Darkness swallowed them whole.
Not the gentle dark of night, nor the velvet darkness of closed eyes.
This was a living darkness—heavy, breathing, aware.
Lysandra felt it the moment her boots touched something solid.
The ground wasn't earth.
It pulsed beneath her feet, warm one second and cold the next, like a heartbeat trying to decide if it belonged to a living world or a dying one.
Evander's hand crushed hers.
"Lysandra?" His voice shook. "Tell me you're here."
"I'm here," she whispered, though her voice sounded small in the vast black.
The Shadow Heir didn't stumble.
His steps were precise, controlled, almost too silent—like the Realm recognized him as part of itself and carried his movements softly.
"We are inside," he said calmly. "Do not look for light. It doesn't exist here unless I command it."
He lifted a hand.
A faint violet glow sparked in his palm—weak, trembling, almost suffocated by the darkness pressing against it.
Lysandra sucked in a breath.
The light revealed a hint of the place around them.
Not walls.
Not a horizon.
Just shadow stretched infinitely in every direction—swirling like smoke, shaping and reshaping itself, reaching forward only to curl back again.
Evander stiffened.
"Something—moved," he whispered. "I heard it."
"You didn't hear it," the Heir corrected. "The Realm speaks to your bones, not your ears."
Evander's breath hitched. "Fantastic."
Lysandra felt it too.
A whisper sliding across her spine.
Not in a language she knew—just a sensation.
Like someone breathing a thought into her skin.
Her wolf growled inside her chest.
Wrong.
Stay alert.
The Heir turned toward her.
"Your wolf recognizes this place," he murmured.
"It doesn't like it," she whispered.
"It shouldn't," he said. "Not yet."
He began walking forward.
The violet glow spread only a few feet—beyond that, the shadows swallowed everything.
"Stay close," he warned.
Evander squeezed her hand tighter.
"Like I'd let go."
But the ground beneath them shifted—
not sloping, not falling—
just moving, like it adjusted to their steps.
Lysandra's heart hammered.
"Why does the ground… feel alive?"
"Because it is," the Heir replied simply.
Evander groaned. "Great. Love that."
The Realm whispered again.
Lysandra froze.
This time, the voice was clearer.
It brushed her ear like her father used to when he tucked her into bed.
Little moon…
you've come home…
Her breath caught.
"Did you hear that?" she whispered.
Evander shook his head, eyes wide. "Hear what?"
The Heir's jaw tightened.
"It begins."
Lysandra swallowed.
"It—it sounded like—"
"Someone you loved," the Heir finished. "That's how it hunts."
Her stomach twisted.
"Remember the rule," he said softly.
"No matter what voice it uses, you do not answer."
Lysandra nodded, but her fingers trembled.
Evander stepped in front of her slightly.
"You're not alone."
Before she could speak, the darkness in front of them shivered—like a curtain twitching in a breeze that didn't exist.
Evander's hand spasmed on hers.
"What—what is that?"
Lysandra didn't blink. Couldn't blink.
A shape formed.
Not solid.
Not smoke.
Something in between.
It dragged itself upward from the ground, tall and thin, with limbs too long and a head that tilted unnaturally as though listening to their thoughts.
It had no eyes.
But she felt it looking at her.
Evander stepped back.
"Shadow—what is that?"
"A watcher," the Heir said. "One of the lesser ones."
"Lesser?" Evander choked. "What does the greater one look like?!"
"You don't want to know."
The creature moved closer.
Not walking—gliding.
Its shadowy form rippled with each movement, changing shape slightly as though its body was made of shifting ink.
It leaned toward Evander first.
Testing.
Sensing.
He flinched, grabbing Lysandra instinctively.
The creature recoiled instantly.
It hissed—
high-pitched, scraping,
like metal dragged across stone.
The Heir stepped in front of them, shadows curling around his feet like blades unsheathed.
"Enough."
The creature froze.
The Heir's voice dropped lower, command slicing like a knife.
"She is not prey."
Lysandra's wolf surged at those words, pressing against her ribs.
Not prey.
Never prey.
The creature shuddered once—
and dissolved into mist.
Evander exhaled shakily. "Can we leave now?"
"No," the Heir said. "That was the welcome."
Evander groaned. "I hate your world."
"You hate everything," the Heir muttered.
They walked.
Shadows moved with them—
whispers brushing her shoulders,
fingers of darkness curling around Evander's ankles only to vanish the moment Lysandra touched him.
Her wolf stayed awake.
Alert.
Watching.
The ground pulsed again—
and suddenly a faint crimson glow appeared ahead of them.
Lysandra narrowed her eyes.
"What is that?"
The Heir's expression hardened.
"The trial's gate."
Evander stopped cold.
"That sounds terrible."
"It is," the Heir said honestly.
The glow grew brighter as they approached, illuminating jagged shapes that looked almost like ribs—
as if a colossal creature lay buried under the darkness and they were walking straight toward its exposed bones.
Lysandra's stomach turned.
The Heir's hand brushed her back gently.
"Do not fear it," he murmured. "It reacts to fear."
Evander deadpanned, "Everything here reacts to fear."
"Yes," the Heir said simply.
They reached the gate.
It wasn't a door.
It wasn't a wall.
It looked like a tear in reality—
a long crack of red light,
pulsing like a heartbeat trying to break free.
Lysandra stepped closer, unable to breathe.
"Is that—alive?"
"Yes," the Heir answered.
"What is it?" Evander whispered.
"The entrance," the Heir said.
"To the place where her wolf will be judged."
Lysandra's pulse stuttered.
"Judged… by who?"
The Heir looked at her, shadows swirling behind his eyes.
"By the Realm itself."
Her wolf rose sharply inside her—
not in fear.
In defiance.
Let it judge.
We will not bow.
Evander stepped in front of her again.
"She's not doing this."
Lysandra touched his cheek gently.
"I have to."
He clenched his jaw. "Lysandra—"
She lifted his hand and pressed it to her heart.
"You're coming with me."
Evander froze.
The Heir stepped beside her.
"And so am I."
She reached out—
grabbing Evander's hand with her right,
the Heir's with her left.
The red crack widened.
The darkness inhaled.
Lysandra whispered:
"I'm ready."
The Realm answered.
It opened its mouth—
and swallowed the three of them whole.