POV: Cain
She touched me.
I pace the highest tower of my fortress, my hands still shaking. Three hundred years. Three hundred years, and no one has ever touched me without screaming in agony.
But she did. And the curse recoiled from her like she was made of sunlight.
Impossible, I mutter, gripping the stone ledge until my knuckles turn white.
The chains around my wrists pulse with angry heat, punishing me for even thinking about what happened. I grit my teeth against the pain. I'm used to it by now. Pain is my constant companion.
From up here, I can see the obsidian gates and the city beyond Valendris, glowing with warm lights. People living normal lives. Falling in love. Growing old. Dying peacefully.
Things I'll never have.
I turn away from the view. It only makes the loneliness worse.
The girl Sera, they called her when they shoved her through the gates is somewhere in my fortress right now. I told her to stay in the east tower, but I can feel her presence like a flame in the darkness. Bright. Alive. Dangerous.
She'll be dead in three days, I tell myself. Just like all the others.
But even as I say it, I know she's different.
She didn't scream when she saw me. She didn't beg. She looked me in the eye and promised to survive.
Foolish girl. Brave, stupid girl.
I close my eyes and see her face again those defiant eyes, that lifted chin. And her hands, glowing with golden light as she touched me.
The chains tighten viciously, cutting into my throat. I gasp, falling to my knees.
This is my punishment. The curse knows. It always knows when I start to feel anything remotely like hope.
I don't hope, I growl at the empty air. I don't care about her. She's nothing to me.
The chains loosen slightly, satisfied with my misery.
I force myself to stand and leave the tower. I have my duties patrol the gates, check the barrier wards, maintain the fortress. Three hundred years of the same routine.
But tonight, everything feels different. Because she's here.
POV: Sera
I find the east tower after getting lost twice.
The fortress is massive endless hallways, countless rooms, stairs that seem to lead nowhere. It's like a castle from a fairy tale, except the prince is cursed and there's no happy ending.
My room is on the third floor, last door like Cain said. I push it open and cough as dust billows up.
It's not terrible. There's a bed with a moth-eaten blanket, a wooden desk, and a window overlooking a wild garden. Moonlight streams through the glass, casting silver shadows.
I drop onto the bed, exhausted. My whole body aches. I haven't slept in two days, haven't eaten since before the trial. But I'm too wired to rest.
I pull out my mother's journal and read by moonlight.
Day 89: The curse is more complex than I thought. It's not just binding Cain to this place it's feeding on his emotions. Every moment of happiness makes the chains burn. Every connection he forms gets punished. It's designed to keep him alone forever.
My throat tightens. What kind of god would create such cruelty?
I flip through more pages, looking for answers about the golden light, about my curse-breaker blood. But the journal ends too soon, mid-sentence, like my mother was interrupted.
Or killed.
My stomach growls, breaking the silence. Right. I need food.
I leave my room and wander downstairs, following my nose. Eventually, I find the kitchen huge fireplace, massive wooden table, shelves lined with preserved foods and dusty jars.
Someone's been maintaining supplies. Cain, probably. Even cursed immortals need to eat.
I make simple soup from dried vegetables and herbs. As it cooks, I explore the kitchen, opening cabinets, examining the old pots and pans.
That's when I see it: a journal on the shelf, spine worn with age.
I know I shouldn't. It's clearly private. But my curiosity wins.
I open it and start reading.
Day 1,095 of my curse. Still alone. Still suffering. Today I remembered my mother's face her smile, her laugh. Tomorrow I'll probably forget again. The curse takes everything eventually. Even my memories.
My heart clenches. This is Cain's journal. His private thoughts.
I flip through pages, unable to stop. Entry after entry of loneliness, pain, despair. Three hundred years documented in careful handwriting.
Day 5,387: Another one died today. The city sent a thief, and she lasted two days before the Wild Lands took her. I buried her in the garden. I'm tired of digging graves.
Tears blur my vision. He's not a monster. He's a man who's been tortured for three centuries, forced to watch people die over and over.
Day 10,952: I don't remember what hope feels like anymore. I don't remember warmth or kindness or love. I'm becoming the monster they think I am.
What are you doing?
I jump, dropping the journal. It hits the floor with a loud thud.
Cain stands in the doorway, his silver eyes blazing with anger. That's private.
I'm sorry! The words tumble out. I was making soup and I saw it and I shouldn't have read it but I
But you did anyway. His voice is cold as ice, but I see the hurt beneath it. The vulnerability he's trying to hide.
I stand up, meeting his eyes. I'm sorry. I know what loneliness feels like. My stepfamily made me feel invisible for years. They treated me like I didn't matter, like I was justjust a thing in their way. My voice cracks. I didn't mean to invade your privacy. I just... I understand. That's all.
Something flickers across his face. Surprise? Recognition?
We stand there in silence, the soup bubbling on the fire between us.
Finally, Cain walks forward and picks up his journal. His movements are careful, controlled. The east tower has everything you need. You don't need to come down here.
I was hungry, I say quietly.
There's food in the tower pantry.
I didn't see a pantry.
His jaw tightens. Third door on the left, second floor.
Oh. I feel stupid. Thank you.
He turns to leave.
Cain, wait
He freezes at the sound of his name. When he looks back, his expression is unreadable.
Earlier, I say. When I touched you. Why didn't it hurt? Your curse
I don't know, he cuts me off. And I don't want to find out. Stay away from me, Sera. For both our sakes.
But my mother
His expression hardens. Your mother died trying to break this curse. She was brilliant, powerful, and kind. And the curse killed her anyway. His chains pulse with dark fire, making him wince. I won't watch another Ashford woman destroy herself for me. Do you understand?
The pain in his voice makes my chest ache. I understand you're scared.
I'm not scared, he snaps. I'm realistic. This curse has stood for three hundred years. Your mother couldn't break it. You won't either.
You don't know that
Yes, I do. He's closer now, and I can see the exhaustion in his eyes. Because I've seen this before. Hope arrives, bright and shining. And then the curse crushes it. Every. Single. Time.
We're standing very close now. Close enough that I can see the scars on his neck where the chains have burned him over and over. Close enough to see the silver in his eyes isn't just one color, but a thousand shades of moonlight.
What if this time is different? I whisper.
It won't be. But his voice wavers, just slightly.
The chains suddenly flare with black fire. Cain gasps and stumbles backward, his hands flying to his throat. The living shadows are writhing, tightening, and punishing him.
Stop hoping, he chokes out, falling to his knees. Stop making me hope.
I rush toward him, but he holds up a hand.
Don't. Touch. Me.
So I stand there, helpless, watching him suffer because of a curse designed by a jealous god who couldn't stand the thought of him being happy.
Finally, the chains loosen. Cain can breathe again. He stands slowly, avoiding my eyes.
Fifty days, he says, his voice rough. You have fifty days here. Keep your head down, stay in the tower, and you'll survive. But don't try to save me. I'm already dead.
He walks out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with my cold soup and burning questions.
I sink into a chair, my mind racing.
He knew my mother. He watched her die trying to break his curse. And now he thinks I'll die too.
But I have something my mother didn't her journal. Her research. Her warning about curse-breaker blood.
I pull the journal from my dress and flip to a page I marked earlier. My mother's handwriting is urgent here, almost frantic:
If Sera reads this, she needs to know the truth. The curse can't be broken from the outside. It has to be broken from within. Cain has to choose to be free. He has to believe he deserves it. And that's the hardest part the curse has convinced him he deserves to suffer forever.
My hands shake as I read the next line.
But there's something else. Something I discovered too late. The High Priest knows about the curse. He knows about curse-breakers. And he's planning something terrible. If he gets what he wants, Cain won't just stay cursed he'll become a weapon. I have to stop
The entry ends there. Mid-sentence. Like she was interrupted.
Or like someone stopped her.
My blood runs cold.
High Priest Aldric. He sent me here. He knows about my curse-breaker blood.
What if he doesn't want me to break Cain's curse? What if he wants me to do something worse?
What if I'm not here to save Cain I'm here to help Aldric turn him into a weapon?
And what happens when Aldric comes to collect?