The garden looked like something out of a dream.
A nightmare's dream.
Torches burned in iron sconces, their flames too bright for midnight. The air smelled of damp earth and something metallic, like old coins or dried blood. Statues lined the spiral path, their carved eyes watching in silence.
Elma stood at the center with Calista, both of them dressed in black as ordered. The leash under her collar pulsed like a heartbeat she couldn't control. Guards flanked the garden walls, their faces blank, their hands resting on weapons that gleamed in the firelight.
Nitron arrived last, of course. He didn't walk; he stalked, his presence stretching the space like gravity. He wore a simple black coat, no crown, no ostentation. He didn't need it.
"Beautiful night," he said softly, stepping onto the spiral path. His voice carried too easily, like the garden itself was listening. "Perfect for pruning."
Elma's fists clenched. Calista's expression didn't shift, but her knuckles were white against the folds of her gown.
Nitron circled them slowly, like a predator deciding where to bite first.
"I've been thinking," he murmured. "The leash is a remarkable invention, don't you agree?"
Elma stayed silent. She knew the game. He wanted her to speak, to stumble.
"Not only does it command," Nitron continued, "it teaches. It sharpens. It reveals."
His gaze cut to her. "It has revealed… a pattern in you, Elma."
The leash tightened without warning, dragging a sharp gasp from her throat. Her knees buckled, but she stayed standing, locking her jaw.
"A pattern of defiance," Nitron said softly.
Calista stepped forward. "She's loyal. She's proven it a hundred times over—"
Nitron raised a hand. The leash constricted again, silencing Elma with pain sharp enough to make her vision blur.
"And you defend her," Nitron said, turning his cold smile on Calista. "Always."
Calista's mask cracked for a fraction of a second. "She is your weapon," she said through clenched teeth. "What good is a blade if you dull it out of spite?"
Nitron chuckled softly, low and dangerous. "Spoken like a queen."
He stepped closer, stopping just in front of Elma. She met his gaze, refusing to bow.
That's when the shard woke up.
It pulsed in her sleeve, a hot, violent thrum that shot through her bones. The leash tightened to match, but the shard pushed back.
Elma gasped as a faint blue glow flickered at her collar. The sigils burned through the fabric, bright enough for everyone to see.
Nitron's smile froze.
"Well," he said softly. "That's new."
The shard pulsed again, harder, and the statues around the garden trembled. One cracked down the middle, a jagged line splitting its marble face.
Guards stepped forward, weapons raised.
Nitron lifted a single hand, and they froze.
He tilted his head, studying Elma like she was a puzzle piece he'd misplaced. "Do you feel that, pet? The leash isn't yours. It's mine. Everything you are is mine."
Elma's breath came ragged, but her smirk broke through. "Then why does it feel like it hates you?"
The leash lashed her nerves like a whip, but the shard pushed harder, sending a wave of heat through her chest. She stumbled forward—not from pain, but from sudden strength.
The torches flickered. Shadows crawled up the garden walls.
For the first time, Nitron's eyes narrowed.
"Enough," he said softly.
The leash constricted again, sharper than ever, but the shard sang in response—a low hum that rattled the garden floor. The cracked statue shattered completely, stone exploding outward.
Guards moved instinctively, but Nitron's hand stayed them again.
He stepped close, so close Elma could see the reflection of her own glow in his eyes.
"You think this makes you powerful," Nitron murmured. "It makes you mine twice over."
Elma spat blood at his feet. "Keep telling yourself that."
Nitron's smile curved, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Careful, pet. You might start to believe it."
He turned his back on her, calm as ever. "Take them back to their chambers. Lock the doors. Double the guard."
Guards closed in, but no one dared touch her. The shard's glow lingered like a warning.
As they were led away, Calista's fingers brushed against hers. Just once. Just enough to say: We're close.
Back in her chamber, Elma collapsed against the wall, gasping. The leash's burn hadn't faded, but the shard's warmth throbbed like a second heartbeat.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Blue sigils glimmered faintly under her skin, curling along her throat like a necklace carved from lightning.
"Not much longer," she whispered.
The shard pulsed in agreement.