A Rise of the Cursed [Epic Fantasy | Arthurian Myth | Destiny as Choice | Slow-Burn Stakes]

The forest was alive—more alive than anything Albion had ever encountered. The air thrummed with an energy that crawled along his skin, breathing in time with the trees around them. Shadows moved in unnatural ways, twisting like smoke around the ancient trunks, and the ground beneath Albion's feet felt like it was shifting, as if the very earth was guiding their steps. Every breath he took felt thick, heavy with the weight of unseen eyes watching from the depths of the woods.

Beside him, Winston's fingers twitched over his katana, ready to draw at a moment's notice. His sharp eyes darted from shadow to shadow, tracking movements that barely existed. Adelaide—or Adele, as Albion had started calling her—moved silently but tense, her gaze steady but wary. There was something in the way she watched the trees that told Albion she felt it too: the forest was aware of them.

None of them spoke. They didn't need to. The tension between them was palpable, fed by the suffocating quiet of the woods. Albion's mind churned with memories of the five days he had been lost in this very forest just a month ago. Five days of being hunted by something ancient, something far darker than the shadows that now wrapped around them. His heart pounded faster at the thought of it: Eleven.

They had barely escaped Camelot's dungeon, only to be plunged into the heart of the forest's strange, malevolent magic once again. This time, the stakes were higher, and the forest felt more hostile. Every inch of it seemed alive, reacting to their presence as if deciding whether to allow them to leave or swallow them whole.

And then came the Fae.

They stepped from the shadows without a sound, ethereal beings with skin as pale as moonlight, eyes that gleamed silver, and movements so fluid it was as if they glided on air. The Fae had an unsettling beauty, their faces cold and unreadable, their presence heavy with magic. Albion knew enough about them to understand that beneath their beauty lay danger—a power that could easily snuff out mortal lives.

The forest had brought them here, delivered them to the Fae.

Leading them was a tall, regal woman with long, shimmering silver hair that flowed down her back like a waterfall of light. Her wings shimmered faintly, barely visible in the dim glow of the moons. Her eyes—silver and piercing—seemed to see straight through Albion. Titania, Queen of the Seelie Court.

"The forest brought you to us," Titania said, her voice soft, yet every word seemed to resonate with the trees themselves. "You walk paths that few mortals dare tread."

Albion's heart pounded in his chest, the weight of Excalibur, bound beneath his skin, pulsing with the tension in the air. The runes etched into his forearm hummed faintly, a warning he tried to ignore. He couldn't let the Fae know about the sword—not yet. If they did, things would spiral out of control before he could understand why the forest had led them here.

Winston, never one to shy away from confrontation, stepped forward, his voice harsh from their recent escape. "We didn't ask to come here. Something's out there, trying to kill us, and your forest decided to trap us instead."

Titania's silver eyes shifted to Winston, and though her expression remained serene, Albion caught the faint flicker of amusement in her gaze. "The forest does not act on its own, mortal. It is a guardian—a protector of the Fae, its ward. You trespassed upon sacred ground, and it responded."

Albion clenched his jaw. The forest hadn't just reacted—it had chosen to bring them here. He had felt it guiding them deeper into its dark heart, just as he had felt it a month ago, when he had barely escaped its grasp. Now, once again, the forest seemed to be pushing them toward something they couldn't see.

"We're not a threat," Adele said quietly, though her voice carried the same steel edge it always did. "We mean no harm."

Titania's gaze swept back to Albion; her silver eyes gleaming with some knowledge he didn't yet understand. "No, but you carry something that could tip the balance of this world."

Albion's breath caught in his throat. Did she know? Could she feel the presence of Excalibur? He fought the urge to touch the runes that marked his arm. If the Fae knew what he carried, everything would change in an instant. The consequences of revealing the sword were too great.

Titania's wings fluttered softly, her presence growing larger as she stepped closer. "There is a sickness spreading through Avalon," she said, her voice as cold as a blade. "Something is draining the magic from the very roots of this land. The forest itself is dying, and the balance of magic is crumbling."

Winston shot a glance at Albion, both of them feeling the same chill. They had felt it—the darkness, the hunger. It seemed to be rotting the heart of Avalon from the inside out.

Albion's throat tightened. "I've felt it before," he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "A month ago, I was lost here. I was hunted by something that feeds on magic."

Adele turned to him; her eyes wide with surprise. "You never said anything."

Albion's mouth twisted into a grim line. "I didn't think it mattered. But it does now."

Titania's gaze sharpened, her eyes burning with an intensity that made Albion's skin prickle. "You know this creature. You know what hunts the forest."

Albion's pulse quickened, his chest tightening with the weight of the name. He had tried to forget it, tried to bury the memory of what had chased him for those five days, but the forest wouldn't let him forget. It had led him back.

"Her name is Eleven," Albion said, the words heavy on his tongue.

A ripple passed through the gathered Fae. Their faces darkened, their wings twitching as though the very mention of the name disturbed the air around them. Titania's expression hardened, her serene mask slipping just slightly.

Winston's grip on his katana tightened. His voice was thick with bitterness as he spoke the name again. "She was one of mine," Winston said, his voice rough, like he was chewing glass. "I trained her. I believed in her. And she turned into that."

Titania's sharp gaze flicked to Winston; her interest clearly piqued. "One of yours?"

Winston's face was hard, old memories clouding his eyes. "She was a member of the Vanguard, a student I trained. She was powerful—too powerful. Something twisted her. She discovered a way to share her immortality by binding others to her. She became a predator, feeding on magic, on life itself. And she's been hunting ever since."

Albion could feel the weight of those five days pressing down on him again. The way Eleven had toyed with him, stalked him through the forest, feeding on the magic that surrounded them. He had fought her, but she had been too fast, too strong, too… monstrous.

"She's not just feeding," Albion said, his voice low and grim. "She enjoys the hunt. She plays with her prey."

Titania's wings fluttered again, but this time, her calm facade cracked further. "She is more dangerous than you realize. Eleven is not just a rogue creature. She is part of a greater sickness— one that threatens the very balance of magic. If she is not stopped, Avalon will fall."

Adele's eyes narrowed with concern. "What's breaking the balance? What's causing all of this?"

Titania's gaze darkened, her eyes locking onto Albion with a dangerous intensity. "You already know the answer, even if you do not yet realize it."

Albion's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"

Titania took another step toward him, her voice colder, sharper than before. "The weapon you carry—Excalibur—is no ordinary sword. It is the Godkiller."

Albion's breath froze in his chest. "What?"

Titania's eyes burned with ancient anger. "Your mother, Elaine Pendragon, wielded Excalibur to kill Nimue, the goddess of magic. She tore apart the very fabric of this world, shattering the balance of power that once held Avalon together. That is why we call her Godkiller."

Albion staggered back, disbelief and confusion crashing over him like a wave. His mother? The woman who had abandoned him, the queen Avalon idolized, had killed a goddess?

"No," he whispered, shaking his head. "That can't be true. My mother wouldn't—"

A memory flared—his mother's laughter in the garden, the echo of her voice telling bedtime stories. It didn't match the woman Titania described. And that mismatch hurt more than the accusation.

"She did," Titania interrupted, her voice cold and unwavering. "And now, the sword you carry is tied to the fate of Avalon. It has the power to destroy, or to restore."

Albion's mind raced, his thoughts spinning out of control. Everything he had believed about his mother, about Excalibur, was unraveling before his eyes.

"I'm not her," Albion whispered, his voice shaking with the weight of the revelation. "I'm not my mother."

Titania's gaze remained cold, but there was something sharper in her expression now—something unforgiving. "No, Albion Pendragon, you are not her. But you carry her legacy, and the sword you bear holds the power to either doom Avalon or save it. The choice is no longer just yours—it belongs to all who still live in this dying land."

The weight of her words settled over Albion like a heavy cloak, suffocating. He could feel the forest around him closing in, pressing down, not out of malice but with the overwhelming truth that he had been avoiding for too long. Excalibur, the legendary sword, the weapon his mother had wielded, was the key to everything. The key to restoring balance—or destroying it completely. Adele stepped closer, her hand brushing lightly against his arm, pulling him back from the spiraling thoughts. "We'll figure this out," she said, her voice steady despite the storm brewing around them. "You don't have to carry this alone."

Winston, who had been standing quietly, his face a mask of old pain and bitterness, spoke then, his voice dark and quiet. "This isn't just about stopping Eleven anymore. This is about undoing what Elaine did. It's about fixing what was broken."

Titania's wings fluttered softly, the tension in the air thickening. "You may not be your mother, Albion, but the forest, the magic of Avalon, and the very balance of our world rests on your shoulders now. If Eleven is not stopped, if the imbalance continues to spread, all of Avalon will fall into chaos. The power of the Godkiller may be the only thing that can restore what was lost." She paused, "But such power does not come freely. The sword restores by taking. Avalon may survive—but something else must end."

Albion looked at his companions, at Winston and Adele, both of whom had followed him into the depths of this cursed land. Both of whom had trusted him to lead them through this, despite the growing storm of uncertainty surrounding them.

He felt the hum of Excalibur beneath his skin, the runes glowing faintly, reminding him that the choice was his. The power to save Avalon—or to damn it—was in his hands. But Albion wasn't sure if he was strong enough to make the right decision.

"I don't know if I can do this," Albion whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of doubt. "I don't even know what this sword is capable of."

Titania's eyes softened just slightly, a hint of understanding breaking through her cold demeanor. "The sword's power is tied to the wielder. What you choose to do with it will shape its legacy."

Albion swallowed, the reality of the situation settling deep within him. This wasn't just about him, or his mother, or even stopping Eleven. This was about the fate of Avalon, about the survival of everything they had fought to protect.

"We need to stop Eleven," Albion said finally, his voice firmer than before. "We need to stop her before she consumes everything."

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Titania nodded, though the coldness in her eyes remained. "The forest will guide you, as it has done before. But remember, Albion Pendragon—the path ahead is fraught with dangers you cannot yet foresee. The magic of Avalon is old, and it does not forgive easily."

With that, the Queen of the Seelie Court turned, her wings shimmering faintly as she faded back into the shadows, followed by the other Fae. The forest around them shifted once more, the trees seeming to relax their watchful stance, though the air remained thick with the weight of what had been said.

Albion stood in the clearing, his breath steadying, though the storm within him continued to rage.

"I'm not her," he whispered again, more to himself than to anyone else. But even as he said it, he couldn't help but wonder—was that enough? The forest didn't answer. It only breathed, as if cradling his confession in roots too old to judge.

The path before them stretched deeper into the heart of the Fae realm, guided by the forest's unseen will. The air hummed with magic, thick and heady, almost suffocating in its presence. Albion could feel it tingling against his skin, brushing through his hair like an invisible current. The silence wasn't just unsettling—it was absolute, broken only by the soft crunch of their boots on the mossy floor and the occasional rustle of a branch, too deliberate to be random.

Winston exhaled sharply; his grip tight on the hilt of his katana. "This place gives me the creeps," he muttered, eyes darting at every shadow. "I'd take a battlefield over this."

Adele, walking slightly ahead, kept her composure. "The Fae aren't trying to scare us, Winston.

They're trying to figure us out. We're outsiders in their domain."

Winston snorted. "Outsiders? I feel like we're rats in a maze."

Albion stayed quiet, but he knew Winston wasn't wrong. The forest's twists and turns didn't follow any logical path, and it wasn't just about navigation. It was a test—a test of their patience, their resolve, and their intentions. Titania hadn't said much, but her silence spoke volumes. The Fae didn't trust easily, especially mortals. And they definitely didn't trust Albion.

Ahead of them, the trees began to thin, and the faint glow of a small clearing came into view. As they stepped into the open space, Albion's breath caught in his throat.

The forest had led them to the aftermath of destruction.

Trees lay toppled over, their roots torn from the earth, and the ground was charred in patches as if a fire had raged through it. But there was something wrong—no, something missing. The magic. The hum of life that had been ever-present in the forest was absent here, leaving a gaping void where it should have thrived. The stillness felt suffocating, dead.

"This… is her work," Winston said, his voice tight with recognition, his hand clenched around his sword. "Cindy."

Albion's stomach turned at the name. Cindy—or as he knew her, Eleven. The predator that had hunted him, toyed with him, for five days through the same woods. She had fed on the forest's magic, draining it like some kind of parasite. And now, standing in the aftermath of her devastation, Albion felt a chill creeping up his spine.

Adele knelt beside one of the fallen trees, her fingertips brushing the scorched bark. "It's not just fire. This is deeper. She's draining the life out of the forest itself."

Winston nodded grimly. "That's how she works. She doesn't just take power—she takes everything. The life, the magic, the essence of the world around her."

Albion felt the weight of Winston's words settle over him like a heavy cloak. He remembered how close he'd come to death, how Eleven had fed off the fear and the exhaustion that had gnawed at him. She hadn't just wanted to kill him—she'd wanted to break him.

"We need to find her before she does more damage," Albion said, his voice hard with determination. "But where do we start? The forest is huge, and she could be anywhere."

Before anyone could respond, a soft rustling sound came from the trees, and out of the shadows stepped a figure—a new Fae, tall and lean, with dark hair flowing down his back and sharp, angular features that made him look both beautiful and dangerous at once. His silver eyes gleamed with the same light as Titania's, but there was something more playful in his gaze.

"Well, well," the Fae said, his voice smooth and lilting. "Looks like the forest has brought you to me."

Albion tensed, his hand hovering over the runes on his forearm, ready to summon Excalibur if needed. Adele rose to her feet, her eyes narrowing at the newcomer.

"Who are you?" she asked cautiously.

The Fae gave a small, mocking bow. "I'm Oberon, one of Titania's… advisors, let's say. She sent me to guide you. The Queen has her hands full with the Seelie Court at the moment."

Winston raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Guide us where? To more burned trees?"

Oberon's lips curled into a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Spirit walking," he said, as if the answer was obvious. "The forest is scarred, yes, but we need to see beyond that. You're not just here to fight, mortal. You're here to understand. And that requires a little more… finesse."

"She was a student of war—but now she walks toward something greater. Something older."

Albion exchanged a look with Adele. "Spirit walking?"

Oberon nodded; his silver eyes gleaming with amusement. "A way to see the forest as it truly is. Past, present, and future all intertwined. It's how we Fae walk between worlds. You need to understand what you're dealing with if you have any hope of defeating Eleven."

Albion's stomach tightened at the mention of her name, and Winston's face darkened. "You keep calling her Eleven. I called her Cindy. She was… one of mine. Before she went rogue."

Albion couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle, despite the heaviness in the air. "Cindy? That's the name she went with? For a monster like her?"

Winston shot him a sharp look, but Albion shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I'm just saying. She doesn't exactly scream 'Cindy.' I prefer Eleven. Sounds more… fitting for someone who tried to kill me."

Adele's lips twitched with a faint smile, and even Winston's hardened expression softened slightly. "Trust me," Winston muttered, "there was nothing innocent about Cindy, even back then."

Oberon, watching the exchange with mild amusement, gave a slight nod. "Nicknames don't matter in this forest, mortal. What she's become is far more important. And she's not just feeding on magic. She's hunting the Fae—draining them dry. The Queen wants her gone. If you succeed, there will be a reward."

Winston's lips twitched into a bitter smile. "A reward, huh? What does a Fae's reward look like? Magic beans?"

Oberon tilted his head, his amusement returning. "That depends. What do you desire?"

Before Winston could respond, Adele cut in, her voice firm. "We're not here for rewards. We're here because she's a threat to everything. Tell us what we need to do."

Oberon nodded, though the smile never left his face. "Follow me."

He turned, leading them deeper into the forest. Albion felt the shift in the air immediately, the trees around them no longer looming but rather… retreating, as though parting for them. The ground beneath their feet softened, and the faint hum of magic grew stronger, pulsing like a heartbeat.

"You'll need to open yourselves to the forest," Oberon explained as they walked. "To see what's hidden, to understand what was taken. It's not something most mortals can handle."

Albion frowned. "And what happens if we can't handle it?"

Oberon shrugged, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Then the forest takes you. Simple as that."

"Reassuring," Winston muttered under his breath.

They emerged into another clearing, but this one was different. It was smaller, more intimate, with a large stone in the center, covered in runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. The air here felt heavier, as though the magic itself was thick and tangible, wrapping around them like a blanket.

Oberon gestured to the stone. "This is where we begin. Spirit walking requires a connection—a bridge between the physical world and the spiritual one. The stone will anchor you. I'll guide you through it."

Albion stepped forward cautiously, his eyes on the runes. He could feel the pull of the magic, deep and ancient, but there was something else—something darker, lurking just beneath the surface.

"Is it dangerous?" Adele asked, her voice steady but cautious.

Oberon's grin widened. "Oh, absolutely."

Winston sighed, rolling his eyes. "Of course it is."

But Albion was already reaching out, his hand hovering just above the stone. The runes pulsed beneath his fingers, and the air around him seemed to hum with energy. A breeze curled around him, not wind—but memory. It smelled like lightning and lavender and blood. He took a deep breath, steeling himself.

"We have no choice," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "We need to know what we're up against."

With that, he placed his hand on the stone, and the world around him shifted.

The Spirit Walk was unlike anything Albion had ever experienced. One moment, he was standing in the clearing, the stone beneath his hand, and the next… he was floating. No, not floating— moving. The world blurred around him, colors and shapes twisting and warping as if time itself had come undone.

He could feel the presence of the forest all around him, its ancient magic thrumming in his veins. But there was more. He could see the past—the trees, once vibrant and alive, teeming with magic. And then… the devastation. The blackened ground, the charred trees, the void where life had once thrived. And in the center of it all, a figure.

Cindy.

She stood amidst the destruction, her dark hair flowing in the wind, her icy blue eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of a predator that had found its prey. The air around her seemed to ripple with darkness, bending the light, distorting the very essence of the forest. Albion watched her, or rather her spirit—an imprint of what she had become—and a chill ran down his spine.

"She's hunting," Albion whispered, his voice barely audible in the twisted reality of the Spirit Walk. "Just like before."

Winston, standing beside him in this strange, dreamlike space, glanced toward Cindy—no, Eleven— with a dark frown. "Hunting is what she lives for now. There's no humanity left in her."

Albion's lips twisted into a sardonic grin, trying to shake off the dread creeping up his spine. "Yeah, but Cindy? I still can't get over that name. I mean, she doesn't exactly look like someone who could babysit your kids."

Adele's lips twitched again in faint amusement as she stood on Albion's other side, her focus sharp despite his humor. "Well, Eleven certainly sounds more… fitting, considering what she's become."

Winston's brow furrowed, the weight of his past with her still pressing on him. "Doesn't matter what you call her. She's a monster now. The Cindy I knew is long gone."

Albion felt a pang of sympathy for Winston. He knew what it was like to have people change into something unrecognizable—both enemies and allies. But right now, the only thing that mattered was stopping her.

"Where is this place?" Adele's voice pulled him from his thoughts. She gestured to the swirling colors around them, her eyes narrowing as she examined the distorted landscape. "This isn't just the forest, is it?"

"No," Oberon's voice came from behind them, distant yet clear, like an echo. "You are seeing what the forest has seen, the way it remembers. Time—all wound together."

Albion blinked, trying to make sense of it. The forest had memories, memories they were walking through, like stepping into a tapestry of time itself.

"And this," Oberon continued, his voice laced with tension, "is what Eleven has done. The forest is bleeding—dying—and she is at the heart of it."

The image of Cindy—Eleven—seemed to flicker, twisting and distorting in front of them. Albion could feel her hunger, the insatiable thirst for power, magic, and life. It made his stomach churn. The forest, once a place of vibrant energy and life, had been turned into her personal hunting ground.

"She's more than just a rogue immortal," Albion said, his voice low as he pieced together the puzzle. "She's feeding on this place—on its magic. That's why she hasn't left."

Winston nodded grimly. "That's exactly what she does. Drains everything around her, like a parasite. She's not just killing to sustain herself anymore—she's consuming everything in her path. It's the only way she can stay strong enough to keep her cursed immortality intact."

Adele knelt beside the twisted vision of the forest, her hands hovering over the blackened earth, her brow furrowed in concentration. "There's more to it," she murmured. "She's not just killing the forest. She's unraveling the magic that holds it together. The balance here is collapsing."

Albion stepped closer to Adele, watching the ground beneath her hand warp and shift. "Why would she do that? What's her endgame?"

Winston's gaze darkened. "She's like a cancer. The longer she stays, the more she corrupts. She's always been obsessed with power, even before… before everything went wrong. Now, there's no end to it."

The image of Eleven flickered again, and Albion's heart skipped a beat as her head turned toward them, her eyes locking onto his. It wasn't real—just a memory, just the echo of what had happened here—but the intensity of her gaze pierced through him like a knife.

"We need to stop her," Albion said, his voice firm. "Before she does any more damage."

Oberon's voice cut through the swirling landscape once more, a note of urgency beneath his usual amusement. "The Spirit Walk has shown you the damage, but it's only the beginning. Eleven is still out there, and she's growing stronger by the day."

Albion's hand hovering above the runes of Excalibur, the runes beneath his skin pulsing with a faint, familiar warmth. "Where do we find her?"

Oberon's voice was grim now, all traces of humor gone. "The forest will show you the way. But be warned—she will know you're coming. She can feel the magic within you, Pendragon. And she'll be ready."

Albion's jaw tightened. "Let her be ready. I've survived her before. I'll do it again."

As the Spirit Walk began to fade, the distorted vision of the forest dissolving into darkness, Albion felt a sudden weight in his chest—a sense of foreboding that clung to him even as the real world began to sharpen into focus once more.

When his vision cleared, they were back in the clearing with the stone, the air thick with tension. Oberon stood nearby, his expression unreadable, while the forest hummed around them, more alive and more dangerous than before.

"The Spirit Walk has shown you enough," Oberon said, his voice low. "Titania will want to know what you've seen."

Albion nodded, but his mind was already racing ahead. Eleven—Cindy—wasn't just a rogue immortal. She was something far worse. And if they didn't stop her soon, the entire forest—and possibly Avalon itself—could fall into her grasp.

"We'll go back to Titania afterwards," Adele said, her voice firm. "But we need to be prepared. She's not going to be easy to stop."

Albion cracked a wry smile. "She wasn't easy the first time, either. But at least now, I'm not facing her alone."

Winston gave him a sharp look. "Let's hope it's enough."

As they turned to follow the path back through the forest, Albion's mind churned with the possibilities. Eleven was out there, hunting, growing stronger. But they had seen what she was capable of, and now they knew what they were up against.

Still, one question lingered in the back of his mind, a shadow that refused to leave.

Why?

Why had Cindy—Eleven—become this? What had pushed her from a student, one of Winston's own, to this twisted, immortal predator, feeding off the very life force of the world? And, more importantly, how were they going to stop her before it was too late?

The forest, ever watchful, seemed to hum in answer, its branches bending toward them like silent sentinels. The Spirit Walk had given them a glimpse, but now the real hunt began.

As they walked, Albion couldn't resist one last quip, trying to ease the tension, if only slightly.

"So… Cindy, huh?" He smirked at Winston. "I'm just saying, she doesn't exactly scream 'Cindy.'

You sure you didn't mishear that back in the day?"

Winston rolled his eyes, but a faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Trust me, I didn't mishear. But I agree—Eleven suits her a lot better now."

Adele chuckled softly. "I think we'll stick with Eleven."

Albion grinned, but the weight of the coming battle pressed down on him, heavier than ever.

Eleven was waiting for them. And this time, there was no running.