The bushes whispered before he heard it—soft, broken steps pressing against the ground. Alain froze. His breath caught at the shift in the silence.
Footsteps drew near, uneven, pushing through branches like someone lost or scared enough not to care about the noise they made.
He rose without sound, every part of him tense. A faint figure shivered into view under the half-dead moonlight.
She had red hair. It glowed faintly, catching like embers in the dark.
Seria.
Her head twisted nervously in every direction. Jumping at nothing. Watching everything. Twitching like prey caught between hunger and terror. The pitiful sight forced a smile across Alain's face, though he knew better.
She didn't.
Alain brushed dirt from his back and made his move. His foot snapped a twig. Seria spun, her wide eyes cutting to him like he was the only truth left in the world.
"Alain!"
Her face broke into an unguarded smile, too wide, too whole.
He flinched at the light in it. He hated what it did to him.
"Sorry, I'm late. Getting out wasn't easy," she whispered, still catching her breath.
"No harm. I shouldn't have asked you to come at all."
"Don't insult me with that." Her cheeks puffed, eyes bright with both annoyance and the strange joy of having something worth fighting for. "After all that trouble? Don't tell me it's nothing."
Her eagerness stabbed at him as much as it warmed him. He drew a shallow breath, masking regret with a shallow grin.
"Fine then. Close your eyes for a moment."
Suspicion flickered across her face. "Close my—"
"It's a surprise. You'll like it."
Her lips curved, doubtful but willing. "My heart's already racing. Don't push it too far."
She closed her eyes. Trusting him.
And for a fleeting second, Alain despised himself for what came next.
Still, regret never stopped the desperate. He clasped his hand, power surging through him until the pain bit his bones.
"I cry out. Heed my call. Let all within this hand be bound. Restrain it now, shaped by the rippling polyhedron."
The words cracked the air. Darkness bled from his palm, sharp and fast, streaking toward her like a lash from something older than language.
Seria's eyes shot open wide. Her lips trembled against the sound of breath that never made it out.
The shadow chained her before she could scream. Her body gave out, collapsing into the bushes with the weight of the binding. Leaves tangled her hair, dirt pressed into her cheek, but she was alive. That was enough.
Her gaze snapped up at him, betrayal harsh in the moonlight.
"Alain—what are you doing? What is this?"
He stared back, face empty, his pupils flaring with crimson from the pull of the spell.
Seria clawed against the cords of impossible weight lacing around her, her limbs thrashing against nothing. Futile. The Binding Spell rendered her strength useless; no ordinary restraint could match it.
But he knew its limits. The grip wouldn't last. She was stronger than he wanted to admit. Which meant he had to finish this before she tore free.
He breathed deep and raised his hand again, voice breaking into chant.
"Gather. Scatter. Gather once more. What I hold is my will. The fragments, jagged and wild, must shine. Guide them."
Seria's face twisted from confusion into terror. "Alain? Stop. Say something. Tell me what you're doing."
He didn't stop.
"The fragments break their bonds. From past to future, future to past. Crimson pattern carved into the divide."
Her voice cracked. "No more. You're sick if you think this is funny. Stop!"
His eyes burned as he clawed for the last pieces of force he had left.
"IRA. KAHA. TAHA. NAHA. The seals of binding answered by their true name."
"No—!"
Black radiance tore from him. It stormed into her body, drilling past her screams, muffling them only by the sheer force driving deeper, carving through mind and memory.
Seria's cry felt too loud for the night, but the forest devoured it. The pulse of power ended all at once, leaving only silence that burned between them.
Alain slumped, blood dripping from nose and eye, chest heaving with the agony of a body pulled beyond its limit. He was near collapse, teetering between victory and unconsciousness.
"Did it work?" The words cracked out of him more as thought than speech.
She lay still.
He forced himself to laugh once. Short, nervous. Then he bent forward, pressing a bloody hand against the dirt.
The Slave's Mark was crude and cruel by design. A tether to twist perception, not chain the body. Among the spells still within his reach, it demanded less power than the older rituals. Yet it still carved into him, draining what little fuel his spirit had left.
It had to hold. Otherwise, everything was wasted.
Time bled away. His vision turned, blurred, sharpened again. His body tremored.
Then she moved.
Seria stirred, muttering against the dream-shaped residue in her mind. She pushed off the ground, arms shaking, hair tangled, face pale. Alain steadied himself, though his legs betrayed how little strength remained.
The first moment mattered most. The spell needed that first reset of the mind, that sudden realignment. If it faltered, all would unravel.
She looked around, eyes glassy. When they landed on him, silence cut the air between them, taut and unnatural.
Alain frowned. Something was wrong.
Her stare lingered too long, too sharp. He saw no submission in it. Only fire.
He hesitated. Perhaps the magic had fractured in the casting, hollowed by the blood loss and weakness in him. He thought of trying again, even in this state, risking collapse. He took a step closer.
That was his mistake.
The warning shot through him like a knife. His body recoiled on instinct before the flare of energy ripped out from her.
Seria's expression no longer carried confusion. It was rage. Pure and brutal.
Her scream tore from her throat like it meant to rip the night apart.
"ALAIN!"
She hurled herself toward him, not as prey but as predator. Her fury cut through the air with sharper weight than any spell.
Alain braced himself in silence, his body stiff with the sudden reality that he had failed.
The mark was broken.
And Seria was anything but bound.