The mark was breaking.
Not fading.
Not dimming.
Splintering.
At first, it was subtle—an itch beneath the skin of Elara's collarbone, a sting that pulsed only at night.
Then came the discoloration.
What had once been a clean sigil of curved runes and bone-ring symmetry began to split along its edges. New veins of red spread out like cracks in stained glass.
Then came the pain.
It hit her while she was bathing.
One moment, she was submerged in lukewarm water, the next, her body seized.
Her lungs constricted.
She gripped the edge of the tub, but her muscles refused her.
The sigil on her chest glowed.
Not gold.
Not silver.
But deep, aching red.
And then it bled.
Not blood—but memory.
The kind that bruised from the inside.
She fell forward.
Hit the stone with a sickening thud.
Water sloshed.
Her vision tunneled.
Her breath—
Stopped.
Kael was across the castle when he felt it.
Not a sound.
Not a cry.
Just a snap in the back of his mind.
Like a thread pulled too tight had torn loose.
He ran.
Through two levels of stonework, through the armory wing, through three guards who dared try to stop him.
When he burst through the bathing chamber door, the room was silent.
And Elara floated face-down in the water.
He didn't scream.
Didn't call for help.
He moved.
Lifted her from the tub.
Laid her on the freezing tile.
Pressed his ear to her chest.
A heartbeat.
But slow.
Wrong.
Flickering.
And the mark on her chest—
It was alive.
Pulsing. Cracking. A spiderweb of glowing sigillines racing toward her neck, her ribs, her heart.
Kael knew what it was.
Pact instability.
Their rewritten bond was collapsing under the pressure of too many betrayals—external manipulations, internal doubts, blood-echo corruption.
And if it reached her heart—
She would not survive.
He had one choice.
One ritual.
Rare.
Forbidden.
Intimate.
He gathered her in his arms.
Carried her to the ritual bed.
Laid her on the obsidian slab carved from wolves' teeth.
Then knelt beside her.
And whispered:
"Forgive me."
He leaned forward.
Placed his mouth over the shattering mark.
And kissed it.
Not soft.
Not romantic.
Binding.
His lips met the sigil.
His breath mingled with its burn.
His tongue whispered the words of sealing:
"What was broken,I claim.What was poisoned,I drink.What was meant to destroy,I embrace."
The sigil flared.
Elara gasped.
Her back arched.
Her eyes flew open—but saw nothing.
She was suspended in the moment between dream and waking.
And Kael—
Screamed.
Blood flooded from his mouth.
Spilled across her chest.
He collapsed forward, coughing, trembling, barely able to stay upright.
Still, he kept his lips on her skin.
Still, he whispered the words.
Until the sigil stopped flickering.
Until the light receded.
Until the fracture held.
Elara came to just as Kael fell beside her.
His mouth stained.
His eyes unfocused.
His hands twitching.
"Kael?" she rasped.
No answer.
She touched his face.
He winced.
"Why…" she whispered, "would you do that?"
His throat moved.
But no words came.
Only more blood.
He spat it aside.
Then whispered:
"Because losing youwould shatter more than the mark."
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
She held him.
Wrapped her arms around him and pressed her forehead to his.
"You're dying," she whispered.
"No."
"You're breaking."
"I've broken before."
"Then why do it again?"
He smiled.
Weakly.
"The pain tells me I'm still yours."
She shook her head.
"No."
He blinked.
She pressed her palm to his chest.
"You don't have to bleed for me."
Kael cupped her hand with his.
"I don't know how to stop."
Elara's voice broke.
"Then learn."
Silence.
She leaned close.
Whispered:
"Don't die for me.Live.Live even when it hurts.Because I know how much harder that is."
Kael closed his eyes.
Rested his head against hers.
And for the first time since the pact was formed—
Neither of them bled.
They only breathed.