**The Choice Made**
The curse surges forward the moment I stop resisting.
It pours through me like floodwater through a broken dam—cold, hungry, powerful. My vision sharpens until I can see individual dust motes in the air. My hearing intensifies until Toren's failing heartbeat thunders in my ears. The hunger that's been a whisper becomes a roar.
*Yes,* the curse exults. *Finally. Let me show you what we can truly do together.*
I place my hands on Toren's chest, over the spreading void corruption. The black ichor recoils from my touch—not in fear of my gift, but in recognition. Like meeting like.
Dark energy flows from my palms into the wound. Not purifying light, but consuming shadow. The curse doesn't heal the corruption—it devours it, pulling the void magic into myself and absorbing it.
Toren gasps, his back arching. "Ren... what are you—"
"Stay still," I say, and my voice sounds wrong. Deeper. Colder. "This will hurt."
The corruption fights, trying to spread faster than I can consume it. But the curse is relentless, hungry, pulling the void magic into me like I'm some kind of void myself. The darkness flows through the wound, up my arms, into my core where the curse feeds on it greedily.
It tastes like ash and iron and despair.
And beneath the horror, it feels *good*. Powerful. Right.
The corruption drains from Toren's chest, leaving clean flesh behind. The wound remains—a deep gash that needs proper healing—but the void magic is gone, consumed, eliminated.
Toren's eyes focus properly for the first time. "Ren? Your eyes..."
"Are probably red. I know." I pull my hands back, trying to wrestle control from the curse. "You're stable now. The corruption's gone."
"How—" He tries to sit up, winces, falls back. "What did you do?"
"Something I shouldn't have." My hands tremble as the curse fights my attempt to push it back down. "But it worked. You'll live."
"At what cost?"
I don't answer because I don't know yet. The curse is stronger now, so much stronger. It's fed on void corruption and grown fat on the power. Pushing it back down feels like trying to wrestle a bear into a box.
"Ren, listen to me." Toren grabs my arm with surprising strength for someone who was dying moments ago. "Don't go after your mother alone. This is exactly what they want. They'll turn you, corrupt you, use you as a weapon—"
"Then what do I do? Let her die?"
"Get help. Seraphine, the council, the guard—"
"There's no time! You said it yourself—they want me at Umbral Hollow. If I don't go, they kill her." My voice cracks. "I won't lose her. I can't."
"You'll lose yourself."
"Maybe. But at least she'll be alive."
Footsteps pound outside—running boots, multiple people. The front door crashes open fully.
"REN! TOREN!" Seraphine's voice, urgent and sharp.
She appears in the doorway with Captain Felric and three guards. Her silver eyes take in the scene instantly—the destroyed room, Toren's wound, my red-glowing eyes.
"Oh, child," she whispers. "What have you done?"
"Saved him." I stand, forcing my voice steady even as the curse writhes beneath my skin. "The cult took Mama. They want me in exchange. I'm going."
"Absolutely not." Felric steps forward, hand on his sword. "That's suicide. They want to corrupt you or kill you. Either way, Verdwood loses its greatest defense."
"Verdwood's greatest defense isn't worth my mother's life!"
"It might have to be." The words are brutal, but Felric's expression is genuinely pained. "I'm sorry, Ren. But we can't trade you for one person, even someone we all love. The stakes are too high."
"Then I'll go without permission."
"We'll stop you."
"Will you?" The curse surges forward, and I don't stop it. Red energy crackles around my hands. "You really think you can?"
The guards shift nervously. Even Felric's hand tightens on his sword, uncertainty crossing his scarred face.
Seraphine steps between us, holding up one hand. "Everyone, stop. Fighting each other serves only the cult." She turns to me. "Ren, I understand your desperation. But charging into Umbral Hollow alone, powered by curse magic you barely control, is exactly what they want. You'll be corrupted or killed, and your mother will die anyway."
"So what do I do? Nothing?"
"You let us help. Properly." Her silver eyes bore into mine. "We gather a strike team. We plan an approach. We go in prepared, not desperate. Your mother's life matters, but so does yours. And so does everyone else this cult will kill if you become their weapon."
The curse howls its disagreement, wanting action now, violence now, power now.
But Seraphine's words cut through the rage. She's right. Charging in blind and cursed is suicide. And it won't save Mama.
I force the curse back down, though it fights every inch. My eyes fade from red to normal. The energy around my hands dissipates.
"How long?" I ask hoarsely. "How long does she have?"
"They'll keep her alive as bait. Days, at least. Possibly longer." Seraphine's expression softens. "We have time to do this right."
"Fine." The word tastes like ash. "But we move fast. And if planning takes too long—"
"You'll go anyway. I know." She turns to Felric. "Captain, gather your best. Warriors who've fought void corruption before. We plan at council chambers in one hour."
Felric nods and departs with his guards.
Seraphine kneels beside Toren, her hands glowing with healing light as she examines his wound properly. "The physical damage is extensive, but the corruption is gone. How?"
"I ate it," I say quietly. "The curse consumed the void magic."
Her hands still. "That's... unprecedented. Dangerous. The corruption is inside you now."
"The curse seems happy about it."
"I'm sure it is." She returns to healing. "We'll need to monitor you carefully. Void corruption plus vampiric curse could interact in ways we don't understand."
"Add it to the list of things wrong with me."
Toren reaches out and grabs my hand. "You saved my life. Thank you."
"I used the curse to do it. You told me not to."
"And I'm still grateful." He squeezes my hand. "But your mother would never forgive me if I let you throw your life away for hers. We get her back. Together. Safely. Understood?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
**One Hour Later – War Council**
The council chamber is packed. Not just elders, but warriors, mages, scouts—everyone with skills relevant to a rescue mission into cult territory.
Captain Felric stands before a hastily drawn map of the region between Verdwood and Umbral Hollow. "Three days' hard march through increasingly corrupted forest. Multiple cult outposts we'll need to avoid or eliminate. And then Umbral Hollow itself—their stronghold, crawling with void mages and corrupted beasts."
"We'd need an army," Elder Ironwood states flatly. "This isn't a rescue mission. It's a suicide charge."
"So we abandon Miren Amaki?" Elder Stoneheart challenges. "Leave her to torture and death?"
"I'm not saying that. I'm saying sending a handful of warriors into enemy territory won't save her. It'll just add more bodies to the cult's collection."
The argument erupts, everyone talking over each other. I sit silently, the curse coiled within me, whispering suggestions.
*Forget them. You don't need their help. Take the power I offer. Burn through every cult outpost between here and there. Save her yourself.*
Tempting. Terribly tempting.
Kaela sits beside me, her presence grounding. "We'll get her back," she whispers. "I promise."
"You shouldn't come. It's too dangerous."
"And you shouldn't go alone. So I'm coming." Her tone brooks no argument. "Warrior's oath, remember? We face things together."
Lysara leans in from my other side. "I'm coming as well. My family has maps of the region—trade routes through the corrupted zones that might still be passable."
"Same," Elira adds from behind us. "I've been working on portable void dampeners. Not much, but they might help against corruption effects."
Even Nyssa, standing in the shadows, nods slightly. "I know Umbral Hollow's outer defenses. I can guide you past some of them."
My throat tightens. "You don't have to—"
"Yes, we do." Kaela squeezes my shoulder. "That's what friends do."
Seraphine clears her throat, silencing the council debate. "I propose a small strike team rather than a large force. Stealth over strength. A dozen skilled individuals who can move quickly and quietly through cult territory."
"Too few," Felric argues. "We'd be overwhelmed."
"Too many," Nyssa counters. "Large groups attract attention. The cult has scouts throughout those forests. A small team stands a better chance of reaching Umbral Hollow undetected."
The debate continues, but eventually a consensus emerges: a strike team of ten, including me. Warriors, scouts, a healer, magical support. Move fast, stay hidden, extract Miren before the cult realizes we're there.
It's a terrible plan with a dozen ways to fail.
It's also the only plan we have.
"We leave at dawn," Seraphine announces. "Use tonight to prepare—equipment, supplies, final training. And say your goodbyes. Not everyone may return."
The chamber empties slowly, people moving with grim purpose.
Toren, bandaged but mobile, approaches. "I'm going with you."
"Papa, you nearly died today—"
"Which is exactly why I'm going. They took my wife. They nearly killed me in my own home. I'm done waiting for the cult to act." His expression is harder than I've ever seen it. "Besides, you'll need someone to keep you from doing something stupid when the curse whispers."
He's not wrong.
"Fine. But you follow Seraphine's lead. No heroics."
"That's my line." He manages a slight smile. "Get some rest. Tomorrow we march into darkness. Literally."
**Midnight – Rooftop Conference**
I can't sleep. Too much adrenaline, too much fear, too much curse-whisper. So I climb to my usual spot on the roof, watching ley lines pulse overhead.
They're dimmer over Umbral Hollow's direction. Like the darkness there is consuming even the light of the magical network.
"Figured I'd find you here." Kaela appears, climbing up with practiced ease. She's followed by Lysara, Elira, and Nyssa—our entire group gathering in the darkness.
We sit together in silence for a long moment.
"So," Elira finally says. "We're really doing this. Marching into the cult's stronghold to rescue Ren's mom."
"Seems that way." Kaela's voice is steady, but I can hear the fear underneath.
"The odds of success are less than thirty percent," Lysara observes clinically. "The odds of casualties approaching ninety percent. This is objectively foolish."
"And we're doing it anyway," Nyssa finishes. "Because mathematics don't account for friendship. Or stubbornness. Or love."
"Mostly stubbornness," Kaela mutters, but she's smiling slightly.
I look around at these people—these children, really, none of us older than seven—who are preparing to march into nightmare territory for my sake.
"You don't have to come," I say quietly. "This is my family, my responsibility—"
"Our friend," Kaela interrupts. "Our family too. We've been through too much together to abandon you now."
"Besides," Elira adds, "someone needs to make sure you don't do anything monumentally stupid. Like, I don't know, fully embracing vampiric curse magic and becoming a monster."
"Too late. Already did that today."
"Then we'll pull you back from the edge. Again." She grins, but there's steel underneath. "That's what friends do."
Lysara produces a small flask from her robes. "My family's traditional pre-battle ritual. Each person speaks one truth, drinks, passes it on. Supposedly it bonds us for the coming fight."
She takes a drink first. "Truth: I'm terrified. But I refuse to let fear rule me."
She passes to Nyssa, who drinks. "Truth: I abandoned my clan when they needed me. I won't make that mistake again."
To Elira. "Truth: I blame myself for every bad thing my inventions cause. But I keep creating anyway, because the good outweighs the bad."
To Kaela. "Truth: I worry I'm not strong enough. That when it matters most, I'll fail. But I train anyway, because giving up is worse than failing."
To me. I take the flask, feeling its weight—literal and metaphorical. "Truth: I'm afraid the curse will win. That I'll become the monster everyone fears. But I'll fight it anyway, because the people I love are worth fighting for."
I drink. The liquid burns going down, but leaves warmth in its wake.
We sit together under the stars and ley lines, five children who've seen too much darkness, finding strength in shared burden.
Tomorrow we march into the void's heart.
Tonight, we're just friends, determined not to let each other face the darkness alone.
**Dawn – The Departure**
The strike team assembles at first light. Ten of us total:
- Me (magical support and target)
- Toren (warrior, despite his wounds)
- Captain Felric (strike team leader)
- Kaela (warrior)
- Lysara (mage)
- Elira (support and void dampeners)
- Nyssa (scout and guide)
- Seraphine (healing and magical support)
- Two senior guards: Marcus and Thea, both void combat veterans
The village gathers to see us off. Faces I've known my whole life, expressions mixing hope, fear, and gratitude.
Elder Stoneheart approaches. "Bring her home. And come back yourselves."
"We'll try," I say.
"Do more than try. Verdwood needs all of you."
We march out as the sun breaks the horizon, heading northwest toward Umbral Hollow. Toward darkness. Toward cult territory.
Toward my mother, suffering in enemy hands.
The curse whispers eagerly, anticipating violence and blood.
And I walk forward anyway, surrounded by people who refuse to let me face this alone.
Three days to Umbral Hollow.
Three days to prepare.
Three days before everything changes again.