{Music Recommendation: "Hurts So Good" by Astrid S.}
The song's title doesn't go with the chapter at all :).
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"Are you talking to me by any chance?" Thalos whispered, voice dipping into amusement as his eyes roamed bloodied face, something unreadable flickering in his golden eyes. Then he exhaled slowly, "Do I have to make you respond?"
She didn't. Not with words. Only the soft, pained sound of her groaning, a broken frown tugging at her brow—and then, a single tear slipped from her closed eye, trailing down the grime on her cheek like a thread of silver.
His patience, already stretched to its limit, snapped like a brittle bone.
He moved.
Thalos reached for her throat, fingers curling with the kind of cold curiosity that didn't belong to any sane man. Just before his fingers could touch her skin, a thick tree branch shot out with uncanny speed and wrapped tight around his wrist, yanking it back.
Thalos blinked, brows rising. Then, slowly, he turned his head toward the offending branch.
With a low chuckle, Thalos let his hand go still. "You really are protecting her, huh? The forest's cursed heart suddenly has a soft spot." His voice lowered, edged with intrigue. "This just makes me more curious."
He moved again. This time, his hand moved with ease as if nothing was holding him, fingers extending purposefully toward her neck.
Another branch—thicker, thorn-covered, and laced with something suspiciously like venom—snaked from the forest floor and wrapped around his forearm, yanking it back, thorns digging in, slicing his skin open. Blood welled up instantly.
Still, he didn't flinch. Didn't stop.
His eyes remained fixed on her. As if her face—battered, bruised, soft with pain—held the answer to some riddle he hadn't realized he was trying to solve.
Then she stirred again. More than before.
Her lips moved.
"Mom…" she breathed, barely audible. "Mom… I'm sorry…"
A single tear slid down her cheek, followed by another. Her voice cracked on the next words like glass shattering under pressure.
"I'm sorry. I love you… I don't want to—I don't want to die… you'll be hurt—I don't want to leave you all alone… Mom…"
Thalos tilted his head.
The forest was still fighting him, thorny branches now gripping him like a prison, but he didn't care.
"It seems you're not dead yet," he murmured, voice dark with interest, "just delirious from pain. Interesting… Any other human would have been dead by now."
"Well then… a little more wouldn't kill you." He smirked, fingers tightening around her neck.
The moment his grip closed, her breath hitched. Her eyes remained shut, but her mouth opened in a silent gasp. Her entire body seized, and her eyes flew open.
They were hazel eyes, but not the gentle kind. Flecked with gold and shadow, they locked onto him with an intensity of raw emotion. For a brief moment, it felt like a punch to the gut—as if those eyes were pulling him in.
There was no glamour, no enchantment—just raw, unfiltered emotion.
Fear. Shock. Unwillingness.
Not the kind of unwillingness that begged for mercy, but the kind that refused to die.
His fingers didn't loosen. If anything, they gripped tighter.
"Who are you?"
Sylva choked, her body thrashing weakly against the ground. Her nails scraped against his bloodied arm, barely leaving a mark. Her knees bent, her heels dug into the soil, but she couldn't fight him—not like this. Not when every cell in her body was screaming in pain and her strength had bled out hours ago, left in the dirt and the roots and the wounds that still hadn't stopped aching.
Still, she fought like a dying flame flickering in the wind.
His grip didn't waver.
"How did you get here—"
Before he could finish, a cry ripped through the forest.
Not from a creature but from the forest itself.
It echoed like a thousand voices shrieking all at once—a high, spiraling wail that made the trees quake and the ground tremble. The air pulsed around them, heavy and furious.
The roots beneath Thalos' boots twisted, writhed, and rose.
And suddenly, the tree moved.
The entire tree at her back shuddered, groaned, and bent down, its bark splitting open like the cracking of old bones. Vines burst from its center and one struck Thalos square in the chest, flinging him backward through the air.
He hit the ground hard, rolling across moss and ash.
A second later, he was on his feet.
He was laughing.
There was blood on his lips, ash in his hair, and something manic in his golden eyes. "Now that," he said, voice electric with amusement, "was interesting."
Sylva's body collapsed back to the earth, chest heaving in stuttered, fragile breaths. Her eyes stayed locked on his—wide, terrified, defiant. Her lips trembled, forming words she didn't have the strength to speak.
The tree behind her creaked.
And from the branches above, silver leaves began to fall—slow, soundless, like snowflakes in a place that had never known winter. They shimmered as they touched her skin, and the moment they did, her breathing eased—just as some of her fatal wounds slowly healed.
Then it stopped falling shortly after, but he heard growls coming from the forest. When he glanced to his side, he saw three pairs of eyes glaring at him.
HellHounds.
Thalos smiled as he stared at her. She sat up and glared up at him, the girl who had stirred a cursed forest like she was its favored child.
Then she stood, using the tree for support, every breath labored. Her fingers curled around a dagger—its blade slick with dried blood—as she lifted it with trembling resolve.
"W-what are you? What the hell do you want from me?" Her voice cracked, raw, and strained.
Thalos didn't answer. He simply stepped forward.
Immediately, she straightened, lifting the dagger higher with both hands. "Don't come near me."
He ignored her warning and took two more steps.
"I said don't come near me."
Thalos advanced again—four steps this time, deliberate and unbothered.
"I said don't come near me, you fucking bastard! Don't take another step!" she screamed, her voice hoarse with fury. Hatred twisted her features—not the kind that made her look terrifying, but the kind that but the kind that promised him his death.
And he was suddenly wondering if she could really kill him.
Thalos' lips curved into a smirk. He was about to say something when something caught his eye.
A faint glow.
Her shirt, slightly lifted from raising the dagger, revealed her abdomen—where a pulsing sigil glowed beneath her skin. It wasn't just any mark. It was a seal. And not a weak one.
Thalos closed the distance in a flash, faster than her eyes could follow, and stood right in front of her—dagger now pressed tightly to his neck.
Sylva froze for a heartbeat, shocked by his speed. But she didn't back down. Her grip tightened, and she pushed the blade harder into his skin.
"Don't test me," she hissed. "I'll fucking kill you. I swear I will. Even if it means dying with you."
But Thalos' focus wasn't on the dagger or her threat.
His gaze dropped to the glowing sigil. He tilted his head, intrigued. "You bear a witch's seal," he said as if speaking to himself. "That mark… it's ancient."
"What?" Sylva's voice wavered with confusion. "What are you talking about?"
Instead of answering, Thalos lifted his hand and pressed his palm flat against the glowing mark.
Pain ripped through her like lightning.
Her scream never made it out—just a strangled gasp as her knees buckled and she collapsed. The dagger dragged down his neck, slicing through his skin and leaving a trail of blood down his throat.
Still, Thalos didn't flinch. He merely looked down at her as she writhed on the ground, her fingers clawing at the dirt, dragging the blade beside her as she tried to endure the searing agony.
"So… you are a half-witch," he murmured, crouching beside her. His voice held no pity, only fascination. "But I've never seen a seal react like this… not even when it's breaking."
He watched her tremble, watched her curl in on herself as the pain subsided little by little.
"But that still doesn't explain how you crossed the veil," he said, tilting his head as he studied her paling face, "or why this forest—the cursed place—is choosing to protect you."
Her screams had faded now. But her eyes were dimming, she was struggling to stay conscious.
Thalos watched her carefully.
And for the first time in a very, very long time…
He was curious.