Elara's POV
The soul-bond slams into place, and I scream.
Not with my voice—I don't have one. But with every piece of consciousness I have left after three hundred years of darkness.
Because for the first time since I died, I can FEEl.
Darian's heartbeat pounds in his chest—my chest now, sort of. His lungs pull in air. His muscles ache from running. His shoulder throbs where the arrow hit him.
And oh god, it hurts. Real physical pain after centuries of numbness.
It's the most beautiful thing I've ever felt.
"What's happening?" Darian shouts in his mind. Our mind? I don't even know anymore.
His panic crashes into me like a wave. His fear, his confusion, his desperation—I feel all of it mixing with my own emotions until I can't tell where he ends and I begin.
"Soul-bond," I gasp, trying to sort through the chaos. "We're connected. I'm in your head. You're—"
"GET OUT!" He tries to drop the sword, but his hand won't let go. The bond is too strong now. We're stuck together.
"I can't! It's too late!"
Footsteps echo in the cave. More assassins. At least five of them this time.
"The prince definitely came this way," a rough voice calls out. ZFind his body!"
Darian's terror spikes so high I nearly choke on it.
"We don't have time to argue," I tell him quickly. "They're going to kill you in about thirty seconds. Let me help. Please!"
"You're a voice in my head! How can you possibly—"
An assassin rounds the corner, sword raised.
Instinct takes over. I've spent three hundred years watching people fight. Watching warriors train. Watching hundreds of battles through the few moments when someone held me.
I know how to fight better than anyone alive.
I push into Darian's muscles, guiding his movements.
"MOVE!" I scream.
Darian's body flows sideways—my doing, not his. The assassin's sword cuts through empty air. Darian stumbles, confused, but I'm already directing his arm.
"Thrust! Now!"
The Blade of Remembrance punches through the assassin's chest.
The man's shock and pain flood through the sword, through me, into Darian. We both feel him die.
Darian drops to his knees and vomits.
*"What did you do?"* he gasps. *"What did you make me do?"*
*"Saved your life!"* Four more assassins pour into the cave. "And I'm about to do it four more times if you don't get up RIGHT NOW!"
Two emotions war inside him: horror at killing someone, and rage at everyone who betrayed him. The rage wins.
Darian stands, gripping me tighter.
"Tell me what to do," he growls.
"Finally! Okay, duck—NOW!"
He ducks. An arrow flies over his head.
"Roll left! Swing high! JUMP!"
We move together, and it's like dancing. I see the attacks coming through his eyes. I feel his body responding. I guide, he executes, and together we're something neither of us could be alone.
The second assassin goes down. Then the third.
The fourth assassin is better—a trained soldier. He blocks my—our—first three strikes.
"He's too good," Darian pants.
"Then we go faster. Trust me!"
I pull on something deep inside the sword. Power that's been sleeping for three hundred years. Ancient magic flows through the blade, through Darian's arms, making us impossibly quick.
We become a blur of black steel and red light.
The assassin's eyes widen. "What are you?" he whispers.
"Your death," I say through Darian's mouth.
We strike. He falls.
The last assassin turns and runs, screaming about demons and cursed swords.
Let him run. Let him tell Lucian that his brother has power now.
Darian collapses against the cave wall, gasping for breath. The sword—me—clatters to the ground.
"Don't drop me!" I panic.
"Pick me up! The bond isn't stable yet!"
"I just killed four people," Darian says, staring at his bloody hands. "I just... I killed..."
"They were going to kill YOU. They were following your brother's orders. Remember? The brother who stole everything from you?"
Darian's grief and rage swirl together. Through our connection, I feel the memory: finding Celeste with Lucian. His mother dying. Being dragged from the palace while people laughed.
My own rage—three hundred years of it—recognizes his pain.
"We're the same," I tell him softly. "Both betrayed by people we trusted. Both left with nothing but revenge."
He picks up the sword again. The bond settles, stronger now.
"What are you?" he asks. "Really?"
"My name is Elara Thornwood. I was a weapons curator on a world called Earth. My business partner and fiancé murdered me because they wanted my money. When I died, my soul got trapped in this sword—and somehow ended up in your world."
"That's impossible."
"So is a talking sword, but here we are."
Darian laughs—a broken, bitter sound. "I'm losing my mind. I'm talking to a weapon."
"You're talking to me. I'm as human as you, just... trapped in metal." I hesitate. "I know this is overwhelming. But I've been alone in the dark for three centuries. You're the first person who can hear me. The first person who might be able to help me."
"Help you how?"
"Find my body. Or find a way to free me. I don't know yet. But first—" I let him feel my determination. "—we destroy the people who destroyed us. Your brother. And your bride."
"Celeste." His hatred burns bright. "You said she's your murderer?"
"Not exactly. But she's a reincarnated soul from my world. She was my business partner Morgana. She pushed me onto this sword and watched me die. Now she's here, married to your brother, and I promise you—she remembers. Somewhere deep inside, she knows what she did."
Darian is quiet for a long moment. I feel him processing, deciding.
"If we do this—if we work together—what happens to me? Will you take over my body completely?"
The question hurts because I don't know the answer.
"I don't think so. Right now, we're sharing. Two souls connected through the sword. But..." I have to be honest. "The bond will get stronger the more we use it. I don't know what that means long-term."
"So you might possess me."
"Or you might possess me. Or we might just... merge. I don't know." Fear creeps into my voice. "I don't want to hurt you, Darian. I just want to be free."
He stands up, testing his healed shoulder. The arrow wound is completely gone.
"You healed me," he says with wonder.
"The sword has power. I can share it with you. Make you stronger, faster, nearly impossible to kill. You could take back your throne. Make Lucian and Celeste pay for everything."
"And what do you get?"
"Revenge. Freedom. And maybe—" I pause. "—a friend. Someone who understands what betrayal feels like."
Darian walks to the cave entrance. Through his eyes, I see the forest beyond. The world I've been locked away from for so long.
"I have thirty followers left," he says quietly. "Loyal soldiers who followed me into exile. If we're going to do this—take on Lucian and the entire kingdom—we'll need an army."
"Then let's build one. With my knowledge and your leadership, we can—"
A woman's voice cuts through the night: "DARIAN! Where are you?"
"That's Nyx," Darian explains. "My best friend. She followed me when everyone else abandoned me."
He steps out of the cave. A young woman with wild dark hair runs toward him. She stops when she sees the sword.
Her eyes go wide. "Is that the Blade of Remembrance? Darian, that weapon is cursed! Everyone knows—"
"Everyone's right," I say, using the bond to speak through Darian's mouth.
Nyx draws two daggers. "That's not Darian's voice!"
Darian holds up his free hand. "Nyx, wait. I can explain—"
But Nyx is already shouting: "Commander Garrett! We have a problem! The sword has possessed the prince!"
More people crash through the forest. Soldiers. Warriors. All loyal to Darian.
All looking at me—at us—like we're monsters.
"Well," I tell Darian privately, "this is going to be awkward."
"Can you appear? Show them you're a person, not a demon?"
"I... I don't know. I've never tried."
"Try now!"
I gather all my strength and push outward, trying to manifest outside the sword.
Pain explodes through me. The world tilts.
And for just a moment—five seconds, maybe—I appear.
A ghostly, translucent version of myself stands next to Darian. My dark hair flows around my face. My storm-gray eyes meet Nyx's shocked stare.
"I'm not a demon," I whisper before collapsing back into the blade. "I'm just a prisoner who needs help."
Then everything goes black.