THE RUPTURE
The forest around them was eerily quiet, the only sound the crackle of the campfire Lysander had conjured to keep them warm. Amara sat on a fallen log, staring into the flames, her mind replaying Dorian's betrayal and the chaos of their escape.
Lysander's injuries were healing slower than usual, his golden eyes dulled with exhaustion. His chains lay limp at his sides, as if even they had reached their limit.
Amara clenched her fists. "I can't stop thinking about what Dorian said. About me being the key to breaking the curse."
Lysander glanced at her but said nothing.
"Do you know what he meant?" she pressed, her voice tinged with frustration.
He hesitated, his gaze shifting to the fire. "There are things about the curse I haven't told you. Things I hoped you'd never have to know."
"Like what?" she asked sharply.
Before he could answer, a strange sensation washed over her, like a cold hand pressing against her chest. The world around her blurred, and suddenly, she was no longer in the forest.
She was standing in a grand, dark hall, the air thick with the scent of blood and ash. Shadows writhed along the walls, and at the center of the room stood a figure—Lysander. But it wasn't the Lysander she knew.
This Lysander was cloaked in darkness, his chains slick with blood. His eyes glowed with an unholy light as he raised his hand, sending a wave of destruction through the hall. Bodies littered the ground, their faces frozen in fear.
"Stop!" Amara screamed, but the vision continued.
She saw herself enter the hall, her younger face streaked with tears. She was pleading with him, begging him to stop the slaughter.
But he didn't listen. Instead, he turned to her, his expression filled with fury and anguish. "You betrayed me, Amara. You were supposed to save me!"
The vision shattered like glass, and Amara found herself back in the forest, gasping for air.
Lysander was at her side instantly, his hands steadying her. "Amara, what happened? Are you okay?"
She pushed him away, her eyes blazing. "What aren't you telling me, Lysander? What did I just see?"
He froze, his face pale. "What did you see?"
"I saw you," she said, her voice trembling. "You were a monster. You were killing people, and you blamed me for it. Why?"
Lysander looked away, his jaw clenched. "That was… a memory. From the first time the curse began."
"You've been hiding this from me?" she demanded.
"I was trying to protect you," he said, his voice heavy with guilt. "The curse isn't just about us being bound together. It's about the choices we made in our first life. I became that… thing because I was consumed by the curse's darkness. And you… you were the one who unleashed it."
Amara took a step back, her heart pounding. "What are you saying? That this is my fault?"
"No," he said quickly. "It's not your fault. You were manipulated, just like I was. But your role as the Catalyst means you're connected to the curse in ways I'll never fully understand. That's why Dorian and the Celestials want you. They think killing you will break the cycle."
Amara stared at him, her mind reeling. "So I'm not just fighting to survive. I'm fighting against something I started."
"Yes," Lysander admitted. "But you're not alone in this. I'm with you, no matter what."
Amara turned away, her thoughts racing. The bond they had forged only days ago now felt fragile, as if the weight of the truth was too much for it to bear.
"How can I trust you after this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lysander flinched, his chains recoiling slightly. "I've done terrible things, Amara. Things I'll never forgive myself for. But I've spent every moment since then trying to atone. And I'll spend the rest of eternity making it up to you, if you'll let me."
She faced him, her eyes brimming with tears. "I don't know if I can. Everything feels… broken."
Lysander stepped closer, his expression filled with desperation. "Then let me fix it. Let me prove that we can still fight this together."
For a moment, she hesitated, torn between the love she still felt for him and the betrayal that now hung between them like a shadow.
"I need time," she finally said, stepping away.
Lysander nodded, his shoulders slumping. "Take all the time you need. Just… don't give up on us, Amara."
As the night deepened, Amara sat alone by the fire, staring into the flames. She could feel the bond between her and Lysander, a faint pulse in the back of her mind. It was a reminder of their connection, but also of the pain and secrets they now shared.
Her thoughts turned to the vision she had seen. The darkness that had consumed Lysander, the devastation he had caused—it was all tied to her.
"I have to find a way to end this," she murmured to herself.
The curse had bound them together, but it had also torn them apart. If she was the Catalyst, then perhaps she could also be the key to breaking the cycle—for good.
But at what cost?