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“I’m a fountain of wisdom,” Sarp agreed, and bowed with exaggerated ceremony. “Now go bare your soul to your wife. I’ll start planning your funeral, just in case.”

After Sarp left, I gathered the most crucial texts, the ones that detailed the alternative ritual and the history of shadow and light magic. Then, on impulse, I opened a hidden compartment in my desk and removed a small wooden box I hadn’t touched in five years.

Inside lay a simple bracelet of intertwined silver and gold, etched with ancient symbols of both shadow and light. I’d commissioned it for Ada before everything fell apart, before my father’s machinations separated us. I’d kept it all these years, a painful reminder of what I’d lost.

Perhaps it was time it served a better purpose.

When I entered our chambers, Ada was standing by the window, gazing out at the shadow city below. She’d bathed and changed since the events at the tower, but exhaustion still lined her face.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, and closed the door behind me.

She didn’t turn. “Like someone who nearly died fighting shadow cultists in the middle of the night. How do you think I’m feeling?”

“Fair enough.” I approached slowly. He set the texts on a nearby table. “The child is safe. I’ve placed her with a guardian I trust.”

Ada nodded, some tension visibly leaving her shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Why did you leave the palace?” I asked, genuinely curious.

Now she turned, her gaze direct and challenging. “Because I’m not a prisoner? Because I wanted air that wasn’t tainted with your presence?”

The words stung, but I didn’t let it show. “I see.”

“No, you don’t.” She moved away from the window, and crossed arms defensively. “You don’t see anything beyond your plans and your power games. That child nearly died because of the culture you’ve fostered in this realm.”

“I banned blood sacrifice five years ago,” I countered, my voice even. “The cultists you encountered were defying my direct orders.”

“But they learned those practices somewhere,” she pressed. “They weren’t born knowing how to perform blood rituals.”

Her words cut close to truths I’d only recently discovered myself. I moved to the table where I’d placed the texts. “You’re right,” I admitted.

She blinked, clearly startled by my concession. “What?”

“The shadow realm has been corrupted for centuries. The practices you witnessed—they’re a perversion of what shadow magic was meant to be.

” I gestured to the ancient texts. “I’ve been researching.

Shadow magic was never meant to consume light.

The first shadow lords worked in partnership with light-bearers.

Together, they maintained balance between the realms.”

Ada approached cautiously, her curiosity visibly overcoming her distrust. She studied the illustration—the intertwined figures of light and shadow. “When did that change?”

“Generations ago. My ancestors discovered they could absorb light magic directly, gaining immediate power rather than working for balance.” I turned to another page, and showed the altered ritual circle.

“They modified the sacred texts, rewrote our history. Claimed that consuming light was the only path to power.”

“But is there another way?”

I hesitated, then pushed forward. “Yes, the original ritual, before it was corrupted.” I opened the oldest manuscript, carefully turning its fragile pages to reveal a complex magical diagram, then turned to a diagram that showed two figures standing within concentric circles of power.

“Unlike the Crown of Ashes Ritual, which focuses on draining your light completely, this ritual creates channels between our magics. For five days before the ritual, we need to gradually align our magical energies—through joint meditation, carefully structured magical exercises, and physical proximity. The binding we already share gives us an advantage, but we’ll need to strengthen it in the right way.

If I can master this alternative before the solstice arrives—before my father expects the Crown of Ashes to be completed—instead of the ritual absorbing your light, our magics could flow into each other, creating a balanced whole greater than its parts.

Shadow tempered by light, light anchored by shadow. ”

Ada studied the diagram, her expression guarded. “And I’m supposed to believe you want balance now? After everything you’ve done?”

“I want to save the shadow realm,” I said. “And I’ve realized that can’t happen through more corruption, more darkness. It needs light. Balance.” I paused. “It needs you, Ada. But not as a sacrifice.”

She shook her head slightly, disbelief evident. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

This was the moment—the crossroads where I could retreat into comfortable lies or risk everything in truth. I looked at Ada, at the woman who had faced down shadow cultists to save a child, who had survived everything my father and I had put her through.

“I want you, Ada,” I said, the words carrying the weight of desperation I couldn’t voice.

With only days left before the ritual that would…

I pushed the thought away. “Not just your light. Not just your power. You.” I opened the wooden box with hands that trembled slightly, and revealed an exquisite bracelet shaped as an ouroboros—a serpent eating its own tail.

The serpent was crafted of two intertwined metals: gleaming gold for the upper half of its body, and darkened silver for the lower half, meeting seamlessly at both the head and tail.

Tiny runes of ancient magic ran along its scales, almost alive in their intricate detail.

“I had this made for you five years ago, before everything fell apart—before I knew what loving you would cost us both,” I said, and watched her expression closely. “The ouroboros—a symbol far older than the separation of our realms.”

She stared at the bracelet, her fingers hovering over the serpent without touching it.

“The eternal cycle,” she whispered, recognition in her voice. “Life, death, and rebirth.”

“And transformation,” I added. “The snake that sheds its skin to be renewed. I found this symbol in the oldest texts—those that spoke of shadow and light not as enemies but as parts of a single whole, eternally chasing and completing each other.” I gestured to the dual metals.

“Gold for your light, silver for my shadow. Neither one consuming the other, but existing in perfect balance, eternally renewed.”

“This was a binding gift,” she realized, an understanding dawning in her eyes. “You were going to propose a formal magical union. Not just marriage, but a true magical binding…”

“Yes,” I admitted. “I had already begun researching the old ways, the original relationship between shadow and light. Then my father discovered my research, cast the memory spell, and the rest…” I gestured vaguely. “you know.”

The bracelet caught the light as she studied it, the gold seeming to pulse with its own inner radiance while the silver absorbed the shadows around it—two opposing forces captured in eternal harmony.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” I clarified. “I’m asking for a truce. Help me prepare for this alternative ritual. Help me restore balance to the shadow realm. In return, I swear on my life that no harm will come to you.”

“And if I refuse?”

I closed the box, set it aside. “Then we’re back where we started. Six days until the original ritual. Seven days for me to find another solution.”

Ada was silent for a long moment, studying me as if seeing me for the first time. “Why should I trust you?” she finally asked.

“You shouldn’t,” I answered, my tone honest. “I haven’t earned your trust. But I’m asking for it anyway. Not for my sake, but for the shadow realm. For the children like the one you saved last night.”

Her gaze sharpened. “And your father? What happens when he discovers your plan?”

“He’ll try to stop us. Probably kill us both.” I didn’t see the point in sugarcoating the danger. “Which is why we need to prepare in secret. The original ritual must appear to proceed as planned.”

“So I’m trading one death sentence for another,” she observed.

“You’re trading certainty for possibility,” I corrected. “The chance to fight rather than surrender.”

She paced the length of the room, processing everything I'd told her. Finally, she stopped, facing me with a resolve that caught my breath.

“I want terms,” she said. “Real terms, not vague promises.”

“Name them.”

“Complete freedom within the palace grounds. No guards following me, no locked doors.” Her eyes flashed with determination. “I need to understand this realm better if I’m to help save it—or to know if it’s even worth saving.”

I nodded. “Granted.”

“Access to all information about both rituals. Every text, every note, every theory. No more secrets.”

“Done.”

“And if we succeed—if we survive your father’s wrath and complete this alternative ritual—I leave. Immediately. I return to the light realm, and you never seek me out again.”

The last condition felt like a blade between my ribs, but I didn’t let the pain show. “Agreed.”

She studied me suspiciously. “That easily? No arguments?”

“What would be the point?” I asked, and allowed a rare moment of vulnerability. “I’ve already lost you, Ada. I lost you five years ago by my own choice. Whatever happens now doesn’t change that.”

Something flickered in her eyes—surprise, perhaps, or an emotion I couldn’t name.

“One last condition,” she said. “If at any point I believe you’re lying to me again, I walk away. No consequences, no pursuit.”

“I accept.” I extended my hand formally. “Do we have a truce?”

She regarded my outstretched hand with visible reluctance, then finally reached out to grasp it.

The moment our skin touched, a spark of magic flashed between us—shadow and light intertwining briefly then disappearing.

As we shook hands, I noticed the binding between us pulse differently than before - not with pain, but with something warmer.

The sensation lingered longer than it should have, making me wonder if our agreement was changing the magic itself.

We both pulled back, startled by the unexpected reaction.

"What was that?" she demanded.

"I don't know," I admitted. "But I think it means we're on the right path."

The sensation lingered on my palm—a gentle warmth unlike anything I'd felt previously. I'd read about this in the ancient texts—the first tentative recognition between complementary magic.

"The binding between us," I explained, studying my hand. "It's responding to the possibility of balance rather than dominance. The original texts mentioned this—how shadow and light naturally seek equilibrium when not forced into opposition."

Ada examined her palm where the spark had occurred, then back at me. "This doesn't make us allies," she warned. "And it certainly doesn't make us what we once were."

"I know." I stepped back, and kept the distance she clearly needed. "But it's a start."

We stood in silence for a moment, the weight of our agreement hanging between us. Then Ada moved to the table where I'd placed the ancient texts.

"We should begin immediately," she said, already reaching for the manuscript with the original ritual. "If your father suspects anything, we'll need to be prepared."

Her practical approach surprised me—I'd expected resistance, not collaboration.

Then I realized: this wasn't about trusting me.

This was about survival, and about the child she'd risked everything to save.

I'd given her something she hadn't had in the past—a choice, an alternative to being a sacrifice.

And Ada had always been a fighter, not a victim.

"The light realm has legends," she said quietly, her fingers tracing the intertwined figures in the manuscript, "about the time when shadow and light worked in harmony.

My father spoke of them as children's tales.

I never thought…" She glanced up, meeting my gaze with cautious determination.

"If there's even a small chance this is true, I have to try.

Not for you—but for what both our realms could be. "

"Yes," I agreed, joining her at the table. "Six days isn't much time, but it might be enough."

The shadow realm's future—and our own—depended on it.