Elara's POV
"You should have stayed away."
The voice is deep and cold, like wind through a graveyard. I can't see who's speaking—the doorway is nothing but darkness.
"Please!" I clutch Nessa's lifeless body against my chest. "She's not breathing! Help her!"
"I don't help people." The voice comes closer. "Especially not ones foolish enough to come here."
"Then why did you open the door?" My voice breaks. "Why answer if you're just going to let her die?"
Silence. Then: "Leave. Now. Before I make you leave."
"NO!" Rage floods through my terror. "I walked through a blizzard! I fought off attackers! I lost everything to get here! You don't get to just send me away!"
"Watch me."
The door starts to swing shut.
Without thinking, I shove my foot in the gap. Pain explodes as the heavy door crushes against my boot, but I don't pull back.
"Move your foot," the voice warns.
"Save my sister first!"
"She's already dead."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "You're lying. She can't be—"
"No heartbeat. No breath. No life force. She's been dead for thirty seconds." His voice is flat, factual. "There's nothing I can do."
"You're the Death Keeper!" Tears stream down my face. "You control death! Bring her back!"
"That's not how it works."
"I don't care how it works! DO SOMETHING!"
Another pause. Longer this time.
Then the door opens.
A man steps into the light, and every story I've ever heard about the Death Keeper shatters.
He's not a rotting corpse. Not a skeleton in robes. Not a monster.
He's maybe thirty, tall and lean, with black hair that falls across his forehead. His skin is pale but healthy. His features are sharp and handsome in a way that makes my breath catch despite everything.
But his eyes—storm-grey and ancient—those look like they've seen a thousand deaths.
He wears simple dark clothes and black gloves. No blood. No decay. No horror.
Just a man who looks tired and sad and very, very alone.
"Give her to me," he says quietly.
I hesitate. Every instinct screams not to trust him. But what choice do I have?
I place Nessa's cold body in his arms.
He carries her inside without another word. I follow, my crushed foot screaming with each step.
The fortress interior isn't what I expected. Books line the walls. Plants grow in pots along the windows, green and healthy despite the snow outside. Herbs hang drying from the ceiling. It smells like medicine and old paper.
This is a scholar's home. A healer's workspace.
Not a monster's lair.
Caspian lays Nessa on a long stone table in the center of the room. He presses two fingers to her neck, checking for pulse. His gloved hands move over her body, examining the black veins with careful precision.
"Death Weaver curse," he says. "Advanced stage. Whoever placed this knew exactly what they were doing."
"Can you break it?" My voice is barely a whisper.
He doesn't answer. Instead, he removes one glove and places his bare hand over Nessa's heart.
I gasp. His hand glows with silver light—death magic, raw and powerful. It sinks into Nessa's chest like water into sand.
For a long moment, nothing happens.
Then Nessa's body jerks. She gasps—a horrible, rattling sound. Her eyes fly open, unseeing and terrified.
"Nessa!" I rush forward, but Caspian's other hand shoots out, stopping me.
"Don't touch her. Not yet."
Nessa's back arches. The black veins pulse and writhe under her skin like living snakes. She screams—a sound of pure agony that tears my heart apart.
"You're hurting her!" I try to push past Caspian, but he's immovable.
"I'm bringing her back from death. It hurts." His voice is steady but strained. Sweat beads on his forehead. "If you interrupt now, she dies permanently. Do you understand?"
I force myself to stay back, watching helplessly as my sister writhes in pain.
Caspian's hand glows brighter. The silver light spreads through Nessa's body, chasing the black veins, fighting them. Where silver meets black, the air crackles with magic.
Blood drips from Caspian's nose. His hand trembles. Whatever he's doing is costing him.
"Almost there," he mutters through clenched teeth.
With a sound like breaking glass, the curse shatters.
The black veins explode into smoke and vanish. Nessa collapses back onto the table, gasping for real breath this time. Color returns to her skin. Her eyes flutter closed, but she's breathing. Really breathing.
Caspian stumbles backward, pressing his hand to his face. Blood flows freely from his nose now, dripping onto the floor.
"Is she—" I can barely speak.
"Alive. Stable. For now." He wipes the blood with his sleeve, his other hand gripping the table for support. "But that was just temporary. A Band-Aid on a mortal wound. The curse is still there, just... dormant."
My relief crashes into new fear. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I bought her time. Maybe a month if she's lucky." He looks at me with those ancient eyes. "The curse is too powerful to break in one attempt. It needs to be unraveled piece by piece. That takes time. Proximity. Constant vigilance."
"How much time?"
"A month. Maybe more." He straightens, wincing. "She'll need to stay here. And someone will need to act as her life anchor—a living person whose energy I can use to keep her stable while I work."
"I'll do it," I say immediately.
"You don't understand what you're agreeing to." He takes a step closer, studying me. "A life anchor means exactly that. You'll be tied to her, sharing your life force. If I make a mistake, you both die. If the curse fights back too hard, you both die. And you'll be exposed to death magic constantly, for weeks. It could corrupt you. Change you. Destroy your healing abilities forever."
"I don't care."
"You should."
"My sister is everything to me." I meet his eyes without flinching. "My abilities, my future, my life—none of it matters if she's dead. I'll be her anchor. I'll stay here. I'll do whatever it takes."
Something flickers in his expression. Respect? Sadness? I can't tell.
"Why did you really come here?" he asks quietly. "You were a celebrated healer. You could have gone anywhere, tried anything. Why seek out the most feared man in the kingdom?"
"Because everyone else saw a hopeless case." The words spill out raw and honest. "I needed someone who sees death as something to understand, not just fear. Someone who might actually care enough to try."
He stares at me for a long moment. Then he pulls off his other glove.
"Give me your hand."
"Why?"
"If you're going to be the life anchor, I need to test something." He holds out his bare hand. "Everyone says my touch brings death. That I drain life from anything I contact. Are you brave enough to find out if that's true?"
I look at his outstretched hand. At the silver scars marking his pale skin. At the power I know flows through him.
Then I place my palm in his.
The moment our skin touches, magic explodes between us. Not painful—shocking. Like lightning and sunlight mixing together. Silver and gold light spirals up our joined hands.
Caspian's eyes go wide. "Impossible."
"What? What's happening?"
"You're a Life Weaver." He stares at our hands like he's seeing a ghost. "An extinct bloodline. People who could manipulate the boundary between life and death."
"I'm a what?"
"My opposite. Life to my death." His grip tightens on my hand. "That's why you survived studying dark texts. Why you can withstand my touch. Why you might actually survive being Nessa's anchor."
The magic between us pulses stronger. I feel it now—his death energy and my life energy, circling each other, balancing each other.
For the first time in fifteen years," he whispers, "I can touch someone without killing them."
We stand frozen, hands joined, magic crackling between us.
Then Nessa moans from the table.
We break apart instantly. Caspian moves to check on her, all business again.
"She's stable," he announces. "But we need to start the anchoring ritual tonight. Before the curse wakes up."
"Tonight?" I'm still dizzy from whatever just happened between us.
"The curse knows I attacked it. It'll fight back soon." He finally looks at me again. "There's something else you should know before you agree to this."
"What?"
"The life anchor ritual... it creates a bond. Between you, your sister, and me. We'll be connected. I'll feel your emotions. You'll sense my magic. It's intimate in a way that most people can't handle." His jaw tightens. "And once the bond forms, it can't be broken until the curse is destroyed or your sister dies. You'll be stuck here. With me. For weeks."
"I already said I'll do it."
"You also said you're desperate." His eyes search mine. "But desperation makes people agree to things they regret later. So I'm asking one more time: Are you sure you want to trust me? A man the entire kingdom calls a monster? A man who killed his own family?"
The question hangs in the air.
I think about the way he gently laid Nessa on the table. The blood he shed to save her. The loneliness in his ancient eyes. The careful way he tends his plants and organizes his books.
"Yes," I say firmly. "I trust you."
For the first time, something almost like a smile touches his lips.
"Then we start now." He moves to a cabinet, pulling out strange herbs and carved stones. "The ritual takes three hours. It's painful. You can't scream or break concentration, or it fails and Nessa dies. Can you handle that?"
"Yes."
"Good." He arranges the items in a circle around Nessa's table. "One more thing."
"What?"
He looks at me with an expression I can't read. "No matter what you see tonight, no matter what the ritual shows you about my past, don't run. If you run, the bond breaks and your sister dies. Promise me you won't run."
A chill runs down my spine. "What am I going to see?"
"My worst memories. My darkest moments. Everything that made me into this." His voice is steady but his hands shake slightly. "The ritual requires complete honesty. No shields. No secrets. You'll see exactly who I am."
"Will I see who cursed Nessa?"
His eyes sharpen. "What makes you think the ritual shows that?"
"You said complete honesty. No secrets." I step closer. "If we're all connected, won't I see everything? Including who's behind this?"
A long pause. Then: "Yes. You'll see who cursed your sister. You'll know the truth."
My heart races. "Then I'm ready."
Caspian nods slowly. "Stand next to your sister. Place your hand over her heart. And whatever happens next—"
Thunder crashes outside so loudly the fortress shakes.
We both freeze.
"That's not a storm," Caspian says quietly.
"What is it?"