Chapter Eight: The Bond Forged in Blood
Kairo didn't speak.
Not at first.
His hands curled into fists, trembling at his sides, his jaw locked like he was holding back a scream—or maybe a confession. The trees around them rustled though no wind passed. The air was tense, electric.
Elara stepped around him slowly. "Kairo," she said again, more gently. "What is she talking about?"
He wouldn't look at her.
Merra, the Witch of the Turning Hour, stood like a statue carved from starlight and dusk. "Shall I tell her then?" she said, voice like honey—and poison.
"No." Kairo's voice was hoarse. "I'll do it."
Elara waited, her heart already bracing for something awful.
Kairo finally looked at her. And this time, he didn't wear the mask of mystery or the shield of quiet power. This was him—bare, raw, and hurting.
"When you cast that spell," he began, "you didn't just summon me. You didn't open a door—you ripped it. I wasn't floating in the Veil, Elara. I wasn't waiting. I was dying."
Elara's breath caught.
"The curse I bear," he continued, "isn't just some ancient punishment. It's a prison sentence. I was bound to the in-between, my body and soul devoured by shadow, because of a blood oath made centuries ago by my family. The only thing that could break it… was a soul bound to mine by fate."
Elara felt the world shift beneath her.
"My soul?" she whispered.
Kairo nodded slowly. "You're the one. The last bloodline with the Sight. The last untouched thread of power connected to the Old Magic. When you cast that spell, your magic didn't just summon me—it chose me. It bound me."
"To what?"
"To you," he said. "To your life. To your magic. To your death."
Elara stepped back, stunned. "What does that mean?"
Kairo's eyes burned brighter now, almost painfully bright. "If you die, I die. If you lose control of your power, I unravel. If the bond breaks… so do I."
Merra clapped once, a hollow sound that echoed across the clearing. "A beautiful little tragedy, isn't it? Two souls trapped together, one unknowingly tethered to a monster in chains."
"Stop," Kairo snarled.
But Elara's mind spun faster than she could steady it. "So this wasn't fate," she said, voice shaking. "This was a trap. I set it, and you walked into it."
"No," he said, stepping closer. "You didn't trap me. You freed me. But yes… your magic reached for something ancient, something powerful. And it found me. Because we were already tied. Before you were even born."
"I don't understand."
Kairo looked like he was breaking apart as he said, "Because your ancestor—the same Lysira Merra spoke of—she wasn't just a witch. She was the one who cursed me."
Elara's heart dropped.
"What?"
"She was part of the coven that bound me to the Veil. She thought it was justice. I was a danger then—out of control, infected by darkness. But she didn't kill me. She sealed me away. Said I'd only return when someone of her blood was strong enough to face what I'd become."
Merra laughed. "Romantic, isn't it? A spell forged by guilt and legacy, waiting for some poor girl to carry the weight of her ancestor's mistake."
Elara was still staring at Kairo. "So you're not just cursed. You're my inheritance."
"I didn't ask to be," he said. "But I am. And now—so are you."
Silence.
Painful. Charged. Real.
Merra took a step forward. "Come with me, Elara. Let me show you how to control it. Let me show you how to rewrite the rules of this bond. You don't have to carry his fate like a chain around your neck."
Kairo's voice was barely audible. "Don't trust her. She twists truth into poison."
"But the truth is still truth," Elara whispered.
She looked between them—Kairo, with his haunted eyes and fragile hope. Merra, with her power, her promise of control. And herself, caught in the middle.
For the first time, she realized she wasn't just the girl who had cast a spell.
She was the one who had to choose what came next.