The winter wind in the Northern Territory didn't just bite; it chewed through skin and bone.
Elara stumbled into the ruins of an abandoned chapel, her bare feet leaving bloody footprints on the pristine snow. She collapsed against a frozen stone pillar, clutching her chest. The "pleasure" of absorbing the Soul Shard had faded. Now came the price.
"Argh..." A guttural cry tore from her throat. Inside her veins, the shard she had stolen from General Kaelen was no longer golden light. It had turned into molten lead. It rampaged through her body, trying to reject her, trying to burn her from the inside out.
This is his sin, Elara realized, her vision blurring. I am digesting his greed, his lust, his filth.
Flashbacks assaulted her mind—not her own, but memories from a life three hundred years ago. She was tied to a stake. The crowd cheered. The flames licked her ankles. A man in a priest's robe watched her burn with a smile...
"No!" Elara screamed, curling into a ball on the dirty floor. The phantom fire of the past mixed with the freezing cold of the present. She felt like she was being torn apart.
At the same moment, three miles away in the Obsidian Castle.
Crash. A crystal goblet shattered against the wall.
Draven Blackwood staggered back, gripping the edge of his heavy oak desk until the wood splintered under his fingers. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His face, usually a mask of stoic indifference, was twisted in agony.
"My Lord?" His lieutenant, Kael, rushed into the room, hand on his sword. "Is it an assassin?"
"Get out," Draven snarled, his voice a low growl. "But—" "I said, get out!"
The lieutenant fled, closing the heavy doors. Draven ripped open the collar of his uniform, gasping for air. There was no wound on his chest. His skin was unblemished. Yet, he felt it—a searing, scorching heat spreading through his ribs, as if someone had poured liquid fire into his heart.
What is this sorcery? He looked down at his right hand—the hand that had touched the witch's face just an hour ago. The sensation lingered. That impossible, terrifying silence. For a split second, the constant, maddening noise of the spirits he hunted had vanished. Her skin had been the only quiet thing in his loud, violent world.
And now, he felt her pain. He didn't know how he knew, but he was certain. This fire... it was hers. "Elara..." He tested the name on his tongue. It tasted like blood and winter. Why didn't he kill her? He should have snapped her neck the moment he saw her straddling Kaelen. But he couldn't. His body had refused to destroy the only thing that made him feel... whole.
Back in the ruins, the pain finally crested and broke.
Elara lay panting on the stone floor, her body soaked in cold sweat. The shard had settled. It was a tiny, jagged piece, barely enough to keep her soul from fading for another week, but it was done. She opened her eyes. The darkness of the chapel was no longer pitch black. The world had shifted. She could see the heat signature of a rat scurrying in the corner. She could see the flow of mana in the air. Stage One: Stabilization. She had survived. But she was starving. Not for food, but for safety.
"You reckless idiot." A soft, scolding voice came from the shadows.
Elara turned her head weakly. A woman stepped out, wrapped in a thick red cloak. She had large, expressive eyes and a face that could launch a thousand ships—Lulu, the most famous courtesan in the city, and secretly, a Rabbit Fae. Lulu rushed over, dropping to her knees and pulling Elara into her warm embrace.
"I told you Kaelen was trash," Lulu hissed, though her hands were gentle as she wiped the blood from Elara's feet. "You absorbed low-grade essence. It nearly tore you apart."
"It was... the only option," Elara rasped, leaning into her friend's warmth. "Did anyone see you?"
"No. I used the tunnels," Lulu whispered, her expression turning serious. "But we have a problem. Kaelen isn't dead. He's babbling like a madman about a 'silver-haired witch' who stole his soul. The Church has caught wind of it."
Elara closed her eyes. "So, I'm hunted."
"Worse," Lulu said, tightening her grip on Elara's hand. "Draven has locked down the city. The gates are sealed. No one goes in or out until he finds you."
High above in the castle tower, Draven stood on the balcony, letting the freezing wind cool his burning skin. The pain had subsided to a dull throb, leaving him exhausted but strangely alert.
He looked out over the sprawling city of ash and snow. Somewhere out there, she was hiding. He pulled on a fresh pair of black leather gloves, the leather creaking in the silence.
"Lieutenant," Draven called out without turning around. The door opened instantly. "Lord?"
"Issue a warrant," Draven said, his voice void of emotion, yet heavy with a dark promise. "Find the silver-haired woman. Tear this city apart brick by brick if you have to."
"Dead or alive, sir?"
Draven turned. His blue eyes glowed with a predatory light in the darkness. "Alive," he commanded. "If anyone harms her... if there is even a single scratch on her skin..." He let the threat hang in the air, more terrifying than any shout. "Bring her to me. Unbroken."
Because, he thought, touching his chest where the phantom heart still beat in rhythm with hers, I need to know why she is the only thing that hurts... and the only thing that heals.