The temple swallowed them whole.
Lysandra had expected darkness, but this was something more. Something alive. The air pulsed around her, thick with forgotten magic, pressing against her skin like unseen hands. Shadows slithered across the cracked stone, whispering in a language she almost understood.
This place wasn't abandoned.
It was waiting.
Kastian walked beside her, his movements careful but deliberate. His golden eyes flickered, scanning the temple's vast interior. Broken pillars jutted from the ground at unnatural angles, and the walls were lined with carvings—scenes of battles, gods, and creatures twisted beyond recognition.
At the heart of it all was a massive stone altar, half-buried in rubble. The surface was carved with ancient symbols, glowing faintly with a cold, silver light—the same light that pulsed from the chains around their wrists.
Lysandra stepped closer, her breath catching as a sharp wave of recognition slammed into her.
This wasn't just a temple.
It was a prison.
Kastian brushed his fingers against the altar, and the entire chamber seemed to sigh in response. "This is where it happened," he murmured.
Lysandra swallowed hard. "Where the Forgotten God cursed us."
Where he bound them.
A sudden gust of wind howled through the temple, carrying voices—fragments of a long-lost memory.
You were never meant to exist.
You were a mistake.
And mistakes must be erased.
Lysandra clenched her fists, the chains on her wrists burning.
Kastian turned to her, his gaze sharp. "The Forgotten God didn't just curse us to punish us. He was afraid."
The words sent a chill down her spine. "Afraid of what?"
Kastian's lips curled into a smirk, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Of what we'd become if we were free."
Something inside Lysandra clicked into place.
All this time, she had believed she was broken, that her power was incomplete. But now she saw the truth—her strength wasn't missing. It had been sealed.
This temple wasn't just where the curse had begun.
It was where they could break it.
The Trial of the Forsaken
The ground trembled beneath them. The symbols on the altar flared to life, and the shadows in the room moved.
Lysandra's breath hitched as figures emerged from the darkness—warriors clad in spectral armor, their faces obscured by helmets. Their forms flickered like candle flames, their swords gleaming with the same cursed silver light.
Guardians.
The Forgotten God's last defense.
Kastian drew his dagger, his posture tense. "Looks like we're not leaving without a fight."
Lysandra stepped forward, the air around her shifting. She felt the power stir inside her, the weight of the curse loosening as the temple's magic reacted to her presence.
The warriors rushed forward.
Lysandra let go.
For the first time, she didn't suppress the shadows. She didn't fight them or fear them. She became them.
Darkness surged from her like a living thing, tendrils coiling around the warriors, dragging them into the abyss. Their silver weapons clashed against nothingness, swallowed whole before they could strike.
Kastian moved beside her, his own form flickering. His curse—his true form—was awakening, just as hers was.
The temple trembled, the ancient power recognizing them for what they were.
Not cursed.
Not broken.
Unstoppable.
As the last guardian fell, the silver chains on Lysandra's wrists cracked.
One step closer to freedom. One step closer to becoming what they were meant to be.