The curse didn't arrive all at once.
It crept in the way fog does—soft, quiet, almost gentle.
At first, it was the birds.
They stopped singing when Eryx walked past.
Then the flowers near the palace gates began to close their petals before nightfall, as if they were afraid of something they couldn't see.
Eryx noticed. He always noticed.
"Magic listens to emotions," he told me one morning, watching the sky shift from gold to a dull lavender. "When something is wrong, the world reacts before people do."
I wanted to tell him that he wasn't wrong. That this world wasn't dying because of him.
But lies feel heavier in magical places.
They echo.
So instead, I asked, "What happens if the curse wins?"
He didn't answer right away.
We were standing on a bridge made of crystal threads, the river flowing upward beneath us. His reflection in the water looked older than he was—tired, worn down by hope.
"The world collapses," he said finally. "Slowly. Beautifully. Like it's apologizing for existing."
I swallowed.
"And you?"
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I disappear with it."
Something inside my chest twisted painfully.
I hated how calm he was about it. How accepting. Like he had already decided that his ending was unavoidable.
"No," I said before I could stop myself. "That's not how this ends."
He turned to look at me then, really look at me. "You sound very sure."
"I am."
That was the moment I crossed another line.
I started pushing the world harder.
We broke into forgotten towers, stole spells from walls that whispered warnings, woke ancient magic that should have stayed asleep. Every solution demanded a price, and every time, I paid it without thinking.
Headaches. Dizziness. Gaps in my memory.
I forgot the sound of my mother's voice.
I forgot what my old bedroom looked like.
But the sky healed.
The curse weakened.
And Eryx laughed again.
One night, exhausted, I fell asleep in the palace library. I woke to find a blanket draped over my shoulders and Eryx sitting beside me, watching me like I might vanish if he blinked.
"You scare me," he said softly.
I smiled. "That's new."
"You act like you don't belong anywhere," he continued. "Like you're borrowed."
The word hit too close.
"What if I am?" I asked.
He reached for my hand, slow, careful—giving me time to pull away.
I didn't.
"Then I'll borrow you back," he said. "As long as I can."
The magic around us reacted instantly. Light flared. The shelves trembled. Somewhere far away, something cracked.
I felt it.
The universe doesn't like promises that can't be kept.
That night, the doorway appeared again—brighter, closer, more insistent. It hovered at the edge of my vision like a threat.
I didn't tell Eryx.
Instead, I kissed him.
It wasn't desperate or rushed. It was soft. Certain. Like choosing to fall even when you know the ground is waiting.
When we pulled apart, he rested his forehead against mine.
"Stay," he whispered. Not as a command. As a plea.
My power burned under my skin, restless, warning me.
Staying would save this world.
Staying would cost me another piece of myself.
And leaving?
Leaving would break him.
For the first time since I started traveling, I wished the multiverse would decide for me.
But it never does.