The world slammed back into existence like a breath drawn too sharply.
White light.
Endless skies.
The ground beneath her bare feet glowing like liquid moonstone.
Lysandra stood alone.
No Evander.
No Shadow.
No voices.
Just the moon—
and the truth she didn't want.
Her wolf paced inside her chest, restless.
Fearful.
Broken.
We cannot choose.
We cannot.
They are both ours.
Lysandra wrapped her arms around herself as though that might hold her heart together.
"This isn't right," she whispered into the emptiness.
"You can't force this on me. I won't choose. I refuse."
The moon answered, its voice ancient and patient:
"Child of night and dawn…
you do not choose for yourself.
You choose for the world you will shape."
Her breath caught.
"What do you mean?"
The light around her shifted—
and two images appeared in front of her,
floating like reflections in water.
Image One: The Mortal's Future
Evander stood beneath a clear sky—
alive, smiling, holding her hand so gently it hurt to look at.
Peace.
Warmth.
A quiet life.
A home with light through the windows.
A garden blooming with moonflowers.
A warm bed.
Children with grey eyes.
A future built on tenderness.
But beneath it—
hidden deep—
was a shadow.
The moon whispered:
"If you choose the mortal…
the Shadow Realm burns."
Lysandra's heart twisted.
"What?"
The peaceful image cracked at the edges.
Behind the calm future was destruction—
shadows tearing through the sky,
a warpath spreading across realms,
dark creatures unleashed.
Balance broken.
Because the Heir's bond would be left wounded.
Because destiny would break.
Because fate would rage.
Her wolf whimpered.
Choosing Evander destroys the Shadow Realm.
Lysandra covered her mouth.
"No… no, that can't be right—"
But the moon's voice was firm.
"Balance fails without the bond of shadow."
Image Two: The Shadow Heir's Future
The second image rippled alive.
The Heir stood beside her—
tall, fierce, eyes glowing violet like twin galaxies.
She wore silver armor, shadows coiling around her like a cloak.
Power.
Magic.
Destiny.
Beside him she stood as a queen—
ruler of light and night.
A cosmic bond.
A throne made of stars.
A future of unimaginable strength.
But beneath it—
hidden deep—
was a quiet ache.
A small cottage window.
An empty bed.
A single cup left untouched on a table.
Evander gone.
The moon whispered:
"If you choose the Shadow Heir…
the mortal dies."
Lysandra's breath shattered.
"No…"
her voice broke,
"no, please— don't— he doesn't deserve that—"
"His soul cannot survive a broken bond."
Her knees weakened.
Evander's laughter faded into the background.
His smile dissolved into dust.
The image of him vanished like smoke.
Her wolf cried out.
We cannot kill him.
We cannot choose destiny if it means his death.
Lysandra clutched her chest.
"This is cruel," she whispered.
"This is impossible."
The moon softened its voice, like a mother calming a child.
"Love is never gentle, Moonblood."
"But I don't want love that destroys worlds," she sobbed.
"I don't want love that kills one and crowns the other."
The moon hummed.
"Then choose neither."
Lysandra froze.
"What?"
The two images shattered into dust.
Only darkness remained.
"You may break both bonds."
Her heart plummeted.
"Break… both?"
"Your heart will remain yours."
"But Evander—?"
"He lives."
"And the Heir?"
"He survives."
"But without me?"
Silence.
Her wolf whimpered.
This choice hurts everyone.
Everyone.
Including us.
Lysandra sank to her knees, sobbing.
"So those are my choices?"
She choked the words out:
"Break Evander…
or break the Heir…
or break myself?"
The moon answered:
"There is one more path."
Lysandra's head snapped up.
"A fourth choice?"
"Yes."
The light reshaped—
revealing a final path.
A path bathed in silver and black both—
woven together like yin and yang.
The moon said:
"A forbidden path."
Lysandra's voice trembled.
"What does it mean?"
"The path where you keep them both."
Her breath stopped.
Her wolf stilled.
"What?" she whispered.
"Two bonds.
One heart."
Lysandra stared, stunned.
"That's… that's not possible."
The moon's voice deepened.
"It has never been done."
Lysandra's wolf howled.
But we can.
We can.
We must.
The moon continued:
"This path destroys the old prophecy…
and writes a new one."
Lysandra's breath shook.
A prophecy remade.
A balance reshaped.
A destiny rewritten.
"And what's the cost?" she whispered.
"You."
Lysandra stiffened.
"Me?"
"Your life will no longer belong to one realm.
Or one fate.
Or one bond."
The light shimmered.
"You will stand between realms.
Between destinies.
Between two loves."
A queen of balance.
A bridge between shadow and light.
A heart big enough to hold both bonds—
but never fully resting in one.
Lysandra trembled.
A life divided.
A love multiplied.
A destiny unimaginable.
"Will they accept this?" she whispered.
The moon responded:
"They will accept what your heart commands."
Her wolf rose inside her chest—
strong, glowing, fierce.
This is who we are.
Not divided.
Not broken.
Not choosing one and killing the other.
We hold both.
Lysandra wiped her tears.
Her heart steadied.
Her spine straightened.
Her wolf growled.
"I choose the fourth path."
The moon roared with light—
shaking the chamber.
"So be it."
Two figures appeared as the light exploded:
Evander—
and the Shadow Heir—
thrown into the chamber before her.
Both looked terrified.
Both looked desperate for her.
Both reached for her.
"Lysandra—!"
"Little moon—!"
She stepped forward.
Her voice was soft.
But the moon carried it like a blade:
"I choose both of you."
The chamber broke.
The prophecy shattered.
And Lysandra Moonblood rewrote destiny itself.