The full moon hung over Thornwood like a great, unblinking eye. There was no ceremony this time, no labyrinth. Cassian led her to the ancient oak, its trunk now visibly pulsing with a slow, green-gold light—the combined energy of her offerings.
"The bond is accelerating," he said, his voice devoid of its earlier warmth. He was back to being the Warden, distant and ritualistic. "It requires sustenance to solidify. A night of your sleep. Your dreams will fuel the protective wards around the estate for a season."
"My dreams?" A chill that had nothing to do with the night air crept down her spine.
"Not just any dreams. The deep, restorative sleep of the innocent. You will not remember them. They will become part of the land's subconscious, weaving new layers of protection." He held out a chalice carved from a single piece of obsidian. It contained a dark, shimmering liquid. "Drink this. It will guide the process."
It was a demand, not a request. The man who had wept while holding her was gone, replaced by the ancient entity focused solely on survival. The bond thrummed between them, a taut wire conveying his grim resolve and her rising dread.
"What if I refuse?"
He met her gaze, his eyes bleak. "Then the hunger turns inward. The land will leech the vitality directly from you, unpredictably. You might age years in a day. You might fall into a coma. The ritual is a channel, Lilith. A controlled burn. Without it, the fire rages wild."
There was no choice. She had made her choice when she kissed him. When she gave him her memory. She took the chalice. The liquid was cold and tasted of bitter herbs and deep, still water. She drank it down.
The effect was immediate. A heavy, iron lethargy pulled at her limbs. Cassian caught her as her knees buckled, lifting her effortlessly. He carried her not to the house, but to a soft bed of moss that had grown at the oak's roots in a perfect, inviting circle. He laid her down with a surprising tenderness that contradicted his cold demeanor.
"Sleep, Lilith," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. His touch was wistful. "Dream beautiful dreams for Thornwood."
Darkness closed in, not peaceful, but thick and velvety, pulling her under.
Her dreams were not beautiful. They were vivid, terrifying tapestries. She dreamed of roots breaking through stone, of thorns knitting together to form a cage around the manor. She dreamed of Leo walking the gardens, his curious hands on a rose, only for the vine to whip around his throat, dragging him into the earth. She dreamed of Cassian, not as he was, but as a young man, screaming as vines burst from his own skin, binding him to the soil in an eternal, living crucifixion—the moment of the original curse.
She woke screaming just before dawn, drenched in cold sweat, her body aching as if she'd run for miles. The world was grey and drained of color. She felt hollowed out, emotionally and physically barren.
Cassian was sitting against the oak, watching her. He looked… stronger. More defined. A faint, healthy glow seemed to emanate from his skin. Her sacrifice had nourished him visibly.
"You dreamed of the curse," he said, his voice soft. He had seen it. Felt it.
"You didn't tell me it would be like that." Her voice was a raw scrape.
"I didn't know what you would dream. The land takes what it needs." He came to her, kneeling beside the moss bed. The remorse on his face was genuine, but it was too late. "The wards are strong now. We are safe."
"We are safe?" She pushed herself up, anger giving her strength. "I dreamed of you murdering Leo!"
A shadow crossed his face. "The land shows possible futures based on its needs. It was a warning. Not a prophecy."
"How can I believe anything you say?" She stumbled to her feet, the world tilting. "You take and you take. My memory, my dreams, my peace. What's next? A year of my life? My voice? My freedom to leave?"
He stood slowly, his form towering over her. The morning light, weak as it was, seemed to shy away from him. "The next offering," he said, and his words were the final, chilling lock on her gilded cage, "will be at the solstice. It will require a piece of your future. A hope, willingly surrendered."
Lilith stared at him, the last of her illusions crumbling. He was not just a tragic monster. He was the architect of her ruin, and each offering was a brick in its walls. The love she felt was real, but it was a poisoned vine, beautiful and strangling. She had given him a memory of light, and in return, he was condemning her to a future of endless, hungry dark. The balance was a lie. This was a slow descent, and he was leading her by the hand, his touch both a comfort and a chain.
Without a word, she turned and walked back to the manor, each step heavy with the weight of the dreams she would never get back. She was not just the keeper anymore. She was the living sacrifice, and the altar was the entirety of her life.