Death and Curses

The morning sky was a pale, eerie gray.

The fortress walls stood tall around the courtyard, lined with banners bearing the insignia of Warlord Feng Xuan. Every corner of the stronghold had been fortified after last night's betrayal—guards posted at every entrance, swords drawn, eyes watchful. The scent of burnt wood lingered from the fires that had raged during the night.

Li Yue sat motionless in her bridal robes, her hands folded in her lap.

She should have felt relief that she had survived, that Lin Cheng's coup had been crushed before it could begin.

But her heart was heavy.

She had chosen Feng Xuan. She had exposed Lin Cheng's treachery. And yet, something deep inside her whispered that this was only the beginning.

The warlord himself stood near the main hall, speaking with his men in hushed tones. His presence was commanding, his voice sharp and unwavering. He had not spoken much to her since the night's events, but when their eyes met across the courtyard, she saw the unspoken question in his gaze:

Can I trust you?

She did not have an answer.

The wedding ceremony was set to begin within the hour, a swift affair with no room for celebration. This was not a union of love, but of power.

Still, she had a role to play.

A bride. A queen. A survivor.

As she rose to her feet, her attendants moved to fix the golden hairpin in her hair, their fingers trembling. The entire fortress knew what had happened last night. They knew her once-trusted knight had betrayed her.

And now, they watched her with something close to fear.

As if she had already become something else.

The first sign that something was wrong came when the tea was served.

Li Yue sat across from Feng Xuan in the dimly lit ceremonial hall. Before them, two cups of wedding tea were placed on the lacquered table, steam curling from the delicate porcelain.

She reached for her cup.

Her fingers barely brushed the rim before a sharp sensation crawled up her spine—an invisible hand tightening around her throat.

Her breath hitched.

Something was wrong.

A faint bitterness lingered in the air, beneath the fragrant jasmine.

Poison.

Her mind screamed the word before her lips could.

She pulled her hand back just as Feng Xuan lifted his own cup.

"Stop!"

Her voice was hoarse, urgent. She knocked the cup from his hand, sending the liquid spilling onto the floor.

The hall fell silent.

The warlord's gaze snapped to hers, sharp with immediate understanding.

His men reached for their swords.

But before anyone could react further, a sharp pain lanced through her chest.

Li Yue staggered, gasping.

Her vision blurred, the world tilting sideways.

The air felt wrong, thick with something unseen.

And then—

A whisper.

Soft. Faint.

A voice that was not her own.

"Finally."

Darkness rushed forward, swallowing her whole.

Li Yue's body crumpled to the ground.

But she did not.

She was falling—yet weightless.

Her breath came in shallow gasps, but there was no air. No walls, no floor, only a vast, endless void stretching in every direction.

And in that void, something moved.

A shadow. A presence.

Not human.

Not entirely.

"You were meant to die."

The voice curled around her like smoke, neither male nor female, neither gentle nor cruel.

She tried to speak, but no sound left her lips.

She wasn't in her body anymore.

She wasn't anywhere.

Memories flickered at the edges of her mind—her kingdom's fall, the marriage she never wanted, Lin Cheng's betrayal, the wedding tea—

"No," she thought fiercely. "I refuse to die like this."

She fought against the pull of the void, against the unseen force trying to unravel her existence.

And then—

She saw it.

A figure.

A woman.

Draped in ancient robes, her face obscured, her presence impossibly heavy.

Li Yue knew, instinctively, that this was no ordinary spirit.

This was something older.

Something hungry.

"You were given in marriage to a warlord." The figure's voice was quiet, but the weight of it pressed down like stone. "Now, you will be given to me."

Li Yue's breath caught.

"No."

The figure did not move.

"You belong to the one who claims you first," it murmured. "And I claim you now."

A sharp pain lanced through her chest.

Her soul—her very essence—was being dragged forward, pulled toward the figure as if caught in an unseen current.

She fought.

She screamed.

But there was no one to hear her.

In the physical world, Feng Xuan knelt beside her fallen body.

Her skin was deathly pale, her lips slightly parted as if caught mid-breath.

But she was not dead.

Not yet.

A hush fell over the hall as an elderly warlock stepped forward, his expression grim. His presence was an ill omen—one did not summon a warlock unless death had already arrived.

He knelt beside her, placing a wrinkled hand over her chest.

For a long moment, there was silence.

Then, he exhaled sharply.

"Her soul has been taken," he said.

Murmurs of shock spread through the room.

Feng Xuan's eyes darkened. "By what?"

The warlock's fingers twitched, tracing symbols in the air above Li Yue's still form.

"A spirit older than men," he said. "Something that has waited a long time for a soul like hers."

Feng Xuan's jaw tightened.

"Can she be saved?"

The warlock hesitated.

"Perhaps," he said. "But not without a price."

Feng Xuan rose to his feet, his face unreadable.

"Then name it."

In the void, Li Yue's strength was fading.

The unseen force was pulling her in, piece by piece.

And then—

Another presence.

Strong. Dark.

A force opposing the one that sought to claim her.

She did not understand it, not fully.

But she knew.

One was trying to take her.

The other—

Was claiming her.

A deep voice, distant yet familiar, echoed through the void.

"You are not hers to take."

Li Yue's eyes widened.

A hand—solid, warm—closed around her wrist.

And then, just as suddenly as she had been torn from her body—

She was dragged back.

Li Yue's eyes flew open.

She gasped, her lungs burning, her vision spinning as she took in the scene around her.

The warlock. The guards. The overturned tea.

And Feng Xuan.

He stood over her, his expression unreadable, his hand still gripping hers.

Her entire body ached, but something inside her was different.

Changed.

The warlock's gaze was heavy.

"The curse is not broken," he murmured.

Feng Xuan's fingers tightened around her wrist. "Explain."

The warlock exhaled. "She has been touched by something beyond mortal reach." His gaze flickered toward Li Yue. "And now, she is no longer just yours, Warlord."

The words settled over them like a storm cloud.

Li Yue felt it—something new, something foreign—coiled inside her chest.

She had returned.

But she was no longer the same.

And whatever had claimed her in the void…

It had not let her go.