Elara's POV
My sister is dying in my arms, and I can't do anything to stop it.
"Elara?" Nessa's voice comes out like broken glass. Her skin burns against mine, hot enough to scald. The black veins crawling up her neck have spread to her jaw now. Three months ago, they were just thin lines on her wrist. Now they look like dark rivers trying to swallow her whole.
"I'm here." I press a cool cloth to her forehead, but it does nothing. Nothing ever does anymore.
"It hurts," she whispers. Tears leak from the corners of her eyes. "Make it stop hurting."
My chest cracks wide open. I'm a healer. I was the youngest Master Healer at the Royal Sanctum before they destroyed me. I've fixed broken bones, cured deadly fevers, and saved lives that other healers gave up on. But I can't save my own sister.
"I will," I promise, even though I don't know how. "I'll fix this."
Nessa's eyes close. Her breathing turns shallow and quick, like a dying bird. The curse is winning. I can feel it in the air—thick and rotten, like something dead.
I look around our tiny apartment. One room. Cracked walls. A broken window I stuffed with rags to keep the cold out. This is what my life became after Davrien took everything from me.
Commander Davrien Castor. My ex-fiancé. The man who promised to love me forever, then stood silent while the Sanctum ripped my credentials away. The man who ended our engagement in front of everyone, saying he "couldn't compromise his position by marrying someone tainted by darkness."
The man I saw leaving the courthouse with my best friend Mira's hand in his.
Rage burns through my chest, hot and bitter. They didn't just betray me. They destroyed me, crushed me into nothing, then walked away together while I lost everything.
My job. My reputation. My future. Even my parents chose the Sanctum over me, terrified of being connected to a "dark mage."
But they won't take Nessa. I won't let them.
A knock sounds at the door. I freeze. Nobody visits me anymore. I'm poison to everyone who used to know me.
"Miss Thorne?" A raspy woman's voice. "I heard about your sister."
I don't move. Nessa's breathing hitches, and I hold her tighter.
"I'm not here to hurt you." The woman sounds old. "I'm here because I know what's killing her."
My heart slams against my ribs. I stand carefully, laying Nessa on our thin mattress. My hand finds the kitchen knife I keep under my pillow—you can't be too careful in the lower city.
I crack the door open. An elderly woman stands there, bent and wrinkled, with eyes like black stones. She wears the ragged clothes of a street witch.
"What do you want?"
"To help." She peers past me at Nessa. "Death Weaver curse. Nasty magic. Very deliberate. Someone wanted her dead slowly."
Ice floods my veins. "Someone cursed her? On purpose?"
"Obviously." The witch's mouth twists. "That kind of curse doesn't happen by accident. Someone hates you enough to kill what you love most."
My mind spins. Who would do this? Why?
"Can you break it?" My voice shakes.
The witch laughs, but it's not a happy sound. "Me? No, girl. Death curses can only be broken by death magic. And there's only one person in this kingdom strong enough to break a curse that advanced."
"Who?"
"The Death Keeper. Caspian Morven." She says the name like a curse itself. "Lives in Hollow Spine Mountains. Forbidden magic. The Church wants him dead. But if anyone can save your sister, it's him."
My stomach drops. I've heard stories about Caspian Morven. The necromancer who murdered his own family. The monster who controls legions of the dead. The man the Church calls "death made flesh."
"He'll kill me," I whisper.
"Maybe." The witch shrugs. "Or maybe he'll save your sister. But you're running out of time, girl. Three days. That's all she has left."
She turns to leave, then pauses. "One more thing. The person who cursed her? They're close to you. Someone you trusted. Watch your back."
She disappears into the shadows before I can ask what she means.
I stand frozen in the doorway, her words echoing in my head. Someone you trusted.
Behind me, Nessa coughs—wet and rattling. When I rush back, blood stains her lips.
"Nessa!" I grab her hand. It's burning hot and ice cold at the same time. Her eyes roll back.
"No, no, no!" I press my hand to her chest, pouring what little healing magic I have left into her. But it's like trying to fill an ocean with a teaspoon. The curse eats everything I give.
Her heart stutters. Stops. Starts again.
I'm losing her.
The witch's words ring in my ears. Three days.
I look at my sister—nineteen years old, full of light and music and dreams. She doesn't deserve this. She never hurt anyone. This curse was meant to punish me through her.
Fury and determination war in my chest. I don't care if the Death Keeper is a monster. I don't care if going to him makes me a traitor in the Church's eyes. I don't care if I never come back.
Nessa is all I have left. And I will save her or die trying.
I grab our emergency bag—the one I packed months ago when I knew things were getting worse. A few clothes. The last of my coin. My mother's necklace, the only thing I have left from my old life.
I wrap Nessa in every blanket we own and lift her into my arms. She weighs almost nothing now, like the curse is eating her from the inside.
"Hold on," I whisper against her hair. "Just hold on a little longer."
I kick open our apartment door and step into the freezing night. The lower city streets are dark and dangerous, but I don't care. I need to find transportation to Hollow Spine Mountains. I need to reach the Death Keeper before my sister's heart stops forever.
As I rush through the shadows, Nessa's head lolls against my shoulder. Her lips move, forming soundless words.
I lean closer. "What, Nessa? What is it?"
Her eyes crack open—just a sliver. When she speaks, her voice is barely a breath.
"He's... watching..."
"Who's watching? Who, Nessa?"
But her eyes close. Her body goes limp.
And in the darkness behind me, I hear footsteps.
Someone is following us.