The Tethered Curse

Combat drills began before the sun even kissed the horizon.

We were marched out into the frostbitten courtyard while the torches were still guttering against the wind. A ring of iron runes had been carved into the earth overnight. Blood still lingered in the dirt from the last group that trained here.

Today’s trial was magical endurance—paired combat, weapons optional. No deaths allowed. Everything else? Fair game.

Lucian and I stood across from one another in the center circle, watched by nearly half the academy.

“You look nervous,” he said, voice low.

I rolled my shoulders, forcing my body to relax as my pulse raced. “No, just hoping this doesn’t take long. I have better things to do than mop the floor with you.”

“Careful.” A glint of something sharp passed through his eyes. “You might trigger your own funeral.”

The instructors barked the signal.

We moved.

Lucian came at me like a shadow loosed from bone—quick, quiet, and purposeful. I barely dodged his first strike. His blade hummed with some ancient enchantment, and I could feel its intent in the air: not to kill, but to wound.

I gritted my teeth and flung a kinetic burst from my palm. It cracked against his side, but he recovered too fast. Wolves healed quicker than witches. That, and I was holding back.

My magic had a history.

A dangerous one.

The duel blurred—blade against spell, movement against instinct. I twisted beneath his strike and sent a whip of fire curling toward his chest. He deflected it with his bracer, but heat licked up his arm.

Then he caught my wrist.

For a second, we were too close. Breathing the same air. His grip wasn’t cruel, but it was firm, and for a moment, something primal flickered in his eyes.

“You’re scared of yourself,” he said.

I tore my hand free, and my magic snapped.

It did not happen in the usual way, with flames, wind, or light. This was quieter and held an unfamiliar strangeness.

It coiled out of me like smoke, curling along the runes beneath our feet, and sank deep into the earth. The ring pulsed. Lucian’s stance faltered. His head jerked back.

Then he screamed.

It was raw and unearthly, like something ancient had been torn awake inside him. He collapsed to one knee, clutching his chest, his eyes flaring golden and then black. Veins darkened beneath his skin. A curse mark, previously dormant, bloomed like ink across his ribs, up his throat, and beneath his jaw.

“What did you do?” someone shouted.

But I couldn’t speak.

The magic was still tethering itself between us—an invisible chain, burning hot. I felt it the moment it anchored. A crack of energy tore through my spine and dropped me to the ground.

Pain.

Not mine—his.

Lucian groaned, half-writhing, trying to fight it back. I could feel the wound in his ribs as if it were my own. My hand reached instinctively for a cut that wasn’t on my skin, but his. And the moment I moved, his breath caught like he’d been stabbed.

Commander Kael stormed into the circle. His eyes went wide.

“Pull her back!” someone shouted. “They’re bound!”

“No,” Kael muttered. “They’re tethered.”

Lucian pushed himself up onto his elbows. His chest heaved. Sweat dripped from his temples. “You… witch.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I hissed, voice shaking from pain. “I didn’t do this on purpose.”

“I don’t care.” He stood, eyes locked on mine, face pale and furious. “You bound me.”

“You think I wanted this?” I stumbled to my feet, every nerve on fire. “I barely touched you.”

“That’s all it takes with an ancient tethering curse,” Kael interrupted, stepping between us. “Some bloodlines carry dormant bindings. If the right kind of magic stirs it…”

He looked at me, then at Lucian. “You woke it. Both of you.”

Lucian’s fists clenched.

I could feel it in my bones.

Literally.

Kael rubbed his jaw. “You’re linked now. Deep magic. When one of you suffers… so does the other.”

“No,” Lucian growled. “Break it.”

“You think I haven’t tried?” Kael snapped. “It’s blood-forged. The kind of curse that predates even the werewolf clans. Only death or destiny unravels it.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

I met Lucian’s eyes.

Hatred was there, yes—but something else now. Fear. Rage. Recognition.

“We’re stuck,” I whispered.

He nodded once, slow and grim.

Then he leaned in, voice like venom. “If you die, I die.”

I swallowed. “Then I guess you'd better start keeping me alive.”