The chamber slowly dimmed, returning to its natural shadowed glow. The Heart's massive form receded, folding back into itself like a giant creature curling into sleep.
The Realm's thrum softened.
The air loosened its grip on their lungs.
Evander still held Lysandra, his arms wrapped around her as if any loosened grip would let the Realm swallow her whole.
He pressed his forehead to hers.
"Don't ever—ever—do that again."
Lysandra gave a small breathless laugh.
"I wasn't exactly trying to."
He pulled back enough to search her face.
Her silver eyes were brighter than before, illuminated from within like liquid moonlight. He brushed her cheek.
"You're warm," he murmured. "Warmer than usual."
"I feel…" Lysandra paused, trying to find the word. "Awake."
Evander swallowed hard, guilt flickering in his eyes.
"I couldn't do anything. I couldn't reach you. I—"
"You grounded me," she said softly.
"You kept me from burning."
He blinked rapidly. "I… did?"
Lysandra nodded.
"You're my anchor, Evander."
His chest tightened visibly, relief flooding his face.
But the moment was broken when the Heir stepped forward, shadows sweeping behind him like a slow tide.
"We must move."
Evander's jaw clenched at the intrusion.
"Oh sure, because walking deeper into hell sounds great."
The Heir ignored him and looked only at Lysandra.
"How do you feel?"
"Stronger," she admitted. "Clearer."
Her wolf stretched beneath her skin, calm and controlled, no longer battering against her ribs for dominance.
For the first time, her wolf felt… aligned.
The Heir nodded once.
"Good. Then you must keep walking."
Lysandra frowned. "To what?"
"The next gate," he said.
"The next trial."
Evander groaned. "We just finished this one."
And Lysandra realized something strange—
the Realm didn't feel hostile anymore.
Not warm.
Not gentle.
But no longer trying to crush her.
More like… watching.
Waiting.
Her wolf murmured inside her:
It sees us now.
It knows we are not prey.
It tests, not hunts.
Lysandra rose slowly to her feet. The Realm responded at once: the glowing circle vanished, the cracked stone sealed, and a new path unfurled from the opposite side of the cavern.
A path of pure shadow, bordered by faint silver lines.
Evander stared. "Another path opened. Does this place ever stop building nightmares?"
"This is not a nightmare," the Heir said quietly. "This is recognition."
He turned to Lysandra.
"The Realm only opens paths for its own."
Lysandra's skin prickled.
"I'm not its own."
The Heir's eyes softened.
"You are now."
Evander stepped between them.
"She isn't property."
"No," the Heir said.
"She is destiny."
Lysandra cut between them before another argument exploded.
"Both of you stop."
She walked toward the path.
Her feet didn't sink into it.
The shadows took her weight like solid ground.
Evander tensed. "Slow down—let me go first—"
"No," she said gently. "You stay beside me."
He swallowed and nodded, hurrying to match her pace.
The Heir walked on her other side, shadows curling around him like obedient spirits.
As they traveled deeper, the air changed.
The cavern behind them faded, replaced by narrow corridors of swirling shadow that twisted into sharp corners and sudden bends.
Evander's breathing tightened.
"This place feels wrong."
"It is meant to," the Heir said. "We are crossing into the Realm's inner territories."
Evander didn't hide his frustration.
"And why does that matter?"
"Because here," the Heir answered, "everything has a name."
Lysandra frowned. "Meaning?"
"Meaning the shadows can think for themselves," he said.
Before she could react, a soft scraping sound slid across the ground behind them.
Evander spun instantly. "What was that?"
The corridor behind them rippled.
Shadows peeled away from the wall—
one shape
two
three
four…
Each tall.
Lithe.
Humanoid.
Faces blank, limbs elongated, moving in jerky motions as if learning how to walk.
Evander stumbled backward. "Nope. No, no, nope—"
The Heir stepped slightly in front of Lysandra.
"Remain still."
The shadow-creatures froze instantly.
Lysandra felt their focus fall entirely on her.
Her wolf bristled—
not out of fear.
Out of dominance.
Her wolf lifted its head.
We are not prey.
We are not hiding.
We command.
Lysandra stepped forward before the Heir could stop her.
The shadows instantly bowed.
Evander's jaw dropped. "They—are—bowing?!"
The Heir watched quietly. "As they should."
She lifted her chin slightly.
"Why?" she asked.
The Heir answered, "Because in this part of the Realm, everything answers only to its queen."
Evander sputtered. "She's NOT their queen!"
But Lysandra heard her wolf whisper:
We could be.
She pushed the thought away.
"We're not here to rule anything," she said firmly. "We just want to pass."
The shadows rose, then parted—opening the corridor forward.
Evander blinked. "Did you just negotiate with shadow-people?"
"It seems she did," the Heir murmured.
Lysandra walked through their formation, her wolf perfectly steady, chest warm with the strange new power pulsing inside her.
Evander leaned close, whispering:
"I don't care how cool that looked—I want nothing to do with shadow bowing."
Lysandra smothered a smile.
Her wolf did not.
They traveled for several minutes until the corridor widened into an open chamber.
Then they saw it.
A massive archway of pure shadow, carved with symbols that glowed faintly in silver.
Evander gasped. "Is that—another gate?"
"Yes," the Heir said. "The gate to the Third Trial."
Lysandra's wolf inhaled sharply.
The air around the arch felt wrong—
heavy, thick, echoing with something like memory.
"What's the Third Trial?" she whispered.
The Heir stepped closer, shadows trembling like leaves in a storm.
He touched the edge of the arch.
"It is the Trial of Truth."
Evander frowned. "Truth about what?"
The Heir turned slowly, eyes landing on Lysandra with a weight she had never seen before.
"Truth about yourself."
Lysandra felt something cold bloom under her skin.
"And what if I don't want to know?" she whispered.
His shadows curled tighter.
"The Realm does not care what you want."
Evander stepped in front of her protectively.
"No. She's done enough. She needs rest."
But the Heir shook his head.
"If she stops now," he murmured, "the path will close. And the Realm will not open it again."
Lysandra's heart thudded.
Evander gripped her hand.
"You don't have to go in."
But her wolf did not flinch.
We must.
Lysandra stepped forward, voice quiet.
"I go where my truth waits."
Evander closed his eyes in pain.
The Heir opened the arch with a sweep of shadow.
A breath of freezing air spilled out.
Dark.
Deep.
Silent.
Waiting.
Lysandra inhaled.
And stepped through.
The Third Trial began.