We stumbled back into the Witch's hut just as the first rays of dawn hit the snow. Killian was limping badly now, his skin grey, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The cold from the Ice Golem had seeped into his bones.
"You got it," the Moon Witch said, looking up from her cauldron. She didn't sound surprised. She sounded satisfied.
I placed the glowing white flower on the table. It pulsed with a steady, rhythmic light. Thump. Thump. Like a heartbeat.
"Good," the Witch nodded. She grabbed a mortar and pestle. She tossed the flower in and began to crush it. "Strip him to the waist. Lay him on the table."
I helped Killian out of his shredded tactical shirt. His chest was a mess of bruises and frostbite burns, but underneath, his muscles were tense as stone.
He lay back on the wooden table, gripping the edges so hard the wood creaked.
"Listen to me," the Witch said, her voice turning serious. She held up a bowl filled with a glowing blue paste—the crushed essence of the flower. "This is not medicine. This is a conduit. I am going to open a channel between the Dark Twin's soul and yours."
She dipped her fingers into the paste.
"For the next hour, you will feel everything he is destined to feel. His rage. His hunger. His chaos. It will try to tear your mind apart. If you break the connection... the backlash will kill the babies."
Killian looked at me. His blue eyes were hazy with pain, but they locked onto mine with terrifying intensity.
"I won't break," he rasped. "Do it."
The Witch nodded. She slammed her blue-coated hand onto the center of Killian's chest, right over his heart.
SEAR.
The sound of burning flesh filled the small hut.
Killian's back arched off the table. His mouth opened in a silent scream, the cords in his neck standing out like steel cables.
"Killian!" I cried out, grabbing his hand.
"Don't touch him!" the Witch barked. "You will ground the energy! Let him take it!"
I pulled back, sobbing, forced to watch.
Black veins began to spread from the Witch's hand, crawling under Killian's skin like living ink. They moved up his neck, down his arms, pulsing with a sickly, dark light.
Killian's body convulsed.
"Rage..." a distorted, double voice echoed in the room. It wasn't Killian speaking. It was the raw energy of the curse using his throat. "Burn... Destroy..."
"Hold him down!" the Witch shouted at me. "He's thrashing too much! Keep his shoulders on the table!"
I threw my weight onto his shoulders, pinning him down. His skin was burning hot, then freezing cold.
"Killian, stay with me!" I begged, my tears dripping onto his face. "Focus on me! Focus on the babies!"
His eyes rolled back in his head, showing only the whites. He was fighting a war inside his own mind.
Snap.
He bit down so hard on his own lip that blood sprayed over his chin. He was trying not to scream. He knew if he screamed, I would be scared.
The black veins reached his heart. The blue paste on his chest began to sizzle and turn black.
"Almost there," the Witch chanted, her eyes glowing white. "Accept the darkness, King. Drink it. Make it yours."
Killian let out a guttural roar. It was the sound of a wolf being torn apart.
CRACK.
The wooden table beneath him split down the middle.
Then, silence.
Killian collapsed back onto the broken wood. His chest heaved.
The Witch lifted her hand.
Where she had touched him, there was now a mark. It looked like a black sun with jagged rays, branded deep into his skin right over his heart. It wasn't bleeding. It was... humming.
"It is done," the Witch whispered, wiping sweat from her forehead. "The Anchor is set."
I scrambled to Killian's side.
"Killian? Can you hear me?"
His eyes fluttered open. The blue was back, but it was darker now. Stormier.
He tried to lift his hand to touch my face, but he was too weak.
"Did..." he coughed, blood bubbling on his lips. "Did I save them?"
"Yes," I sobbed, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his bloody mouth. "You saved them. You saved us all."
A weak, crooked smile touched his lips.
"Good," he whispered. "Worth it."
Then his eyes rolled back, and he passed out cold.
I looked at the black mark on his chest. It looked terrifying.
"Will it fade?" I asked the Witch.
"No," she said, packing her bag. "That mark is a door. As long as he lives, he will carry the weight of that child's darkness. He will never know true peace again."
She looked at the unconscious King with a strange expression.
"You chose well, little mother. Most Kings would sacrifice a kingdom to save themselves. He sacrificed his soul to save his children."
I brushed the damp hair off Killian's forehead.
"He's not just a King," I whispered. "He's a father."