2. The Scholar’s Arrival

CHAPTER 2

THE SCHOLAR'S ARRIVAL

B rynn watches from the shadows as the fog parts, revealing the silhouette of a man stumbling onto the twisted ruins of her once-grand castle. The air around her is thick with the scent of decay and dampness, the stench of a place long forgotten by time. She's made this her home now—a place of ruin, just like her.

A place where the weight of the curse presses down on every stone, every breath, every heartbeat.

She watches as the man—no, the boy—draws closer, his breath coming in shallow, frightened gasps. He looks too soft, too young to be venturing into her domain. Another fool drawn by the promise of glory, or perhaps the whispered legends of the Solheart shard. They always come, thinking they can outsmart her, defeat her, claim the power she guards.

They never understand what they're truly facing.

They never leave alive.

Her claws scrape against the cold stone, the sound echoing through the empty halls. She feels the pull of the curse deep in her bones, urging her to strike, to tear him apart before he gets too close.

But something makes her pause.

There's something different about this one.

He isn't armed, not like the others who have come before him, seeking to slay the Beast and win their place in the songs of legend. He carries no sword, no weapon. Instead, his hands clutch a worn satchel, his face pale but determined, his eyes scanning the darkness as if searching for something more than just a monster.

Brynn's lip curls, a low growl rumbling in her throat. A scholar, then. She's seen their kind before—men who think knowledge will save them, who believe the answers they seek can be found in ancient texts and forgotten relics. Fools. All of them.

She's a fool. This one will be the same.

With a single, fluid movement, she steps so her monstrous form is barely illuminated by the pale light filtering through the cracks in the castle walls. Her eyes, glowing faintly with the curse's magic, lock onto the boy as he freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

She expects fear. She expects him to run, to beg for mercy like the others have.

But he doesn't. He stands his ground, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths, but his gaze steady.

Intriguing.

Brynn keeps to the shadows as she continues to circle. "Why have you come here?" Her voice is low, cold, devoid of any warmth. "Do you seek the shard? Power? Glory?"

The boy's lips part, but he doesn't answer right away. She can see the tension in his body, the way his muscles coil as if preparing to bolt at any moment.

But still, he stands his ground.

"I've come for my father," he says, his voice trembling but firm.

Brynn's eyes narrow, her claws flexing as the curse whispers in her mind, urging her to strike, to end him. "Your father?" she echoes, her voice dripping with disdain. "Another fool who wandered too far, I suppose."

She expects him to flinch, to show some sign of weakness. But the boy's gaze remains steady, his chin lifting slightly, as if trying to summon whatever courage he has left.

"He's still alive," the boy says, though there's a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "And I'm offering myself in his place. Let him go, and I'll stay."

Brynn stares at him, her pulse racing as the curse claws at her mind, urging her to kill him and be done with this. But something about his suggestion, his willingness to trade his life for another, gives her pause. She's heard many offers before, many pleas for mercy.

But never one quite like this.

"You think you can reason with me?" she asks, her voice soft, almost mocking. "You think your life has any value to me?"

The boy's jaw tightens, but he doesn't look away. "I don't know what value it holds to you," he says. "But I'll give it willingly if it means my father goes free."

Brynn's claws twitch, the curse whispering in her mind, dark and insistent. Kill him. Destroy him . She rises to her full height, watching the fear in his eyes, the way his chest heaves with every breath.

But there's something else in his eyes as well—something that makes her hesitate.

There's no arrogance in this boy. No bravado. Just quiet determination. His offer isn't born from the desire to outwit her, but from something else.

Something purer.

For the first time in years, Brynn feels a flicker of... something. Something she doesn't want to name. Something she's long since buried beneath the weight of the curse.

"You're either very brave," she says slowly, "or very foolish."

The boy visibly swallows, but his voice remains steady. "Maybe both."

For a moment, Brynn considers ending him right there. The curse's pull is strong. It coils around her heart, whispering that he's no different from the others. Just another fool who's wandered too far.

But there's something about him—something in his calm, in his willingness to give himself for another—that has her pausing.

"I'll spare you," Brynn says finally, her voice colder than she intends. "For now."

The boy's shoulders sag with relief, but he quickly straightens, nodding once. "Thank you."

Brynn sneers at the word, deliberately digging her claws into the stone as she turns away. "Don't thank me yet, scholar. You may come to regret your foolish bargain."

She expects him to argue, to plead further, but he doesn't. He simply nods again, accepting her words without protest. It unnerves her. She's used to anger, to fear, to desperation. But this boy offers none of that.

Instead, he meets her with quiet resolve.

She hates it.

She hates the way his calm unnerves her, the way his gentleness stirs feelings inside that she thought the curse had long since destroyed. He doesn't flinch at her monstrous form, doesn't shrink away when she bares her claws. Instead, he treats her as though she's still human. As though she's still worthy of something more than the darkness that consumes her.

It makes her want to tear him apart.

For a moment, she's tempted to step close, to show him what she really looks like. Except she doesn't move.

She hates that, too.

"I'll allow you to stay," Brynn says, her voice sharp, cutting through the tension. "But only because I'm curious to see how far your foolishness will take you."

The boy nods again, his expression steady. "I'll do whatever it takes."

His words send a ripple through her, unsettling something deep inside her chest. She feels it—a faint stirring she hasn't felt in years. It isn't sympathy, no. That part of her has long since died. But there's something in his quiet resolve that pierces through the thick, oppressive fog of the curse.

Brynn turns away, unable to look at him any longer, afraid of what his eyes might show her. Afraid of what they might reflect back. She doesn't want to see her own broken humanity mirrored in the kindness that still lingers in his gaze.

The air is heavy with the scent of mildew and rot as she moves deeper into the ruined castle. Her claws scrape against the stone floor, each step echoing through the empty corridors. The walls are crumbling, vines creeping through the cracks like veins of dark magic, smothering what's left of the grandeur this place once possessed. Cobwebs drape across the archways like tattered veils, and a cold draft of wind snakes through the broken windows, carrying the whispers of a forgotten time.

The castle is more than just stone and ruin. This place has been tainted by the curse as much as she has. It has become a reflection of the darkness inside her—decayed, twisted, forsaken.

"Find yourself a room," she says, her voice hollow, distant. "Stay out of my way, and you'll live."

The words are a threat, sharp and bitter on her tongue. And yet, even as she speaks them, she knows they're a lie. She has no intention of killing him—not yet, at least.

But she can't afford to let him know that. She can't afford to let him see the cracks forming in her resolve, the small sliver of vulnerability he's already managed to pry open.

She reaches the grand foyer, its once magnificent staircase now splintered and sagging under the weight of time. Dust motes hang in the air, swirling in the faint shafts of moonlight that seep through the broken windows. She's intending to leave him here, to abandon him to this decaying husk of a castle, where the shadows stretch long and the air is thick with the echoes of what has been.

But as her footsteps echo across the stone, she hears another sound. The boy. He's following her.

Brynn's eyes narrow, her claws flexing instinctively. She stops, the air around her suddenly charged with tension, and for a brief moment, she thinks of turning around, of ending him right here, right now, before he can cause her any more discomfort.

But she doesn't.

Instead, she slowly turns her head, her glowing eyes finding him in the half-light. He's standing only a few steps behind her, his face drawn but determined, his breath steady despite the cold that clings to every surface. The soft glow of light catches in the dust and shadows around him, making his figure seem almost ethereal, out of place in the castle's decaying grandeur.

He isn't leaving.

She hasn't expected him to follow her this far. Foolish boy. Does he think this is some kind of twisted hospitality she's offering? Especially when she has no intention of reuniting him with the man he seeks.

His father isn't even here.

Yet here the boy is. He isn't turning back.

"What are you doing?" Her voice cuts through the stillness, cold and sharp as the wind that slips through the cracks in the walls.

He blinks, confusion flickering across his features. "You said to find a room," he replies, his voice steady, as if this crumbling nightmare is just another place to rest. "I'm doing that."

A spark of irritation flares in Brynn's chest. How can he be so calm? So resolute? Does he not understand the danger he's in? Does he not sense the darkness that hangs in the air, thick and cloying, ready to consume anyone foolish enough to linger?

"This isn't a sanctuary," she hisses, slipping back into the shadows. "This place... this place will swallow you whole if you're not careful."

Still, he doesn't flinch. He meets her gaze with an unwavering calm, something that gnaws at her insides, unbalancing her in ways she can't explain.

"I'll take my chances," he says simply, as though he's talking to a stranger on the road and not a cursed creature in the ruins of a haunted castle.

The curse tightens around Brynn's heart as she turns away again. Fool. He has no idea what he's walking into. No idea that his father isn't here. No idea that this cursed place has been a tomb for far greater men than him.

But still... still, he follows her.

She can hear his footsteps echoing in the silence, a steady rhythm behind her own. With each step he takes, the air grows heavier, the oppressive weight of the castle pressing down on them both like the ghost of some long-forgotten sorrow.

Brynn's claws twitch as she fights the urge to lash out, to push him away before he can dig any deeper into the fragile remnants of her humanity. She wants to leave him in the foyer, to let the castle itself scare him away. The twisted halls, the shadows that seem to watch from the corners —those should be enough to send any sane person running.

But the scholar isn't running.

And that unsettles her more than anything.

Brynn breaks into a run, finally allowing the curse some freedom, using it to leave the boy far behind. Darkness flows through her veins, death smiles in her heart. Yet as she makes her way to the upper levels of the castle, she thinks of the woman she used to be. The warrior who once fought for Ravenspire, who loved her people, who believed in something greater than herself.

That woman is gone, buried beneath the curse that twisted her into this creature.

She hasn't thought of her in a very long time.

Seems Luca's kindness, his quiet determination, has stirred something—a flicker of memory of who she used to be before everything fell apart.

And she hates him for it.