The Abyss pulsed, uneasy.
Seris could feel it from the moment she awoke. Not the usual restless hum, nor the quiet anticipation of the inner expanse. This was deeper. A pulse that throbbed like a wound—uneven, urgent, warning of something approaching.
Mason was already awake, shadows coiling around him like living chains. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. She felt the tension threaded through him, his focus absolute, every fiber of him ready to leap, to defend, to destroy.
"I can feel it too," she murmured.
He didn't answer. His jaw tightened, hands flexing at his sides, shadows flickering impatiently.
Beyond the edge of their platform, where the Abyss met the void, a ripple formed. Not subtle this time. It surged outward like a wave of darkness laced with intent. Seris felt the presence before she saw it: a predator, older and sharper than the last, one that had learned patience. One that knew how to probe without touching.
Mason growled low in his throat. "It's here."
"Yes," Seris said, voice steady. "And it's testing us. Both of us. Not just me."
Mason's silver-black eyes narrowed. "Then let's end the testing."
"Not yet," she said, holding up a hand. Shadows flared instinctively at her signal, brushing against Mason like warning blades. "This time, we do it differently."
He blinked, confusion flickering behind the obsession. "Differently how?"
She stepped forward, letting the silver mark at her collarbone pulse brightly. "I face it first. Alone. You reinforce after. Not before. Not during."
The words struck him like a whip. His jaw clenched. "You're asking me to watch it touch you?"
"I'm asking you to trust me. That's what restraint looks like. That's what choice looks like. That's the test the predator wants us to pass."
His shadows flared violently, bristling, lashing outward as if ready to strike the ripple. He exhaled sharply, eyes dark with tension. "I hate that you make me watch."
"Good," she said softly. "Because that's what it feels like to endure the impossible."
He fell silent, though the flicker of shadows at his shoulders betrayed his inner storm.
Seris stepped off the edge of the platform, her figure slipping into the ripple. The predator moved immediately, not physically, but mentally, pressing against her essence like knives probing the edges of a diamond. She felt its awareness threading around her, tasting her resolve, weighing her choice.
And she held firm.
Mason's shadows responded instantly, reaching toward her but stopping short, restrained by the bond. The Abyss itself seemed to brace, holding the predator at bay without her needing to act aggressively.
"You're stronger than last time," the predator hissed, voice like wind over splintered glass. "But still… you rely on him."
Seris's heartbeat quickened. "Not this time."
It lunged—not a strike, not a slash, but a pressure, a weight against her mind and spirit, testing the limits of her autonomy.
She staggered slightly, feeling the strain in her bones, the pull at her consciousness, but she did not call for Mason. She did not reach for his shadow. She grounded herself in the Abyss, threading her essence into the realm, letting it flow through her, around her, reinforcing the tether between herself and the universe.
The predator hissed in frustration. "Your autonomy is… unnatural."
"Yes," she said firmly. "And necessary."
Behind her, she felt Mason bracing, restrained, aching to intervene, his shadows ready to explode—but he did not. Not yet. He waited, tethered to the trust she had demanded.
The predator recoiled slightly, testing the Abyss's hold, trying to slip past her anchor. Seris felt the strain, felt the pressure threatening to fracture her focus. Her lips pressed together, nails digging into her palms. She could feel the pull of Mason behind her, every fiber of him wanting to surge forward, consume the predator, and shield her from the weight pressing against her.
She drew a deep breath.
"No," she whispered. "I am enough."
The predator shrieked—a soundless mental fracture—pushing against her with all its calculated precision. But the Abyss held, responding to her will, to her choice, to her clarity. She met the pressure with her own, firm and unyielding, letting it wash over her without letting it define her.
And Mason, watching her from just beyond the barrier, felt a sharp pang of something he could not name. Fear, desire, frustration—but most of all, respect. He had not known she could endure like this. He had not known she could face a predator alone and not falter, and yet emerge stronger.
The predator recoiled finally, not destroyed, but rebuffed. It retreated slowly, its form splintering into negative space, leaving ripples of tension behind.
Seris exhaled, staggering slightly, letting the Abyss absorb her. Her pulse returned to normal, the silver mark dimming to a steady glow.
Mason rushed to her, catching her gently. "You… you did it," he said, voice rough. "Alone."
"Yes," she said quietly, leaning into him. "And you didn't intervene. That's the difference between obsession and trust."
He pressed his forehead to hers, exhaling slowly, shadows curling protectively around them. "You terrify me more than anything ever could," he admitted. "Because you don't just survive—you redefine what survival means. And I… I can't stop wanting to protect you."
"And you won't," she said softly. "Not entirely. But you will allow me to define my own survival."
The Abyss pulsed beneath them, steady and deliberate, acknowledging the bond forged not just through obsession, but through restraint and choice.
And somewhere, just beyond the edges of reality, the predator paused, watching, learning, waiting. It had been tested—and it had learned that the anchor of choice was far stronger than the sharpest fang, the fastest strike, or even the most obsessive devotion.
But it had not given up.
Because in the universe beyond the Abyss, some predators never do.