You begin to understand the game’s true nature.
I spin toward the sound, but there’s nothing to see. Just dancing shadows and the sudden certainty that we’re being watched.
"What is that?" I whisper.
Krath’s hand drops to his sword hilt, but his stance is wary rather than aggressive. "Something older than the Marshal. Something that was here before the abbey, before the curse."
Before everything.
The presence seems to approve of his assessment. Books rustle without wind, pages turning of their own accord.
The bell calls, little scholar. Soon you must choose—his freedom or your life. There is no third path.
"There’s always a third path," I say to the empty air.
Laughter echoes through the library—not cruel like the Marshal’s, but genuinely amused.
Spoken like a true witch. Always seeking the loophole, the clever solution, the way around instead of through.
The shadows shift closer, and I feel something brush against my mind—not invasive like the whispers from before, but curious. Testing.
But some choices cannot be avoided, little one. Some prices must be paid.
"Then we’ll find another way to pay them," I snap.
We shall see.
The presence fades, leaving only the scent of old parchment and older secrets. But the certainty remains—whatever spoke to us isn’t gone. It’s waiting.
"What did it mean?" I ask. "About the bell calling?"
Krath’s expression is grim. "It means our time grows short. The Marshal won’t wait much longer to force our choice."
"And what choice is that?"
"One of us bleeds for the bell." His voice is flat, matter-of-fact. "One of us takes my place in the curse."
No.
The word sits heavy in my chest, immediate and absolute. Not because I fear death—though I do—but because the thought of Krath suffering another two centuries is unbearable.
"There has to be another way."
"Does there?" He steps closer. "What if there isn’t? What if this is simply the price of waking a cursed warlord?"
"Then I pay it."
The words come out before I can stop them, fierce and certain. Krath goes very still, red eyes searching my face.
"You would die for me?"
"Yes." There’s no hesitation in my answer. "Wouldn’t you do the same?"
"That’s different."
"How?"
"Because I’ve already lived too long. Because I’ve done things that damn me regardless of curses." His hand rises as if to touchmy face, then stops just short. "Because you have a life worth living."
