The silence that followed the battle was suffocating. The temple, once filled with the howls of spectral warriors and the clash of cursed steel, now stood eerily still. The only sound was Lysandra's ragged breathing as she stared at her wrists.
The chains had cracked.
Not broken. Not yet. But the silver bindings that had held her for as long as she could remember were finally weakening. She could feel it—the pull of something vast and ancient beneath her skin, no longer sealed away but stirring.
Kastian stepped beside her, rubbing his own wrists. His golden eyes flickered in the dim light, unreadable. "It's working."
Lysandra swallowed hard. "Then why does it feel like something's still holding us back?"
As if in answer, the temple shuddered.
The ground beneath them split, jagged cracks snaking outward from the altar. A deep, guttural sound rumbled through the air—not quite a voice, but something older. Something angry.
Lysandra felt it before she saw it.
A presence. Watching. Waiting.
Then, from the heart of the altar, the shadows tore apart.
A figure emerged—tall, impossibly thin, its form shifting like smoke and bone. Its face was obscured, a swirling mass of darkness, but the feeling it exuded was unmistakable.
The Forgotten God.
The Price of Power
Lysandra's throat tightened. This was the being that had cursed her. That had stolen everything from her.
Kastian's posture stiffened beside her, his hand gripping his dagger. But neither of them moved. The air had thickened, pressing against them like unseen hands.
Then the god spoke.
"You dare return to me."
The voice was not one sound but many—whispers, echoes, a chorus of something that had existed before time itself.
Lysandra forced herself to stand tall. "We came to break your curse."
The god laughed. A terrible sound that rattled the very walls of the temple. "My curse?" The shadows around it pulsed, shifting like an endless tide. "You think I shackled you out of cruelty?"
Lysandra's nails bit into her palms. "You were afraid of us."
The god tilted its head. "Yes."
The answer sent a chill through her.
Kastian exhaled sharply. "Then you know you can't stop us."
The god's form twisted, shifting into something almost human, almost familiar. It leaned closer, the air around it buzzing with energy. "I have no need to stop you."
Lysandra's breath caught.
Because we are stopping ourselves.
The chains. The battle. The way their power flickered, never fully unleashed.
The Forgotten God hadn't been restraining them anymore.
They had been holding themselves back.
The Final Lock
Lysandra's pulse roared in her ears. She had spent her entire life believing she was cursed. That this power—this thing inside her—was unnatural. That she was wrong.
But the truth was far worse.
The Forgotten God had shackled her, yes. But the chains had long since loosened. She was the one who had kept them in place.
Because if she let go—if she truly let go—what would she become?
The god's voice was soft now. "You are not bound by me anymore, Lysandra."
The last chain wasn't one of magic.
It was fear.
Her fear.
Kastian's voice broke through the storm in her mind. "Lysandra."
She turned to him. His golden eyes burned with something fierce, something certain. He reached for her hand, his own chains glimmering with the last remnants of their binding magic.
"We end this together," he said.
Lysandra looked down at her cracked chains. Then she closed her eyes.
And let go.
Darkness exploded outward, swallowing the temple whole.