She's the Prince

Chapter 56

Living Again

Ares and Callan sprinted through the dense graveyard, their breaths fogging in the cold air. The crunch of brittle leaves beneath their boots was almost deafening against the eerie silence of the night. Shadows clawed at the edges of their vision, twisting with each flicker of flame Ares hurled skyward. The fire illuminated the gravestones, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed alive.

"There's a light over there," Callan said, pointing to a faint, flickering glow in the distance.

Without hesitation, Ares conjured another fireball, his movements sharp with adrenaline. A deliberate flick of his wrist threw it toward the source. The ball of flame collided with the light, an explosive burst of energy scattering sparks like fireflies in a storm. Gravestones cracked and toppled, fragments scattering across the ground.

"Aw!" Ares groaned, doubling over and rubbing his back. "I think I broke my spine."

Callan stumbled to his feet, brushing dirt off his coat. "What were you thinking, blowing that up? You didn't even know what it was!"

"I don't know—it felt right," Ares shot back, wincing as he straightened up.

They surveyed the area. The ominous figures who had been pursuing them were nowhere to be seen.

"They're gone," Callan said cautiously, his voice tinged with disbelief.

A sudden noise cut through the stillness—a low, gurgling moan that sent chills down their spines. The sound was otherworldly like the earth itself was groaning in agony. Their eyes met briefly, a silent agreement passing between them. Without another word, they bolted toward the source.

***

They skidded to a halt at a horrifying sight. Bodies lay scattered, limbs moving as if fighting an unseen war. Coughing fits racked their frail forms, and an unnatural fog swirled menacingly around them, clinging to their skin like a curse. The air was thick, suffocating.

"Give them fabric to cover their noses."

Sebastian's commanding voice rang out as he emerged from the shadows, flanked by Musa and a contingent of soldiers. Each guy took a bundle of rags and quickly gave them to coughing sufferers. Something soaked the cloth, which relieved spasms immediately.

Ares and Callan rushed to assist, their earlier exhaustion forgotten.

***

After hours, the people who had been dead were huddling together in Musa's basement refuge, where it was warm. The flickering glow of lanterns painted the stone walls with a soft, golden light. Though weakened, the villagers were unmistakably alive.

Ares and Callan sat by the door, steaming mugs of hot chocolate in their hands. The sweet aroma of the drink was a small comfort amidst the chaos they had just escaped.

"I still don't understand what's happening," Ares murmured, staring into his cup as if it held the answers.

"Patience," Callan replied, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. "They'll explain soon enough."

Musa approached silently, her presence soft but commanding. She knelt beside Ares, a pitcher in hand, and refilled their mugs with a warm smile.

"You saved them," she said softly, her gaze locking onto Ares's.

Ares blinked, his expression caught between confusion and disbelief. "What?"

"You brought their souls back," Musa continued, gesturing to the villagers. Her voice carried a quiet reverence. "They're alive because of you."

***

As gratitude buzzed around the room, Musa leaned closer to Ares. Before he could react, her lips brushed against his in a featherlight kiss.

Ares froze, his face immediately heating. "What was that for?" he sputtered, pulling back slightly.

Musa's cheeks turned pink, though she held his gaze. "To thank you. We owe you everything."

Callan laughed out loud from nearby, clearly enjoying seeing Ares in pain.

"Why do girls always kiss me?" Ares muttered, crossing his arms and glaring at his friend.

Callan's grin widened. "Would you rather it be men?"

"Shut up."

***

The mood shifted when Sebastian approached, his demeanor serious. He explained the villagers' miraculous recovery, though his words were tinged with concern. The source of the poisoned mist was still a mystery—or so it seemed.

Unable to sit still, Ares wandered through the house. He found himself drawn to Musa's room, the door left slightly ajar. The walls were adorned with intricate drawings of plants and symbols, each detail painstakingly rendered. On her desk lay an open book, the pages filled with strange markings that seemed to shift under his gaze.

Curiosity got the better of him. He picked up the book and looked at the strange writing with a furrowed brow.

"What are you doing here?"

Musa's voice cut through the silence like a blade. Ares turned to see her standing in the doorway, her expression unreadable.

"This book..." Ares began but trailed off, the pieces falling into place in his mind.

Realization dawned on Musa's face, and her shoulders tensed. "You know, don't you?"

"You created the poisoned mist," Ares accused, his tone sharp but not unkind.

Musa hesitated, her hands wringing together. "It was meant to protect me. I didn't know... I didn't know they'd come back to life."

Ares sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "Then help them now. Work with Sebastian before it's too late."

Before he could leave, Musa grabbed his arm, her grip surprisingly firm. Her eyes searched his, desperate and vulnerable. Then, without warning, she kissed him again—this time with more certainty.

"I like you, Prince Ares," she said, shaking but determined.

Ares took a step back, his expression unreadable. "I'm not ready for this," he said, his voice steady but firm.

Musa's face fell, her embarrassment evident. She nodded silently, releasing his arm.

***

Ares found Callan waiting for him outside the room, leaning against the wall looking relaxed.

"What happened in there?" Callan asked, his tone laced with mischief.

"None of your business," Ares snapped, brushing past him.

Callan chuckled, his gaze following his friend. "We'll see about that."

***

Back in her room, Musa stood silently, her gaze lingering on the open book. The faint whispers of the mist curled around her fingers as if drawn to her unease. Her shoulders sagged, the weight of her actions pressing down on her.

When she was by herself and it was quiet, she asked herself, "What have I done?"