Chapter 95: The Price of Being Spared
{IRIS}
Sol would trap me in darkness for eternity?!
He was insane!
My limbs weakened, my skin prickling as numbness spread. Panic surged, raw and desperate.
"W–wait!" I blurted out.
He did not stop.
"I can heal you!" The words tore themselves from my throat. "I can remove your sickness!"
The pressure halted abruptly.
Sol froze.
His hand remained tangled in my hair, but the killing cold receded, leaving behind a lingering ache that made my teeth chatter.
"What did you say?" he asked.
"If you’re sick," I said quickly, heart hammering, "and you don’t want anyone to know, then you must’ve gone to countless healers already—with no success. What if I told you I could heal you?"
You idiot, Iris. What are you saying?
"You’re bluffing," he said flatly. "You don’t possess arcane—much less the ability to heal others."
"You know how arcane works, Sol," I said. "I heal unnaturally fast, even for a werewolf. That means my arcane is healing—it just manifests inward, not outward. I can feel it. Just like you. If I could manifest it outward, I might heal you."
His eyes flickered. "Might? That’s not good enough."
"You’re cold. Your touch evokes fear and death. Shadows bend around you because darkness answers your arcane. It adores you." I swallowed and pressed on. "If you have no one else... then why not place your trust in me? Even if it’s only a sliver. Even if it’s nothing more than hope. Even it’s just a might. Don’t you want to take it?"
Silence stretched between us.
"How could you heal me," he asked slowly, "when you cannot even manifest your arcane?"
"I can," I said, forcing conviction into my voice. "It’s only a matter of time. I just need help. And you already know something about me is different. I knew you were sick just by touching you—that isn’t coincidence. It’s my arcane. It might be the only way to help you."
My pulse thundered in my ears.
"I might be your last hope."
For a long moment, Sol said nothing. His grip loosened slightly, though he did not release me.
His gaze searched my face with unsettling intensity, as though peeling back layers of skin to examine what lay beneath.
Whatever his illness was—whatever cursed affliction gnawed at him in silence—I had struck something deep.
I just knew that it was his weakness.
This was my bargaining chip.
And if I played it right, it might just the source our way out.
Sol released me.
The moment his grip loosened, I sucked in a breath so sharp and icy it burned all the way down my throat, as if my lungs had forgotten warmth entirely.
The air tasted of frost and shadow, thick with something ancient and wrong. I staggered back a step, boots scraping against stone, my pulse roaring louder than my thoughts.
I faced him, instinctively raising my guard.
My hands trembled, though I curled them into fists to hide it. Weakness had no place here. Not in front of him.
Sol did not move.
He only stared.
That stoic, cruelly carved face of his was as unreadable as ever—cold, composed, untouched by the violence he radiated so effortlessly.
His golden hair fell loosely around sharp cheekbones, his crimson eyes fixed on me with a predator’s stillness, like a beast deciding whether its prey was worth the effort of killing.
Then he began to walk.
Slow. Unhurried.
Each step echoed through the narrow chamber, the sound striking my nerves like a countdown.
I retreated instinctively, heart hammering, until my back met the door with a dull, unforgiving thud. Cold metal pressed into my spine. There was nowhere else to go.
Sol leaned in.
The air around him dropped several degrees, frost creeping along the stone walls like living veins. Shadows stirred at his feet, stretching, writhing, responding to his presence like loyal hounds.
His hand rose.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
For a fraction of a second, I braced myself for pain—for claws, for fangs, for something far worse.
But instead—
A sharp, controlled strike knocked my chin upward.
Not enough to injure.
Enough to warn.
My eyes flew open, breath catching painfully in my chest.
Sol’s gaze burned red.
Not glowing. Burning.
"I will help you," he said at last, voice low and razor-calm. "But do not mistake this for trust."
Each word felt like a blade being set carefully against my skin.
"I do not believe you," he continued. "I do not trust you. And I never will."
His hand rested beside my face now, not touching—just close enough that I could feel the cold radiating from his skin.
"This arrangement exists for one reason only," he said. "Because I currently have no better choice."
His eyes narrowed.
"But make no mistake," he added softly, dangerously. "If you breathe a word of this to anyone—if you even hint at what you have seen here—"
The shadows around us stirred violently.
"I will know."
My throat tightened.
"Remember this," Sol murmured. "Your life is in my hands now."
The weight of his words crushed the air from my lungs.
I swallowed, forcing myself to nod.
"I—I understand."
I meant to say thank you.
The words formed in my mind, fragile and desperate.
But they never made it past my lips.
Because Sol leaned closer.
Too close.
His cold mouth brushed against my forehead.
The contact was brief—barely more than a whisper of touch—but it sent a shock through my entire body. My breath hitched violently as something shifted inside me.
I gasped.
A sensation unlike anything I had ever felt slithered through my skull, cold and invasive, threading itself through my thoughts like living ink. It traveled downward, coiling around my chest, tightening around my heart with a possessive squeeze.
My knees nearly buckled.
"W-what...?" I hissed, clutching at my chest. "What did you do?"
Sol stepped back, already withdrawing, his expression utterly indifferent to my distress.
"I merely planted a shadow curse within you," he said calmly.
