The corridors of the manor swallowed sound like a cathedral built for secrets.
Elma's boots whispered against marble as Kade led her forward, torchlight licking across polished walls. Her ribs ached with each step; the leash pulsed in her bones like it had a heartbeat of its own.
Kade didn't speak. He didn't have to. His eyes flicked to her bruises, to her split lip, to the faint scorch at her palms where the vow had almost burned through.
She broke the silence anyway. "You keep staring like I'm about to bite."
His mouth almost twitched. "Only if you bite the wrong throat."
Her grin was bloody. "That's half the fun."
He didn't answer. The study doors loomed ahead, black wood carved with sigils that shifted faintly when you looked too long. Kade opened them without knocking.
"Enter."
Nitron's private study smelled of scorched parchment and old storms. He sat behind the blackstone desk, firelight pooling across his face, every line carved sharp. Books towered behind him, though none gathered dust—they whispered faintly, pages twitching as if alive.
He didn't look up immediately. He let silence weigh the air until Elma's breath had gone shallow.
Then: "You fought well."
Not praise. Assessment.
Elma bowed just enough to hide her smirk. "I fought to win."
His eyes lifted, cold as coals. "You fought for her."
The leash hummed, smug.
[Shared Risk Escalation]
Loyalty −2%
Cause: Motivational divergence detected.
Elma's jaw tightened. "I fought because he challenged me. Because you wanted blood."
Nitron rose, slow, deliberate. The firelight bent toward him like gravity. "Let us confirm."
He raised his hand, palm outward. The leash flared. Elma gasped as phantom glyphs erupted in the air above her chest—spidery lines of fire that crawled and rearranged themselves into words. Her body stiffened as if she were on trial before the very bones that held her up.
[Audit Mode: Active]
Restrictions logged:
• Vow: No closed-fist strikes (penalty: permanent palm cauterization).
• Shared Risk: Calista Vale tied to subject.
• Loyalty Threshold: Unstable (43%).
Nitron studied the glowing script like scripture. His lips curved faintly. "A vow. Clever. Effective."
He stepped closer, eyes tracing the lines that marked her. "But vows are mine to give. Not yours."
The glyphs flared red as his aura pressed into them. Elma felt her vow seize, turn, shift—like a knife being stolen mid-fight and turned against her.
[New Restriction Engraved by Master]
Loyalty-Vector Alignment:
Wins only reduce leash pressure if system verifies intent aligns with Master's will.
All alternate vectors will be penalized.
The weight in her chest doubled. The leash didn't just chain her. It owned the reason she fought.
Her throat worked. "So even when I win, I lose."
Nitron's voice was smooth. "No. You win only when I choose for you to win. That is the leash."
He came close enough that heat licked her bruises raw. His hand caught her jaw, the same spot Calista's fingers had traced hours earlier. Nitron's grip was colder, heavier, branding difference into her flesh.
"Do not mistake heat for freedom," he murmured. "Even rebellion must pass through me."
The leash pulsed, eager to agree.
For one reckless breath, Elma wanted to spit blood in his face. Instead, she bowed her head. "Yes, Master."
His smile was satisfied cruelty. He released her and turned back to the desk, already dismissing her.
"You may go. Bleed somewhere useful."
The corridor felt narrower on the way out. Elma's chest throbbed with every step, not from her ribs but from the new command coiled inside her bones. She fought the urge to claw it out with her own hands.
Seven meters from her chamber, she stopped dead. Pain bloomed—a hot electric sting, worse than any bruise.
She looked up.
Calista stood at the far end of the hall, dressed in shadow, eyes bright and furious. The ache came instantly, punishment for proximity.
So he'd done it. Protocol DP-3. They couldn't even breathe the same air without paying for it.
Calista's jaw was rigid, but her lips curved faintly. "So he showed you."
Elma managed a bitter laugh through the pain. "He showed us both."
They didn't move closer. Couldn't. The leash would eat her alive.
"Every time you bleed for me," Calista whispered, her voice tight with ache, "he sees it. Every time you win for me, he makes you pay for it. He's chaining us together just to watch us suffer."
Elma's grin split her lip open again. "Then let him watch. He's only sharpening blades."
The leash punished her for the thought. Her knees nearly buckled. Calista flinched too, hand pressed to her chest, as if she felt the same scorch.
But she didn't retreat. "One week," she said softly. "One week we keep playing his story. Then we write our own."
Her eyes burned with something dangerous and private.
Elma's breath hitched. For once, she didn't reply. She couldn't. The leash hummed too loud, listening.
They broke away, each to their own doors. The pain faded, but it left ghosts in the bones.
Her chamber was empty—at least, it should have been. But when she closed the door, something glinted on the pillow.
A shard of hammered metal, small enough to fit in her palm, etched with sigils that curved like frost and burned like embers. It pulsed faintly, alive.
The system reacted instantly.
[Optional Quest: Archivist of Frostspawn]
Objective: Seek the Archivist at the Ice Market.
Reward: Leash schema fragment (unknown).
Risk: Master audit, termination.
Elma sat heavily on the bed, shard warm against her bruised palm.
The leash whispered: Mine.
The shard pulsed back: Not yet.
For the first time, Elma laughed without bitterness. "Guess we'll see who breaks first."