The world reformed around Liora in a blur of silver light, depositing her on a cliff overlooking the black-spined mountains. She exhaled slowly, letting the remnants of teleportation fade from her veins. The air here tasted of iron and winter — familiar, almost comforting.
Below her, the valley stretched wide and empty, except for the faint trails of energy only curse-bearers could see. Threads of red, threads of shadow, threads of souls half-devoured.
Liora closed her eyes.
She could still feel Kael.
A new presence in the lattice of cursed hosts — raw, unstable, yet heavy with potential. His aura had been like a storm held inside a man's body.
And his resistance…
That intrigued her more than she cared to admit.
"Reckless," she muttered to herself. "And powerful. A dangerous combination."
A soft pulse ran through her spine — the familiar signal.
Her curse was waking.
"You want him," the entity whispered inside her head. "The new bearer. His chain is fresh. Break him. Bind him. Feed."
Liora ignored the voice. She had learned, long ago, to separate her thoughts from its hunger.
She descended a rocky path toward a shattered stone archway at the cliff's base. The ruins were older than empires, carved with the same symbols that marked her bones. She stepped over a fallen pillar and into a chamber lit by pale fire.
A figure waited inside — a thin man in ceremonial robes, kneeling beside a circle of ash. His skin was greyed, his eyes dim. A disciple.
"Lady Vale," he rasped. "You've returned."
"For now," she said. "The others?"
"All gone. The shrine… woke again." The disciple's voice trembled. "It consumed the last sentry at dawn."
Liora's jaw tightened.
So it was accelerating.
She stepped into the ash circle. It shimmered under her boots.
"Tell me," she said, "what did the shrine show before it activated?"
The disciple swallowed. "A vision, my lady. It showed… him."
Liora went still.
"Describe."
"A man standing in fire. A chain of shadow wrapped around his throat. And behind him—"
He broke off, trembling violently.
"And behind him?" she pressed.
"A throne," the disciple whispered. "A throne made of dead gods."
The chamber fell silent.
Liora exhaled slowly, a knot forming in her chest.
So the shrines had begun choosing again — and not blindly. The curse wasn't spreading at random; it had direction. Purpose.
Kael Draven was part of something larger.
She touched her own mark, just below her collarbone — a silver brand shaped like an open eye.
Her curse flickered at the contact, whispering in her thoughts:
"He is the pivot. The hinge. The fulcrum. Kill him, and your chain becomes the strongest."
"Or spare him," she murmured, "and perhaps he becomes the one thing that ends you."
The entity growled like a caged beast.
She smiled faintly. "Don't sulk."
Turning from the disciple, she walked deeper into the ruins, stopping before a cracked mirror of polished obsidian. Shadows pooled at her feet like liquid.
She looked into the mirror and saw not her reflection — but her truth.
A silhouette with long, jagged wings.
Silver eyes that burned like dying stars.
A crown of writhing chains.
The future she would become if she let the curse devour her.
"Kael…" she whispered. "What are you in all of this?"
The mirror rippled.
For the faintest moment, she saw him — somewhere far away, walking through mist with the black sword at his side.
And even across that distance…
his presence tugged at her chain.
Not as prey.
Not as predator.
Something else entirely.
Something dangerous.
Liora turned away, cloak swirling behind her as she stepped into the shadows.
"He'll seek answers," she said. "Which means he'll come for the shrines."
A cold wind howled outside the ruins.
"And when he does…"
A small, strange smile touched her lips.
"…I'll be waiting."