For a heartbeat after her words,
the entire universe forgot how to breathe.
"I choose both of you."
The sentence hung in the air like a blade caught mid-fall—
glinting, impossible, defiant.
Evander's hand froze halfway toward her.
The Shadow Heir's fingers stilled around a curl of shadow reaching out.
The Moon Temple, the Chamber, the Veil—
everything flickered, like the world itself didn't know whether to accept or reject what she'd just done.
Then the sky cracked.
Not literally.
But that's how it felt.
Moonlight flashed overhead, so bright it turned everything white again.
A low, ancient sound rolled beneath their feet—
not thunder, not an earthquake.
Judgment.
Lysandra's heart pounded, but she didn't take the words back.
Her wolf pressed against her ribs, fierce and steady.
We said it.
We meant it.
We are done letting destiny choose for us.
Evander was the first to move.
"Lysandra…?" he whispered, voice raw.
There was hope in it.
And fear.
Always fear.
He took a step toward her. His fingers trembled.
"Did you… mean that? You… chose both of us?"
Her throat tightened.
She looked at him—
at the storm-grey eyes that had found her in a cursed forest,
at the human boy who ran toward danger just to check if she was okay.
"Yes," she whispered.
"I meant it."
He swallowed hard.
"I don't… understand how that even works."
Before she could answer, the Shadow Heir spoke.
He didn't shout.
He didn't smirk.
He didn't mock.
He said her name like it hurt:
"Lysandra."
She turned.
His violet eyes were burning.
"You don't know what you just did."
She lifted her chin.
"I rewrote the prophecy," she said quietly.
"I chose a fourth path."
The Heir laughed once—
a hollow, stunned, disbelieving sound.
"Of course you did."
The chamber around them shuddered again.
This time, they weren't alone.
The white void peeled away, like curtains pulled from a stage.
Stone formed beneath their feet.
Silver pillars rose.
Runes flickered back into existence.
They were standing once more in the great hall before the High Priestess.
The Guardians shielded their faces from the fading light; some fell to their knees.
One of the younger ones whispered:
"She— she defied the Veil—"
"She broke the prophecy—"
"The moon will destroy her—"
But the moon did not strike.
Not yet.
The High Priestess stood in the center of the hall, robes stirring in wind that wasn't there.
Her eyes glowed pure white—that same merciless chamber-light.
She looked older than before.
Heavier.
Like the weight of centuries had just been dumped back onto her shoulders.
Slowly, she lifted her staff.
"Lysandra Moonblood."
Lysandra's spine straightened instinctively.
Evander moved closer beside her.
The Heir took one step to her other side.
Her bonds flared.
She could feel them both now—
Evander's presence, soft and warm at the edge of her magic,
and the Heir's aura, sharp and cold and familiar, coiled like a serpent around her power.
The Priestess regarded the three of them.
"What have you done, child?" she asked.
Her voice wasn't cruel.
It was tired.
Lysandra swallowed.
"What I had to," she said softly.
"I will not kill one bond to save the other.
I will not let either of them shatter because of me."
The Priestess closed her eyes briefly, as if bracing herself.
"Do you have any idea what it means to hold two blessed bonds?"
Lysandra hesitated.
"My life… won't fully belong to either path."
"Wrong," the Priestess murmured.
"Your life will belong to both."
Lysandra flinched.
Maybe she had known that. Deep down.
But hearing it out loud made it sink into her bones.
Evander's fingers brushed her hand, tentative.
"What does that mean… exactly?" he asked.
The Priestess opened her eyes again.
"The mortal speaks," she said quietly. "Good. You must understand as well."
Her gaze softened—just a little—on him.
"You are no longer merely human, Evander."
His brows pulled together.
"I… don't feel any different."
"You survived Moonblood resonance," she said. "You held her pain. You stood in the Veil and were not consumed. The moon has accepted you."
He shifted uneasily.
"So I'm… what? A half-wolf now?"
Lysandra almost laughed through the tension.
"Not wolf," the Priestess said.
"Anchor."
Evander looked more lost than before.
"Is that… supposed to make sense?"
Lysandra squeezed his hand.
"To me," she whispered, "it does."
Because she could feel it—
a steadying warmth threaded through her veins, one that was undeniably him.
Not power.
Not magic.
A tether.
If her wolf dragged her too far, she knew instinctively now where she would land.
Home.
Evander.
The Priestess's gaze shifted to the Shadow Heir.
"And you."
He held her stare without flinching.
"Say it," he said. "I know you want to."
She ignored the provocation.
"The old prophecy marked you as destruction," she said.
"Your bond with the Moonblood was meant to end the light."
He smiled humorlessly.
"Yes. I'm familiar with that part."
"But the moment she chose the fourth path…"
the Priestess's voice dropped,
"…something else awakened in you."
He frowned.
"I felt nothing."
Lysandra glanced at him.
That wasn't entirely true.
She had felt something in him shift when she held him in the void.
Like a fracture that had been there forever now had the faintest thread of silver stitching it.
The Priestess pointed her staff toward the floor.
The shadows at his feet moved—
not wild, not feral, not consuming.
They curled around his boots
and formed a ring.
Not a cage.
Not a snare.
A circle.
"Balance," she said.
He looked down, startled.
"What—"
"Your bond with her no longer pulls only toward destruction," the Priestess said.
"It also pulls toward protection."
His jaw clenched.
"I don't protect," he muttered.
"I conquer."
"Lies," the Priestess said softly.
The word hit like a blow.
His eyes flashed.
Lysandra stepped between them before the tension snapped further.
"What happens now?" she asked.
That was the question burning her throat.
Not what she'd done.
What came after.
The Priestess looked at her for a long time.
Then she spoke the words that would change everything:
"Now… you become the Bridge."
Lysandra blinked.
"The what?"
"The bridge between moon and shadow," the Priestess said.
"Between realms. Between prophecies. Between the boy of storm and the heir of night."
Evander frowned.
"That sounds… dangerous."
"It is," the Priestess said simply.
The Heir snorted softly.
"Of course it is."
Lysandra's wolf bristled.
"What does a bridge do?" Lysandra asked.
The Priestess's gaze was steady.
"It keeps two sides from falling into the void," she said.
"And it bears all the weight."
Lysandra inhaled slowly.
"So… I become… what? A ruler?"
"A pivot," the Priestess said.
"A living balance."
She gestured toward the ceiling.
"The moon will not destroy you for choosing both bonds. It has accepted the rewrite."
Lysandra sagged with relief.
Evander let out a shaky breath.
The Priestess wasn't finished.
"But you must prove the fourth path can exist without breaking the world."
The relief died quickly.
"Prove… how?" Lysandra asked.
The Priestess stepped forward, staff glowing brighter.
"Three tasks," she said.
Her tone shifted—formal, ritualistic.
"Three trials to stabilise the new prophecy."
Evander muttered under his breath:
"Of course there are trials."
The Heir smirked faintly.
"Welcome to our side of fate, mortal."
Lysandra glared at both of them.
"Focus," she hissed.
The Priestess raised her staff.
"First," she said,
"you must stand in the mortal realm—with your wolf awakened—and not succumb to instinct."
Lysandra tensed.
"What does that mean?"
"You will return to Luneville," the Priestess said.
"Among humans. Among children. Among fear.
Your wolf will be tested. Your control questioned.
If you lose yourself… the mortal bond fractures."
Evander went pale.
"So if she hurts someone—"
"I won't," Lysandra said quickly.
Her wolf shifted uneasily.
We hope.
"Second," the Priestess continued, "you must walk through the Shadow Realm at the Heir's side and refuse the call to corruption."
The Heir's eyes flickered.
"Refuse?" he repeated.
"Yes," the Priestess said.
"Her power now tastes both moon and shadow. If she surrenders fully to your realm… the mortal bond collapses."
Evander's grip on her hand tightened.
The Heir's gaze darkened.
"And the third trial?" Lysandra whispered.
The Priestess's expression softened with something like pity.
"The third will not be told," she said.
"It will find you when the time is right."
Lysandra exhaled shakily.
"Of course it will," she muttered.
Evander squeezed her fingers.
"Hey."
She looked up.
He had that look again—
the one from the forest,
from the cell,
from the Chamber.
The look that said I don't know what's happening, but I'm still here.
"We'll do it," he said.
She stared at him.
"We?"
He nodded.
"I'm part of this now. You said it yourself. You chose both of us."
Something warm flickered in her chest.
Then she turned to the Heir.
"And you?" she asked quietly.
He held her gaze.
"My fate was tied to yours long before you learned my name," he said.
"I'm not stepping aside now."
The Priestess lowered her staff.
"Then go," she said.
"The Veil has given its verdict. The moon will watch."
The Guardians parted, some reluctantly, some in fear.
As Lysandra walked past, she heard them whisper.
"Two bonds…"
"Bridge…"
"Dangerous…"
"Impossible…"
She ignored them.
Evander walked on her right, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
Every touch steadied her, kept her from shaking apart.
The Heir walked on her left, shadows curling lazily around his boots like a lion's tail.
His presence sharpened the world, made every sound louder and every danger feel nearer.
Lysandra inhaled deeply.
Her wolf murmured:
This is what we chose.
Not easy.
Not simple.
But ours.
Just before they reached the exit, the Priestess called out:
"Lysandra."
She turned.
The Priestess's expression was unreadable—
part sorrow
part pride.
"Understand this," the Priestess said softly.
"If you fail these trials, you will not just lose one bond."
Lysandra's fingers clenched around Evander's.
"What will I lose?"
The Priestess answered without mercy.
"Yourself."
The hall fell silent.
Lysandra held that warning in her chest, heavy and cold.
Then she nodded once.
"Then I won't fail."
The Shadow Heir's lips curved in a slow, dangerous smile.
"There she is," he murmured.
"The girl who broke the sky."
Evander huffed a quiet laugh.
"Guess the world will just have to keep up with her now."
Lysandra stepped toward the threshold—
toward a future full of trials, danger, impossible balance…
and two boys whose hands she felt even when they weren't touching her.
Her wolf lifted its head proudly.
Come, moon.
Come, shadow.
We're ready.
As the temple doors opened and the first breath of real air hit her lungs,
Lysandra knew one thing for certain:
This was no longer just a tale of a cursed wolf girl.
This was the beginning
of Midnight's Embrace.
And she was done being only a chapter.
She was going to be the one
who rewrote the entire story.