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16

RHAEGAR

T he aftermath of the ambush leaves the air thick with tension. Shadows stretch long under the dim light, and the scent of disturbed earth mingles with the metallic tang of blood. Nora stands a few paces away, her breaths shallow, eyes wide with lingering shock. The name, Medea , still hangs between us, a phantom echo neither of us dares to acknowledge aloud.

"We need to move," I say, my voice rougher than intended. "Staying here is an invitation for another attack."

She nods, but there's a distance in her gaze, as if she's looking through me rather than at me. I suppress a growl of frustration. This is not the time for her to retreat into herself.

"Can you walk?" I ask, softer this time.

"I'm fine," she replies, though the tremor in her voice betrays her.

We gather our scant belongings, every rustle of fabric and clink of metal amplified in the oppressive silence. The Wastes are unforgiving, especially at night, and the Wraithborn are not known for leaving a task unfinished.

"There's a place," I begin, hesitating. "A shelter, of sorts. Not far from here. We can rest there until dawn."

She looks at me then, suspicion flickering across her features. "What kind of shelter?"

"An old ruin," I admit. "From a time long before either of us."

"Convenient," she mutters, but falls in step beside me.

The journey is silent, save for the crunch of our boots against the desolate ground. The landscape is a monochrome expanse, broken only by jagged rocks and the occasional skeletal remains of trees long dead. The wind whispers secrets I have no desire to hear.

After what feels like hours, we arrive. The entrance is unassuming, a narrow crevice between two slabs of stone, half-hidden by overgrown thornbushes. I push them aside, ignoring the sting as they scrape against my skin.

"This way," I instruct, slipping through the gap.

Inside, the air is cooler, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and something else—something ancient. I conjure a small flame in my palm, casting flickering light across the walls. Intricate carvings decorate the stone, telling stories of battles and rituals lost to time.

Nora traces a finger over one of the carvings. "What is this place?"

"A tomb," I answer, the word heavy on my tongue.

She pulls her hand back as if burned. "Whose tomb?"

I hesitate. "I don't know."

A lie. But some truths are better left buried.

We venture deeper, the passage narrowing before opening into a vast chamber. Stone pillars rise from the ground, supporting a ceiling adorned with faded murals. At the center lies a sarcophagus, its lid askew, revealing only darkness within.

Nora approaches it, her curiosity evident despite the circumstances. "Whoever was here left in a hurry."

"Or was taken," I counter.

She shivers, wrapping her arms around herself. "Comforting."

I move to one of the walls, pretending to inspect the carvings, but my attention is elsewhere. The air here feels heavy, pressing against my skin, seeping into my bones. Memories I had long suppressed claw their way to the surface.

"Rhaegar," Nora calls, her voice echoing softly. "There's something here."

Reluctantly, I turn to see her standing before a smaller alcove, partially hidden behind a collapsed pillar. She brushes away the dust, revealing an inscription carved into the stone.

"It's in an old dialect," she murmurs, brow furrowing as she tries to decipher it. "Something about... a guardian? A protector?"

My blood runs cold. I know this inscription. I know what lies beyond that wall.

"Step back," I command, harsher than intended.

She glances at me, startled. "What? Why?"

"Just do it," I snap.

She bristles but obeys, retreating a few steps. I approach the alcove, every instinct screaming at me to leave, to run, but I can't. Not now.

With a deep breath, I press my hand against the stone. The magic is faint, but it's there, responding to my touch. The wall trembles before sliding aside, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness.

Nora peers over my shoulder. "What's down there?"

"Nothing we need," I say, turning away.

But she catches my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "You're lying."

I meet her gaze, the bond between us pulsating with unspoken words. "Some secrets are better left undisturbed."

"Like the name Medea?" she challenges.

I flinch. "This isn't the time."

"Then when?" she demands. "After the Wraithborn take me? After I lose myself to these... memories?"

I pull away, pacing the chamber. "You don't understand."

"Then make me understand," she pleads. "Because right now, I'm fighting shadows in my own mind, and you're the only one who seems to know why."

The weight of her words presses down on me. She's right. She deserves to know. But the truth is a double-edged sword, and I fear it will cut us both.

"Fine," I say, running a hand through my hair. "But once you know, there's no going back."

She squares her shoulders. "I stopped looking back a long time ago."

I nod, resigned. "Very well."

Taking a torch from the wall, I light it with a flick of my wrist and start down the stairs. She follows without hesitation.

The descent is steep, the air growing colder with each step. The walls are damp, and the sound of dripping water echoes around us. At the bottom, the passage opens into a smaller chamber, this one devoid of any decoration save for a single sarcophagus in the center.

Unlike the one above, this sarcophagus is pristine, untouched by time. Runes glow faintly along its edges, pulsing with a rhythm that matches my heartbeat.

Nora approaches it, her fingers hovering over the surface. "This is..."

"A prison," I finish. "For a monster."

She looks at me, confusion evident. "What kind of monster?"

"The kind that wears a familiar face," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Before she can question further, the ground trembles, and a low growl reverberates through the chamber. The runes on the sarcophagus flare brightly before dimming once more.

"We need to leave," I say urgently, grabbing her arm.

"But—"

"Now!"

We race back up the stairs, the tremors growing stronger. Dust and debris fall from the ceiling, and the walls groan in protest. As we reach the main chamber, a deafening crack echoes behind us.

Nora looks back, eyes wide. "What's happening?"

"The seal is breaking," I say, pushing her toward the exit. "We can't be here when it does."

We scramble through the narrow passage, emerging into the cold night air just as a roar shakes the ground beneath our feet. The entrance collapses behind us, sealing whatever lurked below back in its tomb.

Breathing heavily, we put distance between ourselves and the ruins.