“Who are you?! Stay away from me!”
The rough, threatening baritone shattered the silence of the night. Aerion jolted awake, immediately feeling for the left side of his chest, where the fatal slash wound should have been. His eyes flew wide. There was no boiling blood. No torn flesh. Only whole, unbroken skin—and a faint ancient symbol that was now beginning to fade back beneath its surface.
His killer instinct took over at once. He whipped around and stared at a girl in a tattered silver dress, kneeling across from him on the other side of the small campfire separating them.
Aerion narrowed his eyes. He recognized the gleaming aura surrounding the girl. “A holy aura… The clothes of a sky noble. You… you’re from the divine clan? Why is a god in the Forbidden Forest?!”
Lysandra, who had been rubbing her hands near the campfire for warmth, merely stared at Aerion with a flat expression that hinted at overwhelming exhaustion. Her eyes were swollen. She had only stopped crying a few hours ago.
“Lower your voice,” Lysandra admonished softly, completely un intimidated by the young man’s murderous glare. “If you want us both to be eaten by an ancient monster in this forest because of your shouting, then go ahead and yell even louder.”
Aerion growled under his breath, but he lowered his voice. His wary gaze never left Lysandra. He tried to summon his shadow sword, but his energy was still too chaotic after being forcibly healed.
“I’m asking you one more time. Who are you? And what did you do to me?” Aerion hissed. “Don’t even think about lying. Ordinary divine healing magic couldn’t close a wound poisoned by a demon sword. What did you put in my body?”
“Healing magic. Pure life magic,” Lysandra answered tiredly. She tossed a dry branch into the campfire. “And if you want to know who I am, my name is Lysandra Elaris. The daughter of Aetherion, the Great God of the Sky.”
At the name, Aerion’s body tensed. “Aetherion’s daughter? My father’s greatest enemy?” He laughed sarcastically, the sound dry and filled with suspicion. “Incredible. The heir to the Dark King, saved by the daughter of the man who most wants to destroy his clan. Is this some kind of joke of fate? Or another trap set by the council of gods?”
“A trap?” Lysandra stopped moving. She stared at Aerion with a furrowed brow. “You think I deliberately fell from the sky, tore my wings, and nearly died here just to trap someone as close to death as you?”
“In my world, betrayal and traps are part of everyday life,” Aerion replied coldly. “This morning, I was still sitting at the council table, and by afternoon, my own trusted men attacked me from behind on my uncle’s orders. So yes, forgive me if I don’t immediately trust the ‘good intentions’ of an enemy princess.”
Lysandra fell silent. For some reason, Aerion’s words struck a nerve in her heart. They came from different worlds, but both were surrounded by the same poison: family.
“Your name… Aerion?” Lysandra asked softly.
“Aerion Vaelcrest. Remember that name well, because your father must be eager to see my head chopped off in his palace square,” Aerion replied sarcastically. He tried to stand, but his head was still spinning. He was forced to sit back down, leaning against a tree trunk.
“My father really does want to wipe out your entire clan. He always says you’re heartless monsters,” Lysandra said bitterly. Her vacant gaze remained fixed on the campfire.
“And you agree with your father?” Aerion challenged.
“If I agreed, I wouldn’t have wasted the last of my strength healing you, Aerion,” Lysandra shot back, her voice trembling slightly. “I would’ve let you bleed to death. Besides, that’s what Father would do if he were here. He’d kill you without a second thought.”
“Then why didn’t you? Why go to all the trouble of saving your own enemy?”