Chapter 5: The Curse of the Fallen
Seraphina's breath came in short, sharp gasps.
The shadows coiling around her wrist felt alive, slithering and twisting as if testing their newfound existence. They pulsed in sync with her racing heartbeat, shifting between solid and mist, forming tendrils that lashed at the air before retreating.
She clenched her hand into a fist, trying to will them away.
They obeyed—partially. The tendrils retracted, but a faint, dark aura still lingered over her skin.
She wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or terrified.
The stranger, however, looked utterly satisfied.
"So," he mused, watching her with unreadable crimson eyes, "it appears my suspicions were correct."
Seraphina forced herself to stand straighter, ignoring the strange power thrumming beneath her skin. "Enough riddles. You knew this would happen."
The man's smirk remained, but there was a flicker of something else in his gaze. Amusement? Or something deeper?
"Of course," he admitted, tilting his head. "Your blood is no longer mortal, little Empress. It has been touched by something far older… and far more dangerous."
Seraphina's stomach twisted.
"Tell me exactly what that means," she demanded.
The stranger stepped closer, shadows curling at his feet as if they recognized him. "It means," he said, his voice smooth, "that you are no longer merely Seraphina Aldevar, the betrayed Empress of Elarion."
He lifted a hand, and for the first time, she noticed the mark on his palm—a spiral of obsidian ink that glowed faintly, mirroring the way the shadows had reacted to her blood.
"You are something greater now. Something the world has long since forgotten."
Seraphina's jaw clenched.
"And what, exactly, is that?"
The stranger exhaled, almost lazily. "You are one of the Fallen now."
The word rang in the air, carrying weight beyond its simple meaning.
Seraphina felt it in her bones.
A name. A title. A fate she had never chosen.
"The Fallen?" she echoed, barely above a whisper.
The man's crimson gaze darkened.
"The cursed souls who have walked the line between life and death," he said. "Beings who were not meant to return, and yet—do. Touched by shadow, but not completely lost to it."
Seraphina's fingers dug into her palm.
"This is not what I wanted," she said, her voice barely steady.
The stranger chuckled. "No one ever does, little Empress. But the curse does not care for your wants."
Seraphina swallowed the sharp retort forming on her tongue.
This curse—this power—was not natural. It was something ancient, something that shouldn't belong in the realm of the living.
And yet, it was now a part of her.
"Can it be undone?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.
The stranger's smirk faded.
"Not easily," he admitted. "And not without cost."
Seraphina felt a weight settle in her chest.
Her entire life had already been stolen from her.
Her empire. Her people. Her own body, left to rot in a grave she never chose.
And now, she was bound to something even darker.
She lifted her gaze, steel-hard. "Then I'll learn to control it."
The stranger's brows lifted slightly, as if surprised by her resolve. Then, slowly, his smirk returned.
"Good," he murmured. "Because whether you like it or not, little Empress, the shadows are already watching you."
The wind howled through the Vale, carrying with it a whispering chorus—voices neither living nor fully dead.
Seraphina exhaled slowly.
She had no choice.
If she was truly one of the Fallen…
Then she would make the shadows bow to her will.