The moon hung over the Witch Empire like a blade of silver, cutting through clouds and smoke. Inside the citadel's inner sanctum, Valerian stood beside Ash before the relic chamber — a vault so ancient that even the runes whispered in forgotten tongues.
Ash traced his fingers across the seal etched into the floor. "The Heart of Binding," he murmured. "It doesn't just open paths between realms — it binds destinies. But to summon it, a union must be forged. The bond between fated souls."
Valerian's gaze sharpened. "You mean blood union."
Ash nodded slowly. "Or love. Two hearts joined, willingly or not. The cost is always balance — creation demands surrender."
Valerian's pulse echoed in his temples. Shyla's face flickered behind his eyes — her laughter, her confusion, her fragile warmth.He already knew the cost. To claim the artifact, he'd have to anchor it through their bond. And that would expose her — to the veil, the Council, and every creature hunting his bloodline.
The Witch Empire was alive with whispers that night. Towers of black stone glowed faintly beneath a violet sky, runes thrumming with the pulse of ancient spells. Every corridor seemed to breathe; every shadow hummed with restrained power.
Valerian stood in the Hall of Mirrors, cloaked in silence. The world of witches was alien — no blood, no moonlight, no mercy. Only bargains, and the ruin they left behind.
Ash paced before him, eyes fixed on the rippling mirror. "The artefact has been found," he said. "Hidden beneath the ruins of Altheen. But there's a condition."
Valerian's gaze sharpened. "Name it."
Ash hesitated — rare for him. "It demands a sacrifice. Not of life, but of fate. To claim it, one must surrender the one they love to another — a union written in the threads of destiny. Only through that loss will the artefact awaken."
For a heartbeat, the world stilled.
Valerian's breath caught, the truth sinking into his bones like ice. "You mean—"
"Yes," Ash cut in quietly. "Shyla. The artefact demands her binding — not to you, but to Nickolas. It's the only way to balance the curse of the Alexander bloodline."
The chamber darkened, shadows rippling violently around Valerian as though the very air rebelled against the words. "You expect me to let her be taken?"
Ash's expression didn't waver. "If you don't, Alishya will never rise. The curse will deepen, and both worlds will collapse into shadow. The Council already moves to seal their union at the Blood Moon Ball. You can't stop it — but you can use it."
"Use it?" Valerian's voice was low, lethal. "You speak of her life like it's a tool."
Ash met his eyes — tired, knowing. "You of all beings should understand. Power never comes without pain. The artefact will answer to you, but only if her destiny is tied elsewhere. The price has already been written."
Valerian turned away, fingers curling into a fist. The bond that linked him to Shyla pulsed faintly — alive, trembling, doomed. "She'll think I abandoned her."
"She'll live," Ash said. "And through her survival, so will our chance."
The words offered no comfort. Only the echo of inevitability.
Valerian looked into the mirror — saw the reflection of a ballroom bathed in gold, Shyla's crimson gown catching the light, Nickolas standing beside her, the Council's sigil gleaming behind them.
A union forged by prophecy, not love. A curse born of his own heart.
He swallowed hard. "Then let it be done. If fate demands her from me… then I'll make sure the world she lives in remembers who she is meant for."
Ash's lips curved — not in victory, but in sorrow. "Then prepare, my lord. The Blood Moon rises, and the veil between sacrifice and salvation grows thin."
The floor beneath them began to hum with power. Runes ignited one by one, bathing the hall in eerie blue fire. The Mirror cracked, revealing glimpses of another world — chandeliers, music, and Shyla's hesitant smile.
"She's there," Ash murmured. "The Council begins the union."
Valerian felt it before he saw it — the bond pulling tight, then fraying, the connection that once burned steady now flickering like a dying star. Pain lanced through him, white-hot and merciless.
Across the Mirror, Nickolas's hand brushed Shyla's. The ritual circle around them flared crimson.
Valerian staggered, his breath catching as shadows surged from his veins. The witches around the chamber stepped back, fearful — they could feel it too, the tearing of something sacred.
"Valerian!" Ash shouted over the growing roar of magic. "You have to stay conscious — the artefact will answer now or never!"
But Valerian's world was collapsing inward — every heartbeat syncing with the rhythm of Shyla's vow echoing faintly through the veil. Each word she spoke to another man carved deeper into his soul.
He reached toward the Mirror, palm trembling. "Shyla…"
Her image flickered, replaced by the sigil of the Blood Moon. The bond snapped — and in its place, something ancient stirred.
The artefact's seal flared to life beneath his feet, shaped like intertwined thorns. From the ruin of loss, power surged — cold, endless, and absolute.
Valerian fell to his knees, the weight of his own choice pressing down like chains. Ash caught his shoulder, eyes wide. "It's responding. You did it."
But Valerian barely heard him. His gaze was distant, fixed on the fading echo of her voice.
"She's his now," he whispered, voice raw. "And yet… the world still feels like it belongs to her."
Ash's grip tightened. "Then hold onto that pain, Valerian. Because from this night forward — it's the only thing that will keep you alive."
The hall erupted in a final surge of power, the Mirror shattering into a thousand pieces — each reflecting the moment Shyla and Nickolas's fates entwined.
And as the shards fell, Valerian's blood marked the floor — the signature of a lord who had paid the ultimate price.