The emerald light bled across the chamber, drowning every corner in a sickly glow. Alaric’s breath caught as the serpent’s single eye bore into him, a weight pressing against his chest, heavier than armor.

Lyra gripped his hand tighter. “Alaric… it’s looking at you.”

“I feel it,” he said through clenched teeth, forcing himself not to look away. “Like it wants to crawl under my skin.”

Lord Gareth stepped forward, his voice uncharacteristically unsteady. “This is no guardian. This is the Wyrm of Whispers—the oldest hunger. Even the Shadow King feared to call it forth.”

The serpent’s eye blinked once, slow and deliberate. The walls trembled as a hiss—no, a voice—slithered into their minds.

Chosen one…

Alaric staggered, pressing a hand to his temple. “It speaks—”

Lyra’s dagger gleamed as she raised it. “Then let it choke on silence.” She slashed at the wall, the blade sparking uselessly against the stone. The serpent’s laughter rolled through the chamber, low and venomous.

Your blade is a child’s toy. Your fire, a candle in the storm. Only he—the eye fixed on Alaric—may sate my hunger.

Alaric’s pulse hammered. His throat burned with words he hadn’t spoken, yet felt forced into his mouth: “I will not be your vessel.”

The emerald light surged, slamming into him like a physical blow. He dropped to one knee, struggling for breath. Lyra knelt beside him, rage flashing in her eyes. “Then it will take you through me!”

“Enough!” Gareth’s command cracked through the chamber. His palms lifted, and ancient runes spiraled from his fingertips, forming a shimmering ward between them and the eye. For a heartbeat, the serpent recoiled.

But Gareth’s face was pale, his hands trembling. “I can’t hold it long. Alaric—you must listen. This is the test the guardians could never reveal. The Eye will seek to claim you, to twist your destiny. If you yield even a breath, Havenwood will be undone.”

Alaric’s jaw tightened. “So I fight it. That’s what I’ve always done.”

“No,” Gareth said grimly. “You cannot fight hunger with a blade. You must outlast it—with will, with restraint. The Embrace demands sacrifice, not conquest.”

The eye flared brighter, as if mocking the claim. Sacrifice… yes. Let them fall. Let them burn. Only you remain… mine.

The floor cracked beneath them, fissures glowing green. Lyra grabbed Alaric’s arm. “Don’t listen to it! You hear me? You are not alone in this.”

Alaric’s vision blurred—the chamber dissolving into shadows and voices, Gareth’s ward flickering like a dying flame. The serpent’s eye filled his sight, endless, suffocating.

And in the last coherent moment before the darkness surged over him, Alaric heard it whisper with cruel intimacy:

Show me what you are willing to lose