The first cry of the newborn prince had shattered the physical silence of the sanctuary, but for Lucien, the world had gone utterly, terrifyingly quiet. The blue-white lightning of the child's birth still flickered in the corners of his vision, but his focus was entirely on the woman beneath his hands. Gwen was gasping, her body limp against the obsidian altar, her eyes glazed with a terrifying, hollow light.
The Prince was out, but the cord was not truly cut. The Mark of the Viper, glowing a violent, necrotizing red, had not vanished with the birth. Instead, it had tightened, forming a shimmering, ethereal chain that connected Gwen's heart directly to the tiny, sparking life cradled in the pool of crystal water at the altar's foot.
"It's not letting go," Lucien whispered, his voice trembling. "The curse... it's a soul-tether. If it stays, it will drain the child to keep her alive, or kill her to claiming him."
