Lysandra's stomach lurched as the world collapsed beneath her. Shadows wrapped around her limbs, pulling her down, down, down into endless darkness. Cold air rushed past her ears, her heartbeat thundering in her skull.
Then—impact.
She hit the ground with a force that rattled her bones. Silence. The air was thick, pressing against her chest like an unseen weight. Lysandra coughed, pushing herself up onto her elbows.
The darkness stretched endlessly in all directions, shifting and pulsing like a living thing. There was no sky. No stars. No wind.
Just him.
The god.
He stood before her, his form barely tangible—woven from shadows and slivers of gold, his jagged crown gleaming in the void. His face remained unreadable, shifting in and out of focus like smoke refusing to settle.
Lysandra shuddered.
"Why am I here?" she demanded, though her voice was barely more than a whisper.
The god tilted his head, watching her with eerie amusement.
"You have taken from me, little one. It is time I take in return."
Her pulse spiked. "I didn't agree to—"
"Didn't you?" His voice was velvet, curling around her like unseen fingers. "You called me. You offered yourself. And I accepted."
The mark on her arm burned.
Lysandra bit her lip to keep from crying out. The pain was unlike anything she had felt before—like something deep within her was being pulled apart, unraveled thread by thread.
"You never said what you wanted," she gritted out.
The god laughed, low and knowing. "I wanted to wait until you were ready to hear it."
He stepped closer. The shadows around them whispered, flickering like dying embers.
"You will be my vessel."
Lysandra's breath caught.
Her vision blurred. She swayed on her feet, struggling to process the words. "What—?"
"A mortal body cannot contain a god," he murmured. "But a shadow-touched soul? That is another matter entirely."
Lysandra staggered backward. No. No, no, no.
"You want to possess me."
The god chuckled. "Not yet. But when the time comes, you will take my place. You will become me."
Her mind reeled. This wasn't a curse. This wasn't servitude.
This was something worse.
A Desperate Bargain
"No," she gasped. "There has to be another way."
The god watched her in silence, like a king surveying a trembling subject.
"There is always another way," he mused. "But it is never without cost."
Lysandra clenched her fists. "What do you want?"
A long pause.
And then—
"The prince."
Her stomach dropped.
"The prince?" she echoed.
The god's golden gaze glinted. "Jael's bloodline is woven with power. His sacrifice would delay my claim on you. Perhaps indefinitely."
Lysandra's breath hitched.
Jael. The cursed prince.
Her friend.
A sacrifice?
The god's voice softened, almost coaxing. "You have already chosen to defy fate once. Will you do it again?"
Her hands trembled.
She had spent her whole life running from the inevitable. From the curse, from destiny, from every cruel twist the gods had planned.
And now she stood at the edge of a choice she never wanted to make.
Herself.
Or Jael.
The god reached for her, fingers brushing the air near her cheek. "Decide soon, little one."
And with that—
The shadows collapsed inward.
The world twisted, turning inside out, and Lysandra was falling.
Falling back to the waking world.
Falling toward a choice she could not escape.