A deal with the shadows

Pain.

A sharp, aching throb in Lysandra's head, her limbs heavy as if the darkness itself had wrapped around her. She wasn't sure how long she had been unconscious, but the cold, damp air pressing against her skin told her one thing she wasn't in the temple anymore.

Slowly, she opened her eyes.

The world was shrouded in an eerie twilight, a realm where the sky bled gold and black, shifting like ink in water. Shadowed structures loomed in the distance, jagged and unnatural, their forms twisting when she tried to focus. The ground beneath her felt too smooth, like polished obsidian, but when she touched it, it rippled—liquid and solid at once.

This wasn't the mortal realm.

She was somewhere else.

A cold shiver ran down her spine.

"You are awake."

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Lysandra's breath hitched as she turned.

There—standing at the edge of the shifting void—was the first heir.

His golden eyes burned like dying stars, his form flickering between solid and shadow. He was tall, unnaturally so, his regal presence both terrifying and mesmerizing. The weight of centuries clung to him like a cloak, and when he stepped forward, the very air shuddered.

Lysandra forced herself to stand. Her claws curled at her sides, her pulse roaring in her ears. "Where am I?"

The first heir tilted his head, studying her. "A place between worlds."

Lysandra swallowed. "Why am I here?"

His gaze didn't waver. "Because you seek to break the curse."

The air tightened.

Lysandra clenched her fists. "And? Is this where you tell me it's impossible?"

A sharp, mirthless laugh echoed through the space. "No, child." His voice was ancient, layered with something not entirely human. "I am here to offer you a choice."

Lysandra's breath caught.

The first heir stepped closer, his golden eyes boring into hers. "The gods do not forgive. They do not grant mercy. The curse was not made to be broken—it was made to be suffered."

Her jaw tightened. "Then why are you giving me a choice?"

The shadows around him shifted, twisting into unfamiliar shapes. "Because, Lysandra…" His voice softened, almost… amused. "You remind me of myself."

Lysandra stiffened.

A strange feeling crawled over her skin—recognition.

"I stood where you stand now," the first heir murmured. "I thought I could defy the gods. I thought I could change fate." He lifted a hand, fingers brushing the air as if touching something unseen. "Instead, I became this."

Lysandra's throat tightened. "Then why are you still here?"

The first heir's smile was chilling. "Because the gods will never let me die."

The words sent a shudder through her bones.

He took another step forward, his voice low, tempting. "I can help you, Lysandra. I can show you how to break free—truly free."

Lysandra didn't move. "…What's the price?"

A slow, knowing grin spread across his lips. "You already know the answer."

Lysandra exhaled shakily. She did.

The first heir wanted something only she could give.

A new heir to bear the curse.

If she took his deal, she could end her own suffering. She could live.

But someone else—someone after her—would take her place.

The weight of the choice settled on her like iron chains.

And in that moment, she realized—this was how the curse had survived all this time.

Not just because of the gods.

But because every heir before her had made the same choice.

Lysandra's fingers trembled at her sides.

She could end this, right now.

Or she could do what no heir before her had dared—

Refuse.

Her breath came hard and fast. "I…"

The first heir watched her, waiting.

Lysandra's heart pounded.

And then—

She made her choice.