Chapter 1

"Lord Kaelen, please."

My knees hit the cold marble floor of the study so hard the impact rattled my teeth. I grabbed the edge of his massive mahogany desk, my fingers trembling. "Aven’s magic is rioting. It’s tearing his veins apart. His core is collapsing right now. I need the Tear of the Elves."

Behind the desk, Kaelen kept his eyes fixed on a border military report. His quill continued its steady, scratching rhythm across the parchment.

"Stop causing trouble, Elara," he said. His voice was entirely devoid of warmth, "The estate's spirit stones are already allocated."

"He will die tonight without it!"Tears of pure panic blurred my vision. "Please. I am begging you."

The doors creaked open. Lyra slipped inside. She cradled her right wrist against her chest, wrapping it tightly in a pristine white bandage.

"Kaelen," she whispered. Her voice trembled, fragile and perfectly pitched. "I hurt myself purifying the magic array in the grand hall. The magic backlash burns so terribly."

Kaelen dropped his pen instantly. The cold irritation vanished from his face, replaced by a sharp, urgent concern. He strode past me without a downward glance, reaching into his spatial pouch. He pulled out a small, glowing green box. The last Tear of the Elves in the entire empire—a supreme artifact capable of pulling a soul back from the brink of death.

He pressed the invaluable stone into Lyra’s hands. "Absorb it right now. Magic backlash can leave permanent damage."

"Are you insane?" The words tore from my throat. I stumbled to my feet, placing myself between them. I pointed a shaking finger at Lyra. "That is Aven's life! You are giving it to her for a scratch?"

Kaelen’s eyes turned to frost. He raised a hand, and a wave of kinetic magic slammed into my chest. The force threw me backward. I hit the stone floor, the breath driven from my lungs in a sharp gasp.

"Know your place, Elara," Kaelen sneered. He looked down at me with utter disgust. "Aven’s condition is your own fault for failing to discipline him. What value do you even have as a dependent healer without my protection? You can't even manage your own brother's basic needs. Take your pathetic jealousy and get out of my sight before I have the guards remove you."

The physical pain in my chest was nothing compared to the terror gripping my heart. I scrambled up, abandoning any shred of dignity, and sprinted out of the study. I raced through the stone corridors toward the medical wing, praying to gods I had long forsaken.

I threw open the heavy infirmary doors.

Dead silence greeted me.

The frantic, crackling sound of Aven’s overcharged magic circuits had stopped. The air smelled heavily of ozone and burnt blood.

The head physician stood beside the narrow bed. He slowly pulled a white linen sheet over my brother's face. He looked at me, his eyes dropping to the floor in pity. "I'm sorry, Lady Elara. His core shattered completely. We didn't have the spirit stone in time."

The world tilted. My knees gave out. I crawled to the bedside, my hands shaking so violently I could barely pull the sheet back. Aven’s face was pale, his lips stained with dried blood. He was only nineteen. He was my little brother. He was the only family I had left in this brutal world.

I pressed my forehead against his cold, stiffening chest.I cried until my lungs burned, until the edges of my vision went dark, waiting for him to breathe, waiting for him to wake up. He never did.

Hours bled away. Eventually, the crushing weight of grief hollowed me out, leaving nothing but a numbing void. I stumbled out of the infirmary. I walked aimlessly through the grand hallways like a ghost, blind to the tapestries and the silver armors.

I turned a corner near the courtyard arches and stopped.

Lyra stood by the fountain. She wasn't crying. She wasn't in pain. She was laughing with a maid, carelessly crushing the Tear of the Elves over her wrist. The supreme, blinding green light of pure life magic washed over a tiny, barely-visible red mark on her skin. It healed instantly.

"Much better," Lyra giggled, dusting the priceless, glowing remnants off her silk dress.

Aven died in agony, and she used his salvation for a papercut.

I stood in the shadows, watching the green dust scatter in the wind. The sight didn't spark a fiery rage. Instead, an absolute, freezing despair settled over my bones.

Three years ago, I voluntarily suppressed my Elven godhood. I signed the Soul Bond to draw the Abyssal rot out of Kaelen's heart and into my own body, chaining myself as his exclusive priestess. I saved his life so he could rise as the Duke of the North. I accepted the cage because Aven’s unstable magic required the immense resources of the Duke's estate to keep him alive.

I traded my freedom and my divinity for my brother’s life.

And Kaelen repaid me by bringing in Lyra. For two years, he handed her total control of my life. She rejected my potion requisitions week after week. She deliberately stalled Aven's life-saving treatments with endless bureaucratic excuses. And Kaelen let her. He turned a blind eye, mocking my desperate pleas, calling me a useless dependent.

I endured every humiliation. I swallowed my pride, my bloodline, and my dignity. All for Aven.

Now, Aven was dead. The chains holding my restraint had nothing left to anchor them.

I stepped out into the courtyard light.

Lyra gasped, taking a quick step back, her hand flying to her mouth. At the same moment, Kaelen walked down the corridor from the opposite end, flanked by his guards. He caught sight of me. His brow furrowed in immediate irritation.

"Elara, I told you to stay in your quarters," he demanded, his boots echoing loudly as he marched toward me. "Are you here to cause another scene?"

I looked at him. The man I had pulled back from the Abyss. The man who had slowly, methodically stripped away everything I loved. There was no hatred left in my eyes. There was only profound, exhausting disappointment.

I raised my right hand to my mouth. I bit down hard on my index finger. The sharp pain grounded my swimming thoughts. Blood welled up instantly, thick and warm.

"What are you doing?" Kaelen’s voice faltered, a flicker of genuine confusion breaking through his arrogance.

I pressed my bleeding finger against the dark, parasitic Soul Bond mark on the back of my left hand. With slow, deliberate strokes, I drew the ancient Elven runes of severance.

"Three years ago, I gave you my soul to save your life," I said. My voice was quiet, hollowed out by grief, but it carried a strange, metallic resonance—the dormant echo of an Elven royal. "I stayed in this hell because you promised to protect my brother."

I slammed my bloody palm over the completed rune.

A massive shockwave of pure, blinding silver light erupted from my body. The blast shattered the courtyard windows. The wind howled, whipping my hair around my face. Kaelen stumbled backward, throwing his arms up against the overwhelming pressure of my suppressed magic.

The black chains of the Soul Bond on my skin writhed in agony. They burned away into ash, replaced by a brilliant, silver seven-pointed star seared directly into my flesh.

One point of the star immediately went dark.

Seven days. The absolute law of Elven severance. Once initiated, neither party could stop the clock. In seven days, the bond would shatter, taking the divine protection with it.

I lowered my hand. I looked at Kaelen, watching the color drain from his face as he stared at the glowing mark.

"Aven is dead," I whispered, the finality of the words breaking my own heart all over again. "The debt is paid. Keep your life. Keep your estate."

I turned my back on the Duke of the North.

"In seven days, I am leaving, and you will never see me again."