Chapter 4: A Deal with Shadows
Seraphina's instincts screamed at her to refuse. To reject whatever this stranger was offering.
Yet, deep down, she knew the truth.
She needed answers.
The Vale of Echoes was nothing like the empire she once ruled. The air was too still, the sky a shade of ashen gray, swirling with wisps of mist that never seemed to settle. The trees around her stood twisted, their bark like blackened bone, their leaves whispering in voices just beneath the threshold of understanding.
And the man before her—this creature cloaked in shadows—he knew things. Things she couldn't ignore.
Seraphina's fingers curled into her palm. "Why should I trust you?"
The stranger's smirk didn't falter. "Who said you had to?"
His voice was smooth, laced with something dangerous, but also intriguing. He stepped forward, the mist recoiling from his presence.
"You are not the same as before, little Empress," he murmured. "You died, and yet, you stand here. Does that not make you curious?"
Seraphina's pulse quickened.
She wasn't the same.
The warmth of the sun, the scent of morning rain, the subtle breath of life she had once felt in the empire—gone. In its place, a cold, smoldering force thrummed inside her veins. When she clenched her fists, she could feel it stirring, an unfamiliar power that she had never wielded before.
She met his gaze. "What do you know about me?"
The stranger chuckled, slow and knowing. "I know that you are no longer just an empress."
He tilted his head, shadows curling around his frame. "You are something much more."
Seraphina stiffened.
"What am I?"
His smile widened. "That is the question, isn't it?"
Something in his gaze made her uneasy. He knew exactly what she had become—but he wanted her to figure it out herself.
"Enough games," she snapped. "Tell me what you want."
The stranger let out a low, amused hum. "You are bold. I like that."
Then, he reached into the folds of his long, dark coat and pulled out a small, curved dagger. Its blade gleamed with an unnatural darkness, as if it absorbed the light rather than reflected it.
"A test," he said simply.
Seraphina narrowed her eyes. "What kind of test?"
His crimson gaze locked onto hers. "A simple one. Take this dagger, and cut your palm."
Her breath hitched.
"What?"
The stranger extended the dagger toward her, his expression unreadable. "If you are who I think you are, then your blood will tell us the truth."
Seraphina hesitated.
Everything about this felt wrong. The very air around the dagger hummed with something forbidden.
But she couldn't walk away—not when she was standing at the edge of understanding what she had become.
She reached forward and grasped the dagger's hilt.
The moment her fingers closed around it, a chill spread up her arm, as if the blade itself recognized her. The shadows within its steel pulsed, mirroring the strange energy she felt coursing through her body.
Slowly, she pressed the edge to her palm.
And sliced.
The pain was sharp but fleeting.
At first, nothing happened. A single drop of crimson welled from the cut—just blood.
But then—
The wound did not bleed.
Instead of spilling onto the ground, the drop of blood curled into the air, shifting, twisting—until it burned black.
Seraphina's breath caught as the liquid morphed into tiny threads of darkness, spiraling up her wrist like a living thing.
The stranger watched, his expression unreadable.
Then, he whispered, "So, it's true."
Seraphina tore her gaze away from the eerie sight on her skin. "What does this mean?"
The stranger took a step closer, his voice barely above a murmur.
"It means, little Empress…" He reached out and brushed a single finger against the edge of her wound—only for the shadows to lurch away from him, hissing like a wounded beast.
His smirk deepened.
"You are not merely alive."
His crimson eyes burned.
"You are cursed."