Elara's POV
The water tries to kill us.
The current drags me under, spinning me like a leaf in a storm. My lungs scream for air. Something—Cassian's hand—grabs my wrist and pulls. We break the surface together, gasping.
"Swim for the bank!" he shouts over the roar of the river.
I try. My arms feel like lead. The nightgown tangles around my legs. The current keeps pulling me back under.
Cassian's arm wraps around my waist. "Stop fighting! Let me help you!"
I'm too exhausted to argue. He drags us both to the riverbank, pulling me onto muddy ground. I lie there coughing up water, shaking from cold and fear and adrenaline.
"Are they following us?" I gasp.
Cassian looks back at the cliff. The shadow beasts pace at the edge, snarling, but they don't jump. "They won't cross running water. We're safe. For now."
"For now," I repeat bitterly. "Is anything ever actually safe with you?"
"No." He sits back, breathing hard. "Welcome to my life."
We rest for maybe ten minutes before he pulls me up again. "We need to keep moving. There's a safe house half a mile from here."
The safe house turns out to be a tiny cabin buried so deep in the forest I never would have found it without him. It's barely more than one room with a fireplace and a bed. But it's dry and warm, and right now that's everything.
Cassian lights a fire with a wave of his hand—shadow magic making flames appear from nothing. I collapse onto the floor near the warmth, too tired to care about the cold stone or my soaking wet nightgown.
"Here." He tosses me dry clothes. "Change. You'll freeze in those wet things."
I look at the simple shirt and pants. "Where did these come from?"
"I keep supplies in all my safe houses. Food, clothes, weapons. Everything you need to survive while running for your life." He turns his back. "I won't look."
I change quickly, my fingers clumsy with cold. The clothes are too big but clean and dry. When I'm done, Cassian hands me a blanket without a word.
We sit in silence, watching the fire. My mind won't stop spinning. Shadow magic. The curse. Four dead people before me. Theron's betrayal. It's too much.
"I want to see them," I say finally.
Cassian looks up. "See what?"
"The others. The four people who died before me." I meet his silver eyes. "You said there were portraits. I want to see their faces."
"Why? It'll just scare you."
"I'm already scared." I pull the blanket tighter. "But they were real people. They were tied to you just like I am. I need to see them. To understand what I'm up against."
He studies me for a long moment. Then nods. "Alright. But not here. The portraits are in my main fortress—the one the Sanctum destroyed."
"Then how—"
"I have other places. Smaller. More hidden." He stands and offers his hand. "But if you really want to see, I'll show you."
We travel through shadows again. This time I'm ready for the sick feeling, the cold darkness pressing in. When we emerge, I only stumble instead of falling.
"You're getting better at this," Cassian observes.
"Or I'm just getting used to feeling like I'm dying."
We're in another fortress—smaller than the first but just as dark. Shadows cling to the walls like living things. I can feel them watching us.
"This way." Cassian leads me down a long hallway.
The portraits hang on both sides. Four faces staring out at me from frames.
The first is a young woman with kind eyes and brown hair. She's smiling in the painting, but something about her expression looks sad.
"That's Sarah," Cassian says quietly. "She was a baker's daughter. Twenty-three years old. The Sanctum chose her for a harvest ritual. When she woke up bound to me, she was terrified." He pauses. "She never stopped being terrified. The fear made her sick. When the Sanctum found us, she couldn't run. Couldn't fight. She just... gave up."
My throat tightens. She looks so young. So normal.
The second portrait shows an old man with white hair and laugh lines around his eyes.
"Marcus," Cassian continues. "A grandfather. Former soldier. He was chosen for a war sacrifice—Sanctum needed victories, so they killed civilians and claimed it would bring the soldiers strength." His jaw clenches. "Marcus lasted six weeks. He tried to fight back, but his body was too old. His heart gave out during an escape."
The third is a teenage boy with messy black hair and a defiant expression.
"Daniel. Sixteen years old. Smartest person I ever met." Cassian's voice softens. "He figured out the curse mechanics faster than I did. Started researching ways to break it. The Sanctum caught him stealing books from their library. They made an example of him."
The last portrait shows a woman around my mother's age. She has tired eyes.
"Elena," Cassian says. "A widow. Two children who were grown and married. The Sanctum took her as a cleansing sacrifice—claimed her husband's death cursed their bloodline." He stops in front of her portrait. "She killed herself after one month. Left me a note saying she couldn't live knowing her children thought she was dead. Couldn't keep running when she just wanted to go home."
Four people. Four deaths. All because of the curse.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
"Don't be sorry for them. Be sorry for yourself." Cassian turns to face me. "Because you're next on that wall, Elara. Unless we find a way to break this curse, you'll die just like they did. And I'll survive. Again. And fifty years from now, there will be another person. And another. Forever."
The weight of it crushes down on me. "How do you live with it?"
"I don't. I exist. There's a difference." He looks at the portraits. "Every person bound to me is another failure. Another death I couldn't prevent. After 237 years, you stop counting. You just keep moving forward because stopping means thinking about all the blood on your hands."
I study his face in the firelight. He looks so tired. So old despite his young appearance.
"You blame yourself," I realize.
"Of course I do. If I hadn't challenged the Sanctum, this curse wouldn't exist. Those four people would have lived full lives. They died because of my choices."
"They died because the Sanctum is evil," I correct. "You didn't kill them. The Sanctum did."
"I might as well have pulled the trigger."
Before I can argue, a sound echoes through the fortress. Loud. Piercing. Like a bell ringing inside my skull.
I clap my hands over my ears. "What is that?"
Cassian's face goes white. "The alarm wards. Someone's breaking through my protective barriers."
"How? You said this place was hidden!"
"It was." He grabs my arm. "But Theron knows you. Has your blood from the wedding. He can track you anywhere if he tries hard enough."
My blood runs cold. "He's here?"
"Worse." Cassian pulls me toward the hallway. "The alarm only triggers for large forces. At least twenty soldiers. Maybe more."
"How long do we have?"
"Minutes. Maybe less." He's already moving, dragging me with him. "We need to get to the escape tunnel before—"
An explosion rocks the fortress. The ceiling cracks. Dust rains down.
"Too late," Cassian mutters.
Footsteps echo from multiple directions. Voices shouting orders. The clash of weapons and armor.
We're surrounded.
Cassian pushes me against the wall, his body blocking mine. "Stay behind me. No matter what happens, stay behind me."
"Cassian—"
"Promise me!"
"I promise!"
The footsteps grow louder. Closer.
Then a voice cuts through the chaos. Smooth. Familiar. The voice that whispered poison words to me as I died.
"Elara, darling! I know you're here!"
Theron.
My hands ball into fists. Cassian feels me tense.
"Don't," he warns. "He wants you angry. Wants you to make mistakes."
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Theron sings. "I just want to talk. To explain why I had to kill you. You deserve that much, don't you?"
Another voice joins his. Female. Cold as winter ice.
"Shadow Lord, this is pointless. Give us the girl. We'll make it quick for both of you."
The High Priestess.
Cassian's hand tightens on his weapon—a sword made of living shadow that appeared in his grip. "They brought the High Priestess. She never leaves the Sanctum temple."
"Why would she come for me?" I whisper.
"That's what we need to find out." He looks at me. "But first we need to survive."
The footsteps stop. I can hear breathing on the other side of the wall.
"I'll count to three," the High Priestess announces. "Then we're coming in. One..."
Cassian's silver eyes meet mine. I see determination there. And fear.
"Two..."
"When I say run," he whispers, "you run. Don't look back. Don't stop. There's a tunnel behind the fourth portrait—Elena's. It leads to the forest. Get out and keep going north until—"
"I'm not leaving you!"
"You have to!"
"Three."
The wall explodes inward.
Sanctum soldiers pour through—twenty, thirty, maybe more. All in white armor. All carrying weapons that glow with holy magic designed to kill creatures like Cassian.
And walking through the broken wall, smiling like he's won, is Theron.
His eyes find mine. "Hello, wife. Did you miss me?"
Behind him, the High Priestess steps forward. She's ancient—impossibly old—with eyes that have seen centuries.
Those eyes lock onto me. She stops walking.
Her expression changes from cold confidence to shock.
"Impossible," she breathes. "You're... you're already transforming. After only three days?" She turns to Theron. "You fool. You sacrificed the wrong person. Do you have any idea what you've done?"
Theron's smile falters. "What are you talking about?"
The High Priestess ignores him. She stares at me like I'm a bomb about to explode. "Kill her. Kill her now before—"
The mark on my wrist erupts with black fire.
Power floods through me—shadow magic mixing with something else, something ancient and furious. The portraits on the walls start to glow.
Sarah. Marcus. Daniel. Elena.
Their eyes open in the paintings.
And they look right at me.