EXILE
Twilight did not fall over the fae realm. It pressed into it, heavy and suffocating, as though something vast had settled across the sky and refused to lift. The forest beneath mirrored its misery. Trees stood tall yet empty, their once-living bark dulled to ash, their branches twisted outward like desperate hands too weak to grasp salvation. Leaves that had once shimmered with quiet magic now hung matte black, slick with rain that gathered at their edges before slipping free in slow, measured drops.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The sound echoed too loudly, as if the forest had lost everything else worth hearing. Azaliyah moved through it without urgency, not because she was blind to what was happening, but because she had grown used to it. Her boots sank into damp soil that no longer felt truly alive. The air clung to her skin, thick and wrong, like breathing something exhaled too many times by dying lungs. She scarcely looked around. There was nothing new to witness. Everything wore the same expression, waiting to die.
Everything except one thing.
The portal.
It stood where it always had, embedded between two massive trees that had long since forgotten how to grow. Its surface shimmered faintly, though even that light had weakened, as if it too were struggling to remain open. Still, it worked.
Azaliyah stopped before it, folding her arms loosely across her chest as she stared into its shifting surface.
Earth.
Color. Movement. Life.
People drifted through crowded streets laughing, talking, existing without ever wondering if the ground beneath them might split open and swallow them whole.
The sky there was not heavy. It did not loom like something alive, watching from above.
Azaliyah’s jaw tightened.
Must be nice.
She tilted her head, watching a girl not much older than herself stroll down the street, headphones in, lost in a private world and utterly unaware of how quickly silence could devour everything.
“No collapsing realms,” Azaliyah muttered beneath her breath. “No cursed magic trying to kill you.”
A beat passed.
“Yeah,” she murmured dryly. “Sounds terrible.”
Her eyes lingered too long.
What if I just…
Her weight shifted slightly forward. Barely an inch. Just enough to matter. Just enough to change everything. No one would even stop me.
That thought landed differently, heavier than the sky itself.
Would they even notice?
The question never found an answer.
Something screamed.
The sound tore through the forest, sharp and raw. Not clean like an animal. Not controlled like magic. Something wounded. Something in pain.
Something was trying to hold on.
She froze.
The portal flickered behind her. Still open. Still waiting.
Not my problem.
Another cry rang out, louder this time. Closer.
Azaliyah shut her eyes for a brief moment. “Of course,” she muttered, dragging a hand down her face. “The one time I consider leaving…”
The sound cut her off again, worse now. Fractured. Breaking.
She sucked her teeth, annoyance flashing across her face. Frustration followed close behind. She already knew what she was going to do.
“Yeah, okay. Fine.”
Then she ran.
The forest did not welcome her speed. Branches snapped beneath her passage. The ground shifted unevenly underfoot, as if it could not decide whether to carry her forward or swallow her whole.
The deeper she went, the worse it felt, as though something had already passed through and poisoned the air behind it.
Her chest tightened. Not fear. Instinct. Something was wrong.
Then she broke through the trees.
And stopped.
Whatever she had expected, it was not that.
He lay twisted against the ground like something that had been thrown there. Not placed. Not resting. Discarded.
At first glance, he made no sense. Her eyes moved slowly over him, trying to piece together what she was seeing. His upper body was human, male, powerfully built, though strained now. Muscles flexed tight beneath skin split open in places where something else seemed to exist underneath.
Scales. Not fully formed. Not fully hidden. They pressed through his skin like something unfinished, catching what little light remained and casting it back in fractured glints.
His lower half was something else entirely.
A Kirin.
Not whole. Not right.
His legs were powerful but failing, silvered fur darkened with blood. Cloven hooves clawed weakly at the earth, as if he were trying to anchor himself to something that could no longer hold him. His mane, once likely something magnificent, now hung tangled and damp, streaked with dirt and rain.
He looked ancient.
And broken.
At the same time.
Azaliyah’s stomach twisted.
“What the hell are you?”
His eyes opened. Sharp. Alert despite everything. And locked onto hers at once.
There was intelligence there. Too much of it.
“You going to help,” he rasped, his voice rough and ragged, edged with something dangerously close to sarcasm, “or just stand there judging?”
She blinked once, then tilted her head slightly.
“Not with that attitude.”
A pause followed. Then, despite the blood, the damage, and the fact that he looked like consciousness should have abandoned him long ago, the corner of his mouth nearly lifted.
“Figures.”
She stepped closer and crouched beside him slowly. Not soft. Not gentle. Careful.
Her hands hovered above him, close but not touching. Not yet. Because she did not trust herself. That was the problem.
Light flickered anyway.
Gold. Unsteady. Uninvited.
“I swear,” she muttered under her breath, more to herself than to him, “if I didn’t know what I was doing, you’d already be dead.”
“That supposed to make me feel better?” he said dryly.
She did not answer.
She pressed her hand down.
And the magic reacted.
She held his gaze a second longer than necessary. Not out of kindness. Assessment.
“You always talk like that,” she said flatly, “or is this just your charming near-death personality?”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Depends. You always hesitate this much before helping, or is this a special occasion?”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Careful,” she said, her voice dropping just enough to carry weight. “I could still leave you here.”
“Mm,” he breathed, shifting slightly despite the pain written through every movement. “You won’t.”
That irritated her more than it should have.
“Confident for someone bleeding out.”
“Observant for someone stalling.”
She exhaled sharply through her nose, a blade of sound in the silence.
“Alright,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “Say less.”
This time, she did not hesitate.
Her hand pressed fully against his side.
And the magic surged.
Gold light spilled from her palm, not soft, not controlled, but sharp and violent, flickering like it did not fully belong to her. It did not flow into him. It drove itself forward. Forced. Unrefined.
He tensed instantly. Every muscle locked.
“Yeah,” he hissed, jaw tightening against the pain, “you definitely don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Then stop reacting like that,” she snapped, “and maybe it won’t fight back.”
“It’s not fighting back,” he said through clenched teeth. “It’s reacting to you.”
She paused. Just for a second.
The light faltered.
Then flared harder. Unstable.
“Don’t,” she warned under her breath, more to her magic than to him. Because it was starting to do that thing again. That thing where it refused to listen.
The glow shifted, gold twisting into something brighter, hotter, as though it were trying to become something else entirely.
His hand shot up and caught her wrist. Not hard. But firm enough.
“Hey,” he said, quieter now, the sarcasm gone and something sharper taking its place.
“Either you control it… or you stop.”
Her eyes snapped to his.
“I am controlling it.”
“No,” he said calmly. “You’re forcing it.”
Her jaw tightened.
“I didn’t ask for commentary.”
“And I didn’t ask to be your experiment,” he shot back.
Silence struck between them like flint.
Then she pulled her hand away.
The light vanished instantly.
He exhaled slowly, the tension easing from his body by only a fraction.
“Wow,” he muttered after a moment. “You almost killed me twice.”
Her brows lifted.
“You’re still alive, aren’t you?”
A pause.
“Unfortunately,” he said dryly.
That almost made her smile. Almost.
She looked down at him again, this time studying him properly. Not just the injuries. Everything.
“You’re not from here,” she said. It was not a question.
“No,” he replied. “Obviously.”
His eyes flicked back to her, sharper this time.
“You always state the obvious like that?”
“Only when it needs to be said,” she replied.
“It didn’t.”
She ignored him.
Her gaze moved over him again, tracing the unnatural blend of forms, the way his body looked as though it could not decide what it was meant to be.
“What are you?” she asked.
There was a pause. Not long, but noticeable.
Then, “A Kirin.”
She blinked.
“A what?”
His brow furrowed slightly.
“You don’t know what a Kirin is?”
“Clearly not,” she said, gesturing vaguely at him. “And I’m apparently looking at one, so an explanation would be helpful.”
He studied her for a moment, as though weighing a decision she could not see. Then he let his head rest back against the ground.
“Ancient,” he began. “Not from one realm. Not bound to one kind of magic.”
She folded her arms loosely across her chest. Listening, though she did not look like it.
“We’re not supposed to exist in pieces like this,” he continued, glancing briefly down at himself. “This…” He made a faint gesture toward his fractured form. “…is what happens when something interferes.”
Her expression did not change.
But something in her chest shifted. Because that sounded familiar.
“Interferes how?” she asked.
His jaw tightened slightly.
“Breaks things,” he said simply. “Magic. Form. Balance.”
A pause.
“Everything.”
Silence settled more heavily this time. Not empty. Understanding.
“Yeah,” she muttered. Because she had seen that already. Everywhere.
The trees.
The air.
The portal.
Her world.
She shifted slightly, glancing back toward the way she had come, though the portal was far beyond sight now.
“You picked a bad place to land,” she said.
“Wasn’t aiming for it.”
“That makes two of us.”
Another pause.
Then the ground beneath them cracked.
Not a small shift. Not subtle. A deep, splitting sound ripped through the earth, like something beneath it had finally decided to break free.
Both of them went still.
Then another crack. Closer.
“That doesn’t sound good,” he said.
She gave him a look.
“You think?”
The ground split open a few feet away. Darkness yawned beneath it. Endless.
The trees began to tilt. Not fall. Tilt. As if something below was dragging them downward by the roots.
“We need to move,” she said.
“You think I can run like this?” he snapped.
She looked at him. Then at the ground. Then back at him.
“You’re going to have to try.”
He let out a short, humorless breath.
“Fantastic.”
The ground cracked again, closer this time.
She did not wait. She moved, grabbing his arm and hauling him up harder than she probably should have.
He staggered, then caught himself. Barely.
“You’re enjoying this,” he muttered.
“Just a little.”
Then they ran.
The ground did not merely crack. It surrendered. A deep, violent rupture tore through the earth behind them, ripping upward as though something buried beneath the realm had finally decided to breathe.
The sound was wrong. Too loud. Too alive.
Azaliyah did not look back. She did not need to. She could feel it.
The pull.
As if something was dragging the world inward, swallowing it piece by piece.
“Faster,” she snapped.
“I’m trying…”
Camron’s voice cut off as his footing slipped, his body struggling to keep pace with itself, one half moving faster than the other.
“Try harder,” Azaliyah shouted.
“Helpful,” he shot back.
A tree lurched sharply to their left, then ripped straight out of the ground.
Not falling. Pulled.
It vanished into the split earth with a hollow, echoing sound that did not end.
Azaliyah’s breath caught.
“What is that?”
Camron did not answer.
Because he did not know.
And for the first time, it showed.
They ran harder.
The forest was collapsing around them now. Chunks of land broke apart. Roots snapped like bones. Entire sections of earth folded inward like paper crushed in an unseen hand.
The air screamed.
The magic, what little remained of it, was being dragged down with everything else.
Azaliyah felt it.
Her own magic flickered in response, unstable and reactive, as though it were being torn between two directions at once.
“No,” she muttered under her breath.
“Not now.”
The ground split beneath her feet.
She leapt, barely clearing it as the space she had just occupied vanished into darkness.
Camron did not clear it as cleanly.
His back leg slipped.
His body dropped hard for half a second.
She spun and caught him.
“Move!”
“I am moving!”
Another rupture tore through the ground directly in front of them. They skidded to a stop.
For half a second, there was nowhere left to go.
Then Azaliyah saw it.
Through the trees. Faint. Flickering.
A portal. Still open.
“There,” she breathed.
Camron followed her gaze, and something in his expression tightened.
“Is that…”
“Yes,” she cut him off, already moving again. “Run.”
They did not need to say anything else.
They drove forward, dodging falling branches, leaping broken ground, slipping, catching themselves, barely keeping pace with a world unraveling faster than they could escape it.
Behind them, the collapse surged.
Faster.
As if it knew they were leaving. As if it did not want them to.
“Go!” she snapped.
“I’m right…”
The ground split between them. Clean. Sharp.
Camron disappeared.
For half a second, he was simply gone.
Her stomach dropped.
“Antler head!” she shouted.
A hand shot up from the edge, gripping, holding.
“Still here,” he gritted out.
She did not think. She moved. Dropping to her knees, she seized his arm with both hands.
“Don’t let go.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
The ground beneath her began to give.
“Of course,” she muttered.
She pulled. Hard. Too hard.
The magic surged with it. Gold light burst from her hands, wild and uncontrolled. Not precise. Not gentle.
It struck him. Wrapped around him. Yanked.
He was torn from the edge and slammed into her.
They both hit the ground hard.
“…You could’ve warned me,” he groaned.
“I didn’t know I was going to do that,” she snapped, already hauling him back to his feet.
The portal was right there now. Flickering. Fading.
“It’s closing,” he said.
“I see that.”
They ran.
The collapse struck behind them, a wave of darkness devouring everything it touched.
The portal shrank.
Smaller.
Smaller.
“Jump!” she yelled.
They did not hesitate. They leapt.
And the world disappeared.
They hit solid ground. Hard. Different. Still. Quiet. Too quiet.
Azaliyah pushed herself up first, breath uneven, hands braced against the earth.
“…We made it.”
Camron did not answer right away.
Because the moment he lifted his head, everything changed.
They were not alone.
They were surrounded.
Villagers stood in a wide circle around them. Silent. Still. Watching.
Not with relief.
With suspicion.
With fear.
Azaliyah’s chest tightened.
“Of course,” she muttered.
She pushed herself fully to her feet, brushing dirt from her hands as though nothing had just happened.
“Relax,” she said, her voice carrying just enough edge. “We’re not here to cause problems.”
No one moved.
No one spoke.
Their eyes were not on her.
They were on him.
Camron rose slowly behind her, unsteady. Visible. Different.
The murmurs began at once.
“What is that?”
“Is that…?”
“That’s not one of us.”
Azaliyah’s jaw tightened.
“He’s with me.”
That did not help. If anything, it made everything worse.
The circle tightened by a fraction.
Then the elder stepped forward. Calm. Controlled. Too calm.
His eyes settled on Camron first. Then shifted to her.
“You brought this into our village?”
Her spine straightened.
“He needed help.”
“That is not what I asked.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“And I didn’t stutter.”
A ripple moved through the crowd.
The elder did not react. Not outwardly.
“You practice unstable magic,” he said, his voice level and cold, “and now you bring unknown creatures into a dying realm.”
Her hands clenched slightly at her sides.
“He’s not a creature.”
“Then what is he?”
She did not answer.
Because she did not fully know.
And they noticed.
The elder’s gaze hardened by a fraction.
“Exactly.”
The tension snapped.
Magic sparked at her fingertips. Uninvited. Uncontrolled.
“Don’t,” she said under her breath.
But it was already happening.
The air shifted. Gold light flickered around her hands, then surged outward.
She moved on instinct, drawing her blades in one smooth motion. Spinning once in a full circle.
Then crossing them in an X.
“Stop!” someone shouted.
Too late.
The spell was released.
A blast of magic tore outward from her. Violent. Unstable. Beautiful. Destructive. It ripped through the ground, cracked stone, sent villagers stumbling back… then stopped.
Midair.
Frozen.
The elder had not moved. But his hand was raised.
And her magic was no longer hers.
It dissolved. As though it had never existed.
Silence crashed down over everything.
Azaliyah’s chest rose and fell unevenly.
“I told you,” the elder said quietly, “you do not control your power.”
Her grip tightened around her blades.
“I was defending…”
“You were losing control.”
Her voice sharpened.
“They were about to attack.”
“And now they have reason to.”
That landed hard.
She looked around at the fear. The distance. The judgment.
None of them saw her. Not really.
They saw a problem.
The elder lowered his hand.
“You will leave this village.”
Silence.
No protests. No voices raised for her. No one stepped forward. Not one.
Her throat tightened.
“Right,” she said quietly. Too quietly.
She turned.
And walked.
And just like that, she had no home.
No one followed her.
That was the first thing she noticed. Not the whispers. Not the looks. Not even the silence trailing behind her like something unfinished.
Just that no one stopped her.
Azaliyah walked through the village as if she still belonged there.
Back straight.
Steps steady.
Expression unreadable.
But inside, it was louder than the collapse.
That’s it?
Her jaw tightened.
That’s all it takes?
A lifetime. Gone. Just like that.
She passed people she had known her entire life. Faces that once softened when they saw her. Voices that once called her name.
Now? Nothing.
No one spoke. No one reached out. No one even pretended to hesitate.
Her hands curled slowly into fists at her sides.
Have they forgotten?
The question burned hotter the longer it sat.
Do they not remember who my parents were?
That thought almost stopped her.
Almost.
But she did not give them that.
She kept walking.
Because if she stopped, she might turn around. And if she turned around, she might not leave quietly.
And right now, quiet was the only thing she had left.
Camron followed behind her. Not close. Not far. Watching. Not interrupting. For once.
The village thinned as they moved toward the edge, the homes growing smaller, quieter, more spaced apart. Less important. Less seen.
That was where her hut stood.
Of course it was.
Azaliyah stopped in front of it.
For a second, just a second, her expression cracked.
Not visibly. Not enough for anyone else to see. But enough for her to feel it.
Then it was gone.
She pushed the door open.
It creaked louder than it should have.
Everything inside was exactly as she had left it. Simple. Organized. Untouched.
Like her life had been paused, waiting for her to return.
She did not look around much. Did not let herself.
Instead, she walked straight to the back.
There was a small wooden box tucked beneath a shelf.
She crouched and opened it.
Inside was the only thing that mattered.
The amulet.
Gold, worn smooth at the edges. Not flashy. Not outwardly magical. But powerful because of what it held.
She lifted it carefully. Inside rested a small preserved image.
Her mother.
Her father.
Standing side by side. Strong. Respected. Untouchable.
Everything she was supposed to be.
Her throat tightened.
“They used to listen to you,” she muttered softly, staring at the image. “They used to care.”
Her fingers curled around the amulet.
“And now they act like I don’t even exist.”
Silence.
Behind her, something shifted.
“You going to take anything else?” Camron asked, his voice quieter now.
She did not turn around.
“No.”
A beat.
“Nothing else here is mine.”
That was not fully true. But it felt true. And that was what mattered.
She stood, slipping the amulet around her neck and letting it rest against her chest like something steadying.
Then, finally, she turned.
And looked at him properly. Not as a problem. Not as a situation. As a person.
“I didn’t even catch your name,” she said.
He blinked once, as though he had not expected that. Then he straightened slightly.
“Camron.”
She nodded once.
“Azaliyah.”
A pause.
“Figured,” he said.
Her brows lifted.
“Oh, you did?”
He gave a small shrug.
“You look like someone with a name people expect things from.”
She did not answer right away.
Because it was too accurate.
Instead, she turned toward the door.
“Come on.”
“Where are we going?” he asked.
She stepped outside and did not stop walking.
“I don’t know.”
Honest. Blunt. Real.
He followed.
“That’s comforting.”
“Get used to disappointment.”
They walked past the edge of the village.
No one tried to stop them.
No one called her name.
That part, she felt.
But she did not show it.
Instead, she kept moving.
“Where will you go?” Camron asked after a moment.
Her laugh was quiet. Dry.
“Nowhere,” she said. “Everywhere.”
A pause.
“I have power I can’t control,” she added, her voice sharper now, more honest. “No training. No guidance. No one willing to teach me.”
Her eyes flicked toward him briefly.
“Apparently, I’m the problem.”
He did not answer immediately.
Then, “I get that.”
She glanced at him again.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
A beat.
“I don’t fully control my shifts,” he admitted. “Not anymore.”
She slowed slightly.
“Not anymore?”
His jaw tightened.
“It used to be easier.”
That was all he said. But it was enough.
She let out a small breath.
“So what,” she said, her tone edged with dry sarcasm, “you just wander into random realms hoping they don’t fall apart while you’re there?”
“Basically.”
She let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
“That’s insane.”
“Didn’t say it wasn’t.”
Another pause.
Then…
“What happens when they do?” she asked.
His expression did not change. But something behind it did.
“They blame me,” he said simply.
She scoffed lightly.
“Of course they do.”
“They don’t know what I am,” he added. “I show up, things go wrong, magic starts dying…”
“They connect the dots.”
“Even if they’re wrong.”
She nodded slightly.
“Sounds familiar.”
Silence stretched between them again. Not uncomfortable. Just heavy.
Then she exhaled.
“So going back to wherever you came from…”
“Not an option.”
She nodded once.
“Yeah.”
Another step.
Another.
Then she glanced at him sideways.
“So I guess this is happening.”
He looked at her.
“What is?”
She shrugged slightly.
“This.”
A small gesture between them.
“You. Me. No plan. No home.”
A beat.
“Great,” she added dryly.
He let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh.
“Yeah.”
Another pause.
“Well,” she said, adjusting the amulet against her chest, “guess I’m stuck with you.”
He looked ahead.
“Yeah.”
A second passed.
“Same.”
No smiles. No agreement. No trust.
Just two people with nowhere else to go.
Walking forward anyway.
