The new path uncoiled from the darkness like a serpent waking.
It wasn't like the others.
This one was narrow—barely wide enough for two to walk side by side. The shadows on either side rose tall and close, forming something like walls, their edges pulsing with faint veins of silver, as if the Realm's blood ran just beneath the surface.
Evander shifted uneasily.
"I don't like how tight this one is," he muttered. "Feels like it wants to close around us."
The Heir glanced at him. "That is because it does."
Lysandra inhaled slowly.
Her wolf paced under her ribs, curious more than afraid.
New scent.
New danger.
Not for our bones this time.
For our heart.
She stepped onto the path.
It responded at once—rippling ahead, guiding their steps deeper into the shadows. The light from the last chamber faded behind them until it was only memory.
After a few minutes, Evander cleared his throat.
"So," he said, voice a little too bright, "what trial is this? Because I feel like we should know before it tries to kill us."
The Heir's eyes narrowed in thought.
"First was the trial of control," he said slowly. "Second was the trial of power. Third, truth."
Evander groaned. "I swear, if this one is 'trial of death,' I'm leaving."
"It won't be," Lysandra said quietly.
He looked at her. "How are you so sure?"
Because her wolf already knew.
Because her heart already knew.
"Because we've had control, power, and truth," she murmured. "What's left?"
The path ahead flickered.
A single word formed on the ground in glowing script, letters curling in silver fire across the shadow.
BONDS.
Evander sucked in a breath.
The Heir went still.
Lysandra's chest tightened.
Of course.
"The Trial of Bonds," the Heir said under his breath. "Of course."
Evander swallowed. "And what does that mean, exactly?"
Neither answered.
Because the path had reached its end.
The corridor spilled them into a small, circular space, completely enclosed. No open ceiling. No distant walls. Just a rounded chamber made of shadow so thick it looked solid, with no visible exit.
In the center of the floor, a symbol glowed:
A circle divided into three parts.
Silver.
Violet.
Gold.
Lysandra's magic hummed at the sight.
Her wolf lifted its head.
We know this shape.
We live in this shape.
She stepped closer.
The air in the chamber thickened, a slow, oppressive weight pressing down on her shoulders. Evander moved to stand beside her; the Heir took his place on her other side, as if the symbol itself had called them into position.
The moment all three of them stood at equal distance from the circle, the Realm reacted.
The walls pulsed.
The floor vibrated.
Shadows peeled upward, swirling around them in a storm of black silk and cold air.
Evander grabbed her hand.
The Heir's shadows wrapped around his own fingers, tightening like a brace.
"Stay still," he said. "It's reading us."
"Reading what?" Evander demanded.
"Our bonds," Lysandra whispered.
Her heart pounded.
The storm of shadow narrowed, spinning faster, higher, until the chamber disappeared behind a cyclone of darkness. The only thing she could see clearly was the glowing symbol at her feet.
Silver. Violet. Gold.
Her wolf vibrated with the energy.
The shadows split.
Part of the storm curled around Evander, part around the Heir, part around her—binding them in three separate tunnels of shadow, still connected at the center.
Lysandra's breath hitched.
She could still feel their hands, but she couldn't see their faces anymore—only faint silhouettes behind the veils of darkness.
"Evander?" she called.
"I'm here," he answered immediately. His voice was tight. "I can't see you, but I'm here."
"Shadow?"
"Yes," came the reply. "Don't move."
The symbol on the floor flared brighter.
Three lines shot out from the circle, each one piercing a different column of shadow—one through hers, one through Evander's, one through the Heir's.
Pain stabbed her chest.
Not physical.
A tearing.
Her bonds reacted—one warm, one cold—pulling tight, straining, protesting being forced apart.
The Realm's voice slid into the space between them, clearer here than it had ever been.
Not words.
Intent.
Choose.
Lysandra's lungs seized.
Evander's voice broke.
"No. No. Absolutely not. We are not doing this."
The Heir didn't speak.
She could feel his silence like a sharp blade.
The Realm pressed its will deeper.
The shadow around Evander thickened, turning almost solid.
A vision flickered in front of her, playing inside the storm.
Evander.
Back in Luneville.
Back in the shop.
Back in her world.
But she wasn't there.
He stood behind the counter of Floraison de Minuit, arranging flowers with careful hands, his face drawn and pale. Customers came and went. The Moonblossoms bloomed every night.
But the light was gone from him.
He went home alone.
He came back alone.
He laughed less.
He moved slower.
Alive.
Safe.
Empty.
Lysandra's throat closed.
"No," she whispered.
The vision dissolved.
The shadows shifted.
Another scene took its place.
The Shadow Heir.
In his realm of darkness, standing alone on the edge of a cliff that overlooked a vast sea of writhing shadow. Cloaked in power, crowned in silence.
His people—beings of darkness and mist—watched from afar. None approached.
He was unchallenged.
Unmoved.
Untouched.
He ruled.
But when he turned toward the place where she should have been—
there was nothing.
No moonlight in his shadows.
No silver in his gaze.
Just endless, numb command.
Her heart ached.
The visions vanished.
The Realm spoke again.
Choose.
One bond lives.
One bond breaks.
Evander swore, voice savage.
"No. She doesn't have to choose. She already chose. She chose both."
The shadows around him clenched tighter, as if irritated by his defiance.
The Heir finally spoke.
"Realm," he said, voice low and cold, "you overreach."
The shadows reacted to him—rippling, tasting his authority, the part of him that did belong to this world.
But the will behind the trial remained.
Choose.
Pain speared through Lysandra's chest.
Her wolf snarled.
We will not.
But the Realm pushed harder, dragging up every fear she'd buried in the depth of her double-bond.
Images flashed in front of her, rapid and brutal:
Evander, dying because he couldn't withstand her magic.
The Heir, losing his kingdom because he stood between her and the shadows.
Evander, resenting her for binding him to a world of danger.
The Heir, resenting her for softening his darkness.
Her breath broke.
The Realm whispered against her ears, using no voices this time—just emotion.
Fear.
Regret.
Guilt.
Evander's voice cut through it, raw and shaking.
"Lysandra! Listen to me—don't you dare choose me."
She froze.
"What?"
"If this place forces you—if it actually makes you choose—don't pick me," he said.
"Pick whatever keeps you alive. Pick what keeps you strongest. I'll heal. Or I won't. But you—"
"Evander, stop."
"No, you stop!" His voice cracked. "I promised I'd never be the thing that drags you down. I promised I'd stand with you until you didn't need me anymore. If this is where that promise ends, then—"
"Enough."
The Heir's voice cut through the chamber, sharp and unyielding.
"If anyone is sacrificed, it will not be the one who holds her heart."
Lysandra's eyes burned.
"Shadow—"
He continued anyway.
"This realm is mine as much as it is hers now," he said.
"If it demands a bond, let it take the one that has always belonged to shadow."
The storm roared.
The Realm tasted his offer.
Evander shouted, "No! You don't get to decide that either! She decides—she ALWAYS decides—"
Lysandra's wolf rose in a furious wave.
Ours.
All ours.
No one decides for us.
She snarled aloud.
"STOP."
The shadow storm froze mid-whirl.
The glowing symbol brightened until it was blinding.
Lysandra stepped forward—or tried to. The bindings of shadow held her in place, but her magic surged, pushing against them.
"I will not choose," she whispered, every word shaking with power.
"You don't get to turn my bonds into a game, or a sword, or a punishment."
The Realm pressed harder.
Choice.
One.
Or none.
Her breath shook, but she didn't look away from the symbol beneath her feet.
"You gave me control of my wolf," she said softly. "You gave me access to your heart. You showed me my truth."
Her voice steadied.
"Now you will learn mine."
Silver light erupted from her skin.
Violet shadow flared from the Heir.
Warm gold pulsed from Evander's bond.
The three colors surged toward the center of the circle, clashing, twisting, fighting—
—then braiding.
Not one extinguishing the other.
Three currents weaving into a single symbol.
Lysandra's wolf howled inside her, proud and fierce.
We are not half.
We are not lesser.
We are not broken.
We are three.
And we are whole.
She lifted her hands.
"I choose all," she whispered.
The chamber shook.
The Realm pushed—
—she pushed back.
The symbol at their feet changed.
The three segments blurred, lines dissolving until there was no division, no separation—just one ring of light that held all colors at once.
Evander gasped as the pressure around him snapped like a broken chain.
The Heir staggered as the shadows released their chokehold.
The storm of darkness collapsed inward, funneling into the symbol, swallowed by the circle.
Silence fell.
Then—
A slow, deep vibration rolled through the chamber.
An acknowledgement.
The bond-trial had not gotten what it asked for.
But it had gotten something else.
Something new.
The Realm spoke, not in command, but in statement.
Bond: unbroken.
Trial: reshaped.
Result: accepted.
The dark walls thinned, dissolving like smoke caught in wind.
Evander stumbled toward her, eyes wet, expression wrecked.
He cupped her face.
"You stubborn, impossible, terrifying woman," he breathed.
She leaned into his touch.
"I warned you," she said softly. "I don't do either-or."
The Heir approached more slowly, but his shadows were calm now, resting quietly at his heels. His violet gaze locked onto hers.
"You just told an ancient Realm no," he said. "Again."
"Did it listen?" she asked.
His lips almost curved.
"Yes."
The path ahead opened.
This time, the darkness beyond it didn't feel like a threat.
It felt like an invitation.
Her wolf lifted its head.
We walk forward.
Not alone.
And for the first time since stepping into the Shadow Realm,
Lysandra knew:
The trials were not just changing her.
She was changing them too.