She Chose the Wrong Hero

The wind came at dawn

Elira was still half-asleep when she felt it—cold, unnatural, and far too quiet. It slipped through the cracks in her window like it had a mind of its own. It brushed her cheek and disappeared, leaving behind a strange emptiness in the air.

She sat up slowly, heart beating faster than it should.

It was just wind.

Just air...

But her magic trembled beneath her skin.

Something's wrong.

She dressed quickly and stepped outside. The halls were still dark, most students still asleep. The only sound came from a pair of crows perched high on the academy wall, staring down at her like they knew a secret they wouldn't share.

By mid-morning, everything seemed normal again—until the scream.

Elira was in the dining hall, pouring herself tea, when it echoed through the marble room. Startled voices rose. Chairs scraped back. Someone dropped a tray.

She turned and saw a young healer apprentice in pale robes staring at her own hands, her lips trembling.

Black veins crawled up her fingers like ink bleeding beneath the skin.

"Make it stop," the girl whispered. "Please—it burns."

Elira was at her side in seconds. "Stay still."

The magic under the girl's skin was wrong. Old. Foul. It pulsed like rot.

Elira placed her hands over the girl's wrists and closed her eyes. A warm golden light spread through her palms as she whispered a healing chant. The darkness hissed and fought back, but Elira pushed harder.

A second set of hands joined hers.

Cooler. Steady.

Aeren.

Together, they drove the darkness out.

When it faded, the girl fainted. Someone carried her away. Others stepped back from Elira and Aeren, whispering.

"That wasn't natural," one of them said.

Elira stood slowly, breath shaking. "No, it wasn't."

Aeren looked down at the table, where a black smudge still clung to the wood.

"Darkroot," he said.

Elira nodded, her throat dry. "It's a spell residue. From old corruption magic. It was sealed long ago."

Aeren met her eyes. "Then something broke the seal."

Kael entered moments later, wearing his uniform and a frown. His eyes scanned the room before locking on Elira and Aeren standing together.

"What happened?" he asked.

"An apprentice was cursed," Aeren replied. "She touched something she shouldn't have."

Kael's gaze dropped to the black stain on the table. He frowned. "Darkroot. That's banned magic."

"More than banned," Elira said quietly. "It's supposed to be gone."

Kael looked at her then. "Where do you think it came from?"

She hesitated. The wind. The weight in the air. The sick twist in her magic this morning. She hadn't imagined it.

"There's a seal beneath the eastern shrine," she said. "The last time this kind of magic appeared… it came from there."

Kael's voice lowered. "That seal's been closed for a hundred years."

Elira looked at him carefully. "Maybe not anymore."

That afternoon, the palace called a closed council.

Elira wasn't invited. But she had her ways.

She slipped through the side halls, stepping quietly behind the old prayer chamber wall, where the stone was thin enough to hear the room beyond.

The voices were sharp, panicked.

"Only blood-marked magic could have touched the seal."

"No one alive should have access to that kind of power."

"Unless it was passed down. In secret."

"You mean one of the Chosen?"

A pause.

Elira felt a chill run through her.

Kael was a Chosen.

So was she.

But only one of them had ever stood at the shrine.

Only one had walked away changed.

That night, Elira sat alone by the window, a candle burning low beside her. She could still feel the cold wind from the morning. Still feel the way the girl's magic had recoiled. Still hear the way the council whispered the word:

Blood-marked.

She looked down at her hands.

So much had already changed.

And the future—the one she thought she remembered—was no longer the same.