NOVEL NEXT Chapter 78: Shackled Hearts
Scene 1 – The Burning Mark Revealed
The battlefield was silent, broken only by the rattling hiss of chains recoiling into the void. Sparks drifted like falling stars, fading one by one until only the sound of Jemil's ragged breathing filled the air.
And then—light.
The mark on his chest flared with molten brilliance, burning straight through what remained of his tunic. The golden curse writhed like a living brand, stretching its tendrils across his chest and shoulder, glowing hotter with every heartbeat.
Kaelina's sword arm wavered for the first time. She had seen Jemil bloodied, seen him broken, even seen him on the edge of death—but never had she looked at him and felt that something else was standing in his place.
Lyra stumbled a step back, her flames surging high as if to protect her—but from what, she wasn't sure. "That mark…" Her voice cracked. "It's not just power. It's—hungry."
Elira clasped her hands to her chest, light trembling between her fingers. She was shaking, eyes wide with the kind of fear that wasn't for herself, but for him. "Jemil… can you even hear us in there?"
Nyssa tilted her head, shadows curling around her shoulders like snakes. Her smile was sharp, cruel, but it didn't reach her eyes. "So. The Mistress carved her brand deeper than I thought. Tell me, summoner—are you still fighting for us? Or are we just dancing in her palm?"
The words cut deeper than the predator's chains.
Jemil staggered forward, chest heaving, trying to steady the firestorm within him. "I'm here," he rasped, forcing the words through gritted teeth. "I'm still me!"
But the mark pulsed again, answering him with its own defiance. The golden bindings around his arms coiled tighter, like shackles eager to drag him down. His words said one thing—but the curse was speaking louder.
And all of them could hear it.
Scene 2 – Chains That Divide
The predator did not strike immediately. It didn't need to.
Instead, its chains slithered across the battlefield like serpents, hissing through the void, circling the wives without touching them. Not attacks—taunts.
"Do you feel it?" the predator's voice was low, rumbling like stone grinding against stone. Its eyes gleamed with golden fire as it gestured lazily toward Jemil. "That pulse in your bond. That hunger bleeding through him. That is not his oath—it is hers."
A chain brushed the ground near Lyra, close enough that sparks danced against her boots. She flared in response, her fire bursting high, her body trembling as though she wanted to deny the words with heat alone. But when she looked at Jemil, she froze. The mark pulsed again, bright and alive, almost… answering the predator's claim.
Kaelina lifted her blade, fury shaking in her arms. "Shut your mouth! His strength belongs to no one but himself!"
The predator tilted its head, a cold smile twisting across its monstrous face. "Then why does every vow he makes burn with her light?"
The wives stiffened. Jemil felt the air around them shift—like their hearts skipped at the same time.
Nyssa let out a low chuckle, bitter and sharp. "He's not wrong, you know. Every time Jemil swore to us, every word, every promise—there it was. That golden fire, laced in." Her smile widened, cruel and soft all at once. "Maybe we never had him at all."
Elira shook her head furiously, tears shimmering in her eyes. "No. That can't be true. Jemil's vows—his heart—it's always been real."
But her words trembled, and the predator caught it.
Chains snapped tight in the void, ringing like bells of judgment.
"Then prove it. If he is truly yours… make him choose."
The challenge dropped heavy as steel.
Scene 3 – Jemil's Desperate Stand
The predator's words echoed in the void, settling like weights on Jemil's shoulders. His wives' silence cut worse than any blade.
He gritted his teeth, forcing himself upright. The golden bindings writhed like living chains around his arms, straining to lash out, straining to answer the predator's command. He had to fight not just the enemy before him, but the curse burning inside him.
"Don't listen to him," Jemil growled, his voice raw, every word pushed through fire. "This mark—this curse—it doesn't own me. I choose you. All of you. Every vow, every bond, every fight—it's mine."
He lifted his arms, hurling his chains forward with a roar. Golden bindings crashed against the predator's blade, sparks scattering like shattered stars. The impact shook the void itself.
For a moment, it looked like he was in control—driving the predator back step by step. His chains struck like thunder, coiling with raw force. His body blazed with power.
But then… the mark flared.
A pulse tore through his chest, brighter than any vow's glow, brighter even than Lyra's fire. His bindings lashed out without his command, striking with violent hunger. The force sent Kaelina stumbling back, her blade barely deflecting the stray lash. Nyssa's illusions cracked as another chain nearly split them apart. Elira cried out, shielding herself in light that trembled under the sheer weight of it.
"Jemil!" Lyra's scream was fire and panic.
He staggered, clutching his chest, horror dawning across his face. The chains weren't listening anymore. The Mistress's curse was no longer just burning him—it was fighting through him.
The predator laughed, deep and cruel. "See? Even in defiance, he bends. Even in resistance, he serves. He is already shackled."
And the worst part—
For a heartbeat, Jemil felt it. The surge of strength, the intoxicating burn of power. A hunger that wasn't his own whispering—why resist, when it feels so good to break everything in reach?
Scene 4 – The Wives' Breaking Point
The chains slithered back into place, but the damage was already done. Jemil stood trembling, his chest scorched with the golden mark's glow, while his wives stared—not at the predator, but at him.
Lyra's fire surged wildly, uncontrollable, her eyes locked on Jemil as though trying to burn the truth out of him. "Don't you dare give in to it!" Her voice was fierce, but the crack in it betrayed fear. "I don't care if it burns you alive—don't let her win!"
Kaelina steadied her blade, though her grip was trembling. She had shouted his strength into being countless times before, but now… her words failed her. Instead, she stepped forward, sword angled between Jemil and the predator—but her body leaned back, just enough that it wasn't only the predator she was guarding against.
Elira dropped to her knees, clutching her staff as tears welled in her eyes. "This isn't fair," she whispered, her voice breaking. "You've fought so hard to be free, Jemil. Why does it feel like every step you take forward, this curse drags you back?"
Nyssa's laugh was sharp, almost cruel, but her gaze burned with unease. "So this is it. The grand summoner, the chainbreaker, already dancing on her strings. Tell me, Jemil—" her shadows coiled tighter, almost like armor— "when you look at us, do you see your wives? Or do you see her chains wrapped in our skin?"
The words landed like daggers, and for the first time, none of them contradicted her.
The predator didn't need to strike. Its chains simply swayed in the air like a crown above its head, while its monstrous grin widened. "Even beasts know when their master has changed hands."
The silence that followed was worse than the battle itself. The unity that had carried them this far—their fire, their faith, their illusions of invincibility—was unraveling strand by strand.
And Jemil stood in the center, burning, shackled, caught between their fear and his own.
Scene 5 – The Mistress's Whisper
The battlefield stilled. Chains hung in the air, glowing like constellations, but none struck. The predator watched with that jagged grin, satisfied that it had already landed the deadliest blow—not against their bodies, but against their hearts.
Jemil dropped to one knee, clutching his chest as the mark flared hotter than ever. His bindings rattled violently, some curling protectively around him, others lashing out at shadows with a hunger he couldn't command.
And then—
The world fell away.
Darkness. Heat. A whisper curling into his mind like smoke.
"My precious summoner…"
Her voice. Smooth. Silken. The Mistress.
"Why fight me? Why tear yourself apart when my gift already sings in your veins? They doubt you. They fear you. But I… I will never doubt. I will never fear. My chains do not betray—they only hold. Forever."
Jemil's eyes widened, breath caught in his throat. He staggered, gripping his temples as the voice seeped deeper. His wives shouted his name—Kaelina's fury, Lyra's fire, Elira's pleas, Nyssa's venom—but their voices felt faint, distant, drowned beneath the Mistress's tone.
The mark pulsed again, so bright it painted the battlefield in gold. The wives shielded their eyes, the predator simply laughed.
And in that burning silence, Jemil heard it—the final words, pressed against his heart like a kiss made of chains:
"You are mine, Jemil. You always have been."
The glow burst outward, consuming the void in blinding light.