Clara and Lucien fell through darkness for what felt like forever. Then, with a hard thud, they landed on soft ground.
"Are you hurt?" Lucien asked, helping Clara to her feet.
"I'm okay," she said, looking around. They were in a small cave lit by glowing blue mushrooms. "Where are we?"
"Somewhere under the castle," Lucien said. "These tunnels run everywhere."
Clara touched her neck where her locket had been. "The Creator has my locket now. And if Isolde really is the Creator..."
"Then we're in serious trouble," Lucien finished. "We need to find a way back up."
They followed a path that sloped upward. After going for what seemed like hours, they found a wooden door.
"This looks familiar," Clara whispered.
Lucien pushed it open. "It's the library."
They stepped into the castle's huge library. Moonlight streamed through tall windows, showing row after row of books.
"We need a plan," Lucien said. "Isolde—or the Creator—will be looking for us."
Clara nodded, then stopped suddenly. "Wait. My journals. Maybe there's something in them that can help."
She rushed to a secret shelf behind a portrait where Lucien kept all the journals from her past lives. Clara grabbed the oldest one, its cover worn and pages yellow with age.
As she flipped through it, she noticed something strange.
"Lucien, pages are missing," she said, holding up the book. "Look—someone tore pages out."
Lucien looked away.
"You know something," Clara said. "What's on those pages?"
Lucien sighed. "I took them out."
"You?" Clara stared at him. "Why would you do that?"
"To protect you," he said. "They show how we first met centuries ago. And... how I accidentally caused your first death."
Clara felt like she'd been slapped. "My first death? What are you talking about?"
"I couldn't let you remember that," Lucien said. "It was too painful."
"Where are they?" Clara asked. "I need to see those pages."
"They're in my room, in a box under the floor."
They rushed through the castle, keeping to the shadows. When they reached Lucien's room, he moved a rug and lifted a loose floorboard. From a small iron box, he pulled out several folded, yellowed pages.
"I'm sorry," he said, giving them to Clara. "I should have shown you these long ago."
Clara's hands shook as she unfolded the pages. The handwriting was her own, but from ages ago:
July 18, 1542
Today I met the most beautiful man in the village. His name is Lucien, and he's different from anyone I've ever known. My father warned me about strangers, but I feel like I've known Lucien forever.
Clara read more pages, learning how she and Lucien had first fallen in love. But then she reached the last page, and her heart nearly stopped:
October 31, 1542
Lucien showed me his true self tonight. He's not human. He's a monster. I wasn't afraid—I still love him. He promised he would never hurt me. But something went wrong when we kissed. He couldn't stop himself. I feel so cold now. As I write this, my life is going away. But I don't blame him. I know he didn't mean for this to happen. I'll find him again someday, I'm sure of it. My love will follow him across ages.
Clara looked up, tears in her eyes. "You... you killed me?"
"I didn't mean to," Lucien said, his voice breaking. "I had only been a vampire for a month. I couldn't control my hunger."
"But I came back," Clara whispered. "I found you again."
"Yes. Twenty years later, you were born again. Different name, different family, but the same soul. And you found me. But then Erynn's curse began—you would die each time we fell in love."
"And that's why I keep coming back?"
"I think so," Lucien said. "But there's something else."
He reached into the box and pulled out one more page—a page Clara hadn't written.
"This was tucked into your journal," he explained. "I found it after your third life ended."
Clara took the page. The handwriting was beautiful and unfamiliar:
The Bridge needs blood of three kinds—vampire, witch, and human—all in one vessel. Only the soul that has crossed between worlds regularly can hold such power without breaking. Only a heart that has loved across death can beat for three worlds at once.
"What does this mean?" Clara asked.
"I think it means you were always meant to be the Bridge," Lucien said. "Your recurring lives weren't just because of my mistake or Erynn's curse. They were preparing you."
Clara's mind raced. "So the Creator wanted me dead all along?"
"No," came a voice from the doorway.
They spun around. Isolde stood there, but she looked different now—taller, with golden light flowing beneath her skin.
"The Creator wanted you ready," she said, her voice a strange mix of Isolde's and something ancient. "And now you are."
"Stay back," Lucien warned, stepping in front of Clara.
"I'm not here to hurt either of you," Isolde said. "I'm here to complete what began centuries ago."
"By destroying the worlds?" Clara asked.
"By saving them." Isolde held up Clara's locket, now sparkling with silver light. "Your power is incomplete without this. And time is running out."
Clara felt a strange pull toward the locket. "Why should I trust you?"
"You shouldn't," Isolde smiled. "Trust your blood. It knows what to do."
The castle suddenly shook strongly. Through the window, they could see the three worlds drawing even closer together.
"We have minutes, not hours," Isolde said quickly. "Make your choice, Bridge."
Clara looked at Lucien, then at the notebook pages in her hand. Centuries of lives, deaths, and meetings. A pattern she never picked but somehow always found.
"If I become the Bridge," she asked, "what happens to Lucien?"
Isolde's golden eyes shifted to Lucien. "That depends on you. The Bridge walks alone, or—"
Before she could finish, the castle shook again. The floor beneath Lucien cracked open. Clara grabbed for his hand, but too late—he fell into darkness with a shout.
"Lucien!" Clara screamed.
"The worlds are colliding faster now," Isolde said, unmoved by Lucien's fall. "The choice is yours, Clara. Save the worlds, or save your love. You cannot do both."
The locket in Isolde's hand pulsed with light, calling Clara.