The iron gate slammed shut, the metallic clang echoing down the cold, damp corridor. The two knights who had escorted the prisoner stepped back hastily, their hands still resting on the hilts of their swords. Neither dared to linger.

“She’s a witch,” one muttered, as if saying it too loudly would awaken something. “Can’t control it. Last man who touched her burned from the inside out.”

Vaelen Duskbane stood motionless, his ice-blue eyes locked on the woman before him. She didn’t cower like most prisoners did when thrown into the dungeon. Instead, she straightened her back, chin raised despite the streaks of blood on her face. Her yellow eyes burned with something between defiance and exhaustion.

But it was the veins that unsettled him the most.

They spread like tangled roots beneath her skin, vivid red and orange, glowing faintly with each breath she took. A translucent shimmer hovered over them, like a veil of energy barely contained. Even the torchlight seemed to waver around her.

“She’s to burn at dawn,” the second knight said, shifting uneasily. “Be careful, Duskbane.”

Then they were gone, their footsteps fading into the depths of the dungeon.

Vaelen exhaled slowly. He had seen men brought here for treason, murder, blasphemy—but never one who looked like this. Never one whose very existence bent the air around her.

She stared at him. Silent. Waiting.

He turned and walked away.

Later, he returned with a wooden tray, setting it down on the floor outside the bars.

“Eat,” he said. His voice was calm, steady.

She hesitated, then reached out. But as their fingers brushed, something snapped in the air between them.

She gasped.

The veins dimmed. The glow flickered—then vanished. The spectral shimmer disappeared. Her skin, once marred with unnatural markings, returned to normal. Smooth. Unblemished.
Her hands trembled as they hovered over her chest, disbelieving.
Vaelen took a sharp step back, his breath caught in his throat.
Her golden eyes, wide with shock.