A Bargain Made of Ashes

The moon hung like a dying eye over Ravenhold, its silver sheen split and bleeding into the mist that curled through the ancient corridors. Fog pressed against the stone like a living thing, dense and heavy, as if the fortress itself was holding its breath. Nothing about the night was still. The silence throbbed with unspoken dread.

Seraphina wandered the halls barefoot, the cold stone biting into her skin with every step. Her nightgown clung damply to her legs, the hem trailing dust and whispers. Her fingers skimmed the walls as she walked, seeking... something. Anything. The torches flickered in her wake, casting her shadow long and strange.

She had not slept. Sleep was a thing that belonged to people untouched by prophecy.

The mark on her chest pulsed again—not painful now, just persistent. A reminder. A call.

Come back to me, it whispered. Return.

His voice again. Always his voice.

She found herself standing outside the war chamber. The heavy iron-banded doors loomed before her like the maw of some great beast. Inside, she knew, the war council debated the siege that pressed closer each night. The High Mages. The warlords. Mira.

But not her.

She wasn't a tactician anymore. Not a princess. Not a cursed girl.

She was the weapon.

The door opened before she could knock, groaning on its hinges like it, too, was tired of pretending. Mira stood just beyond it, arms crossed tightly, her jaw clenched.

"You might as well come in," she said, voice a blunt blade. "We're deciding who dies first."

Earlier – Valen's POV

Far from Ravenhold, deep within the hollow ribs of the mountain range, Valen knelt inside the crumbling chapel of a forgotten god. Snow filtered through the collapsed roof like falling ash. The altar had cracked in two, long ago, but still it waited—like all dead things—hoping for resurrection.

Valen didn't pray. He bled.

His left palm lay open, sliced cleanly. Blood dripped in steady rhythm into a basin etched with runes so old, they pulsed with power rather than glowed. Golden threads of light unfurled across the stone floor, forming a ritual circle jagged with age and consequence.

From the far shadows, she emerged.

Tall. Cloaked in rags that moved like mist. Her face was veiled, but her smile was not.

"Your Majesty," the woman said, her voice syrup and smoke. "You were warned. Bargains with the Forgotten Ones are rarely fair."

"I didn't come for fairness." Valen's eyes never left the basin. "I came for her freedom."

"You've come to unbind the curse that ties her to you."

He nodded once.

"And what do you offer in return?"

"My soul."

A beat. Then laughter—rich and cold and amused.

"How theatrical. And if she still loves you when it's done?"

"She won't." He swallowed hard. "Not if she's free. That's the point."

The woman stepped closer. "Then it is done."

Her fingers moved, drawing symbols in the air. The runes around him surged. The blood hissed like fire meeting ice. Light blinded the room. Magic cracked the air.

Now – Seraphina's POV

The mark on her chest ignited. A scream built in her throat, but it never came. Instead, she staggered against the war table. Maps and battle markers clattered to the floor.

"Seraphina?" Mira's voice. Sharp with alarm.

Seraphina pressed her palm to her chest.

Nothing.

The mark—the bond—it was gone.

The tether that bound her to Valen, the invisible thread that had guided her heartbeat in tandem with his, had been sliced.

Clean. Sudden.

Her knees buckled.

"Everyone out," she said, voice hollow.

Mira blinked. "Seraphina—"

"Out!"

There was something in her voice that didn't belong to royalty. It belonged to storms. The warlords obeyed. Mira lingered a heartbeat longer before leaving in silence.

As the door shut, Seraphina collapsed.

She didn't cry. She simply... folded. Onto the cold stone floor, hands flat, eyes wide.

"No," she whispered. "No, you don't get to do this."

He had severed it. Severed them.

She couldn't feel him anymore. His heartbeat. His pain. His certainty.

It was gone. He was gone.

And he had chosen it.

She felt hollowed. Like someone had reached inside and carved out every soft part.

"You coward," she breathed. "You beautiful, selfish coward."

Valen – Chapel

The ritual faded. The runes dimmed. The last drop of blood dried.

And he knew.

He knew the bond was broken.

He stood slowly, the cold biting into his bones now that her fire was no longer there to warm him.

The veiled woman watched him with unreadable eyes.

"You gave her everything," she said. "Even her hatred of you."

"She'll live," Valen said quietly. "She'll rule. She'll survive this war and burn kingdoms down if she must. But now she'll do it on her own terms."

"And you?"

Valen looked up at the night through the broken roof.

"I'll disappear. That's what monsters do."

He wrapped his cloak around himself and walked into the snow.