BLOOD OF THE ARCANE

Aziz's pov

I was already perched on a fallen log, hunched close to the fire, a thin stick in hand to flip the fish crackling on a flat stone.

The hiss of burning skin couldn't drown out what I'd seen her ripping that bastard apart, calm as dusk, blood drying up her jaw like she was born for it.

And that arcane pistol, cold and heavy, pressed against my ribs beneath the folds of my cloak.

Who armed scum like that out here?

I turned every angle in my head, fighting the twist in my gut.

If backwoods bandits had arcane steel, then mother's war was already bleeding under her feet.

I stole a glance at her. Even slumped against a tree trunk, she looked unreal moon-pale skin, dark lashes brushing her cheek, the faint gleam of those gold bands still biting into her arms. 

Beautiful. Terrifying. I had too many questions and not nearly enough sense to ask them.

She stirred. A soft groan escaped her lips as she shifted, then stretched with a lazy, catlike yawn.

Her eyes blinked open clear, unsettlingly calm. She looked straight at me.

"Hey. Where am I?" Her voice was scratchy, half dream.

I poked at the fish, avoiding her gaze. "Somewhere in the forest. Not sure exactly."

She frowned, scanning the trees as if they'd whisper an answer.

Then her eyes cut back to me, sharper now, studying my face like she'd seen it before.

"You look… familiar," she said slowly. "Have we met before?"

I shook my head. "No. Not until last night."

"Last night?" Her brow furrowed, eyes drifting down to the grime on her gauntlets, the dried blood caked at her knuckles.

 "I don't… I don't remember anything. Just… the clearing. The bandits came they killed my family, dragged me out.

After that, nothing."

I held her gaze, forcing myself to smile softly, though my gut twisted at the memory of what she'd done. Good. 

Better she didn't remember carving that bandit up like cattle. Better she didn't carry that weight too.

She gasped, hand flying to her throat. "Did you save me?"

I almost laughed. "Something like that."

Her lips parted, then curved in a slow, small smile. "Thank you."

She turned her attention to the fish, nostrils flaring at the scent. I could see the thought forming behind her eyes. She's staying for the fish.

After a moment's hesitation, I drew my gold-bladed Bowie knife and sliced the fish cleanly in half, then halved it again. 

I carved off a piece of my last bit of grotto bread, the blade catching the firelight as I worked.

We ate in silence, hunched over a rough tree stump. Grease dripped down my wrist; I pretended not to notice her watching every bite.

Halfway through chewing, she spoke. "You aren't from here, are you?"

I choked on the bread, coughed so hard a crumb lodged in my nose. "What?"

She bit neatly into her piece of fish, eyes amused. "You heard me. You're not from here."

I wiped my mouth on my sleeve, scowling. "What makes you say that?"

She spat out a bone towards the treeline. "You smell too clean. No scars. And your hair's too pretty for this forest."

I tugged at a dreadblack coils fading to white at the tips, just like my mother's.

"This? It's just hair."

She shook her head, gaze drifting lower. "And the arcane marks on your arms."

I barked a short laugh.

"You mean Aether brands? Look who's talking." I jabbed my greasy finger at her forehead.

She frowned, tapped her forehead and froze.

I caught it instantly: fine gold lines, sharp and clean, fanning from her brow like someone had inlaid molten metal under her skin.

They pulsed faintly with her heartbeat.

Her pink eyes snapped to mine. She touched the gold lines again, voice unsteady.

"How… is this possible?"

"It means," I said, tearing another bite of bread, "you're not from here either."

She snapped her head up. "Yes I am! I was born and raised on this continent same forest, same dirt!"

I shrugged, licking fish grease from my thumb. "Then I don't know what to tell you. 

You're Arcane-blooded, same as me. And me? I'm from Kingston, days of sea and salt between here and there.

A whole ocean and then some away from this mess."

She frowned, spat out a bone, and flicked it into the bushes. "Well… my parents were just farmers. And a cook.

Boring, huh?" She narrowed her eyes at me, lips curving slyly. "What about yours, mystery man?"

I twirled the stick in the dirt by my boot. "My mother's from here. She leads the Revolutionary Army. My father's… the King of Kingston."

She stopped mid-bite, mouth open, eyes huge. "Wait, hold on. The She-Wolf is your mother? And your father is Kingston's king?"

I grinned, enjoying her disbelief. "Honest to God."

She smirked, chin propped on her hand. "Mhm. And what mess dragged you into these parts?"

I sighed, looking anywhere but at her lips. "It's Complicated."

She gave a soft laugh that did things to my ribs. "So secretive. Fine. But I'm coming with you."

"What? No really, there's no—"

She stood then, hands gripping the edges of the stump, leaning in until her shadow swallowed mine.

Her eyes locked on me steady, unblinking and for a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe.

"I have no home. No family. No plan. Maybe if I follow you, I'll find one," she said softly, voice dipping just enough to make my pulse stutter.

"Maybe I'll even make you marry me."

My heart knocked hard enough to rattle my teeth.

She burst out laughing, flicking my forehead. "Relax, highness! I'm teasing. Mostly.

 "But I'm coming with you. You pulled death off my neck you think I'll just wave and watch you wander off?" She leaned back, lashes half-lowered, that wicked glint dancing in her eyes.

Then she threw up her hands in mock despair. "We Shujaa guard our own shadows. We do not leave our blood to stumble blind through snake pits alone."

She leaned over the stump, hands gripping the rough bark, eyes locked on mine like she could read my heartbeat.

"You know in my mother's tribe, they say if a woman survives her death sleep and a man's the first face she sees when she wakes the elders count it as a blessing. 

Means the ancestors want their spirits bound. Bride and groom. Just like that."

She tilted her head, smile crooked, voice teasing but deadly sure.

"Lucky you, hmm? Should've turned your back, hero, now you're stuck with a wife you didn't ask for."

I glanced down, dragging the stick through the dirt again. 

"You're funny," I said, but the image of what she'd done to that bandit still clung to the back of my mind like a burr I couldn't shake loose.