The world dissolved into blinding white—
Not warm white.
Not gentle white.
A cold, merciless, ancient white
that held no emotion
and offered no comfort.
Lysandra stumbled forward as the ground beneath her feet shifted from solid stone to glowing moon-dust.
She tried to turn back—
"Evander?!"
"Shadow!"
—but the door behind her sealed instantly, vanishing into nothingness.
She stood alone.
Completely alone.
Her wolf paced inside her chest, restless and trembling.
This is wrong.
This is not our place.
Where are our bonds?
The Chamber of Echoes stretched endlessly—
a vast emptiness of white where even her breath made no sound.
No shadows.
No wind.
No scent.
Not even the hum of magic.
Just… nothing.
Until the moon spoke.
A voice—
not spoken aloud,
but spoken inside her bones.
"Lysandra Moonblood."
She flinched.
The voice echoed through her entire being.
"You carry two bonds.
One of choice.
One of destiny."
Lysandra placed a shaking hand on her chest.
"I didn't ask for either of them," she whispered.
"The heart does not ask.
It feels."
She swallowed.
"What are you going to do to me?"
The moon's voice softened.
"Show you the truth.
The truth of what each bond means."
The ground beneath her split—
A perfect line shooting outward in two directions, forming two paths:
One glowing gold.
One glowing black.
Her heart lurched painfully.
Evander.
And the Heir.
The moon whispered:
"Walk the first path."
Lysandra closed her eyes.
"Which one?"
"The one your soul fears losing most."
Her breath caught.
Her wolf pressed against her ribs.
Go right.
Go to the golden path.
Go to the storm-hearted boy.
Lysandra stepped onto the gold.
The world shifted—
and her breath slammed out of her chest.
The Path of the Mortal: Evander's Truth
The white void melted into a memory she didn't recognize.
A young boy—
ten years old—
sat alone in a dark room, hugging his knees.
Evander.
His hair was longer, messier.
His knees were bruised.
His small frame shivered.
Lysandra gasped.
"What— what is this? Evander—?"
The moon whispered:
"His truth.
The part of him he hides."
Lysandra stepped closer.
Evander flinched.
He couldn't see her.
He couldn't hear her.
He was trapped in his own memory.
A door slammed open.
A deep male voice thundered:
"You're useless!"
Young Evander curled tighter, swallowing his sobs.
Lysandra's hands shook with fury.
"NO—don't speak to him like that—"
She tried to grab Evander—
tried to shield him—
but her fingers passed right through.
The moon murmured:
"You cannot protect him from his past."
The voice roared again.
"You can't do anything correctly.
You can't fight.
You can't hunt.
You can't even SHOOT."
Young Evander whimpered.
"I—I tried… I really tried—"
The man snapped:
"You'll never be worth anything."
Lysandra's heart shattered.
Tears filled her eyes.
"No. No, that's not true— you're worth everything—"
But the memory ignored her.
The older man ripped a wooden bow from the boy's hands and snapped it in half.
Evander sobbed silently.
Lysandra sank to her knees beside him, useless, trembling.
The moon whispered:
"His fear is not losing you."
Lysandra wiped her tears.
"Then what does he fear?"
"That he is not enough for you."
Her breath stopped.
Lysandra clutched her chest.
"He's more than enough— more than—"
The moon's voice deepened.
"You must understand his truth.
His love for you is not born from strength.
But from fear…
that he will never measure up to the power around you."
The memory shifted.
Evander stood older now—
the man in the forest the night she collapsed.
He knelt at her side, shaking.
"Please wake up," he whispered.
"I don't care what you are.
Just… don't leave me alone."
Lysandra choked.
"I'm here," she whispered. "I'm here, Evander, I'm right here—"
But he couldn't hear.
The moon said:
"His bond with you is fragile…
because he fears you will outgrow him."
Lysandra clenched her fists.
"No. I won't. I won't leave him."
"The bond must be tested."
The world collapsed.
The gold path crumbled under her feet.
Lysandra fell—
straight into the black path.
The Path of Shadow: The Heir's Truth
The new world formed around her—
cold.
Dark.
Silver-blue shadows flickering like living scars.
The Heir stood at the edge of a cliff—
younger than she'd ever seen him.
Barely fifteen.
Eyes hollow.
Skin pale.
Shadows coiling around him like chains.
Below him stretched an endless abyss.
The moon whispered:
"His truth is pain."
Lysandra took a shaky step forward.
"You were alone," she whispered.
The young Heir didn't react.
He stared at the abyss numbly.
A harsh voice echoed behind him—
not his own:
"You were born of shadow.
You were born to break.
That is all you are."
Lysandra's breath caught.
The voice belonged to a tall figure made of darkness—
a man-shaped mass of smoke and shadow.
Shadow King.
The Heir's father.
Lysandra instinctively rushed toward young Heir.
"You don't have to listen to him— you don't—"
But she couldn't touch him.
Just like she couldn't touch Evander's past.
Her wolf paced painfully.
He was a child.
A child with no one.
The Shadow King hissed:
"You will never love.
Never be loved.
Shadow cannot hold love.
It destroys what it touches."
The young Heir swallowed hard—
and stepped closer to the cliff.
Lysandra screamed.
"STOP! PLEASE—STOP—DON'T—"
He didn't hear her.
The moon whispered:
"His bond with you is born of destiny…
but haunted by fear."
"Fear?" Lysandra whispered.
"Fear that he will ruin you."
Her throat tightened.
The memory shifted—
and she saw the first time the Heir saw her.
Not in Luneville.
Before that.
When she was a child—
barely four—
sitting under the moon with her mother.
Lysandra choked.
"You… you saw me?"
The Heir had been hiding in the shadows—
eyes wide, breath still, staring at the moon's child.
The moon whispered:
"He found hope… for the first time."
Lysandra's heart twisted painfully.
"Hope?"
"That he was not meant to be alone."
The memory dissolved.
A final image flashed—
The Heir's present-day face, filled with jealousy, pain, and longing as Evander held her.
And the moon whispered:
"His love is not gentle.
It is not safe.
But it is real."
The world shattered—
and Lysandra fell to her knees
as both paths merged into blinding white.
Her voice came out a broken whisper.
"I can't choose.
I can't."
But the moon murmured:
"The trial is not about choosing.
It is about understanding."
Lysandra trembled violently.
"What comes next?"
The moon's voice deepened.
"The Trial of Pain."
Lysandra's wolf snarled.
"What pain—?"
"The pain of losing one."
The chamber split open.
Two doors formed.
One glowing gold.
One glowing black.
Evander behind one.
The Heir behind the other.
The moon whispered:
"One will scream your name.
One will not."
Lysandra felt her soul split.
"NO!"
"You must decide which cry your wolf answers…
and which it ignores."
The doors cracked open.
A voice from the gold door cried out in agony—
"LYSANDRA!"
Evander.
And from the black door—
silence.
Heavy.
Betraying.
Deadly.
The moon whispered:
"Choose."
Lysandra's wolf roared—
but her heart…
her heart broke.