Hikky's entire world—the crushing grief, the deafening screams, the final, morbid clarity of the ivy vine—collapsed into a single, ringing question: Not dead? She asked again.
Her focus sharpened instantly, tearing through the haze of shock and tears.
Her hands dropped from the soiled silk of her gown. Suicide was a luxury she could no longer afford.
If there was even a sliver of hope, one impossible thread of life left in Dante, she would cling to it until her fingers bled.
She took a shaky step away from the oak, away from the waiting shadow of death, and toward the man in the charcoal suit.
"What… what did you say?" she whispered, her voice raw and barely audible. "The doctors, They took him. There was so much blood."
The man tilted his head, his dark eyes.... unsettlingly flat, like chips of polished slate—seeming to absorb the faint moonlight filtering through the canopy.
He offered no sympathy. Instead, he made a slow, dismissive gesture toward her ruined appearance.
"The Valká lineage has always been dramatic," he murmured, his baritone voice a smooth contrast to the harsh forest air. "He is not dead. But he is in a state of terminal suspension in the other worlds.
A life tethered, not severed.
Think of it as a clock with its pendulum removed, still counting the seconds but unable to progress."
He finally stepped fully into the weak light.
He was taller than she realized, radiating an unnatural cold that had nothing to do with the temperature of the night.
His perfectly tied crimson knot seemed a mockery of the blood drying on her wedding dress.
"My name is Lucien," he stated, folding the white handkerchief precisely and tucking it back into his pocket. "And your tragedy is an administrative annoyance to me. You see, the curse you moan about isn't a silly family myth, Hikky. It's a contract and all contracts have clauses, conditions, and, most importantly, a price."
The Valká Debt
Lucien paced a short circle around her, his expression bored, as if he were discussing overdue utilities rather than a man's life.
"The power of the Valká line—that inexplicable ability to draw success, prosperity, and devastating, all-consuming love—was not granted, it was purchased.
Generations ago, your ancestor struck a deal: the Valká women would possess a fatal magnetism, a power that made them irresistible to men of empire and shadow. The cost? The moment one of those men pledged his soul to her—vowed a true, complete, life-binding love, as Dante did the Exchange was activated."
Hikky felt a terrifying, chilling clarity settle over her.
The cruel whispers of the crowd... "Any man who falls in love with her meets death".... *were not just superstition. They were a description of a dark, cosmic law.
"The Exchange," Lucien continued, stopping directly in front of her, his gaze intense enough to feel like a physical pressure, "demands a soul's equilibrium.
Dante is a man of vast ambition, ancient power, and a spirit strong enough to resist ordinary death.
But when he chose you, he chose the price.
The contract began drawing his life force slowly, to sustain the incredible, impossible love you shared.
The gunshot merely accelerated the process, like snapping a rope already frayed thin."
He gestured back toward the way she had come. "The hospital is stabilizing his body, but the damage is spiritual.
His soul is already under arbitration. It is slipping away, not because of a bullet, but because the contract is claiming its fee: him."
Hikky understood.... The curse was a parasitic bond.
Her greatest joy—Dante's love—was simultaneously his death warrant.
"You said debt," she choked out, fighting the urge to vomit. "If it's a debt, it can be paid. What do you want? Money? Power? Who are you collecting for?"
A flicker of something.. amusement, perhaps crossed Lucien's features. "I collect for the ledger. And what I want is for you to fulfill your own clause in the contract."
He leaned closer, and the cold radiated off him in palpable waves. "The Exchange has a single reversal clause, activated only if the chosen love is jeopardize.
The woman you must become the Agent of the Ledger and embrace the true nature of the Valká power, You must transform that passive, deadly curse into an active, weaponized gift.
You must pay Dante's spiritual debt not with his life, but with your service."
"You want me to work for you?" Hikky asked, the fear giving way to a white-hot spark of defiance.
"I want you to hunt for me," Lucien corrected softly. "You will hunt the others who violate the balance. Those who tamper with contracts, who steal what is owed, or who possess what should belong to the Ledger. That man, Clara Bryan's superior or stepfather, he had always destabilize Dante's territory—he is one such violator. He broke a fragile equilibrium, and now, he must pay in kind. Your first task is to find him, neutralize him, and retrieve what he stole."
The Baptism of Crimson
The air in the clearing felt thick and electric.
Hikky's mind was racing, discarding the impossibilities and clinging only to the certainty of Dante's non-death.
She looked down at the blood-stained wedding dress, it's thorn in different places from the thorns and sticks in the forest. Her wedding dress -the symbol of her innocence, her loss, and her weakness.
With a sudden, explosive motion, she grasped the torn lace at her shoulders and ripped the top of the gown apart. The black silk shredded, the sound a gratifying tear in the suffocating silence.
She kept tearing until the sleeves fell away and the heavy skirt was little more than a ragged drape around her hips. It was a vicious, liberating act of severance. The black net was gone, replaced by the dark, furious crimson of Dante's blood, now her only adornment.
"Dante is your leverage," she stated, no longer a pleading bride, but a woman hardened by absolute loss. "If I do this, if I become this… Agent… does it guarantee his life? Does the clock start ticking again?"
Lucien offered the handkerchief again, this time holding it out toward her like a challenge.
"The contract is clear," he said. "As long as you are actively paying the debt through service, his soul remains tethered. You stop, he dies. You fail, he dies. Succeed, and the Exchange is nullified, and he comes back to you, free of the price. Take this."
Hikky didn't take the handkerchief. Instead, she wiped her wet cheek with the back of her hand, smearing the dried blood across her temple like war paint.
"Tell me where to start," she commanded, her voice now steady, cold, and utterly transformed.
A thin, satisfied smile finally stretched across Lucien's lips. It was the smile of a merchant who had just finalized an excellent trade.
"Good. Leave the dress. It ties you to a broken memory," he instructed. "Your baptism is complete. The power you carry is not a gentle one, little Valká. It is a siren's call to those who wield ultimate influence.
They want the source of the Valká power—they know the curse is a key."
He turned swiftly, disappearing back into the deeper shadows from which he emerged, but not before calling over his shoulder.
"We don't use the main roads, Agent and we don't walk or hurry.
The forest is about to become far more crowded than you realize."
Hikky didn't hesitate. She scrambled to her feet, kicked the heavy, blood-soaked remnants of the wedding dress away, and followed him, shedding the last vestiges of her former life in the darkness.
Her bare feet hit the cold, damp earth, but she felt no pain. Only the raw, driving imperative to fight for the man who was not dead.
The Midnight Extraction
Lucien led her on a dizzying, circuitous route, avoiding the main trails. After ten frantic minutes of navigating the brush, they burst through a thick curtain of thorny bushes into a different kind of clearing—one that was not natural.
Nestled in the center, completely hidden from the nearby road and the chapel, was a single, sleek black vehicle. It wasn't a car, but a low-slung, customized SUV... silent, matte-finished, and built to devour darkness.
The rear hatch was open, revealing a sparse, utilitarian interior.
"Get in," Lucien ordered, his voice echoing slightly as he paused, listening to a sound
Hikky couldn't yet hear.
As she lunged for the open hatch, tearing the last fragments of silk from her legs, Lucien stopped her with a hand on her arm. His touch was like ice.
"Before you enter, look at the door," he instructed.
Hikky looked. The hatch, normally plain metal, was overlaid with a strange, shimmering texture. As she stared, she realized it wasn't paint, but a densely woven pattern of symbols—unfamiliar, geometric runes that glowed faintly with a deep, internal amethyst light.
"This vehicle is the first piece of your new life,"
Lucien explained. "It does not simply drive. It travels and it hides. Now, listen."
He cocked his head toward the deep forest.
Hikky strained her ears, and this time, she heard it: the rapid thud of bootsteps, heavy and coordinated, followed by the snapping of branches.
They weren't police. These were too quick, too aggressive.
"Clara Bryan's superiors," Lucien confirmed, a hint of something dark and ancient in his voice. "They want the Valká power, and they believe the grieving widow will lead them to it. The hunt has begun, Agent. And they are already upon us."
Lucien pushed her into the vehicle, securing the hatch behind her.
Darkness enveloped her, momentarily confusing her senses.
She scrambled to find a seat, landing on a cold, hard bench as Lucien slid into the driver's seat.
Before Hikky could buckle up, Lucien slammed his hand down on the console.
The strange runes on the hatch pulsed violently, and the entire vehicle shuddered.
It didn't start with a roar, but with a deep, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate in her teeth.
"You asked about the next step, Hikky?" Lucien's voice was dangerously close, cutting through the growing hum. "clara who shot Dante is not a simple crime boss. He is a Contractor of the Shadow Factions.. A woman who deals in souls and ancient artifacts. She is trying to claim what the exchange left behind: Dante's suspended essence."
Lucien looked at her, his pale features illuminated by the glow of the dashboard.
"Your first destination is the heart of his territory, the abandoned Sol Invictus Cathedral in Nuke central. You are going there to retrieve a specific object before you can use it to finalize the claim on Dante's soul from other world."
A powerful force pressed Hikky back against the seat as the vehicle launched forward, not driving, but seeming to displace the air around it.
The trees outside blurred into smears of dark green and black, moving at impossible speed.
Lucien's eyes narrowed, cold and focused.
"But first, you have to survive the night. Look behind you, Agent."
Hikky twisted around, her heart hammering against her ribs.
In the vehicle's rearview screen—which now displayed the woods they had just left—she saw them: six dark, armored figures, bursting into the clearing where she had just been, their weapons drawn.
But they weren't looking at the ground.
They were looking up.
And then, one of the figures. The leader pointed at the screen, not at the vehicle, but at her. He spoke a single, guttural word into a communicator, a word that sliced through the darkness like broken glass.
"Ereshkigal."
And as the car vanished into the impossible darkness, leaving the forest behind, Hikky realized the true horror, they weren't just hunting a curse. They were hunting a name.... Her name.
And the terrifying question wasn't if she could save Dante, but what would she have to become to survive the night?
As the vehicle makes its impossible, high-speed escape, Hikky's trauma, fear, and focus clash. She looks down at the blood coating her body, now dry, and then up at Lucien, the predator who holds Dante's life in his hands. What does the name "Ereshkigal" mean, and why are these dark figures looking for her? And most urgently: what ancient artifact is waiting for her in the shadows of Nile central most abandoned cathedral......