The bell stopped.
Not faded. Not echoed into silence.
It cut off—as if someone had wrapped a hand around its throat.
The sudden quiet pressed against my ears, sharp enough to make my pulse stumble. I stood at the edge of the balcony, fingers curled into the stone, watching Malrik descend the steps two at a time. His presence pulled at the bond as he moved away from me, stretching it thin but not breaking it. The sensation was uncomfortable, like a muscle held too long in tension.
Go back to the ward. Stay there.
His words replayed in my mind, firm and deliberate.
I did not move.
Below, the courtyard gates began to open on their own. No guards rushed forward. No horns sounded. The palace itself seemed to hesitate, its awareness tightening like a held breath.
That frightened me more than any army would have.
I took a step back from the railing, then another. The corridor behind me waited, warm and patient, ready to guide me to safety—or confinement, depending on how one chose to name it.
Guest… or catalyst.
I let out a slow breath.
"I hate vague threats," I muttered, though no one stood close enough to hear.
The bond stirred, not in agreement, but in something closer to recognition.
I turned away from the balcony.
I did not go back to the ward.
Instead, I followed a narrower passage branching off the main corridor, one I had not noticed before. The walls here were darker, the firestones dimmer. The palace did not resist my choice. If anything, the air seemed to part for me, guiding my steps with unsettling ease.
"Don't start obeying me now," I whispered.
The passage sloped downward, curving beneath the courtyard. I could feel the tension above like pressure on water—something heavy poised to strike. With every step, the bond shifted, flickering between taut and slack, as if Malrik were moving quickly, unpredictably.
He was fighting restraint.
That realization tightened my chest.
The passage opened into a gallery lined with tall, narrow windows cut into black stone. Beyond them lay a view of the outer citadel—towering spires, jagged walls, and beyond that, the red-tinged wasteland stretching toward the horizon.
And standing just inside the gallery, as if she had been waiting for me all along, was a woman I did not recognize.
She wore robes the color of ash, layered and severe, her silver hair pulled back into a knot that emphasized the sharp planes of her face. Her eyes were dark, reflective, and fixed on me with an intensity that made the bond recoil.
"So," she said. "You are the answer to a question no one dared ask."
I stopped short.
"Who are you?" I asked.
She inclined her head slightly. "I am High Arbiter Virel. Keeper of the Accord. And you, child, are standing where you should not."
"I hear that a lot lately," I said, keeping my voice steady.
Her gaze flicked to my hand.
The mark responded, a faint warmth blooming beneath my skin.
Her expression tightened—not with fear, but with calculation.
"Interesting," she murmured. "It has settled quickly."
"What has?" I demanded.
"The tether," she replied. "It was never meant to bind so deeply. Not so soon."
The bond flared, sharp and defensive.
Virel took a half step back, eyes narrowing. "You feel that already. Remarkable."
"Stop talking about me like I'm a device," I snapped.
She studied my face for a long moment, then sighed. "You misunderstand. Devices are predictable. You are not."
I did not find that reassuring.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"To assess the damage," she said calmly. "And to determine whether it can be… redirected."
A chill slid down my spine. "Redirected how?"
She met my gaze. "Away from catastrophe."
Before I could respond, the bond surged violently—hot, urgent, alarmed.
Malrik.
Not pain, but fury—controlled to the edge of breaking.
Virel felt it too. Her shoulders stiffened.
"He should not be this close," she said. "Not yet."
"Close to what?" I asked.
"To losing authority over his own power," she replied.
Footsteps echoed through the gallery, heavy and fast.
Malrik emerged from the shadows at the far end, his presence hitting the space like a storm front. The air thickened, pressure building until it was hard to breathe.
"Step away from her," he said.
Virel did not turn.
"You should not have come alone," she replied coolly. "This conversation required neutrality."
"There is no neutrality where my bond is concerned," he said.
She finally faced him, eyes sharp. "That is precisely the problem."
I stood between them, the bond stretched tight enough to hum.
"Someone," I said, "is going to explain what's actually happening. Now."
Silence fell.
Malrik's gaze flicked to me, then back to Virel. "She is not cleared to know the full scope."
"Then you should not have bound her," Virel said. "The artifact does not forgive ignorance."
Artifact.
The word landed hard.
"What artifact?" I asked.
Neither answered immediately.
The bond pulsed, uneasy.
Finally, Malrik spoke. "The crown is not merely a symbol. It is an ancient construct—an anchor. It stabilizes the realm by binding the Demon King to a living counterweight."
I stared at him.
"A counterweight," I repeated.
"Yes," he said. "A mortal soul. One unclaimed by the realm's power structures."
My stomach dropped.
"You mean," I said slowly, "someone disposable."
Virel winced. Malrik did not.
"I mean someone adaptable," he said. "Someone whose existence would not tip the scales prematurely."
"And you thought that someone should be me," I said.
"I thought," he replied quietly, "that you were already marked by fate. I chose the lesser harm."
Anger surged—hot, sharp, undeniable.
"You chose for me," I said. "You didn't even ask."
The bond flared in response, not defending him—reflecting him. His regret. His resolve. His fear of what undoing the bond would unleash.
Virel stepped forward. "Enough. The bond has passed the point of reversal without consequence."
"What kind of consequence?" I demanded.
She hesitated.
Malrik answered instead. "The collapse of the stabilizing field. Civil war. Possibly worse."
My vision swam.
"So that's it," I said. "I'm trapped."
"No," Virel said. "You are positioned."
I laughed, hollow. "That's a generous word."
"There is a choice still available," she said. "But it must be made willingly."
Both of them looked at me.
"What choice?" I asked.
Virel's voice softened, just slightly. "To accept the role fully. To synchronize with the artifact instead of resisting it."
"And if I don't?" I asked.
The bond trembled.
"Then the artifact will force alignment," Malrik said quietly. "And it will not be gentle."
Silence pressed in, heavy and unforgiving.
I looked at my marked hand.
At Malrik, standing rigid with the weight of a realm on his shoulders.
At Virel, whose calm hid centuries of watching this cycle repeat.
"You brought me here," I said slowly, "to see if I would break."
Malrik shook his head. "No. To see if you would choose."
I closed my eyes.
The bond waited.
When I opened them, I met Malrik's gaze.
"Then tell me everything," I said. "No more half-truths. No more deciding for me."
Virel inhaled sharply.
Malrik hesitated—just long enough to matter.
Then he nodded. "Very well."
The palace shuddered.
Deep beneath our feet, something ancient shifted—awake now, and listening.
And I knew, with cold certainty, that once the truth was spoken, there would be no path back to the person I had been before I crossed those gates.