"You're telling me my blood can fix him?" Ariana's voice cut through the dense silence of the northern woods, sharp and incredulous. She stood in a small clearing, facing the Elder—a towering figure cloaked in shadow, his eyes glowing faintly yellow under the moonlight. The air was thick with tension, the kind that made her skin prickle.
The Elder's voice rumbled low, like gravel shifting underfoot. "Yes. Your blood holds a spark—something ancient, tied to the curse I laid on him. It could break it. But it'll cost you."
Ariana's stomach twisted. She tightened her grip on the knife in her hand, the blade catching the dim light. "Cost me how? Stop with the cryptic crap and just tell me."
He stepped closer, his presence heavy, almost suffocating. "A piece of your life. Your strength. Maybe more. You'd be tying yourself to him—permanently. And there's no guarantee you'll walk away whole."
