Chapter 4: Threads of Fate

The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows on the dense forest surrounding their makeshift camp. Serenya sat cross-legged, her cloak pulled tightly around her as she stared into the flames. Her body still ached from the strain of using her gift, and a dull throb had settled in her temples—a reminder of the price she’d paid.

Across from her, Drenic Vael leaned against a fallen log, idly sharpening the blade of his dagger. The rhythmic sound of steel against stone was oddly soothing, though his sharp gray eyes occasionally flicked toward the dark treeline.

“If you’re expecting me to carry a conversation,” he said without looking up, “I hate to disappoint.”

“I wasn’t,” Serenya replied, her tone neutral.

Drenic smirked faintly. “Good. Talking’s overrated.”

The silence between them lingered, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the distant hum of nocturnal insects. But Serenya’s thoughts were far from still. The shadowbeast’s attack had shaken her more than she wanted to admit.

It wasn’t just the creature itself—terrifying as it was—but the deliberate malice behind it. Shadowbeasts didn’t hunt alone, and they certainly didn’t target humans unless directed.

Someone had sent it after her.

“You’ve seen one of those things before,” she said suddenly, breaking the quiet.

Drenic’s hand stilled, his gaze meeting hers. “What makes you think that?”

“You didn’t hesitate. You knew where to hit it.”

He shrugged, returning to his blade. “It’s not my first time dealing with something nasty.”

“Who sent it?” Serenya pressed.

Drenic chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “You’re asking the wrong person, princess. I don’t make friends with the kinds of people who control monsters like that.”

“Then how did you know?”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he sighed, sheathing his dagger.

“I’ve been around long enough to see things most people wouldn’t believe,” he said, his tone quieter. “Shadowbeasts, curses, rogue sorcerers… this world is darker than most want to admit. And if one of those things was after you, you’ve got bigger problems than you’re letting on.”

Serenya’s hands tightened around her cloak. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Good, because I’m not done,” Drenic said, leaning forward slightly. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by a rare seriousness. “If you want to survive, you’d better start telling me what I’m walking into. Gold’s nice, but it won’t mean much if I end up dead because of your secrets.”

The firelight danced in his eyes, and Serenya felt a spark of anger flare within her. Who was he to demand anything of her? He was a thief, a mercenary—nothing more.

But deep down, she knew he was right.

She glanced at the pendant beneath her cloak, its cool surface grounding her. Taking a steadying breath, she met his gaze. “There are people hunting me. Powerful people. If they catch me, they’ll kill me—or worse.”

Drenic raised an eyebrow. “And why, exactly, are you worth all this trouble?”

“I’m…” She hesitated, the weight of her words catching in her throat. “I’m the last Oracle of Valtressa.”

The statement hung in the air, heavy and unyielding.

Drenic blinked, his expression unreadable. Then he laughed.

“An Oracle? You?” He shook his head, leaning back against the log. “You really expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t care what you believe,” Serenya snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. “But it’s the truth.”

His laughter faded as he studied her more closely. There was no humor in her eyes, only a grim certainty that made his smirk falter.

“You’re serious,” he said finally.

“I wouldn’t joke about something like this,” Serenya replied, her tone cold.

Drenic exhaled slowly, running a hand through his dark hair. “Well, that explains a few things. Like why the guards are probably combing the city for you right now. And why you’re being chased by monsters.”

He tilted his head, his curiosity sharpening. “But what I don’t get is why you’re running. Oracles are supposed to be locked away in some tower, safe and sound. Protected by the crown. So why risk all this?”

Serenya’s gaze dropped to the fire. “Because I saw something. A prophecy that… changes everything.”

“And?”

“And if I stay, everyone dies,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Drenic frowned, leaning forward. “What kind of prophecy are we talking about here?”

Serenya hesitated, the memory of her vision flashing in her mind. The flames, the darkness, the lifeless body on the battlefield—it was all too vivid, too raw.

“The kind that ends with my death,” she admitted.

The fire crackled, filling the silence that followed.

Drenic watched her carefully, his expression unreadable. “So let me get this straight,” he said after a moment. “You’re running from a prophecy, the royal guard, and some magical horror show because you think staying put will get everyone killed.”

“Yes.”

“And you want me to help you… what? Change fate?”

Serenya met his gaze, her eyes fierce despite her exhaustion. “If that’s what it takes.”

Drenic chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re either the bravest person I’ve ever met or the dumbest.”

“Are you in or not?”

He held her gaze for a long moment before shrugging. “I’m already here, aren’t I?”

They settled into an uneasy truce as the night wore on. Serenya’s body demanded rest, but her mind refused to quiet. Across the fire, Drenic stretched out on his bedroll, one hand resting on the hilt of his dagger as he closed his eyes.

“Get some sleep,” he muttered without looking at her. “We’ll need to move at dawn.”

Serenya nodded, though her eyes remained fixed on the fire.

As exhaustion finally began to claim her, she whispered to herself, “I won’t let it end this way.”

The words were a promise—to herself, to her vision, and to the kingdom she had left behind.

Far beyond the forest, a cloaked figure knelt before an altar of jagged obsidian. The room was dim, illuminated only by the faint glow of runes carved into the stone.

“Did the beast succeed?” a voice asked, deep and resonant, echoing from the shadows.

“No,” the figure replied, their tone clipped. “The Oracle is alive.”

The voice rumbled with displeasure. “Then send more. She must not reach the Heart of Lumina.”

“As you command,” the figure said, bowing their head.

The shadows seemed to writhe and shift, taking form. A pair of crimson eyes glowed in the darkness.

“She is but one thread in the tapestry,” the voice said, its tone filled with menace. “If she severs it, all will unravel.”

The figure stood, their lips curling into a cold smile. “She won’t get far.”

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