A line of red traced down the assassin's neck, warm against the chilled night. She didn't flinch. The blonde woman, however, tried to step further away from Emma but failed. She slipped down to the floor, her trembling hand raised high to the sky until it touched the assassin's.
The red string had shortened to the point they could no longer pull apart.
Emma's blue eyes narrowed, annoyance flickering across her otherwise unreadable face. She raised her blade, angling it toward the thread that bound them together.
"Don't move," she ordered, her voice cutting through the silence like ice.
The blonde woman bit back a sob, forcing her shaking hands to remain still, though every breath betrayed her fear.
Emma nudged the string with the tip of her blade, testing its give. The faint glow shimmered in the steel's reflection. She pulled it taut, pressing down—
Ba-thump!
Her chest seized. The dagger slipped from her grip, clattering against the ground. Emma staggered, then collapsed to her knees. She screamed. The blonde voice broke out.
It felt as though the string had burrowed into her chest, wrapping tight around her heart. Each attempt to sever it was not against the thread, but against herself. To cut it was to carve into her own flesh, her own life.
Emma's breath came ragged, her hand pressed desperately against her sternum. The realization struck her harder than any blade. This bond—unnatural, impossible—was more than restraint.
It was survival.
The silence that followed was sharp, broken only by the pounding of two hearts tethered as one. The blonde woman stared at Emma, wide-eyed, her lips trembling before the words finally broke free.
"…Why does it hurt you too?" she whispered, her voice raw with fear and disbelief.
Emma's head jerked up, her eyes flashing. For the first time, her composure cracked—not from pain, but from the question itself.
"Shut up," she hissed, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.
But the blonde did not retreat. Her hand, still trembling, inched toward her chest, resting over her own frantic heartbeat.
"Because it's mine too… isn't it?"
Emma looked deep into the blonde woman's eyes. They were blue—so clear, almost crystalline. It was the first time Emma had ever stared so long into another's gaze, as though drawn in despite herself. Then her attention dropped—the woman's body shuddered against the night air.
Wordlessly, Emma shrugged off her coat leaving her only in her tank top and draped it over the woman's shoulders, concealing her bare frame.
"So…" Emma's voice was low as her eyes fell to the woman's legs. Silver-blue scales caught the moonlight, glistening with an otherworldly sheen. They were almost mesmerizing. "What are you?"
The blonde's lips curled faintly. "Finally asking me? After trying to kill me—twice?"
Emma scoffed, her expression flat. "Answer or don't. But with this…" She lifted her hand. The red string still coiled stubbornly around her ring finger, glowing faintly between them. "I'm afraid we're stuck with each other—for who knows how long."
The blonde laughed, a soft, almost fragile sound in the quiet night. Emma stared at her, brows furrowing. After two assassination attempts, she was far too calm.
"Aren't you afraid?" Emma asked, her voice edged with disbelief.
"Afraid?" the woman echoed. Her hand brushed over the coat, pulling it tighter around her. "Of course I'm afraid and I was afraid. But…" Her gaze turned distant, thoughtful. "All my life, I've been sickly. I grew up fearing that death would come quietly to my door, claiming me before I ever truly lived. So tell me, assassin…"
Her blue eyes flicked back to Emma, steady despite the tremor in her voice.
"What is there left to fear, when I've already been living in its shadow?"
Emma's lips pressed into a thin line. She should have felt nothing—pity was not in her nature. And yet, the steadiness in the woman's voice unsettled her more than a dagger ever could.
The silence stretched, broken only by the night wind rustling through the trees. Finally, the blonde woman tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
"You don't even know my name, do you?" she asked softly.
Emma's eyes narrowed. "Names don't matter."
"They do," the woman countered, her voice gentle but firm. Her trembling hand lifted, brushing lightly against the string that tethered them together. "Especially now."
Emma said nothing. She only watched, wary, as though the name itself could be a trap.
The blonde drew in a steadying breath. "Cecilia," she whispered at last, her voice carrying in the still night. "Cecilia Lancaster."
Emma's eyes flickered at the name. Recognition? No. But something about the way it lingered in the air made her jaw tighten.
Cecilia held her gaze, her crystalline eyes unyielding. "If we're bound like this," she added, "you may as well know who I am."
And yet, for reasons she couldn't place, she didn't look away.
Emma exhaled slowly, her hand brushing the hilt of her fallen blade but not reaching for it. "Names change nothing," she muttered.
Cecilia tilted her head, the faintest trace of amusement glinting in her eyes. "Maybe not for you. But for me? I'd like to know the name of the woman who tried—twice—to take my life… and still ended up tied to me."
Emma's jaw tightened. Silence.
Cecilia leaned forward ever so slightly, the coat slipping against her bare shoulders. "You know mine," she pressed. "It's only fair I know yours. Or do assassins not have names?"
Emma's eyes flashed, sharp as steel. "Don't push me."
But Cecilia didn't flinch. If anything, her lips curved into the faintest smile. "Push you? I don't have to. That string already does it for me." She lifted her hand, letting the thread glimmer faintly between them in the moonlight.
Emma's breath caught, though she hid it quickly behind her usual cold stare. The silence stretched again until finally—reluctantly—she spoke.
"…Emma."
The name fell like a stone into still water, rippling between them.
Cecilia's smile softened, genuine this time. "Emma," she repeated quietly, as if testing the weight of it. "Good. Now we're even."
Emma looked away, but for the first time, she found herself unsettled not by the bond… but by the sound of her name in Cecilia's voice.
"So," Emma muttered, her tone flat as she scanned the empty expanse around them, "where are we?"
Cecilia shifted, pulling the coat tighter around her bare shoulders. "I don't even know myself," she admitted. "One moment, I was in my bathroom… taking a bath. Then suddenly something dragged me down—deeper and deeper into the water. Like it was swallowing me whole."
Her fingers brushed against the glowing thread that tethered them, her expression troubled. "When I tried to fight it, I realized there was a string tied around my finger. And before I could breathe or scream, it pulled me through." She glanced around the strange night landscape, her crystalline eyes reflecting the faint glow. "And when I surfaced… I was here. With you."
Emma's gaze hardened, though her mind turned sharply behind her calm expression. Dragged through water? Strings? Pulled across space into my world? None of it made sense. She clenched her jaw.
"Convenient," she said coldly. "A stranger appears out of nowhere, bound to me. Almost sounds like a trick."
Cecilia arched a brow at her. "If it is, do you think I'd choose to show up like this? Naked, freezing, and tethered to a woman trying to kill me?"
Emma's gaze flicked to her legs. "But those scales—"
"I don't know how they appeared!" Cecilia snapped, shaking her head. Her voice cracked, equal parts fear and frustration. "I don't know."
Emma's eyes narrowed. "So you're human?"
"Yes," Cecilia shot back without hesitation. "I am a human. Otherwise, what else should I be? A monster?" She tugged the coat tighter around herself, as though trying to shield not just her body but her words. "I eat, I sleep, I go to school like everyone else. So yes—" her breath hitched, but she held Emma's stare, "—I am definitely human."
Emma studied her, blue eyes cold and searching. But the thread tugging at her finger pulsed softly, a constant reminder that whatever Cecilia was, fate had already bound them together.
"Do I have a choice?" Cecilia lifted her hand, the faint glow of the string binding her finger to Emma's. She gave a dry laugh, though her voice trembled. "Seems like we're stuck, whether I like it or not."
Their hands brushed again as the thread pulled taut, a reminder of the invisible weight tying them together. Emma's jaw tightened, but she didn't answer. She only turned, taking the lead into the darkness.
Cecilia hesitated before stepping after her, bare feet cold against the stone. The silence pressed down on them, broken only by the echo of Emma's measured steps.
After a moment, Cecilia muttered, "You don't talk much, do you?"
"No need to," Emma replied without looking back.
"And what if I need you to?"
Emma glanced at her then, blue eyes sharp as frost. "Then you'll be disappointed."
Cecilia huffed, hugging Emma's coat tighter around herself. "Figures. Bound by fate to the most charming assassin alive."
For the first time, the corner of Emma's mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close enough to unsettle her.
The string pulsed once, faint but steady, as if mocking them both.
The tunnel continued to stretch on, narrow and damp, lit only by the pale shimmer of the thread between them. Emma moved without hesitation, every step calculated, while Cecilia stumbled to keep up, clutching at the oversized coat.
It was the sound that broke the silence first—harsh laughter, cruel and echoing. Then a muffled cry.
Cecilia froze. "Did you hear that?"
Emma didn't slow. "Not our concern."
But as they rounded the bend, the scene came into view: a man on the ground, clutching his head while three small, twisted creatures—like shadows given form—kicked and clawed at him. His voice cracked as he begged them to stop.
The creatures were wrong. That was the only word Cecilia's mind could form as her eyes widened in horror.
But as they rounded the bend, the scene snapped into focus: a man sprawled on the ground, clutching his bleeding head, while a monstrous beast loomed over him.
Cecilia froze. Her breath hitched in her throat. It wasn't just an animal. It was a nightmare given flesh.
The lion's body was massive, its golden hide marred with scars and matted with filth, one enormous paw pinning the man helplessly into the dirt. From its muscled back jutted a goat's snarling head, foam dripping from its twisted jaw, eyes rolling with madness. Its serpent's tail writhed independently, hissing and coiling, venom dripping in heavy beads that seared into the stones with each strike.
Cecilia's voice broke. "What the… what is that?!"
Emma's tone was ice. "No idea. And none of our concern."
The man screamed again, raw and terrified. The sound carved through Cecilia, lodging deep in her chest.
"We have to help him," she begged, clutching Emma's arm.
Emma's eyes cut to her, sharp as a blade. "How do you expect me to fight when you're bound to me? One misstep and I drag you into the kill with me."
"But—he'll die!" Cecilia's grip shifted to Emma's hand, clinging tighter, desperate. "Please, Emma. We can't just walk away!"
Emma's expression didn't flicker. "It's not our problem. That's his fate."
"Emma!" Cecilia screamed, her voice cracking, her whole body trembling. Not from the chains that tied her to an assassin—but from the horror of watching someone die and doing nothing.
Her cry split the night, piercing and sharp. The beast's three heads turned in unison, snapping toward the sound. The serpent's tail lashed, hissing. The lion's ears pricked, nostrils flaring, and in a heartbeat, its burning eyes fixed on them.
The Chimaera roared.
And it lunged.