She Chose the Wrong Hero

The shrine sat beyond the city wall, tucked behind a line of dead trees that no one dared to cut.

It wasn't large—just a half-ruined stone arch and a cracked statue of a forgotten god—but it was older than the capital itself. Built before the war. Before the Chosen. Before people learned to fear what magic could do.

Elira hadn't been here in years.

Not since the first timeline.

Not since the day she made her first real mistake.

She left after midnight.

No guards. No servants. No light.

She wore a plain cloak, hood low, and carried only a small vial of healing salt and a knife hidden beneath her belt. Not because she expected a fight—but because she knew better than to walk into old magic unarmed.

The path was quiet. Too quiet.

Even the wind held its breath.

When she reached the shrine, she stopped just beyond the crumbling arch. The moon was high now, casting silver light over the broken stones and black roots that twisted up from the earth.

The statue at the center was missing half its face.

Elira's eyes found the old seal beneath it.

Or what was left of it.

It had been a carved symbol, etched deep into the base of the shrine. A protection ward. A lock. One of five placed across the continent to hold back the darker spells buried by the ancient mages.

But now?

The lines were scorched.

The center had split open like glass struck by lightning.

Magic leaked from it like smoke.

She crouched, pressing her palm to the stone. The surface was cold—unnaturally cold. Her fingers came away damp, and when she brought them closer to the candle she'd lit, she saw it clearly.

Black stain.

The same darkroot residue that had infected the apprentice.

She closed her eyes. Her magic flinched.

This was not supposed to happen yet. In the last timeline, this seal hadn't broken until months later—after Kael was crowned and Aeren had already been sent away.

So what had changed?

Why now?

Why early?

A sound behind her.

Elira rose quickly, one hand slipping toward the knife at her belt.

A shadow moved near the trees.

But it wasn't a beast.

It was a voice. Familiar. Quiet.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Elira turned.

Aeren.

He stepped out from the trees like he belonged to the night, dressed in dark travel clothes, a lantern in one hand and a book strapped to his belt.

"You followed me."

"No," he said. "I just guessed."

She didn't know whether to feel surprised or impressed.

"You knew about the seal?"

"I read about it once. The eastern shrine was supposed to hold back decay magic—corruption, blood-casting, soul-binding. All illegal. All dangerous."

He stepped closer and crouched beside the cracked stone.

"Someone broke it open," he said softly.

"Not just someone," Elira said. "Someone marked by blood."

Aeren looked up at her. "You think it was Kael."

"I don't know."

But she did. Or at least… she feared it. Kael had been drawn to this place even before he understood why. He had always heard the old magic louder than the rest. The gods had whispered to him even when he was still just a boy with a sword and too much pride.

"I came here once before," she said.

Aeren blinked. "When?"

"In the last life," she almost said. But the words stayed trapped in her throat.

"Before the war," she lied instead. "I didn't understand it then. But now…"

She knelt beside him. The two of them stared down at the cracked seal in silence.

Elira could feel the magic pulsing beneath the earth like a heartbeat. It wasn't just broken. It was waking up.

And the worst part?

It was calling to someone.

On the way back, they didn't speak much.

The moon was already sinking, and the cold had settled into their bones.

But just before they reached the outer wall, Aeren paused.

"Elira."

She stopped beside him.

He didn't turn to look at her when he spoke.

"If it was Kael who broke the seal… what will you do?"

Elira looked up at the sky.

The stars were fading, hidden behind clouds.

"I don't know," she said softly.

"But I won't let him break this world again."