EPISODE SIX: THE SHADOW PRIESTESS’ BARGAIN.
1096 Words
The forest had not stopped mourning.
Days bled into nights, and the moon hung swollen and silent above the Crescent woods — an unblinking witness to what had been broken. The air still shimmered faintly with the remnants of their union, as if the very ground remembered the fire that once burned there.
Lucien lay between life and death, his body fevered, his heartbeat flickering like a candle caught in a restless wind. The curse was eating him alive — silver light crawling beneath his skin, devouring what remained of his strength.
Arwen never left his side.
Her fingers stayed entwined with his, her voice soft, steady, singing the words of dreams she could not remember. Every time his breath faltered, her heart stuttered with it. Every time the moon rose, she felt its pull like chains around her soul.
It was Selara who came to her at last.
The Shadow Priestess stepped from the mist as if born from it — her robes dark as starless water, her eyes carrying the sorrow of ages. The silver runes at her wrists glowed faintly, casting thin lines of light across the clearing.
“His time shortens,” Selara said quietly. “The curse has nearly claimed him.”
Arwen rose, her voice cracking. “Then tell me how to stop it.”
Selara’s gaze was unreadable. “You cannot stop it. But… you may trade it.”
Arwen’s pulse trembled. “Trade it?”
The priestess stepped closer, her presence filling the space like cold wind before a storm. “There is an ancient rite — the Mirror of Blood. One life offered in love’s name can unbind the Oath. The curse will pass, but the heart that bears the love must pay the toll.”
Arwen’s breath hitched. “You mean one of us must die.”
Selara did not flinch. “One must return what was stolen from the moon. Love’s blood for freedom. Death for balance.”
Lucien stirred then, his voice hoarse and broken. “No.”
Both women turned. His eyes, dim but burning still with faint silver fire, fixed on Arwen. “You will not trade your life for mine.”
Arwen fell to her knees beside him, shaking. “Lucien, please—”
He caught her hand, his grip weak but sure. “I made my choice the night I touched you. I’ll pay for it, not you.”
A rustle came from the shadows. Kael stepped forward, his face pale with grief and resolve.
“Then let it be me,” he said.
Lucien’s head lifted sharply. “No—”
Kael’s voice cut through him, firm, trembling. “You are the Alpha. If you die, the pack will fall apart. I’ve followed you through every fire, every loss. Let this be the last one I walk for you.”
Arwen shook her head violently. “No, Kael, you can’t—”
Selara raised a hand, silencing them. “The ritual does not ask for loyalty. It demands love. Only the heart bound by blood and desire may make the offering.”
Her gaze fell on Arwen.
“The moon will not accept his friend. Only you.”
The silence that followed was unbearable — heavy as stone, cruel as fate.
Arwen’s tears came hot and fast. “If I let him die, I lose everything. If I take his place, the pack loses him. There’s no mercy in this.”
Selara’s expression softened — for the first time, she almost looked human. “Mercy was never written into the gods’ language, child.”
Thunder grumbled overhead. The air thickened, alive with stormlight. The moon glowed brighter, sensing its due.
Lucien struggled to rise, his breath shallow. “Then I’ll break the curse my own way. I’ll fight it.”
Selara’s tone darkened. “If you fight it, you’ll destroy her. The curse ties your lives together — your breath is hers, your pain her pulse. When one burns, the other withers.”
Lightning cracked the sky.
The storm broke as they gathered in the clearing. The ritual circle shimmered with silver dust; the ground pulsed beneath their feet. Selara stood at its edge, her voice chanting the old words — a language older than time, older than forgiveness.
Lucien stood in the center, his chest heaving, every muscle trembling under the curse’s weight. Arwen faced him, hair drenched from rain, her eyes reflecting the storm and the sorrow within it.
He reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek. “If there were another life, I’d find you again. And I’d still choose this.”
She pressed her forehead against his. “Then let me be your ending.”
“No,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Let me be your beginning.”
The moon answered them — its light swelling until the world went white.
Arwen stepped into the circle, her heart breaking with every step. She could feel the pull of the ritual, the magic wrapping around her like silk and steel.
Selara’s voice rose: “Love’s blood for freedom. Heart for heart. Soul for silence.”
Lucien’s hand closed around hers — desperate, trembling. “Arwen—”
Her lips brushed him. “Hush. Let it end with me.”
And then she drove the silver dagger — not into him, but into her own chest.
The light erupted.
Lucien screamed, the sound raw, animal, tearing through the storm. The curse ripped from his body, streaming into the sky in a surge of white fire. The trees bent, the air split, and the moon flared so brightly it turned night into mourning.
When the world stilled, she lay limp in his arms, her blood glowing faintly — silver, not red.
The curse was gone.
But so was she.
Lucien bowed over her, his tears falling onto her face, mingling with the rain. Around them, the pack knelt, silent, their fury turned to grief. Even Kael, an unshaken warrior of a hundred battles, wept openly.
Selara watched from the shadows, her voice barely a whisper to the wind.
“Love’s bargain is always kept.”
Lucien kissed Arwen’s forehead one last time.
“Until the moon forgets her light,” he murmured, “I’ll wait for you.”
Above, the storm began to fade. The moon softened, its light no longer cruel but tender — as if, for the first time in ages, it
wept.
And far beyond the veil of mortal sight, a voice answered in the silence:
“You won’t have to wait long.”
- Writer
