The screams echoed across the frozen valley—
not one,
not two,
but dozens.
Dozens of Starved.
Some distant.
Some disturbingly close.
Each one carried a different pitch—
high desperation,
low hunger,
broken longing.
But what terrified Evander the most was the rhythm.
Every scream followed the same pulse.
Her pulse.
As if the entire brood of Starved fragments
were calling out to the one being who could fill their emptiness.
Evander tightened his hold on Lysandra.
"No. Absolutely not. Someone turn the moon off. Break it. Hide it. We are NOT doing this tonight."
Lysandra's body trembled faintly in his arms, her silver light flickering like a lantern struggling in wind.
The Heir stepped close, shadows hovering protectively around her.
"That was only the First Starved," he murmured.
"The strongest scream has not arisen yet."
Evander's blood ran cold.
"THE STRONGEST?! That thing was practically a moving mountain!"
Liora lifted her head, her expression grim.
"That was not the strongest. That was merely the eldest fragment.
The true first scream belongs to the Heartshade."
Lysandra lifted her head weakly.
Her voice came out soft, but steady—like a melody stitched with moonlight.
"What is the Heartshade?"
Liora's gaze softened.
"A Starved that remembers more than hunger.
It remembers its purpose, its form… its loss.
It is the piece that held the core's memory."
Lysandra's wolf growled inside her.
The one that knows us.
The one that wants us most.
The Heir's eyes darkened.
"If the Heartshade comes, it will not attack recklessly like the others.
It will try to bind her… or consume her."
Evander clutched Lysandra even tighter.
"She's not getting consumed by ANYTHING. Everyone stop saying consumed!"
But Lysandra gently pressed her palm to his chest, her touch steady.
"I won't be consumed," she whispered. "I'm not prey."
He swallowed hard, forehead pressing to hers.
"You're not prey—
but you are exhausted."
Her legs still trembled.
Her breath still shook.
Her magic flickered, struggling to stabilize.
She had just rebuilt a soul older than mountains.
Liora stepped forward and placed a hand on Lysandra's back.
"Mending takes from the Binder, even when the Binder is strong. You must rest."
"We don't HAVE time to rest," Evander snapped.
Another scream pierced the air—
closer this time,
sharper,
twisting the wind like a blade.
Snow lifted into spirals.
The sky dimmed.
The stars trembled.
Lysandra clutched Evander's sleeve with sudden urgency.
"They're coming faster."
The Heir looked toward the trees.
"They can sense the first rebinding. They feel restoration for the first time in centuries."
"And they want it," Evander muttered grimly.
Liora shook her head.
"They want her."
Silence fell.
Lysandra pressed her hands together.
She felt them.
All of them.
Hundreds of broken souls pulling toward her like threads begging to be woven again.
She didn't fear them.
She pitied them.
Her wolf whispered,
We can heal them.
But not like this.
Not drained.
Not alone.
Evander knelt in the snow and lifted Lysandra into his arms.
"No more," he said firmly.
"You're done for tonight."
She shook her head.
"No. If I stop, the Starved that are closest will frenzy. They'll destroy everything in their path—animals, villages, people—"
A guttural rumble echoed from the forest.
Evander's heart nearly stopped.
"Forest creatures—should we run?"
But the Heir's gaze snapped sharply to the right.
"That is not an animal."
A second rumble shook the snow.
Liora stiffened.
"The Heartshade is near."
Evander's eyes widened in horror.
"NO. No. That thing is not allowed! We just dealt with a monster bigger than my childhood nightmares!"
The Heir spoke quietly, shadows curling around his feet.
"The Heartshade is worse."
A shape emerged from the line of trees—
a towering black silhouette,
not glitching like the others,
but moving with purpose.
Controlled.
Sentient.
Evander whispered, "Tell me that's a tree. Please tell me that's a tree—"
But it stepped forward.
Tall as the mountain rocks.
Limbs long and elegant, almost human-shaped,
but made of pitch-black shadow that swirled like smoke.
No faces.
No screeching.
Just two glowing, hollow white marks—
eyes.
Intelligent eyes.
The Heartshade lowered its massive head slightly,
observing Lysandra
like a predator
studying something important.
Evander placed Lysandra down gently, barely able to breathe.
"Oh, gods," he whispered. "This one is quiet. I hate quiet."
The Heir stepped forward, shadows expanding into a shield.
"Do not let it near her."
Liora lifted her staff, silver light trembling.
But the Heartshade ignored them.
It looked only at Lysandra.
And then it spoke.
Not a screech.
Not a whisper.
A voice.
A deep, layered voice that shook the snow.
"Binder."
Lysandra froze.
The Heartshade took one enormous step closer.
Evander stepped in front of her immediately, fists raised.
"BACK OFF!"
The creature tilted its head—
Not in threat,
But in curiosity.
"…heart…
child…
returned…"
Lysandra's breath caught.
"You… know me?"
The creature lowered itself until its massive face was level with hers.
And then it did something none of them expected.
It rested its head gently in the snow.
"…we remember…
your light…"
Her wolf stirred, recognizing something old, something buried.
We knew each other.
Before shattering.
Before hunger.
The Heartshade extended one clawed hand—
slowly, carefully—
not attacking.
Inviting.
Evander panicked.
"NO. NO TOUCHING. Lysandra, I swear on my life—"
But Lysandra stepped forward.
"Wait."
The Heir grabbed her arm.
"You are too weak. Its hunger will overwhelm you."
She met his eyes.
"It doesn't hunger."
Evander blinked.
"WHAT?! It literally looks like hunger incarnate!"
"No," Lysandra breathed.
"The others were hungry.
This one is… sad."
The creature's white eyes flickered.
"…lost…
so lost…"
Lysandra stepped closer.
Silver threads rose from the ground again, weak but steady.
The Heartshade shuddered—
not resisting.
Accepting.
Evander's voice broke.
"Lys… if you do this while you're this exhausted—"
She touched the Heartshade's massive hand.
And the world shook.
Memories slammed into her:
A great guardian.
A watcher of realms.
A protector of the heart.
The first to be shattered
when the Order stole the Light Core.
Pain.
Loneliness.
Centuries of searching for what it lost.
Lysandra gasped violently, knees buckling.
Evander lunged to catch her.
"ENOUGH!" he yelled at the creature.
"You're hurting her!"
But the Heartshade didn't attack.
It bowed further.
As if begging.
"…return me…"
Lysandra placed her hands on its shadowy chest.
"I will," she whispered.
"But not alone."
Evander and the Heir moved beside her immediately.
Liora raised her staff.
Silver, gold, and shadow intertwined around Lysandra's hands—
A trinity.
The Heartshade trembled—
light pouring from its fractures,
darkness swirling into shape,
its form folding inward.
Until it too collapsed into a condensed black-silver sphere
that drifted into Lysandra's hands
with a soft, relieved hum.
She exhaled weakly.
The Heir steadied her.
Evander held her against his chest.
Liora lifted her eyes to the glowing moon.
"The Binder rises faster than prophecy foretold."
Lysandra opened her eyes—
silver glowing brightly.
Her voice shook, but her words were clear.
"I remember something too."
Evander brushed her cheek.
"What do you remember, Lys?"
She looked toward the horizon—
where more screams echoed.
"I remember…
that this is only the beginning."