Chapter 9
1423 Words
Chapter 9 – The Soul Pact
The castle library was a labyrinth of forgotten knowledge—choked with dust, shadow, and secrets.
Eira sat hunched over an unmarked leather-bound tome, the candlelight flickering as if disturbed by something unseen. Her fingers trembled as they traced a line of ancient script written in silver ink across parchment older than most kingdoms.
She hadn’t meant to find it. She’d followed Mira into the restricted wing on a whim, chasing a rumor of enchanted medical scrolls that might explain Elyanora’s illness—the mysterious coma that had made her body so conveniently vacant.
Instead, this book had called to her. Literally.
The moment she passed the sealed shelf, it buzzed with heat. The spine glowed faintly as if reacting to her presence. Mira hadn’t noticed—too focused on searching through scrolls at the far end. But Eira had felt it. A pull, not unlike gravity.
And now she understood why.
At the top of the page: “On the Nature of Soul Pacts and Reincarnated Bonds.”
According to the book, long ago, the Valenhart line had entered a pact with the divine: in exchange for prosperity and protection during the War of Sundering, their heirs would be bound by fate to powerful souls across lifetimes—souls destined to rule beside them, share their burdens, and amplify their magic.
Soulmates, the text called them. But not in the poetic sense. These were literal soul-pairings—preordained, binding, and fated to find one another again and again, even across death.
But something had gone terribly wrong.
One passage in particular made her blood run cold:
“If the vessel is broken before the pact is complete, the wandering soul may latch onto an unclaimed body. A living host. The result is discord. Madness. Possession. The soul is no longer chosen—it becomes a thief.”
A chill scraped down her spine.
Her.
That was what had happened to her.
“I died,” she whispered, more to herself than the silence around her. “I died in 2025. And I… wasn’t meant to come here.”
But she had. Her soul had slipped through a c***k in the veil, drawn to Elyanora’s dying form. And now she was living inside a body never meant for her, next to a man who had once loved someone else.
Selis.
The name twisted like thorns in her mind.
She stood, heart thudding, and paced along the aisle of books. Distant thunder rolled across the sky, low and threatening. The storm outside matched the one inside her chest.
It wasn’t chance. It wasn’t a miracle.
It was theft.
She clutched the book to her chest. “I don’t belong here. And worse, I might have stolen someone’s destiny.”
Back in her room that night, Mira noticed Eira’s silence.
“You’ve been quiet since the archives. Found something cursed, didn’t you?”
Eira forced a thin smile. “Just… a strange book.”
Mira tilted her head. “You look haunted.”
Eira opened her mouth to speak—but stopped. How could she explain it? That she might have displaced a soul? That her love for this life—and for Alric—was born of a mistake?
“Mira…” she said instead, softer. “Do you believe in fate?”
Mira’s eyes narrowed. “Not the kind written in stars. But I believe in choices. And in consequences.”
Eira turned away. She didn’t know which frightened her more.
That evening, she found herself wandering. Her feet took her away from the east wing, away from the Selection festivities still echoing in the halls.
She moved past the Hall of Echoes, where portraits whispered secrets to the worthy, and down to the crypt-like shrine beneath the palace chapel. Candles lined the narrow corridor. The air was heavy with age.
She wasn’t alone.
Alric stood before an altar, gazing up at a massive relief carved in black stone—depicting a woman with outstretched hands, her body dissolving into stars.
“Selis,” he said quietly.
Eira froze. The name hadn’t passed his lips since their first meeting.
“She was real, wasn’t she?” Eira asked, stepping closer.
He turned slowly. His face was unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes burned with grief.
“She was… everything,” he said. “Smart. Sharp-tongued. Kind to the wounded. She saved me in more ways than I can name.”
Eira swallowed. “And she was supposed to come back?”
He nodded once, eyes never leaving the stone. “She was marked by the gods. When she died, the Oracle told us she’d return. Her soul, reborn in another body. I waited. For years. And then… you.”
She couldn’t speak.
Alric looked at her then—really looked. “You aren’t her.”
“No,” Eira whispered. “I’m not.”
And yet, something in his gaze softened. “But you are… something.”
Silence stretched between them. Heavy. Honest.
He stepped closer. Close enough that she could feel his breath. His hand lifted, brushed a loose curl behind her ear.
“I should push you away,” he murmured. “You confuse me. Infuriate me. You make me question everything I’ve prepared for.”
Her heart pounded. “Then why don’t you?”
“Because,” he said, voice ragged, “when I’m near you, I feel like I’m alive again.”
Her breath caught. His fingers touched her jaw—gentle, reverent. “And I don’t know if it’s you or her or both.”
Her voice trembled. “It’s me, Alric. Whoever I used to be, whoever she was—I’m here. Right now.”
His lips brushed hers. Light as a sigh. Not claiming. Just… testing. Asking.
It burned like truth.
That night, Eira couldn’t sleep.
Selis stirred.
“You shouldn’t have kissed him,” the voice rasped in her mind. “He was mine.”
Eira pressed her hands to her temples. “You’re dead.”
“And yet you wear my face. My blood. You think this is your life now?”
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“Didn’t you?”
Selis’s presence surged. In the mirror, for one brief moment, Eira saw her own reflection—except the eyes weren’t hers.
They were violet.
At dawn, she returned to the library with the book. She searched for the section on soul removal—on reversal. There had to be a way to undo this. To return what wasn’t hers.
She found an entry scribbled in the margins: “A soul that takes root cannot be uprooted without death.”
Her breath caught.
If she tried to give up the body… both souls might die.
And worse—if Selis took over again, Eira’s consciousness would vanish.
Forever.
Maerel appeared at her door later that day.
“I felt the shift in your soul last night,” the High Magus said without preamble.
Eira’s blood turned to ice. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.” Maerel’s eyes gleamed with ethereal light. “There are cracks forming. The gods are watching.”
She stepped closer. “You’ve entered a soul pact, child. Not just inherited it. You’re part of a prophecy that’s spiraling out of control.”
Eira’s voice was small. “What happens if I stay?”
“You may become queen. Or you may become a vessel. That depends on whether you bind the prince’s heart—or lose your own.”
That night, Alric came to her chambers.
She didn’t ask how he got past the guards. Or why he looked like he hadn’t slept.
“I dreamed of her,” he said. “Of Selis. But… she wasn’t Selis. She was you.”
Eira looked up sharply.
“You stood in fire,” he continued. “But it didn’t burn you. You held a sword in one hand. And in the other—a flower of light. You said something I didn’t understand.”
“What did I say?”
He took a breath. “‘Choose me… before the gods do.’”
They stood in silence.
Then Eira reached for his hand, and this time, she kissed him.
It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. Hungry. Terrified.
Because the soul pact wasn’t just binding her to this place—it was changing her. And if she didn’t choose soon… someone else might choose for her.
- Writer
