The Silence After the Storm
The battlefield was still. The dead lay unmoving, but their bodies shimmered faintly, as though touched by starlight. No one dared move—neither Aelion's soldiers nor Varros's army.
All eyes were fixed on the prince and his guard.
Aelion still held Kaelen in his arms, refusing to let go. His heart pounded in terror—Kaelen's blood was hot on his hands, but his chest still rose and fell. He was alive.
Yet something was wrong.
The air around them pulsed with divine weight. A glow shimmered beneath their skin, faint symbols written in light across their arms and chests.
The gods had marked them.
The Mark of Bond
Kaelen stirred, groaning, and Aelion quickly pressed a hand to his cheek. "Stay with me. Please."
"I'm not leaving," Kaelen whispered, forcing a smile through pain. His hand brushed Aelion's wrist—and both of them gasped.
A surge of warmth crackled through their touch, a current of divine energy. Their souls resonated, threads of golden light binding their bodies together.
The soldiers watching whispered in awe.
"They've been chosen…"
"No—not chosen. Cursed."
The glow flared brighter, etching into their skin the Mark of Bond—two halves of a single sigil, one carved into Aelion's chest above his heart, the other into Kaelen's.
It was beautiful. It was terrifying.
The Messenger's Voice
The divine voice rolled across the field once more, softer than before yet cold with judgment:
"You refused the sacrifice. You refused the law. Thus, you are bound by eternity's hand."
"Your lives are tethered. Your fates entwined. Should one fall, the other shall follow. Should one ascend, the other must also rise. Defy again, and the heavens themselves will tremble."
The light faded. The gods' presence withdrew, leaving only silence—and the echo of chains no mortal eye could see.
The Weight of It
Aelion staggered, clutching Kaelen's hand. "Tethered… our lives are tethered?"
Kaelen's jaw tightened. He could feel it—the bond was not just love anymore, it was law. His wounds burned with divine fire, yet Aelion's own chest ached in mirrored pain.
They were one soul now, split between two bodies.
Aelion's soldiers looked upon him with reverence and fear. Some fell to their knees, believing the gods had blessed their prince. Others recoiled, whispering that this was a punishment, a curse that doomed them all.
And beyond the line of shields, Varros smiled.
Varros's Smile
The enemy commander rode forward, lifting his bloodied helm. His eyes gleamed with cruel delight.
"So the prophecy was true after all," he called, his voice carrying. "Only one… and now you've chained yourselves as two. A single strike is all it takes to end you both."
His words struck like daggers, and the soldiers around Aelion faltered. Fear rippled through the lines.
But Aelion rose to his feet, pulling Kaelen up with him, their hands still locked together. His voice cut through doubt like a blade:
"Then let the world know this truth—strike one, and face the wrath of both."
The Omen
As if in answer, the heavens rumbled. A single star streaked across the morning sky, burning bright before vanishing. An omen. A warning. A promise.
The gods had bound them together. Whether curse or blessing, none could yet say.
But Aelion and Kaelen knew this: their bond was no longer just love. It was fate itself.
And fate had just declared war.