underthedraft

For centuries, the River Arath has separated the nations of Caldris and Velmora, whose bitter rivalry has bred endless bloodshed. But a mysterious bridge appears at the first light of dawn, connecting the two lands before vanishing at midnight. The bridge is said to be cursed, blamed for misfortunes, and shrouded in legends that warn against crossing it.

When Joren, a daring inventor from Caldris, ventures onto the bridge to prove its existence, he encounters Lyria, a Velmoran herbalist seeking answers for her own haunted past. Against the backdrop of their nations' hatred, they forge a forbidden connection, meeting secretly each night on the ethereal bridge.

As their curiosity deepens about the bridge's origin they also develop a romantic connection. They uncover ancient texts that hint at a tragic love story and a magical pact that binds the bridge's existence to a deadly cycle.

When tensions between their nations escalate, Joren and Lyria must decide if their love is worth defying centuries of enmity and confronting a force more powerful than any war. Together, they race to break the curse of the vanishing bridge before dawn separates them forever.

The Vanishing Bridge of Arath

The wind howled across the bridge, carrying whispers of the past—ghostly murmurs that sent shivers down Joren's spine. The River Arath churned below, its dark waters thrashing against the stone supports as if the river itself raged against what was to come. The weight of centuries pressed upon them, as though every soul that had perished here watched, waiting.

Joren clenched his fists. "Lyria, there has to be another way." His voice was raw, desperate.

Lyria stood at the center of the bridge, her silver-streaked hair catching the pale moonlight. The spirit loomed before her, shifting and flickering like a phantom caught between worlds. Its eyes—voids of endless sorrow—fixed upon them, unyielding.

"One soul must remain," the spirit intoned, voice echoing like a dirge. "The bridge demands balance. The curse will not break unless a life is given."

Joren took a step forward, his heart pounding against his ribs. "Take me, then. I'll stay."

Lyria spun to face him. "No," she said, her voice sharp, shaking. "I won't let you."

Joren's breath hitched. He saw it in her eyes—a silent plea wrapped in grief. He knew her well enough to understand what she was about to do. "Lyria, don't," he whispered.

She turned back to the spirit, chin lifting in quiet defiance. "I am of the healer's bloodline. I invoke my right to bear this burden."

The spirit regarded her, the air around it crackling with unseen energy. "You understand what you offer?"

Joren grabbed her wrist, his grip trembling. "You can't do this."

She placed a hand over his, gentle but firm. "Joren, if we fight this, the curse will remain. More will suffer. More will die. You know that."

His throat tightened. "We can find another way. We can—"

"No," she said softly. "We can't."

Silence stretched between them, fragile as glass. Joren's mind raced, grasping at solutions, at hope. But the spirit had spoken. The bridge had spoken. It had always come down to this.

The spirit lifted a spectral hand, its mist-like fingers curling in invitation. "Then come, child of the healer."

Joren wrenched her toward him, his hands cradling her face. "Lyria, please."

Her lips curved in a sad smile. "You once told me you would find a way to save both our nations. Now, you have to save yourself, too."

He felt his chest cave in, the weight unbearable. "I can't let you go."

She exhaled shakily, pressing her forehead to his. "You have to."

He wanted to protest, to scream, to fight against the inevitable. But her fingers brushed his cheek, and the resolve in her gaze broke him. Slowly, she stepped away.

The spirit extended its hand, and Lyria took it.

A surge of energy pulsed through the bridge, a soundless quake rattling through the stones. The ancient carvings on the arch began to glow, their forgotten symbols pulsing with renewed power. The river stilled, as if bowing in reverence.

Joren staggered back as a golden light enveloped Lyria, her form shimmering between the veil of the living and the dead. "Lyria!" he choked.

She turned to him one last time, her smile both luminous and sorrowful. "Live, Joren."

The force of the magic hurled Joren to the ground. He gasped, his vision blurred, the world spinning around him. When the brilliance finally dimmed, he forced himself up on shaking arms.

The bridge stood silent, unchanged—yet everything had changed.

Joren knelt at the center, his fingers brushing the stone where she had last stood. The air was warmer now, the lingering sense of death and despair lifted. The curse was broken.

A gust of wind carried her voice, faint, distant.

Tears streaked down his face as he whispered, "How?"

Chapter 26: The Spirit's Bargain