THE SOCCERESS'S REJECTED MATE

CHAPTER 3: THE HIDDEN PATH

The moonlight appeared to fade as they moved further into the woods. The heaviness of the Black pine wrapped around them, made even the smallest sounds amplified, every crunch of a twig beneath their feet, every rustle of leaves in the distance. The air thrummed with ancient dark magic, the sort of dark magic that would swallow you whole if you stopped.

Arthur was beside her always, a steady pulse in the silence, his muscles coiled and wild, even as he visibly fatigued. Hazel couldn’t help but suspect that he was more than just a wounded rogue prince. Like one other thing about him, something that flickered her, that flickering way his golden eyes seemed to flick to her, the heaviness of his gaze always one step ahead of her mind.

“Do you know where you’re going?” She said in a low voice that sliced through the silence like a knife.

Arthur didn't immediately glance her way, but his lips twisted up into that infuriating sort of half-smile.

“Sure, I do. The river may have nearly killed us, but it’s leading us precisely where we need to go.”

Hazel squinted at the back of his head, unconvinced.

"And where’s that?"

Arthur slowed his steps, deliberate, scanning the trees.

“No one else knows about this way.”

“Sure,” Hazel said, stepping over a root.

"How convenient."

He turned to look at her, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You can walk yourself if you’d prefer.”

The prospect of losing the intimacy between them made a growl rumble in her chest, but it felt arrogant, even if it was his offer to abandon her or the fact that she had never known how to cross this forest without him by her side.

“Fine,” she bit out.

“Lead the Way.”

Twisted trees surrounded them on all sides, and they didn't speak under the oppressive atmosphere that engulfed them all.

She felt the strain in her limbs, the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm her, and fought it off, pushing through the fear and the fatigue with the same quiet rage that had kept her alive for years in fight after fight.

But Arthur meanwhile appeared to be untroubled by the rigours of the trip. Now and then, Hazel would glimpse him out there, his profile etched against the shadowed trees, the set of his jaw hard with concentration. He was not merely running, he was waiting for something.

They kept going deeper, the world recording them to shadows, the stifling silence of the forest squeezing tighter with each step.

Then, just as Hazel was about to run out of patience, Arthur halted.

Hazel almost ran into him, her chest hitting his back.

He raised a hand, motioning for her to be quiet.

An invisible warning thickened the air between them.

She could sense it too now, the change in the energy around them. The forest felt… wrong.

Arthur’s voice was hardly above a whisper. “Stay close. From here on, the path gets treacherous.”

Her throat tightened with horror. "Dangerous how?"

Arthur blinked as the half-light glinted off his eyes.

“There’s a reason no one’s supposed to walk this deep.”

He turned to look over his shoulder, hoping to see any sign of movement.

As she trailed after him down a narrow track that didn’t look wide enough to contain them all, Hazel’s hand went instinctively to her dagger. The trees leaned in, gnarled limbs curling like bony fingers, casting darkness down onto the little moonlight above.

The path steepened, the air chilled.

“Almost there,” muttered Arthur, his voice no longer at his usual melodic lilt, strained now, as if it was costing him more of his own then he was willing to account to the journey.

They turned a bend in the path, and there loomed a wall of brambles and dense undergrowth, the ground underfoot soft and spongy now.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial, the light reflected in low in the darkness.

“What’s that?” Hazel asked, narrowing her eyes.

“A key,” he said mysteriously, pulling the cork from the vial.

He threw the liquid on the brambles and for a moment nothing happened. And then the plants began to wrench, twisting and turning as though alive, parting to reveal an opening that had been shadowed deep within the woods.

Hazel’s eyes went wide when they walked through the veil of writhing vines. The other side was silence, the air thick with eerie stillness.

“What is this place?” she said, her voice low.

Arthur hesitated for a moment before answering. Instead, he guided her on, further into the sunless landscape.

Hazel felt an awful sinking feeling in her gut. There was something primal here, something off. Even the ground seemed to thrum under her boots, a living thing, giving her eyes sense of life, vigil, patience.

“This is where it all comes from,” Arthur said, his voice now lower.

“Where the first war began. Where the witches and wolves made blood magic.”

Hazel’s gaze flickered to him, suspicion curling in her ribs.

“You’re talking about history… or are you talking about your history?”

Arthur’s demeanor hardened, but what lay behind his eyes was a flicker of something that spoke to something he didn’t want to reveal but couldn’t hide.

“Same thing.”

They walked on and with every step, Hazel's unease grew with every stepl. The further in they went the more the forest closed around them.

They climbed the winding path themselves, and soon they crested a ridge into a clearing with a few old stone ruins that had fallen to ruins itself and were half buried in moss.

Arthur stopped at the edge of the clearing, gazing at the ruins.

“Here,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“This is where the truth is buried.”

Hazel’s pulse quickened. Arthur Kellan was more than she had ever given him credit for, more than the cocky exterior and the injured pride she’d assumed had made him the man he was.

And, wheather she likes it or not, Hazel was about to discover just what that was.

She took a deep breath and stepped after him into the ruins, the darkness closing around both of them.

***

As they walked into the ruins, the air shifted again and became denser, colder. The stones beneath their feet glistened with moss, and the vivid fragments of ancient carving clung in the walls, their meanings buried under the weight of time.

But even in the decay, there was an undeniable energy here, an ancient power that vibrated down through the very foundations of the locale, as though the ruins themselves were living, watching, and remembering.

Arthur led them out into the center of the clearing, where a great stone altar sat, its surface cracked but imposing. The stones that stood around it were weathered from centuries of usage, each one bearing witness to the dark rituals that had occurred there.

Hazel squinted at the altar as she surveyed the area. The edges of the parchment glowed faintly, and she could feel magic thrumming in the air.

“This is where it started,” Arthur said again, his voice low there, almost reverent. He approached the altar, his hand hovering over its surface as if weighing something, then gently lowered to rest on the stone.

“Where what began?" Hazel’s voice was tight, her instincts were screaming that this was no normal place, no normal magic.

Arthur glanced back at her, his eyes glowing in the dimness, though there was a fresh ferocity in them.

"The pact,” he said simply.

“The connection between witches and werewolves. The reason we're here. That's why everything went to hell.”

Hazel’s heart skipped a beat. This was something more than a location in history, it was a portal to the past, to everything that had pushed the war between their peoples to the breaking point.

“Do you think this is going to explain everything?” she said, arms crossed, her eyes squinting.

“You really think this is going to tell us who started the war? Who betrayed us?"

Arthur met her gaze head-on. “No,” he said, something darker flickering in his eyes.

“It will tell you the truth, Hazel. The truth about me."

She froze. "You?" her heart racing in her chest, she repeated.

"What does that mean?"

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers traced the edge of the alter, and Hazel glanced, awed, at the stone below his hands, a soft blue light spreading from his fingertips, fading a rotten-toothed border around the temple.

“It means that the truth of my past has something to do with this place. To the pact. And to the lineage of both our peoples.”

A shiver ran down Hazel's spine. “Didn’t catch that, Arthur. What did you say?”

For the first time since they had met, he looked vulnerable. His mask split, just a little.

“I’m not just a rogue prince. I’m the final remnants of the Kellan bloodline. I’m bound to both the witches and the wolves.”

“Our pact with each other goes deeper than people realize.”

The weight of his words hung on her like a storm. Hazel was about to speak, but no words came. The quietness between them spread, dense with all that wasn’t said.

Arthur recoiled from the altar, his expression torn.

“I was never meant to be born. But now, I’m the only one remaining who can put a stop to this war.”

Hazel’s mind worked to unravel the meaning of his words.

“Wait,” she said, finally regaining her voice.

“You’re saying you’re the secret to ending the war between us? You’re the bridge?"

Arthur nodded slowly, his eyes very far away.

"In a way. But I’ve been running from it my whole life. Running from what I am. From what I’ve become."

Hazel’s heart clenched. Even after everything, the danger, the secrecy… she could see how heavy his struggle was. The battle he waged inside himself.

But sympathy had to wait, there was no time for that. Not here. Not now.

“Then stop running,” Hazel said, firm and low.

“If you want to end this, if you want to fix everything, stop hiding.”

“You’ve got to confront what you are.”

Arthur’s golden gaze held hers, and something flickered in it, raw and dazzlingly dangerous.

“And if I can’t?”

Hazel stepped forward so that there was no space between them.

“Then you’ll doom us all.”

He looked at her for a long, breathless moment, her words huddled in the air between them like a challenge. Then finally… he nodded, so slightly, the tension in his shoulders relaxing just a little.

“Okay,” he said, his voice steadier.

“No more running.”

But as they stood there, the wind changed. They felt the ground, its crust, and tremor press down beneath their feet, the darkness in the edges of the forest overwhelming the light.

Hazel didn’t register the warning, she wanted to move, but she didn’t have time before a hissing sound, sharp and jagged, sliced through the air.

Figures began to emerge from the shadows. Wrapped in shadowed robes, their eyes glowing with a strange illumination. They crept as quietly as nightmares, their weight heavier than the steamy black woods coaxing their passage.

Hazel's heart raced. The witches.

Arthur moved in front of her, positioning himself as a wall, his hand riffling for the blade beneath the coat.

“Stay behind me,” he commanded, low but powerful.

Hazel didn’t move. “You think they’re here for you?”

Arthur’s jaw tightened. “They are here for both of us.”

One, the lead witch, stepped forward, her face concealed behind a hood, lips pressed together, but her voice was still loud enough.

“The bloodline should always be sealed,” she said, her tone dark, foreboding.

“You have broken the pact, Arthur Kellan.”

Arthur glared, and his posture shifted into a defensive pose.

“I didn't break it. I’m trying to fix it.”

The witch smiled cruelly, twisting her lips.

“It’s too late for that.”

And in an instant, the air about them felt electric… dark, magic, concentrated, squeezing against her on all sides. The battle had begun.

***

The witches surrounded them, gliding in and out of the shadows like specters. The leader's words hung in the air, heavy with power, as if the forest itself had hushed in waiting.

Arthur gripped the hilt of his blade, the metal glinting in the pale light. Hazel’s hand went to her dagger, but she didn’t pull it yet. Every sense alive in her, she knew this moment would determine all.

“You don’t understand,” Arthur said, his tone strained but even.

“The pact is broken, yes. But it wasn’t by my hand. It was by hers.”

Her eyes narrowed, the magic swirling around her like a vortex, but the lead tilted her head, her eyes narrowing,theagic swirling around her.

“And who do you think is going to believe that, rogue prince? The agreement was broken as you took your first breath.”

“I don’t care what you believe,” Arthur replied, his eyes flashing.

“I’m here to fix it. To end the war that you and your kind have stoked for centuries.”

Hazel lingered around him, taking in his words with gravity, that this particular battle was as much for his own redemption as it was for bringing an end to the war itself. The tension crackled, heavy with unspoken truths. Arthur’s history, his background, the pact… it was all coming to a c****x.

The witch’s cruel smile remained unchanged.

“You believe you can soothe centuries of bloodshed with a few words? You’re more naive than I realized. The bloodline cannot be opened. Your existence itself is an abomination.”

Arthur burned with fury in his own eyes. “I’m no abomination. I’m the only way to save you from destroying everything.”

Hazel moved closer, her voice breaking through the charged atmosphere.

“Arthur’s right. You have allowed your appetite for power to distort reality. This war will not end with casualties — it will end when we #endthecause.”

The lead witch’s eyes flicked to her, a flicker of disdain lighting her gaze.

“You think you can stand in our way, witch? Your own kind will never support you.”

Hazel gripped her dagger tighter. “Maybe not. But I’ll stand with him.”

Suddenly, just then, as if the witches had conjured something far darker from deep within the grasp of the forest held tight around that clearing, a dark energy swept through the clearing, and then it happened. The ground shook under their feet and power tingled in the air, as if the world around them was fraying at the seams.

Then the witches charged, in a blur of motion.

Arthur was quicker, his sword arcing through the air cleanly. The first witch fell, her blood soaking the ground beneath, but there would be more. They closed in with horrifying speed, their cloaks slashing out like wings of shadow.

Hazel jumped into action, her dagger glinting in the moonlight. She worked with practiced nonchalance, her blows precise and lethal. But for every witch she killed, there appeared to be ten more, and they were never ending.

He was a killing machine, his eyes glowed with fierce emergy as he tore through the witches, his movements, wicked. Yet even with their combined strength, they were surrounded on all sides by more witches. Yet despite their combined strength, the witches still showed no sign of withdrawing. If anything, the air grew heavier, the magic more stronger with every passing second.

Then came the lead witch's voice “You cannot stop the inevitable, Arthur Kellan. You cannot undo what has already been done.”

Arthur’s expression clouded. His anger and shame mingled in equal parts.

“Try me.”

As he pressed forward, his blade sliced through the air with deadly accuracy. He could smell the witches then, each one of them, showing not one hint that they were feeling any less dangerous than before.

The ring of combat was in Hazel’s ears, it crackled through the air and was tangibly present on her skin. Her forehead glistened with sweat, and there was a raw, primal feeling that, she must survive.

Hazel sensed for herself the tide shifting, and she wasn’t about to lose. Not when their goal was so close.

The witch lifted her hand, and an overwhelming gust of dark magic rushed forward. So intense that it felt powerful, as if the air itself were distorting and being torn at the same moment.

“Arthur!” cried Hazel, taking a step to his direction, but already he was moving ahead to meet this new challenge.

He had a force in his eyes now that refused to be dispelled. With a shout, Arthur swung his blade, and the dark wave of magic ran into the sheer force his blow had imparted to it.

The two forces clashed, sending a shockwave through the clearing, shaking the very ground beneath their feet.

The lead witch wavered for a moment, and her concentration was broken. That was all Arthur needed. He attacked, and his blade slipped through the witch’s protection.

She was gasping, her hands raised fruitlessly to try to ward it off, but too late. With a sharp, decisive thrust, Arthur drove his blade into her heart.

Her body falling to the ground, the witch crumpled into a cloud of dark smoke, leaving only a faint trace of magic that slowly vanished.

Silence fell for a moment.

Then in a flash, there were only the remaining witches, angrier than ever. More furious than before, with each passing moment the combat grew hotter.

Hazel fought with all of her heart, every movement driven by a sense of urgency to protect someone who might end the war. But it was also deeply personal. Moral decisions were being made, and in the face of his past, she stood with him as he fought for a better future.

Arthur's beautiful golden eyes met hers across the battlefield. For a moment everything disappeared. Now she was no longer fighting for the end of war, but fighting for him.

The air was crackling with magic once more, a rising wave of energy that threatened to rip the forest apart.

"This is it," Arthur yelled. His voice was the only thing that cut through the chaos.

"If we don't kill them now, they'll never die."

Hazel didn't hesitate. She stepped forward, the air filled with untamed energy as her magic roared into life.

Together they would end it. Together they would put the witches to rout.

And perhaps, just perhaps, they could restore what had been neglected to once again