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NORA

I wake to the scent of smoke and stone .

It clings to the air, thick and cloying, settling deep in my lungs as I struggle for breath. My body feels wrong —too heavy, too drained, as though something vital has been leached from me while I slept.

Pain flares in my limbs, a slow-burning ache that pulses beneath my skin. My fingers twitch against rough stone, the cold surface grounding me as my senses sluggishly return. Where am I?

I try to move. Something shifts in the darkness beside me.

A presence, vast and unmoving. Watching.

Not human.

My eyes snap open.

The chamber around me is massive , its towering pillars stretching toward a ceiling lost in shadow. Faint moonlight filters through the cracks above, illuminating the walls etched with runes I do not recognize . The air hums with something old, a dormant power, pressing against my skin like a whispering breath.

And then I see him.

He is crouched a few feet away, wings half-unfurled, the embers beneath his obsidian skin pulsing like a dying star. He does not move, but his golden eyes gleam in the dim light, locked onto me with a hunger that is far too focused.

A memory slices through my mind.

The ruins. The pact. My blood.

I gasp, lurching upright—too fast. The world tilts violently , and my stomach clenches in protest.

A rough sound rumbles from his chest. Not quite a growl. Not quite amusement.

"Careful, little healer." His voice is deep, rough with disuse, gravel scraping over stone. "You are weaker than you think."

I rub my temple, swallowing down the nausea. He is right. Something is wrong. My magic should have healed me by now, my body should be fighting back, not sinking further into exhaustion.

But it isn’t.

And I know why.

The bond.

The weight in my chest is not my own. It is his.

I lift my gaze back to him, my heart pounding. "What did you do to me?"

One brow lifts. "I saved you."

A sharp, humorless laugh escapes me. "You mean you, bound me ."

The words taste like iron, bitter and unyielding. I should have known better. No magic is freely given— not in Protheka. Every spell, every act of power, has a cost.

And I have paid mine.

I shove away from the stone, ignoring the shake in my limbs as I put as much distance between us as possible. He does not move, does not blink , but I feel the weight of his attention like a physical thing, curling against my skin.

"Why am I still alive?" I demand. "You could have killed me. You?—"

"I still might," he interrupts.

A cold spike of fear lodges beneath my ribs, but I force myself to meet his gaze. I will not cower.

Rhaegar tilts his head, studying me like a predator toying with its prey. "You offered your blood," he says, low and dark. "You made the pact. You called me back."

"I didn't know what I was doing," I snap. “I didn’t know it will do this. I thought I’ll just… wake you to take down my enemies with me!”

His eyes narrow, and I feel the tremor of power ripple through him. The air crackles, heated by the slow burn of something ancient and volatile.

"That does not matter."

The words settle deep, a finality in them that unnerves me.

My pulse hammers. I reach for my magic— instinct, reflex, desperation. The moment I do, a sharp pull yanks through my chest.

The bond tightens.

I gasp , hands flying to my ribs as something drains from me , slipping through unseen threads, feeding into him.

The embers in his veins flare.

A flash of recognition crosses his face, quick, but unmistakable. His fingers curl, as if suppressing the urge to reach for me.

He feels it too.

Dread coils in my gut. "What did you do?"

He shifts, the movement slow and deliberate, his massive frame unfolding as he stands to his full height. Towering. Imposing. Not fully stone, not fully flesh.

"You are my tether now," he says.

I shake my head, stepping back. "No?—"

"Yes," he murmurs, voice quieter this time. More certain. "You should be dead, little Purna. But you are not." His eyes burn into mine, something fierce and unrelenting. "Because you are keeping me alive."

The world tilts again, not from exhaustion this time. From understanding.

I clutch my arms, the weight of what he is saying slamming into me.

I am keeping him alive.

Every moment he remains in this half-formed state, he is feeding from me.

I stagger backward. "Then I’ll sever it."

He laughs. A cruel, hollow sound. "You think it so easy?"

I grit my teeth. "It has to be."

"Try," he challenges.

I do.

I reach inward, toward the thread that binds us, feeling for the break— for the severance, the release. A wave of pain shudders through me a I touch it. My vision darkens at the edges. My lungs seize.

No.

I try again, pulling at the bond with every ounce of will I have left.

It tightens further.

And I realize, with a sickening twist of horror , that it will not break.

Not without killing both of us.

My breath comes faster, uneven. "What have you done?"

He does not answer.

Because he already knows.

And now, so do I.

I do not just belong to him.

I am part of him.

“What do I call you, human?” his words break through my thoughts.

I frown, but opens my mouth to reply, “Nora.”