The Death-Chosen Daughter

From my earliest memories, I knew I was no ordinary elf.

I was Death's chosen acolyte, a selection made by fate.

On my eighteenth birthday, the Night of the Shattered Moon, I was destined to follow the deepest roots of the World Tree back to the throne of the Lord of the Underworld.

But my entire family, House Vaelen, was convinced that the child who "would not live past eighteen" was my twin sister, Nyssa, whose magic was frail and weak.

And so, Nyssa was lavished with everything: robes woven from moonlight and dew, and the warmest of embraces.

Even the sacred marriage pact between me and Caelum, heir to the elven royal family, was transferred to Nyssa.

With thirteen nights left until my eighteenth birthday, I cornered Caelum amidst a lattice of the World Tree's winding branches. It was the ninth time he had avoided our soul-binding.

"Caelum," my voice was soft, yet it held an unmistakable despair, "you don't intend to complete the soul-bond with me anymore, do you?"

The noble elven prince wore a tailored, moon-white tunic, its collar slightly open. The brilliant Starlight Brooch, a symbol of royalty, was fastened to his collar.

For the first time, his pale gold eyes, usually so warm, wouldn't meet mine.

"Elowen…" he began, his voice strained, as if something were caught in his throat. "Nyssa said… she must be the first woman I form a soul-bond with."

"You know she will not live to see nineteen."

His throat worked, and his voice dropped to a ragged whisper. "Her only wish before the end is to become my princess."

In that second, my heart felt as though it were pierced by venomous thorns, the pain so sharp it stole the air from my lungs.

"And what about you?" I stared at him. "What do you want?"

"Elowen, elves have long lives ahead of us."

"But Nyssa… she has less than two weeks."

It felt as if I were plummeting into a bottomless, icy chasm.

Among elves, a soul-binding was never just a lover's sweet words or a game to be played in bed.

It was a vow carved into the stars and etched into the rings of the World Tree, a bond of blood allowing two souls to feel the other's every heartbeat.

We should have completed the ceremony on the night my magic awakened at fifteen. But he had put it off, again and again, with one excuse after another.

Two years had passed. I was nearly eighteen, and Caelum had only grown more distant.

Only now did I understand. He had been saving that place for Nyssa all along.

We were born on the same night, a night the moon suddenly split open, revealing a blood-red rift. A Seer had prophesied:

"One soul shall ascend to the canopy, and one soul shall fall to the rotting roots."

My parents made their judgment. I, the healthy one, was safe. Nyssa, the frail one, was cursed.

Nyssa's magic was weak. She was constantly plagued by nightmares, and she always said she could "hear someone from beneath the earth calling her name."

All the elves were certain she was the tragic sacrifice.

"Elowen," Caelum's voice turned impossibly gentle, as if placating a difficult child. "You've always doted on Nyssa the most. You wouldn't have the heart to let her pass with regrets, would you?"

He reached out, his hand nearly engulfing my slender fingers. "Let her have this. I'm begging you."

I looked at the handsome face before me, and in my heart, the image of the boy who once swore to protect me with his life was truly gone.

My throat tightened, so raw I could barely make a sound. Finally, I forced a single word through my teeth:

"Fine."

Caelum smiled in relief, his features softening in an instant. He squeezed my hand again.

"I swear by the stars, once her wish is granted, you and I will have all of eternity."

I clenched my fists and said nothing in return.

There would be no eternity for us. There was nothing left.

Because the one who wouldn't live past eighteen was me.

Since I was three, I had dreamed of the same being, over and over: he was draped in a black robe woven from shadows, his presence colder than frost, seated upon a throne of bone in the Underworld.

I had never seen his face, but I knew he was the true Lord of the Underworld.

And I was his long-awaited acolyte.

My kin dismissed my words as a jealous ploy for attention, accusing me of weaving lies to garner sympathy.

And now, Caelum was using the lie of Nyssa's curse to hand our soul-bond to her.

But I no longer had the desire to explain myself, much less to beg so humbly.

On the Night of the Shattered Moon, I would follow the roots and leave this place for good, and return to where I truly belonged.

After leaving Caelum, I returned to the Vaelen family estate.

The moment I stepped through the door, my mother summoned me to the subterranean prayer hall.

It was where the family worshipped the World Tree's shadowed aspect. A damp chill seeped from the gnarled, tangled walls of roots. Glimmering blue moss pulsed faintly, like a creature gasping for breath.

"Elowen, I know this is unfair to you," Lady Seraphine Vaelen's voice was as gentle as a breeze on a petal, but every word was a dull knife scraping my flesh. "But Nyssa's body truly cannot hold on much longer."

"Please, just endure it a little longer. I'm begging you as your mother."

I looked at my mother's loving face, knowing I had no right to refuse. I gave a numb nod.

"Fine."

To "extend Nyssa's life," my mother forced me to undergo a "purification" ritual every few days.

On the night of the new moon, spikes of cold iron, heated until they glowed red, would be hammered through my collarbones. Then, a high mage would forcibly tap my magical veins, siphoning my rich shadow magic into Nyssa.

As her twin, my magic drew from the same source as hers and was the only thing that could forcibly bolster her fading life force.

Tonight was the new moon.

I was forced to my knees upon the silver-inlaid altar in the center of the chamber. I let the priests take up the two long spikes of cold iron, wrapped in runes, and drive them through my collarbones.

The moment the iron pierced my flesh, a violent tremor ran through me. The burn and the chill of the cold iron spread, stripping the magic from my body inch by inch. Cold sweat soaked my hair. The feeling of my shadow magic being drained away was more brutal than death by a thousand cuts.

It lasted two full hours.

When it was over, I could barely feel my legs. I bit down hard, using the damp root walls to pull myself up, and staggered out of the prayer hall one step at a time.

The night air outside was bitter and heavy with a dampness that seeped into my mangled wounds.

Passing the Garden of the Sacred Spring, I froze.

I saw Nyssa on a swing entwined with silver vines and white blossoms. Caelum stood behind her, his fingertips gently pushing the vines.

He looked down at her with an adoration I had never seen before. It was an adoration I had spent my girlhood begging for, but never once received.

Then, I heard Nyssa tilt her head back and ask,

"Caelum… did Sister agree to let us have the soul-binding?"

"Yes," he answered in a low voice.

Nyssa asked again, "If I survive my eighteenth birthday and die later… will you then complete your soul-bond with my sister?"

Caelum's movements stilled. Then, with absolute conviction, he replied, "An elf has only one soulmate in their lifetime. In life and in death, your name will be the only one carved upon my soul."