Sleep never came gently to Clara anymore. It wasn't rest; it was drowning, slipping into a black ocean where whispers slithered like currents and every heartbeat felt borrowed. Tonight was no different—except this time, when her eyes opened, she was not herself.
Stone walls stretched high above her, carved into spiraling columns that bent like ribs of some colossal beast. Fires burned in sconces of black metal, their flames blue instead of orange, casting everything in hues that felt alien, wrong.
She blinked, confused, until she realized: these weren't her eyes.
Her pulse thrashed. She tried to look down at her hands, but the sight that met her sent a cold shock through her body. Pale fingers—longer, steadier than hers—rested on the arm of an iron throne. Rings gleamed across them, etched with runes that pulsed faintly with crimson light. She recognized them instantly.
Yurin's hands.
"No…" she whispered. But the word didn't leave her lips—it left his. Smooth, controlled, a voice that echoed against the chamber walls.
Clara stumbled mentally, like a trespasser in someone else's skin. She tried to pull back, to wrench her consciousness away, but the tether only dug in deeper, tightening like a noose.
And then she heard it—his laugh. Not the sinister echo she was used to, but low, quiet, intimate. Do you see now, Clara? You're not hearing me. You're wearing me.
The throne room's great doors creaked open. A figure entered, cloaked in gray, head bowed. They knelt, trembling, their voice breaking. "Master Crimson. The Outer Legion is ready. They await only your command."
Clara wanted to scream. She wanted to rip herself out of his body, but instead, Yurin rose smoothly, the black cloak across his shoulders unfurling like wings. His voice flowed from her mouth, though it was his tone, his control.
"Tell them," Yurin said, "to march at dawn. The world has forgotten what fear tastes like. We shall remind them."
The kneeling figure pressed their head to the floor in reverence. Clara's stomach lurched. This wasn't just whispers—this was his world. His plans. She was seeing it all firsthand.
Why are you showing me this? she thought desperately.
The reply came soft, dangerously soft, directly in her skull. Because you are mine, Clara. You will not be a bystander when I move. You will be at my side, whether you choose it or not.
"No!" she shouted, finally tearing her voice free—yet the echo still rang in the throne room. The servant's head shot up, startled. For a split second, Clara realized—Yurin hadn't meant for her to seize control.
The tether flickered. For one terrifying instant, Yurin's pale hand trembled. His smile faltered. Clara gasped, seizing the chance, pushing every ounce of her will forward. I'm not yours.
The world cracked. The flames sputtered out. The throne dissolved into darkness.
Clara jolted awake in the canyon, gasping, sweat slicking her brow. Her heart hammered like a drum in her ears. For a moment, she didn't know where she was—her own body felt wrong, too small compared to the one she had just inhabited.
Evelyn's eyes were already on her, sharp as knives. "Another nightmare?"
Clara's throat was raw. "Not… not a nightmare."
Damien stirred from his post near the fire, his gaze locking on her with an intensity that made her skin crawl. "Then what?"
Clara hesitated, every instinct screaming to lie, to bury the truth. But the memory of Yurin's hands, Yurin's voice, Yurin's world—it clawed too deeply inside her. She whispered, almost too quietly:
"I saw him. Not just in my head. Through his eyes. He was… planning something."
The canyon seemed to freeze. Evelyn's hand drifted to her blade, Damien's eyes darkened, and Zeke finally sat up from his feigned sleep, tension radiating from every movement.
"You're not just linked," Damien said slowly, his voice low and hard. "You're a vessel."
The word hit like a hammer. Clara shook her head violently, gripping her palm where the spiral glowed faintly beneath her skin. "No. I fought him—I pushed him back. I can push him back."
But even as she said it, the memory of Yurin's laughter lingered, curling like smoke. She wasn't sure if she was telling them the truth… or lying to herself.