Helena’s kiss deepened, nails clawing my chest, “I’ll burn for you forever. Don’t leave me.”
My father’s arms crushed me, his voice rumbling with command, “Stay, son. Stay, and I will love you as I never did in life.”
Lazarus clung to me, whispering desperately, “I love you, Salvatore. I will never leave you. Stay with me. Always.”
Their touch filled every hole inside me. I wanted it. Gods, I wanted it more than breath.
But the shadows hissed colder, crueler, and the warmth trembled on my skin.
“Or… you could ascend. You must tear the heart from your chest and crush it in your palm. Feed it to us, and you will rise. But know this, Salvatore?—”
The chamber convulsed, the whispers pressing knives into my skull.
“If you renounce this, you will never feel love again. You will always be empty, hollow, colder than the grave. You will be devoid of all emotion, stripped of feeling. You will forget this sweetness, this warmth, this ecstasy forever. Only true love—rare, unbreakable, eternal—could ever pierce the emptiness again. But there is no promise you will ever find it. You may walk your eternity barren.”
Their laughter slid like rusted blades across my bones.
“This is the price of ascension. Forget this feeling. Forget the love you crave. Let it die in your hands. In return, you will be powerful. Unbreakable. A Lord of Shadows.”
Amara kissed me again, desperate, whispering, “Don’t leave me. Don’t give this up.”
Helena’s lips grazed my throat, her voice sultry, trembling, “Choose me, Salvatore. Choose love. Not the shadows.”
My father’s grip hardened, voice booming, “Stay, son. Stay, and never be unloved again.”
Lazarus’ eyes burned with worship, his words breaking as he clung to me, “I love you. I will always love you. Stay.”
The shadows pressed their final decree into my marrow.
“Choose now, Salvatore. Stay and drown in devotion—love, worship, imprisoned in glory. Or rip the heart from your chest, cast love aside, and rise as a monster. You cannot have both.”
My chest convulsed, my ribs straining as though the decision itself was already splitting me open.
“You can stay here, Salvatore, and it will never end. The sweetness. The warmth. The worship. In the Pit of Shadows, you will remain here forever—eat, breathe, touch, desire, and be loved. Amara’s lips will always be yours. Helena’s devotion will never waver. Your father will never raise a fist against you. Lazarus will never leave you. Stay, and this will be your life for all eternity.”
But then the shadows’ hiss cut colder, slicing through the euphoria?—
“But if you ascend…you walk out of this pit into the world of men, you will tear out love and desire. You must rip your heart from your chest and crush it in your palm. Burn away your hunger, your longing, your love. You will never feel this again. You will never taste this warmth. You will never know desire as other men do.”
The warmth flickered. Their touches trembled.
My chest convulsed. My ribs strained. Tears burned my eyes. Because I knew the truth?—
If I stayed, I would never leave this pit again.
If I left, I would never be whole again.
Both choices were death. Only one was crowned.
The Pit of Shadows stirred.
The shadows shifted, twisting into a man.
Me.
He stood at the far end of the pit—bare, silent, unblinking—my own reflection, shaped from smoke and memory. The firelight bled across his face, hollowing his eyes into twin voids.
The whispers trembled through the dark, low and layered, the pit speaking with a thousand throats at once.
