who had overheard a private conversation between her and Duke Aslac when he was barely thirteen. He had promised to stay silent—but the way he looked at her afterward had never changed.
Like she was something strange.
Like she wasn't his sister anymore.
Dantes hadn't moved.
He stared at the water like it had called his name.
"The Wane's spreading faster than it should," he said.
Alberta looked at him sharply. "Then it's following us."
But he didn't reply. His hand lingered at the scar over his chest, jaw tight.
"This thing…" he said after a beat. "It's not just following."
A pause. The air shifted. The river breathed.
"It's reacting. Testing. Watching."
He spoke like someone who knew what it was to be observed. Hunted.
"I think it's waiting for something."
Alberta stepped closer.
"You're hiding something," she whispered.
"So are you."
Her fingers curled around the amulet.
"That ruin… it remembered me. The symbols, the altar, the bell… Why?"
Dantes finally looked at her. His voice was sharp.
"You were drawn to it. The Wane reacted to you. That amulet—it doesn't shield you. It connects you."
Alberta's heart dropped.
"I didn't ask for this," she said, breath catching.
"Neither did I."
Their pain mirrored each other—different shapes, same weight. They stood like mirrors cracked by time, not speaking, not stepping back.
Then—
The river moved.
Something vast and ancient swam just beneath the surface, disturbing mud and silence. Water pulled back from the bank as if afraid.
And then the Wane sang.
Not in words.
But in feeling.
Loss.
Rage.
Betrayal.
Later – Variethel Dock
Salt air rolled in from the sea, sharp and wet, cutting through the heavy silence that followed them since the river.
Alberta stepped off the carriage first. Her legs were steady again, but her hand still brushed the amulet now and then—like she needed to remind herself it was real.
The mist swirled between crates and moored ships. Gulls cawed overhead, circling like restless sentries.
Dantes stood at her side, arms crossed, scanning the dock like he expected an ambush.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," he muttered, eyes flicking over the crowd.
Alberta exhaled. "I've seen worse."
He smirked. "Careful. Keep saying things like that and I might think you're impressed."
She said nothing.
But she didn't deny it, either.
---
Footsteps echoed across the dock.
"Alberta!"
Francesca's voice rang through the fog, sharp and alive. Alberta turned—and was immediately pulled into a fierce hug, cloak to cloak, breath to breath.
"You're alive," Francesca breathed, almost crying. "I told him you would be—"
"She always makes it difficult," said a cooler voice.
Cornelius stepped through the mist, coat dark with travel. He looked exhausted—and furious.
"You again," he said flatly as his eyes locked onto Dantes.
Dantes shrugged. "Me again."
---
Cornelius marched forward, face tight. "You've been with her this whole time, and never thought to mention who you really are?"
Alberta blinked. "Cornelius—"
Dantes tilted his head lazily. "Who do you think I am?"
"You mock me," Cornelius snapped.
"I'm a mercenary. I mock everyone," Dantes replied coolly, stepping forward. "And I don't see a crown on your head either, Your Not-So-Highness."
Alberta stepped between them with a sigh. "Can we not do this here?"
Cornelius glared at her. "He has no station. No respect. And yet you trust him with your life?"
"I didn't trust him," Alberta replied, calm but firm. "I chose him."
That silenced them both.
If only for a second.
---
A ship's bell rang in the distance.
The crew began calling for final boarding. Their journey to the capital was about to begin.
Alberta turned toward the ramp. "We board soon. If you're both done measuring your egos…"
As she passed, Dantes leaned in close, his voice low.
"Careful, Princess," he murmured. "You keep defending me like that… I might start thinking you like me."
She glanced sideways at him, eyes tired but sharp.
"Then stop making it so easy."
---
Elsewhere — Within the mist
From the shadowed edge of a rooftop near the dock, a lone figure watched the group disappear toward the ship.
A pale-haired man, tall and still, dressed in a traveling cloak with an embroidered clasp bearing the Montagne crest.
His gloved hand twitched.
"So… you made it to the docks after all," Ceasare murmured.
His gaze lingered on Alberta.
"She always goes running toward the wrong people."
Then he turned away.
And disappeared into the fog.