Chapter 96: The Curse That Keeps Her Breathing
{IRIS}
"I merely planted a shadow curse within you," Sol said calmly.
The words sent a fresh wave of panic through me.
"A—a what?"
"It will ensure your silence," he continued, as if explaining a trivial inconvenience. "The moment you speak of me—of what transpired here—or the moment you even think of revealing my condition to another soul..."
His eyes lifted to meet mine.
"That shadow will pierce your heart."
A pause.
"And you will die."
The finality of it made my blood run cold.
"Got that?" he asked.
I nodded frantically.
Too fast.
Too hard.
"Yes—yes, I got it. I understand. I won’t tell anyone. I swear."
The thing inside my chest seemed to tighten in response, as if acknowledging the vow.
I hated it.
I hated knowing something lived inside me now—something that belonged to him.
But what choice did I have?
This was the only way.
Right?
I hesitated, fingers curling into the fabric of my sleeve.
"U-um... Sol?" I ventured carefully.
He was already turning away.
"C-can you help me find Caroline?"
The moment the name left my mouth, his entire demeanor chilled further.
Sol glanced back at me, unimpressed, then looked away entirely. He crossed the room and seated himself in a high-backed chair, crossing one leg over the other with lazy elegance. His elbow rested against the armrest, head tilting against his knuckles as though bored.
"I only need you alive long enough to heal me," he said flatly. "I do not care about that human girl."
Something hot flared behind my eyes.
An angry vein pulsed at my temple.
This bloodsucking—!
I clenched my teeth.
Calm. Stay calm.
I inhaled deeply, forcing the surge of emotion down. For a moment, it felt strangely foreign—too sharp, too sudden. Caroline’s influence, maybe.
"B-but Sol," I said, carefully controlling my tone. "If you don’t help me... I might die trying to rescue her. And if I die, you lose your healer."
That finally earned his attention.
Sol sighed, long and annoyed, as if I had just forced him into an inconvenience he despised.
"Tch."
He waved a hand dismissively.
The shadows behind him peeled away from the walls.
They thickened.
Condensed.
Then—
A figure emerged.
A shadow soldier stepped forward, tall and imposing, clad entirely in black armor that swallowed the light around it. No face was visible beneath the helm—only an endless void.
The soldier knelt.
"Help her," Sol commanded.
The shadow soldier rose and turned toward me.
Before I could react—
Black sword flashed.
Pain exploded through my wrist as the chain binding my hands snapped apart, clattering uselessly to the floor.
I shrieked.
"Y-you—!" I yanked my hands back instinctively. "Warn me next time! You almost sliced my hand off!"
The shadow soldier merely stood there, silent and unmoving.
Sol waved a dismissive hand. "It would have healed and reconstructed itself."
As if that made it acceptable.
As if pain were an inconvenience rather than something to be avoided.
I bit back another angry remark and flexed my fingers.
True to his word, the cut was already sealing itself, skin knitting back together with an eerie warmth.
I exhaled shakily.
"Thank you," I muttered, turning toward the door.
Sol did not respond.
Only a low, irritated hum escaped him as he looked away, already done with me.
I didn’t linger.
I slipped out into the corridor and broke into a run, boots pounding against cold stone as the darkness swallowed me whole.
My chest still felt tight.
The curse pulsed faintly, a silent reminder of the bargain I had just made.
I had survived.
But I had also chained my life to a monster.
And for the first time since stepping into this cursed place, I wondered—
Had I truly escaped death?
Or had I merely postponed it?
====
{SOL}
The moment Iris stepped beyond the threshold, the restraint I had been barely holding together collapsed.
I turned sharply, my breath hitching as a violent cough tore out of my chest.
I barely had time to brace myself against the edge of the chair before black ichor spilled between my fingers, splattering onto the polished marble floor in viscous drops.
It smoked faintly as it pooled, dark and foul, as if it did not belong to this world—or to my body.
This illness.
This curse.
It had been mine since childhood.
No healer, no priest, no arcane scholar had ever been able to name it properly, let alone cure it. They dressed it in kinder words when I was young—frailty, sensitivity, imbalance—but the truth had long since bled through those polite lies.
Whenever I used my arcane, my body punished me for it.
Blood followed power. Always.
The more I drew upon it, the more violently my lungs rebelled, until the coughing would not stop and my vision would dim at the edges.
I learned early that there was a limit—one I could feel in my bones like a ticking clock—and crossing it meant death.
Not metaphorical death.
Real death.
Slow, choking, humiliating.
And knowing that... my family had cast me aside into this mansion like a decorative relic.
On the outside, I was the heir of House Evernight—the elegant eldest son, paraded at gatherings and whispered about behind fans and wine glasses.
On the inside, inheritance had already been decided.
It would go to my younger brother. A brother born of a different mother. A brother with a healthy body, obedient magic, and none of my inconvenient weaknesses.
I was merely for show.
A beautifully dressed corpse-in-waiting.
I ground my teeth and forced myself to inhale deeply, again and again, until the spasms eased into something manageable.
My chest burned. My limbs trembled. I could feel the lingering drain from the arcane still gnawing at my core, a sensation like frost crawling through my veins.
Every use took something from me.
Years. Months. Pieces of myself I would never get back.
If this continued, I would truly die.
"I can heal you..."
Iris’s voice echoed in my mind, unbidden.
