The Pact of Shadows

The air was still, thick with the weight of despair that hung over the lower city. Gerald sat in the dim light of his modest home, the flickering flame of a single candle casting shadows that seemed to stretch and shift unnaturally. The whispers were louder tonight, a haunting melody that played in the corners of his mind. He had resisted them for so long, but tonight, he knew he could not ignore them.

"Plaga," he said softly, his voice trembling. "I know you hear me. I know you are always here, watching. I need to speak with you. I call upon you, not as an enemy, but as someone who seeks understanding."

The room grew colder, the flame of the candle sputtering as a chill swept through the air. The shadows on the walls coalesced, pooling into a single figure that seemed to step out of the darkness itself. Plaga.

She stood before him, her gaunt form as hauntingly regal as ever. Her tattered black dress flowed like liquid smoke, and her hollow eyes burned faintly, as if lit by some unholy fire. She tilted her head, her cracked lips curling into a cold smile.

"You summon me, Gerald," she said, her voice soft but laced with power. "And yet you call upon me with no fear. What is it you seek?"

Gerald rose to his feet, clutching the silver cross around his neck. His heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to meet her gaze. "The people," he began, his voice steady despite the fear that clawed at him. "The people of the lower city—they are dying. They have no food, no water, no shelter. You claim them as yours, but you leave them to suffer. If they are truly yours, then you must care for them."

Plaga’s smile faded, and her eyes narrowed. "You dare lecture me, priest? These people were abandoned long before I claimed them. Their suffering is not mine—it is the legacy of your King and your Church. They turned their backs on these people, sealing them away to die like animals. I merely embraced what they discarded."

Gerald stepped closer, his resolve hardening. "That may be true," he said, "but it changes nothing. If you truly care for them, if they are truly yours, then they need more than suffering. They need food, water, homes. They need a destination, something to hope for. Without hope, they will wither, and even you will have nothing left to claim."

Plaga’s hollow eyes burned brighter, and the air grew heavier, pressing down on Gerald’s chest like a weight. "Hope is a fragile thing," she said, her voice cold. "It is a lie that binds mortals to their despair. Why should I grant them anything more than the truth of their existence?"

"Because even in darkness, there must be light," Gerald said, his voice rising. "Even you must see that. If you give them nothing, if you leave them to rot, then what are you but another force of destruction? You claim to offer renewal, but renewal cannot come without hope."

Plaga was silent for a long moment, her gaze piercing. Finally, she stepped closer, her presence suffocating. "You speak boldly, priest," she said. "But if I were to grant them what you ask, it would come at a cost."

Gerald’s breath caught, and he met her gaze. "What cost?"

Plaga’s smile returned, cruel and cold. "You," she said simply. "Your body, your heart, and your soul. If I am to grant these people what they need, then you must belong to me. Entirely. You will become my knight, marked as mine, bound to my will. You will serve me in life and in death, and you will never again call upon your God. Are you willing to make such a sacrifice, priest?"

Gerald’s heart pounded, the weight of her words sinking into him like a stone. To give himself to Plaga, to forsake his faith, to become a servant of the very force he had fought against—it was unthinkable. And yet, the faces of the people he had tried to help filled his mind. The children starving in the streets, the families huddled in crumbling buildings, the cries of the dying.

He clenched his fists, his mind racing. "If I agree," he said slowly, "you will give them what they need? Food, water, shelter? A chance to live?"

Plaga nodded, her smile widening. "Yes," she said. "I will care for them as my own. I will give them what your King and Church have denied. But you, Gerald, must give yourself to me entirely. There will be no turning back."

Gerald closed his eyes, his thoughts a whirlwind of doubt and despair. He had spent his life serving God, dedicating himself to the faith. To give himself to Plaga was to forsake everything he believed in. But as the faces of the afflicted flashed before him once more, he knew there was no other choice.

He opened his eyes, meeting Plaga’s gaze with unwavering determination. "I accept," he said, his voice steady. "If it means saving them, then I will give myself to you."

Plaga’s laughter echoed through the room, cold and triumphant. "Good," she said, stepping closer. "Then let us seal the pact."

She reached out, her bony fingers brushing against Gerald’s chest. A searing pain shot through him, and he fell to his knees, gasping. He felt her presence invade him, a cold, unrelenting force that wrapped around his heart and soul. The pain was unbearable, but he did not cry out.

When it was over, he looked down to see a mark etched into his chest, a blackened sigil that pulsed faintly with an unnatural light. He could feel her within him now, her whispers louder and more insistent.

"You are mine, Gerald," Plaga said, her voice soft but unyielding. "Your body, your heart, your soul. You will serve me, and through you, I will care for them."

Gerald nodded, his breath ragged. He had made his choice, and there was no turning back. As Plaga dissolved into the shadows, he rose to his feet, the weight of his sacrifice heavy on his shoulders.

The people of the lower city would have what they needed. But at what cost?

As the whispers grew louder in his mind, Gerald knew one thing for certain—his path was no longer his own. He belonged to Plaga now, and the battle for Lotringen was far from over.