She woke to pain.
Not the sharp kind that demanded a scream—but a dull, persistent ache that wrapped around her chest like invisible wire, tightening every time she breathed too deeply.
Her first instinct was to pull away.
Her second was the realization that she couldn't.
The chamber was still dark, but the sigils along the walls glowed faintly now, casting shadows that twisted unnaturally against the stone. The air was warmer than before—unnervingly so.
She lifted her hand.
The glowing mark on her wrist pulsed brighter in response.
And then—
Her breath hitched.
A sudden pressure gripped her chest, sharp and foreign, like a pain that did not belong to her body.
She gasped, clutching at her ribs.
"No—" she whispered, panic flaring.
The pain answered.
Not from her own flesh.
From somewhere else.
Her vision blurred, and for a heartbeat—just one—she saw through unfamiliar eyes.
Darkness.
Stone.
Chains tightening.
A sharp exhale tore from her throat as the sensation vanished.
She slumped back against the wall, trembling violently.
"What… was that…?" she murmured.
"You felt it."
His voice came from behind her.
She flinched.
He stood a short distance away, leaning against one of the stone pillars, arms crossed loosely. The chains around him shifted restlessly, reacting to her distress.
"You pulled too hard," he continued calmly. "The link doesn't like resistance."
Her heart pounded. "The link?"
He stepped closer, stopping just outside her reach.
"The curse," he said. "The chain that binds us."
Us.
The word sent a chill through her spine.
"You said I was your anchor," she whispered. "What does that mean?"
His gaze dropped briefly to her wrist—then to his own arm, where the chains tightened almost imperceptibly.
"It means," he said, "if you suffer, I feel it. If I lose control—"
He paused.
"—you pay the price."
Her breath caught.
"That's not anchoring," she said hoarsely. "That's a death sentence."
A faint, humorless curve touched his lips.
"Yes," he agreed. "For both of us."
She stared at him, horror mixing with something else—something colder.
"You did this on purpose."
"No," he replied immediately. "I didn't choose you."
That didn't make it better.
"Then why me?" Her voice cracked. "Why not someone stronger? Someone who knows magic? I'm—"
"Alive," he cut in.
The chains around him rattled softly.
"The chain doesn't seek strength," he said. "It seeks balance. You were… unclaimed."
The word felt wrong.
Like a brand.
Her fingers dug into her palm. "So what happens now?"
He regarded her in silence, as if weighing how much truth she could survive.
"You stay close," he said finally. "Too far, and the link destabilizes."
"How close?" she asked.
He met her gaze.
"Close enough that neither of us forgets the other exists."
Her stomach twisted.
As if summoned by the words, the mark on her wrist flared again—this time warm, almost burning.
He stiffened.
She saw it clearly now: the way his jaw tightened, the subtle hitch in his breath.
"You're hurting," she said before she could stop herself.
His eyes snapped to hers.
"No."
The lie was weak.
She swallowed. "I felt it earlier. The pressure. That wasn't me."
Silence stretched between them.
Then, reluctantly, he exhaled.
"The chains feed on restraint," he admitted. "Every time I suppress what they want, they retaliate."
"And what do they want?" she asked softly.
His gaze darkened.
"To be used."
A shiver crawled up her spine.
She shifted instinctively—and gasped as pain flared again, sharp and immediate.
This time, he groaned.
A low, restrained sound torn from his chest as one of the chains tightened violently around his arm.
"Stop," he hissed.
She froze. "I—I didn't mean to—"
"I know," he said, voice strained. "That's the problem."
He straightened slowly, fighting the chains' pull.
"Listen to me carefully," he said. "Until you understand the rhythm of the link, you don't move without warning me. Your fear travels faster than your body."
Her eyes burned. "So I have to ask permission to breathe now?"
"No," he replied sharply.
Then, quieter: "Just… don't run."
The word lingered between them.
She nodded slowly.
Minutes passed in tense silence.
Then her legs gave out.
She would have collapsed if he hadn't moved.
His hand caught her arm instantly—too fast, too sure.
The contact sent a jolt through both of them.
She gasped.
He stiffened.
The chains around him recoiled violently, then loosened—confused.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
She became acutely aware of his proximity. The cold of his skin. The steady—but strained—beat of his heart beneath layers of restraint.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
His grip tightened—then loosened deliberately.
"You're not," he said. "You're adapting."
He released her and stepped back, creating distance.
"You'll learn," he added. "Or the chain will teach you."
Her chest tightened.
"And if I fail?"
His gaze softened—not kindly, but honestly.
"Then we both break."
She looked down at the glowing mark on her wrist.
For the first time, she understood.
She wasn't his prisoner.
She was his weakness.
And somehow—
He was becoming hers.