Lysandra didn't faint.
She didn't scream.
She didn't move.
She simply stayed on her knees beneath the silent archway—
the Veil's silver glow fading from her skin,
leaving behind a cold, trembling hollow inside her chest.
Two bonds.
Two souls.
One heart.
It felt like the moon had cracked her open and poured fate into her veins without asking permission.
Evander knelt in front of her first, his breath shaking.
"Lysandra…" he whispered.
His hand hovered near her cheek—
not touching—
as if he feared she might shatter.
The Heir stood behind her, silent, still.
Unusually still.
He looked like a statue carved from shadow—
but his violet eyes were burning.
Burning too intensely.
Too possessively.
Too sharply.
As if the Veil had confirmed something he had always known.
The High Priestess stepped forward cautiously, her robes whispering across the floor.
"Child… breathe."
Lysandra tried.
Her chest refused.
A sob caught in her throat.
"What am I supposed to do?" she whispered, voice shaking violently.
"How am I bonded to both of them? How do I— how do I choose?"
The Priestess shook her head slowly.
"This is not a choice.
This is a prophecy.
You were destined long before you drew your first breath."
Lysandra closed her eyes.
Her wolf whimpered painfully.
Two mates.
Two bonds.
We cannot survive this.
We cannot hold both.
Evander finally reached out and cupped her cheek gently.
"Hey," he whispered.
"You don't have to do anything right now. You don't have to choose.
We'll figure something out."
His touch steadied her wolf.
Her heart.
Her breath.
The Heir watched that—
his jaw tightening.
His shadows rippling at his feet.
He stepped closer.
"Do not make promises you can't keep, mortal."
Evander looked up, frowning.
"She's overwhelmed. She doesn't need your—"
"What she needs," the Heir cut in sharply,
"is truth."
Lysandra flinched.
Evander shielded her.
The Heir's voice softened just slightly—
just for her.
"Two bonds are not a blessing," he said.
"They are a burden.
Your soul will be pulled in opposite directions."
"I didn't ask for this," Lysandra whispered.
The Heir crouched behind her, his voice low, dangerous, intimate.
"No one asks for destiny.
We live it.
Or die fighting it."
Evander stiffened.
"She doesn't belong to you."
The Heir's eyes darkened.
"Fate disagrees."
Evander's hands clenched into fists.
"Well she chose me."
"She chose survival," the Heir corrected softly.
"She chose the bond that rose during pain.
Mine was forged before she was born."
Lysandra's heart twisted.
"No…" she whispered.
"No, you can't both be bonded to me— I can't— I don't want—"
Evander took her trembling hands.
"Lysandra, look at me."
She did.
His voice was soft, fragile.
"I don't care what fate says.
I care about you.
And I'm not letting anyone—moon, prophecy, or shadow—take you from me."
Her breath caught.
Her wolf exhaled, calming slightly.
The Heir's jaw ticked.
He stepped closer, his presence heavy and magnetic.
"And I," he said quietly,
"am not walking away simply because you fear what you feel."
Lysandra froze.
"What I feel?"
The Heir leaned down beside her, whispering:
"You think I don't sense it?"
His breath brushed her ear.
Her skin shivered.
"That your power rises when I'm near?
That your wolf watches me even when you deny it?"
Lysandra's cheeks flushed.
"That's not— I don't—"
Evander pulled her closer to him protectively.
"She said she doesn't want you."
The Heir tilted his head.
"Her heart says one thing," he murmured,
"but her magic says another."
Lysandra shook her head—
but the Priestess spoke before she could deny it.
"He is correct."
Lysandra flinched.
The Priestess's voice was gentle but unyielding.
"You are tied to both.
Light and shadow.
Human and heir."
She approached Lysandra and knelt directly in front of her.
"Child… fate does not care for comfort.
It cares for balance."
Lysandra swallowed.
"I don't want two bonds."
"I know."
"I don't want destiny to pick my future."
"I know."
"I just want—"
she looked helplessly between Evander and the Heir,
"—to be free."
The Priestess sighed.
"Freedom will come.
But not yet.
Not until your bonds settle."
"What does that mean?" Evander asked anxiously.
The Priestess stood slowly.
"It means the moon must test both bonds."
The room fell silent.
Lysandra's stomach dropped.
Evander's breath hitched.
The Heir straightened sharply.
The Priestess raised a hand.
"The mortal bond must be proven.
The shadow bond must be understood."
"And if they fail?" Lysandra whispered.
The Priestess closed her eyes.
"Then one bond will break."
Evander tensed.
Lysandra felt tears burn behind her eyes.
"What happens when a bond breaks?" she whispered.
The Priestess didn't sugarcoat it.
"A broken bond shatters the soul."
Evander inhaled sharply.
The Heir went still.
Lysandra shook her head violently.
"No.
No.
No, I'm not letting either of them be hurt because of ME."
Evander grabbed her hands again.
"You're not hurting me."
"Yes, I am!" Lysandra sobbed.
"If you're bonded to me and it breaks— you'll— you could—"
"I don't care," Evander whispered fiercely.
"I'm not leaving you."
The Heir stepped closer, voice low.
"Do you think I will back away and let fate decide?
No."
He looked at her.
"Shadow does not surrender."
Lysandra felt torn apart.
Evander on her right, warm, steady, human.
The Heir on her left, dark, magnetic, inevitable.
And she—
—caught between two destinies she never asked for.
The Priestess stepped back and lifted her staff.
"Prepare yourselves."
The air crackled.
"The moon casts its first trial tonight."
Evander stiffened.
The Heir's eyes gleamed.
Lysandra whispered:
"What… trial?"
The Priestess whispered back:
"The Trial of Truth."
The temple doors blew open—
moonlight flooding in like a tidal wave.
"Each bond will reveal its deepest truth," the Priestess said.
"No lies.
No masks.
No illusions."
Lysandra's heart pounded.
Evander grabbed her hand.
The Heir stepped to her other side.
The Priestess's voice echoed:
"Let the trial begin."