There was no sensation of falling this time.
No wind.
No weightlessness.
No rush of darkness swallowing from every direction.
The Shadow Realm simply shifted, as if the world flipped inside out and placed them somewhere new without warning.
Lysandra staggered as her boots hit ground—
a different kind of ground.
Not the pulsing surface from before.
This one was colder.
Harder.
Sharper.
It felt like she was standing on frozen shards of shadow.
Evander tightened his grip around her hand so abruptly she winced.
"Sorry," he muttered, loosening it half an inch, but not letting her go.
"It's okay," she whispered. "Don't."
The Shadow Heir landed beside them soundlessly—
his presence so fluid that even the darkness seemed to make space for him.
He scanned the surroundings with narrowed eyes.
"This is the Outer Threshold," he murmured.
Lysandra followed his gaze.
The place was vast—
an endless plain of black, shimmering ground stretching into darkness so deep it had no horizon.
The air was cold, but not naturally cold.
It was the kind of chill that lived in bones.
Above them hung no sky, no stars.
Only a massive swirling vortex of shadows that turned like smoke caught in eternal wind.
Evander swallowed hard.
"This looks… bad."
"It will get worse," the Heir said.
Evander shot him a glare. "You're so comforting."
Lysandra's wolf snarled inside her chest—
not in fear.
In warning.
Something was out there.
Watching.
Not like the Watcher from before.
This felt heavier.
Older.
As though the darkness itself was waiting for their next step.
"What is this trial?" Lysandra whispered.
The Heir stepped forward, the ground beneath him rippling faintly.
"The Second Trial tests the core of your wolf," he said. "Your instincts. Your truth. Your control."
Evander frowned. "Meaning?"
The Heir turned, violet eyes locking onto Lysandra's silver ones.
"Meaning the Realm will show you what you fear most… and try to consume you with it."
Evander stiffened.
Lysandra felt her throat tighten.
"You must not answer," the Heir reminded.
"No matter who calls you. No matter what you hear."
Lysandra nodded slowly. "I remember."
But the moment she breathed in, the Realm reacted.
The air trembled.
The shadows thickened.
And then—
A voice slid through the darkness.
Soft.
Gentle.
Loving.
"Lysandra…"
She froze.
Evander whipped his head toward her. "What—what was that?"
Lysandra's heartbeat thundered.
She knew that voice.
She had known it all her life.
Her mother.
Her wolf growled, ears pinned back.
Not real.
Not real.
The Heir stepped between them, shadows flaring like wings.
"Do not listen," he warned sharply. "This is only the beginning."
Evander moved close, brushing her shoulder.
"We're right here. You're safe."
But the darkness was not done.
It pulsed again—
like a great lung inhaling.
And then another voice whispered—
"Little moon… you ran from us…"
Her father's voice.
Lysandra's breath cracked.
Her knees almost buckled.
Evander reached for her face.
"Lys—look at me—please."
She did.
Barely.
The Heir touched her elbow lightly, steadying her.
"Walk," he ordered. "Do not stand still. The Realm will trap you in your memories if you linger."
They moved.
But with every step, the whispers grew.
Not farther.
Closer.
Not fewer.
More.
Her mother's lullabies.
Her father's laughter.
Old childhood cries.
Her own voice at age eight, calling for her aunt in the dark.
A memory of tripping in the forest and the voice that comforted her…
None of it real.
Her ears rang with it.
Evander walked beside her like a shield, muttering under his breath,
"It's not real, Lys. Not real, not real…"
The Heir walked on her other side, shadows bristling like claws ready to strike.
"The Realm is studying you," he murmured. "Do not let it find a weakness."
Lysandra shook her head.
"The weakness is already found," she whispered.
Evander tensed. "What weakness?"
She exhaled shakily.
"You."
Evander stopped walking.
The Heir did not.
He gave a cold, approving nod.
"She is correct."
Evander's face twisted. "So I'm the problem?"
"In this Realm," the Heir said, "yes."
Lysandra grabbed Evander's hand before he could react.
"Not like that," she whispered. "You're my heart. That's why it will use you."
Evander went still.
The Heir's eyes softened—not with warmth, but with understanding.
"She's right," he said. "If the Realm wanted to break her, it would whisper with your voice."
Lysandra's wolf growled.
And it will.
The ground cracked suddenly—
a thin jagged line of crimson splitting the black beneath their feet.
Evander yanked her back.
"What now?!"
The Heir's voice lowered.
"Her wolf has been recognized."
The shadows around the crack rose like smoke.
Then—
One shape formed.
A wolf.
Huge.
Dark.
Violet-eyed.
A mirror of her wolf—
but twisted, sharpened, older.
Her breath caught.
"What is that?" she whispered.
The Heir stepped forward.
"Your wolf's shadow."
Evander's eyes widened. "Shadow WHAT—?!"
The Heir ignored him.
"It will challenge you.
It will test your dominance.
If you bow—"
The shadow-wolf growled low, teeth lengthening.
"—you fail."
Lysandra's wolf surged to the surface, pressing so close she tasted iron on her tongue.
Evander touched her arm.
"Lys—stay with me—"
Her head snapped toward him, eyes glowing bright silver.
For a moment, Evander stiffened.
"Shadow," he whispered urgently, "she's close—really close—"
The Heir stepped in front of Evander, blocking him.
"Do not touch her.
This moment belongs to her wolf alone."
The shadow-wolf stalked closer.
Lysandra's wolf rose with equal force.
Her breath became a growl.
Her heartbeat became a drum.
The two wolves—
real and shadow—
stared at each other.
A soft wind rose, though there was no wind in this world.
The darkness inhaled with them.
Evander reached out desperately—
"Lysandra—!"
The Heir grabbed his wrist, voice sharp.
"Do not interfere.
If you break her focus for even a moment—the Realm will rip her apart."
Lysandra didn't hear them.
She only heard her wolf.
Stand.
Do not bow.
Do not fear.
We are Moonblood.
She stepped forward, slow and deliberate.
The shadow-wolf snarled.
Lysandra snarled back—
her voice layered with the sound of her wolf's growl.
The darkness thickened.
The shadow-wolf lowered its head to lunge—
And Lysandra whispered:
"Not prey."
Silver light burst from her eyes.
Violet shadows burst from the Heir's.
The shadow-wolf froze.
Then bowed.
The entire Realm shuddered.
Evander exhaled in shock.
"W-What just—?"
The Heir's voice dropped low.
"She passed the first stage."
But Lysandra didn't look relieved.
Her gaze stayed fixed on the shadow-wolf—
because it slowly lifted its head again…
…and whispered in Evander's voice.
"Lysandra… choose me."
The Real Trial had begun.