Kyroth's POV
The bond burns through me like liquid fire.
I stumble backward, staring at the mortal girl sprawled against the broken seal. At the mark glowing over her heart—a broken crown wrapped in thorns that matches the shattered chain now burning on my own chest.
Three hundred years. Three hundred years of darkness and silence and rage, and the first thing I do upon freedom is bind myself to a dying mortal?
"What did you do?" I snarl at her.
She blinks up at me with tear-filled eyes. "I didn't—I don't understand—"
"Your blood." I force the words out through clenched teeth. "It wasn't just any blood. You have—"
I stop myself before I can finish. Before I can tell her what I feel pulsing through the bond. What's impossible. What can't be real.
She carries her soul.
No. Not her exactly. Fragments. Echoes. But enough to make the ancient magic in my prison recognize her. Enough to create a bond that should never exist.
I want to rage. Want to destroy something. Want to tear apart the fate that would play such a cruel joke.
Instead, I force myself to stand still. To breathe. To think like the god I used to be before grief turned me into a monster.
The girl watches me with those wide, frightened eyes. She's shaking so hard I can see it from here. Blood still drips from her cut palm, each drop making the bond pulse stronger.
She's pathetic. Broken. Mortal. Everything I despise about this world that took Seraphine from me.
But the bond won't let me hate her. Won't let me ignore her. Won't let me simply walk away.
I study her properly for the first time. Really look at her, not just at the soul fragments she carries.
She's young. Maybe twenty-four or twenty-five in mortal years. Her face is covered in blood and dirt, but I can see the bone structure beneath—strong and elegant. Her hair is tangled and dark, falling around her shoulders in knots.
But it's her eyes that catch me. Gray-blue, like storm clouds. And in them, I see something I recognize.
Rage. Deep, burning rage that matches my own.
This girl isn't just scared. She's furious. At me, yes. But also at something—or someone—else.
"Stand up," I command.
She flinches but doesn't move. "I can't."
"You freed a god. The least you can do is face him on your feet."
"My legs won't work." Her voice breaks. "Everything hurts and I'm so tired and I just want—"
She cuts herself off, but I catch the thought through the bond. Clear as if she spoke it aloud.
She wants to die.
The realization hits me like a physical blow. This mortal girl didn't stumble into the ruins by accident. She came here to die. Chose this cursed place as her grave.
And then she bled on my prison.
Against my will, curiosity stirs. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do you want to die?" I move closer, watching her tense. "You're young. Healthy despite the blood loss. You have a noble name—Ashcroft—which means you had wealth, position, power." I tilt my head, examining her. "So what drives a girl like you to choose death in cursed ruins?"
Something flickers across her face. Pain so deep it makes the bond ache.
"They took everything," she whispers. "My crown. My name. My future. My sister—" Her voice cracks. "My own sister betrayed me. And the man I loved helped her do it."
Ah. Now I understand the rage in her eyes.
"Betrayal by blood," I say softly. "That's the deepest cut, isn't it?"
She looks up at me, surprised that I understand. "You know?"
"I'm called the Betrayer God for a reason." I smile, but there's no warmth in it. "Though the real betrayers were those who sealed me here. My own siblings. My former friends. They called it justice, punishing me for loving a mortal." My hands clench into fists. "But her husband killed her for the same crime. Where was justice for her?"
The girl stares at me like she's seeing me for the first time. Not as a monster or a legend, but as something else.
Someone who understands.
"They killed her?" she asks quietly.
"Executed her. Paraded her body through the streets as a warning." The three-hundred-year-old wound tears open fresh. "When I tried to make them pay, the Pantheon stopped me. Sealed me in this prison to rot."
"That's not fair."
"No," I agree. "It's not. But the world rarely is."
We stare at each other across the broken seal. Two betrayed souls, connected by accident and blood.
Then my form flickers again. Weakness washes through me, making my knees buckle.
The girl gasps. "What's wrong?"
"Three hundred years of imprisonment," I grit out. "My power is nearly drained. I need—"
I don't finish. Don't tell her that I need life force to sustain this physical form. That without it, I'll fade back into the seal.
But she feels it through the bond. Her eyes widen.
"You need my life?" she asks. "Is that what the bond means?"
"Partly." I force myself to straighten despite the exhaustion. "The bond goes both ways. I can't leave these ruins without you. You can't die without dragging me back into imprisonment. We're stuck together, little mortal."
"My name is Evelina."
"I don't care."
She flinches, and I feel the sting of it through the bond. Good. Let her hurt. Let her feel even a fraction of what I've endured.
But then she does something unexpected.
She laughs.
Not a happy laugh. A broken, bitter sound that echoes through the ruins.
"Of course," she says. "Of course this would happen. I try to die with dignity, and instead I accidentally free a god and bind myself to him forever." She looks up at me, and her storm-cloud eyes are empty. Dead. "This is my punishment, isn't it? For being stupid enough to trust people who said they loved me."
The hopelessness in her voice makes something twist in my chest. Something I don't want to feel.
"Kill me then," she says suddenly. Her voice is flat. Final. "Everyone else wants me dead. You might as well be first."
I stare at her. At this broken girl who freed me, bound herself to me, and now offers me her death like it's nothing.
Like she's nothing.
My hand moves before I can think. I grab her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes.
"You think I traveled through three centuries of darkness to kill one pathetic mortal?" I lean closer, letting her feel the full weight of my power. "You're far too useful alive."
"Useful?" She tries to pull away, but I hold firm.
"The bond means you're mine now. Your life. Your power. Your vengeance." I smile, and this time it's sharp with purpose. "You want revenge on those who betrayed you? I'll teach you. But know this—"
I pull her up to her feet with inhuman strength. She stumbles against me, and the bond flares hot where our bodies touch.
"Gods don't love," I whisper against her ear. "We consume. And I've been starving for three hundred years."
She shudders, whether from fear or something else, I can't tell.
Then her legs give out completely. She collapses, and instinct makes me catch her.
The moment I do, everything changes.
Power surges through the bond. Her hidden magic—dormant, god-touched, ancient—roars awake. My divine essence, starved for centuries, drinks it in desperately.
Too much. Too fast. Too overwhelming.
We both scream as magic explodes around us.
When consciousness finally returns, I'm lying on cold stone with the mortal girl unconscious in my arms.
And over both our hearts, the marks burn brighter than before.