Kiss of the Cursed

Selene didn't speak for an hour.

Not because she couldn't. But because every word she tried to form trembled with meanings that weren't hers.

Alina kept watch beside her, brushing ash from her dark hair, whispering small comforts neither of them believed.

Then, finally—Selene opened her mouth.

And the names began.

They spilled like blood. Each one laced with fire, sorrow, and truth. Some Alina recognized—names of dead gods, fallen kings, ancestors of the curse.

Others… she didn't.

"Vatra. Halim. Rhaenys. Oban. Solenne."

With each, Selene trembled, as though each syllable carved her throat anew.

"Valcidar. Rukiel. The Hollowborn. The Flamewith."

The final name came slowly. Like a secret dragging itself from a grave.

"Narael."

Alina froze.

"Who?"

Selene's eyes—still glowing—met hers. "She was erased. From time. From memory. From prophecy."

The earth beneath them cracked.

A wind blew inward.

Not from the east. Not from the heavens. But from below.

The girl from the East, still barely conscious, stirred. "You said it. You said her name."

Selene's lips bled.

Alina gripped her shoulders. "What have you done?"

Selene didn't answer. She couldn't.

Because the silence had turned.

And now, something was listening.